#solidsnaake

Me: I never played Mario Party

Andi: Ok well Mario Party 2 was the greatest game

do I like them:

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH BABy bOY

5 good qualities:

wants to help the little people

is against bullies

is adorable?

accepts everyone

gives me med-x sometimes

3 bad qualities:

druggie

worried that the ss won’t like him bc he’s a ghoul

stabbed a man in front of me

favourite episode/etc:

n/a

otp:

RIPS OFF SHIRT ARCHER AND HANCOCk

brotp:

nick and hancock

deacon and hancock

ot3:

n/a

notp:

n/a

best quote:

Nothing to lose but each other.

head canon:

give me a character and i'll answer:

do I like them:

LUV

5 good qualities:

sarcastic

heroic

jedi (literally all the good qualities are wrapped up right there lbr)

3 bad qualities:

believed in anakin

why did he do that

died

favourite episode/etc:

revenge of the sith

otp:

n/a

brotp:

qui-gon and obi-wan

anakin and obi-wan

ot3:

n/a

notp:

anakin/obi-wan

best quote:

infinite sadness

head canon:

Archer wasn’t necessarily what you’d call a religious man. He held no qualms with any God, but he felt no love by any either. He prayed to the metal of his gun, bullets their holy testament. But the Wasteland changes a man. More than ever, he was feeling divine intervention. 

And right now, his divine intervention was a fresh cigarette placed between his lips and a half empty bottle of whiskey sitting next to his boots. He wanted to forget the day. It was a day full of bullet wounds and body counts. The whiskey he was drinking was replacing the blood he’d lost in the past week -- a considerably large amount that would have given his pre-war doctor a heart attack. Hancock was on the couch next to him, arm over his eyes in a Jet-induced haze and a crooked, ghoulish smile as he listened to Archer whistle to whatever overused song Travis put on DCR.

He’d peek over, looking at his pre-war lover, taking in all of his angles and sides and how handsome he was, and wondering how he looked when he didn’t have blood smeared across his cheek from who knows where. In a lot of moments, Archer looked peaceful. He looked like a preacher leading a morning prayer when he had his hands clasped around the stock of his pistol. But he knew Archer. There was a dark in him that Hancock didn’t want to touch. He was afraid of tapping the glass and seeing what creature is asleep inside of him. The man was an animal in a normal state of mind, who would he be if he snapped.

But enough of that. He hasn’t snapped. He’s here singing along to old tunes and taking too-big swigs of whiskey straight out of the bottle. Archer was just being a normal person - or as normal as you can get in a world ruined by the folly of man. Hancock sat up, fixing his posture for a second only to fall back to the couch with an elbow propped next to Archer’s shoulders and a hand pressed against the bandage haphazardly taped against his new wound.

Archer winced, took another sip of whiskey, and set his pistol down in the middle of the shrine of debauchery he made for himself. Hancock scoots closer, leg touching leg and grin haunting Archer’s peripherals.

“That still hurts.” “I can make it feel better.”

She warned him. The first thing she said, I will hurt you. And she did. Simon was a women of her words. She kept promises, no matter who they hurt in the process. Elliot was fun, they were fun, until he decided to love her. 

Simon was not a starry-eyed girl that found happiness in romance. She was never that sweetness you felt when she smiled at you. Simon was the cold in the first snow, the slip in the ice, and he knew. He knew that the moment he met her, but he’s also a fool.

It’d been a couple of years since things turned sour. Since she decided to leave, quit their partnership as officers, their partnership as friends and lovers. It was all said and done. Another chapter in the sad book of life that he’d read over and over as a bedtime story on late, whiskey-fueled nights. He hadn’t seen her in God knows how long. She had someone new, a sailor, sweet and loving, someone that melted her down. Elliot found this out when she came back to the station, a brand-new, fresh-faced officer. He was on her arm. She was laughing. Happy... in love.

And the anger subsided for a moment. He’d never seen her laugh like that. She never had that glow about her with him but now she... she was where she needed to be with who she needed to be with, and he remembered that love and that love made him happy for her. 

But it still hurt. She still left. She still didn’t love him. Everything they were was nothing now. The man kissed her goodbye, and she bit her lip as she turned on her heels to make her way through the familiar and haunting halls, passing by Elliot without a word or a glance except... dropping a note on the floor.

If he knew her, he knew it was deliberate. She was mysterious yet obvious, and she always did things for a reason. If there was no reason, she would make one. 

Elliot picked the scrap from the ground, turning it in his fingers and inhaling the lingering musk of her cherry perfume, careful not to fall in love with the memories of their sheets and her quiet moans. He turns it over. Her handwriting is so thick and brash, like its owner.