#fallout text posts

[melodyoffire]

[rad-roche]

it's hard to find a mechanic knowledgeable on the ins and outs of synth anatomy, and it's harder to find one that'll put up with his wisecracks....

[writebythecside]

Now That's What I Call Fallout Textposts: The Ghoul Special Edition

Previous Next

[mellowdisko]

thinking, thinking about this so hard im going to throw up:

Prospector Saloon, so quiet so dim; Courier Six seated at the bar, flipping through a magazine, Trudy cleaning wine glasses, both complaining about the weather. Courier Six with his hand-me-down boots, holding a Varmint rifle, an old gift from an old friend, hunting geckos and coyotes. Courier Six, watching windmills spin in the distance, sitting on his own grave, smoking over it like that checkered-coated man did years ago. In his fuzzy daydreams, in his restless nights sometimes he sees him: in dusty memories so distant, so ancient now.

Courier Six, touching the small scar on his forehead, smiling with a mouth full of yellowed teeth.

Courier Six, who has only heard of the Legion in campfire stories, Courier Six who changes stations when the news sing about that antebellum giant held in Legion hands. Old World far away, unknown and redundant; Hoover Dam painted in crimson, so what?

Courier Six who does not know, who does not care about the bones of the Republic displayed on crosses, the martyrs buried in the sand, all that was lost, all that could have been- Courier Six who does not know because Trudy's beer is cold enough, the water is clean enough, home comfortable enough. Doc Mitchell holds ice over his bruises after a long day and his bed is warm in the afternoon. He watches from his window, his fate asleep, nothing but lone and level sand to be seen, streching for miles and miles, the wasteland resting soundlessly under the lazy autumn sun.

Courier Six in Goodsprings, small and familiar world, hunting geckos and coyotes. Courier Six in Goodsprings, holding an old friend's gift.

He, the nomad who has finally come home. He, who have doomed Mojave with his passivity, his absence. He, growing old in ignorance.

Sometimes, a familiar voice crackles through the saloon's radio, telling tales of a dam bathed in crimson hues, of a war long lost. Tales of twelve-year-old desert boys wearing uniforms too big for them, of bloodstains on the walls of Californian clinics, of red-clad soldiers dying in their twenties for a man who has burned their futures so that his own torch could blaze over New Vegas.

But Courier Six in his little hut, his little town... A simple life of a simple man closing his eyes under a starless sky and into a dreamless night.

[ididnineeleven]

tiktok hate comments i think sentient AIs would use

glados: flying cars they said

AM: post this on instagram reels

hal: and the world kept spinning

edgar: AND THE CROWD...!!! oh the crowd is leaving

wheatley: hello! i couldn't reach you in private, so here's the answer to your question. no, it's not normal to have inflammation in the anus area after intense penetration

yes man: oh! that's not...

p03: i'm gonna lie this is 🔥

bender: my ranked teammates

auto: keys

closet: do you do weddings

[missmargaretcarter]

[mummifiedgoose]

[bluemoon-standingalone]

forgot i had this mod installed and tried to put boone in a suit. guess he just decided to serve today. good for him!!!

[grimesrot]

i 🩷 fallout 4 companions

[hartanddoe]

[perfectfangirl]

walton revealing cooper did indeed change his tone and soften his words after witnessing lucy's world crumble before her gives "you coming?" a whole new meaning to me 😩

[corvidexoskeleton]

Yes yes ghoul cowboy dilf, BUT. What about hot older "I'm not the step mom, I'm the mom that stepped up" milf moldaver

[rad-roche]

sketch preview

bisexuals this one is for you

[writebythecside]

Now That's What I Call Fallout Textposts: Norm MacLean Special Edition

Previous Next

[mellowdisko]

Many forget that Nipton was never about Vulpes acting for his own sake. At the Fort, when you ask Caesar what the Frumentarii do, he tells you: "Infiltration, assassination, dramatic atrocities to break the spirit of the enemy..." Thats exactly what Nipton was: a dramatic atrocity, a letter that reads: "We are here. We have arrived."

It was never meant to be a lesson. The NCR does not care about morality, neither does the Legion. Nipton was a town that was destined to be destroyed not because it was a wicked place (Vulpes was lying through his teeth about the whole thing -the dead legionnaires are evidence- like thats what he does, that is literally his job!) but because it was small enough to burn without consequence, close enough for the message to be heard. Nipton wasn't a lesson. It was a spectacle, meant to be seen by the eyes of the Republic. Thats why the Courier is tasked to spread the news, they're a mailman delivering a letter.

And Vulpes? Can't say he's explicitly sadistic. A bad person? Absolutely. But not playful with his cruelty. He is just as cruel as every other legionary. The only difference is he is smarter about it, more intense.

Nipton isn’t a part of him. Nothing is. Nothing but the Legion. He does not carry the weight of that town. He does not look back to the ruins he has left behind. Nipton is no pang of remorse, no pleasure, no sin. It is merely a step forward. Proof that the Legion has entered the Bear's den, proof that its will is being done.

And we never see Vupes as he truly is. He is not a person, at least not anymore.

He wears a mask, a new face with every new encounter. In Nipton he is wearing the mask of a vexillarius, in the strip the mask of a gambler. And at the fort, he is just another legionary: red-clad and quiet, a little fox curled at the foot of his emperor's throne. He has 0 indicators of individuality, he is not a person. He's only a name, a shadow streching across the Mojave.

I do believe the only time we get a glimpse of who Vulpes truly is, is when Caesar tells his backstory. His cunning, his wit—but also his insubordination, a hint of rebellious youth. That is who I think he really is: a rebel boy, not in opposition to the Legion, but in relentless devotion to it. Someone who is willing to tear down every pillar, disobey every order just to see the flag rise higher.

Vulpes will slaughter, torture, and betray and engage in "profligate scum" activities for the benefit of his side. He is ready to serve even if it angers the Son of Mars. He doesn't ask for permission. Doesn't beg for forgiveness. He does what he must, then kneels before the blade waiting for the punishment that has never managed to come since his first trial as a decanus. And there is passion in that, a desire. To paint the desert with his nation's red, to whisper his lord's name to every ear, to tame the untamable: the idea, the dream.

At the Fort, we see him as nothing more than a docile soldier but we know that he is different, remarkable; Caesar had said it himself. Rebel boy: always ready to mangle and burn the world and himself along with it just to serve what he believes is providence.

He is "a rather intense young man," whose entire existence is a disguise. A spy so devoted to his duty that he has stripped himself of everything else. A spy, in the fine suit of a gentleman or under the hide of a coyote, tearing down his own tower of humanity as the gods he belives in look down and smile.

He is not a person. He hasn't been a person for a long time.

He is a name, a shadow, a hollowed out man. He is an animal kept at arms length, dog on a leash who does not want to be set free, a weapon, a tool. Pale hand of the Legion reaching west.

With every step through the desert, Vulpes Inculta has left a piece of himself behind, until he is left with nothing but blind faith and bloodied palms. And when you lose everything you ever had in a big bad wasteland you tend to cling onto the first bright colour you see:

Crimson—so inviting, so cruel. Like home.

[blueboy-furry]

I love the last one because it looks like he's using his last breath of life to say this to Lucy