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danses-with-dogmeat · 2 years ago

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M is for... The Mysterious Stranger

Ohhhhh, this one had SO MUCH potential for SO MANY things, and I just... I hope that my excitement surrounding this character and his mysteriousness and the abundance of potential there shines through in this piece <3

Golly, I hope you all love it! Cuz honestly I was SO excited to share this one with y'all :)

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

Pair: Mysterious Stranger & g/n! Sole (but who used to go by Nora)

Dialogue: “I never should’ve left you alone.”

Word: Memory

Rating: SFW

Category: Angst

Word Count: 2k

Maybe this was wrong of me… After all, the Stranger’s always been helpful, more than anything. Is it fair for me to trick him like this?

Sole gulped, anxiety fluttering in their belly, even as Nick gave them a solid nod from his hiding place.

I’ll have to borrow his confidence, they decided, And his curiosity.

Just then, the hired gun across the way set loose a rain of bullets in their direction, just as planned, and that inexplicable feeling rose up in them, that call to the void for aid in the form of the mysterious, cloaked man.

Who, just as inexplicably, appeared from nowhere, right where Sole and Nick had planned, had expected. Before his own bullet, fired with an expert precision Sole had only seen once before in their life, could land upon the man they’d hired to put them in false danger, Nick pounced.

The Mysterious Stranger tried to duck away, his coat billowing in the chaos, but Nick’s hold was too tight. He had him.

“Quick, Sole! Help me get a hold on him.” Nick growled through the effort of wrestling with the tall man.

Sole could only move slowly, unconsciously half-hoping that he would escape, that he could remain a mystery.

After this, how can I expect help from him again? How many times he’s saved my ass, and this is how we repay him…

More than anything, it felt like a betrayal.

Could Nick’s curiosity, could their own being satisfied, really make this worth it?

The Mysterious Stranger’s face remained covered, all through the scuffle, his hat brim low, and the collar of his trench coat high. Trying to differentiate between the synth detective and this strange man was difficult enough on its own, with the way they rolled upon the dusty road beneath them.

“Sole!” They heard Nick’s shout from within the dust cloud. “You wanna, ah, give me a hand here?”

Finally, that had them springing to action, their own hands reaching out to pin the shoulders in front of them.

Thank goodness they were the right ones.

The man was panting as Nick managed to pin the rest of his body to the ground, synthetic hands holding firm to his arms, while Nick sat and straddled his dress slack-donned legs.

“Alright, buster, you’ve been caught.”

The stranger let out a grunt of his own, as he made one last-ditch effort to escape his assailants, but all that managed to do was knock the hat from his head.

Then everything froze.

Sole’s hands went limp where they rested on his shoulders, and the stranger’s eyes, those eyes stayed wide as they locked to theirs. But he stayed still. He didn’t try to flee, but nor did he speak a word.

Quick breaths continued to escape him as Sole’s expression fogged over, first with shock, then confusion, and lastly, fury.

Shaking their head in utter disbelief, Sole released his shoulders completely, and got to their feet.

“Sole? What is it?” Nick continued holding the man down, but he hadn’t struggled. Not since Sole saw who he was. “Or rather, who is it?”

Golden eyes shone as they looked down to the stranger, then back to his partner.

To think… Sole’s head continued shaking, the wheels in their mind spinning so quickly they were damn-near ready to break off of their hinges. All that I believed to be true. All this time…

“You remember…” Sole whispered, a cold fierceness accompanying their words. “I told you I had a husband once, but that he was dead? Killed by the Institute? Guess I had that bit wrong…”

Their gaze glossed over the man on the floor, in favor of looking to Nick directly.

“Nick, meet Nate.”

“What?” Nick blinked at them, then down to the man he’d captured. “Now, how do you figure that… Didn’t you say there was ahh, well, a body?”

“Yeah, well,” Sole turned and began picking up their things, tossing a bag of caps to the hired gun before waving the relieved bystander on his way. “The Institute’s been known to have a few tricks up its sleeve. Wouldn’t shock me to find out that they’re planting fake corpses around.”

At that, Nick released him. A disgusted look rested on the synth’s lined face as he stood up himself and dusted off his trench coat.

“You got anything to say to that?” He prompted the ‘stranger,' a fierceness akin to their own hardening his voice.

“I can explain, Nora.”

The voice sent chills up Sole's spine, making them feel sick, but also… home at the very same time.

“Haven’t you been listening? They don’t go by that name anymore.” Nick practically snarled in their defense.

“I’m sorry, sorry, I just…” He stuttered, but slowly, Nate made a move to stand up.

And surprisingly, Nick let him; though his brows were hard over his shining eyes as he continued to regard Sole's... not-so-late spouse.

Now that he was at his usual height, Sole felt like banging their head against a wall.

How the hell did I not guess this? His height, his accuracy, even the type of gun he uses, all dead giveaways. How could I have been so blind?

At the look on their face, Nick must’ve guessed what they were thinking.

“He’s supposed to be dead, doll.” A cool hand placed itself on their shoulder as they looked to the ground. “No way you coulda known he wasn’t.”

They nodded at that, their expression solemn.

“Why did you do it, then, Nate? Or should I even call you that?”

“I haven’t gone by Nate in a long time. Since… since before the bombs fell, but… Sole, I don’t know quite how to tell you this…”

“Nothing you say will be more shocking than what I’ve already discovered today, so might as well just spit it out.”

Visibly, he gulped, and Nate’s gloved fingers fiddled with the pockets of his trench coat.

That’s an old habit. Sole’s mind reminded them without permission. All the wedding photos, and his hands are fidgeting with the shallow pockets of his suit jacket.

I pretended to be angry, but really…I just found it endearing.

They didn’t feel that way now.

“I thought I was him, thought I was your Nate…”

My Nate…

Their chest gave a painful ache that went, frustratingly, straight to their tear ducts.

“But I was wrong. All those memories… fabricated. Taken from journal entries, from photos and memories that Father believed would’ve been housed in his late father’s mind. But it was a sham. A trick he’d had in mind, I think… Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he really did want a father in his life, wanted family... but, when I found out I was a synth, and when I found out about the kid he’d made. Our kid– or, yours.”

Nate shook his head, the pale lines on his face becoming more pronounced with every elongated instant of this painful conversation.

Sole actually found themself feeling a twinge of pity alongside their continuing shock.

“I don’t know. It’s all so… messed up, everything that he’s done. Trying to trick you, making me, some mockery of the old Nate, and then… after I found out the truth, when he realized I’d gone through his terminal, well… let’s just say it wasn’t easy getting out of there in one piece.”

Nick blinked, his mouth half-open as he took in the story.

“Unfortunately, all that seems pretty on-brand for the people who made me...” The detective added solemnly.

Nate nodded his agreement, his eyes downcast.

“The Railroad helped a lot, but I had to escape them too, once I realized they wanted to erase my memories. I... couldn’t let them, couldn’t turn my back on your husband’s story, not when it was the only man I could imagine being. Even if I was… I don’t know, false?”

Sole turned to Nick, just as the old synth sighed.

“Boy, do I know the feeling… Not so different, you and I. No wonder I was so drawn to finding out the truth about ya.”

“Right…” Nate rubbed at the back of his neck, another old habit Sole had been fond of. Hell, they’d actually counted how many times he’d done that on their first date. They seemed to remember the number being in the double digits. Why he’d been so nervous having dinner with them, they never knew, but still… another endearing characteristic of the man they’d loved.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Sole…” His voice roused them from the memories.

“Yeah… I just, well… Why didn’t you approach me sooner? I mean, this ‘Mysterious Stranger’ business has been going on for months now. Why did you never think to come out and explain yourself?”

“I guess I was scared.” He admitted, but they could see he’d thought about this answer before. Maybe he’d even counted on them finding out his identity one of these days.

“I knew how much you’d been through, and… as much as I wanted to see you safe, as much as I felt this need to help you, I was afraid that you’d turn me away. I know deep down that I never should've left you alone, the way that I did, but if you refused me..."

He sighed heavily, and Sole noted the genuine pain written upon his face.

They always hated seeing him this way, his brows scrunched, eyes glistening, lips drawn downwards. It was like his hurt bled through his expression, and right back into them.

"Then… I don’t know what I’d do. Knowing you’re out here, but not being able to protect you? The old Nate would haunt my dreams until I officially lost my mind.”

He let out a nervous chuckle at the end, but Sole still just had confusion written in their furrowed brows.

“So, what? Then you just planned on spying on me for the rest of my days, but never actually making contact? What kind of life would that be?”

“I don’t know," He shrugged, "one that I deserve, I guess. I never had any delusions that you could care about me the way you did your real husband, and to be honest, I’m not sure how much of that Father would’ve gotten right in the first place, I mean… Did you even like the guy? Nate, I mean… I know that marriage back then wasn’t always for... love, and I’m under no–”

“Did I like him?” Sole scoffed at that.

Isn’t it obvious?

“Nate, I… I loved him.”

Nate’s eyes, that vibrance Sole knew so well that they frequently saw it in their dreams, grew wide at their confession.

“I loved him from the start." They continued, "Him and Shaun, loved them with everything in me… But they were both lost to me, one way or another. I had to try and shut out those feelings or… I didn’t know quite how to go on. I lost so much all at once, even before being frozen, when the world went up in flames. But I thought I could make it, if I had my family by my side, I’d be okay. But then…”

“Then the Institute happened.” Nate’s voice was dark with malice as he spat the name of the faction that had made him, and then betrayed him.

That had betrayed them both.

“I’m… I know it can’t mean much to you, but, all the same… I’m so sorry for everything that happened. For everything they did to you. You deserved so much better.”

Sole’s glistening eyes snapped to him, and there was a sternness there that nearly made Nate recoil.

“Can’t mean much… Nate, it means the world to me.”

Tentatively, Sole stepped forward, and they felt Nick’s gaze lingering on them as they reached out a hand and brushed it over one of Nate’s broad shoulders.

“You’ve been through hell, just the same as me. Shaun… Father, he did this to us, and much as I’d love to forgive him, much as I wish he was the boy I wanted to know, or the man I always dreamed he’d grow up to be, he was lost to me– to us, the moment the Institute stole him away. With him… I fear there’s no second chances.”

Their voice cracked at the painfully true words, and Nate’s own expression reflected that hurt, his dark eyebrows creased, his bottom lip giving a melancholic twitch.

“But with us… Maybe that doesn’t have to be the case.”

#2k event #2k celebration #secret event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout npc #fallout 4 #mysterious stranger #nick valentine #sole survivor #fallout 4 npcs

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rotworld · 2 years ago

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Sheep's Clothing

you live and work in eastridge. the mountains are close enough to see but not so close that you worry much about those werewolf rumors. tonight, though? you're worried.

->contains workplace harassment, feral behavior, a few mentions of vomit and vaguely sinister behavior.

You deserve hazard pay for the things you see and unwillingly experience during weekend shifts at Club Mountainview. There’s a lot of noise, a lot of insufferable behavior from shitfaced and entitled patrons, and a lot of vomit. Whoever decided that Eastridge’s most popular nightlife attraction needed a restaurant is a genius and a misanthrope. The food is overpriced but nobody cares after a few shots and some uncoordinated flailing on the dancefloor. Taking orders has made you an expert at lipreading and interpreting inebriated miming, a necessity to understand anything over nonstop synth melodies and pounding bass. You smile through a lot of bullshit because the people who don’t forget to tip entirely make the whole night worthwhile.

For some reason, tonight is extra bad. The girls at table four manage to spill not one, not two, but all five of their drinks, leaving ice, broken glass and a sticky, sugary alcohol mess all over the booth seats and floor. You have to call in one of the bouncers when a drunken brawl breaks out in the party room over mozzarella sticks and a chair is lobbed at your head. A guy argues with you about his mini tacos never arriving despite your insistence that he ate them ten minutes ago, and then he pukes on your shoes.

“It’s the full moon,” Donna grumbles. She was already at the bar when you got there, head resting against her hand and eyes bloodshot. A few long, blonde strands of hair escape from her ponytail and she’s forever pushing them behind her ear before they fall loose again. “Makes people act weird. All our worst shifts are during full moons.”

“Full moon, huh?” you mutter, rubbing your temples to soothe an oncoming headache. The bar’s design straddles a cave and cabin concept, the back wall textured like stone and the counter a natural-edged slab of wood with a glassy finish. It’s the only place where your eyes and ears can rest, far enough from the dancefloor that the noise is tolerable and the lights soft and steady, firelight orange instead of flashing neon.

“Rough one tonight, huh?” you hear. A glass of water slides across the bar and you find Irving’s sauntered over to chat while he works. He moves like a well-oiled machine, hands quick and graceful as he juggles empty glasses, mixes drinks and pours ice. “I hear there was a bit of a scuffle in the party room earlier. Glad you two got out unscathed,” he says conversationally, wearing his perpetual charismatic, glad-to-be-here smile. You have no idea how he maintains it this late into his shift.

“You’re so fucking lucky to be on that side of the bar,” Donna grumbles.

“It’s not exactly a walk in the park back here either. I’m not sure I’ll have a barback for much longer, Tim looks about ready to quit. Someone threw a drink at him earlier.” Tim, the new hire sheepishly collecting empty glasses at the other end of the bar, is staring forlornly at Irving like a castaway watching a ship leave him behind.

Donna insists, “Full moon.”

“That sounds more like a werewolf thing,” you say.

Irving shakes his head. “That’s a myth, actually. Moon phases don’t do anything to them. You know what, though, this is their hunting season.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to laugh or say he was just kidding. He doesn’t. “Hunting season?” you echo, morbidly curious.

He rests a forearm across the bar counter, leaning in a little and lowering his voice. “Mhm. Late spring to early summer. They’re opportunistic, but this is the only time of year that they’re actively on the prowl. Did you know that the majority of people who go missing in the mountains around here disappear sometime in April or May? You two should be careful, actually, I hear they’ve got a thing for overworked waitstaff.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Donna says.

“I’m serious! My girlfriend told me—”

“Your werewolf girlfriend who nobody’s ever met and only visits when we’re all conveniently too busy to meet her, right?”

“Tale as old as time,” Irving sighs. He gives you a wink before he drifts back to the other end of the bar. You linger for a little longer, nursing your water. That must’ve been a joke, right? You’ve never heard of a “hunting season,” but you don’t know enough about werewolves to be sure. You’ve never met one. Then again, people say it’s hard to tell. Your gaze wanders the club scanning the dancefloor crowd, the groups chatting further down the bar or squeezed around booths, the loners leaning against the wall. Would you even know one if you saw one?

Donna heads back to the trenches first when she spots a couple wander in and you’re not far behind. Right on time, too, because a huge group just walked in and meandered over after looking around all starstruck and delirious like they’ve never been in a club before. You do a quick headcount as they make their way to the restaurant seating area. Eight, nine, ten guys—you hope it’s not another bachelor party.

“Welcome to the Mountainview Club Kitchen—” Your throat tightens before you finish the sentence. They’re all looking at you. Which shouldn’t be weird, you were trying to get their attention. But the second you spoke up, all of them went from distracted and overly interested in the decor to laser-focused on you and only you. That still doesn’t seem sufficient to explain the cold grasp of heart-stopping terror keeping you frozen in place. You don’t feel like you’re talking to customers at work, you feel like you’re standing in the woods late at night and something big, powerful and hungry just stepped into your path.

Cornered. That’s what you’re feeling. Like a trapped animal. Like a rabbit chased by…

No way, you think. You quickly plaster on a smile. “Uh. Welcome! You’ll have to give me a second to check how many tables we’ve got open right now, I can push a few together for you if there’s enough.”

“Don’t sweat it, I’m the only one eating.” One of them waves off the others with a chuckle. “Go on, get out there and mingle. I’ll hold down the fort, yeah? You guys are guests tonight so it’s my treat if you want anything.” He looks normal. They all do. Not really dressed for clubbing but nothing that weird, lots of tank tops, denim and well-worn sneakers. The group disperses without a word to you or each other, leaving you alone with the friendliest one.

You search him for anything amiss, anything that screams “werewolf” and come up empty. He’s just a guy. Black jacket, band t-shirt, jeans with ragged knees. Not unusually tall or tough-looking, honestly a little on the scrawny side, dark hair that curtains his face and feathers around his shoulders. Were you just imagining that feeling earlier? He sticks his hands in his pockets and tilts his head slightly, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Something on my face?” he drawls. Shit, you’re staring. You try to play it off as spacing out and lead him to a table, wrestling with paranoia. You’re relieved when he starts scrutinizing the menu instead.

“This is new, isn’t it?” he asks absently. “There wasn’t a restaurant last time I came here. I guess it’s been a while.”

“It opened a few months back,” you tell him. “Are you a regular?”

“Eh, not really. I’m here like once a year.”

Always around the same time? you wonder. Right around April or May? You scold yourself. Irving loves fucking with people, that’s all that was. And even if he wasn’t, a nightclub doesn’t really seem like prime werewolf hunting territory. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Just water, thanks. What’s good here?” He rests his chin against his palm while you try to think of a recommendation, smiling up at you. “I’m Corbin, by the way.” His eyes flick to your name tag and he reads it in a slow, teasing drawl. “So. You local? Live in Eastridge?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, utterly blindsided. “Uh. All of the appetizers are pretty good, and the tomato soup comes with this really good bread—”

“Corbin.” You nearly jump out of your skin when one of the other guys seems to appear out of thin air, suddenly standing beside you. Sure, it’s hard to hear much of anything with the music, but he’s right there and he’s not exactly small. You aren’t sure how he snuck up on you. “Purple or green?”

Corbin tilts his head, glancing at something past the guy. You follow his gaze and see some of the people he came in with chatting up some college kids on the dancefloor. One’s in a sequined purple dress and the other’s wearing a green t-shirt. Corbin’s face scrunches up in distaste. “Neither,” he says. The other guy nods slowly like he’s just heard something truly profound and walks off. You have no idea what to make of the exchange and Corbin doesn’t let you dwell on it. “Is it always this busy?” he asks.

You shrug. “On the weekends, mostly.”

He hums, lips pursed and brows furrowed like you’ve just told him something heartbreaking. “Is it hard? A job like this? Seems pretty thankless.”

“A job’s a job,” you say with a tight smile.

“It doesn’t have to be like that, y’know. There are places that would appreciate you so much more than this.” The discomfort must show on your face because his expression softens a little, less of a smirk and more of a sad smile. His voice gets softer and softer and you have to lean in to hear him clearly. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m just being nosy. But the thing is, I’ve got a good intuition. I can tell when people are…dissatisfied. Unhappy with their lives. You laugh it off, but it’s getting to you; how effortless it is for these people to hurt you. How brittle the bonds between humans are.” He pauses for just a moment and then he’s full of boisterous energy again, grinning. “Tomato soup, huh? Could I get that, and maybe the mozzarella sticks? Oh, and the wings too! They’d probably like that.”

“Sure,” you say weakly. You’re not entirely aware of your movements, running on autopilot to take the menu from him with numb fingers and put in his order. Why do you feel so shaken up? This is obviously a shitty place to work, anyone could see that. But it was more than that. The way he said it, the way he looked at you—like he knew you. Really knew you, the way strangers aren’t supposed to.

You try to shrug it off, make your rounds to other tables, but he’s on your mind all night. You bring him water and he takes it before you set it down. The pads of his fingers caress the back of your hand and slip away slowly, hesitantly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you,” he says, his smile affecting you in embarrassing ways. You run to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face, trying to shock yourself out of whatever weird, emotional haze you’re in.

Corbin is thankfully distracted when you come back with his appetizers. Someone else from his group swings by the table with his arm around a younger guy. “Oh, you’re on summer break? What’s your major?” Corbin asks. You don’t linger but you catch bits of conversation, enough to hear that the guy Corbin came with barely says a word. Is he the wingman for all of his socially awkward friends? You look around and see the others scattered around, a couple perched at the bar with a woman giggling between them, a few lurking around the dancefloor. One makes eye contact with you halfway across the club and your heart skips a beat.

You’re getting that feeling again—the prickling on the back of your neck. The primal sense that there’s danger lurking somewhere nearby, hungry eyes raking across your skin.

Corbin’s friends and their hookups drift by the table frequently. Every time you glance over, someone new is hovering next to him or sliding into an open chair with their plus one chatting happily. You’re not really surprised. There’s something magnetic about him, an effortless charm in his open, welcoming body language, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. Strangely, none of them stay long. People cycle in and out until you’re sure his whole friend group has stopped by at least twice, sometimes snagging something from an appetizer plate, but they don’t stick around.

Eventually, someone else entirely—a club regular, not someone Corbin came with—snags the chair across from him. They’re flirting and he’s apparently not interested, hardly looking at them, humming or muttering disinterested, one-word answers to their questions. You come back with his tomato soup just in time to see the interloper storm off, tears in their eyes. Corbin watches them go, leaning against the table with his lips curled in a snarl. “Packless,” he mutters, the word rolling off his tongue in disgust. He stiffens up when he notices you standing there, plastering on a smile. “Oh, that looks so good! Thank you!”

“Enjoy,” you manage to say, struggling to make sense of what you just saw. Corbin isn’t looking at the food, even when you set it down in front of him.

“Why don’t you sit with me? I wanna talk more,” he says, nodding to the chair beside him.

You laugh nervously. “I really can’t.”

“Aw. Not even for a little bit?” You’re a little surprised but nonetheless grateful he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls a hair tie out of his pocket to keep the long strands falling around his shoulders from falling into his food. “Sorry, sorry. I’m doing it again. It’s my intuition, y’know? I feel like we’re both missing out if we don’t get to know each other! But no worries, I know you’re on the clock.” He tosses the long strands of his ponytail behind his back and smiles at you.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You didn’t notice it before with his hair hanging around his neck, but he’s absolutely covered in painful-looking marks. Some are old, puckered scars and some are fresher, scabs and scrapes and flushed half-moons. They’re littered across both sides of his neck and even more disappear beneath the neckline of his shirt. There’s no mistaking them for anything else—those are bites. Big, human-sized bites, left by teeth too sharp to be a human’s. Your gaze darts back to his face and you know he caught you staring.

He looks euphoric, eyes half-lidded and smile dreamy, like you’re fulfilling some exhibitionistic fantasy.

“C…can I get you anything else?” you force yourself to ask.

He’s not discreet when he looks you up and down, gaze lingering on your hips, trailing slowly up your chest and eventually returning to your eyes. He licks his lips. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “I’m good for tonight.”

You know he watches you for the rest of your shift. No matter where you go, you feel him staring. You want nothing more than to avoid him until he leaves but you don’t want him to complain about being neglected, eventually circling back to refill his water and take his empty plates. You don’t make eye contact and he doesn’t strike up a conversation. He pays his bill without anything weird happening until he hands you an insane tip, a few big bills rivaling your paycheck.

“We’re kindred spirits, y’know,” he says, looking satisfied by your wordless shock. “But you’re stuck in this awful world where nobody’s taking care of you right. So I’ll just have to do it myself until…” He never finishes the sentence, smile widening when you look at him questioningly. “Take a picture with me!” he says. You don’t argue. You’re so tired, so exhausted from all the mixed signals, and you’ve decided he’s ultimately harmless. Weird as hell and uncomfortably perceptive but harmless, and if he tips like this, you’ll give him all the pictures he wants.

Corbin pulls you down into the chair beside him with an arm around your shoulder and holds out his phone for a selfie. You fully intend to look at the camera but your eyes are pulled slightly off center by the sight of his bites displayed on the screen. It comes out awkward. Your smile is half-hearted and Corbin’s not quite looking at the camera either, his gaze focused on you with an uncomfortably fond smile stretched across his face.

#rotpeach writes #meanwolves #corbin #this piece will be getting a followup later but for now #say hello to your new best friend from hoarfrost falls!

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pixeljade · 2 years ago

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Of course if Bethesda hired ME, i could write them the greatest Fallout game of all time, set in the midwest (around Ohio/Detroit area), an area known as the Cornwastes, about 40 years after FO4. The region has been, since the Great War, basically unliveable due to deadly radioactive tornadoes, but those have begun to die down, and settlers from the East have begun to reclaim the region. Your only character story is that youve come along on a caravan, and you get to choose if thats because you're seeking a fortune on the new frontier, running away from a past, etc. The main story would actually change based on what you choose at the start, with a secondary villain based on that choice.

There would be a faction of ghouls who survived the deadly weather in the region, who claim it as their own land that smoothskins are taking from them. Many of them have taken to violence to control it, calling themselves the Ghoul Liberation Fronf. There's also a group of sapient mirelurks to the north, by the great lakes, who live in a tribal, agrarian society, which seems almost idyllic...but not very fond of outsiders. Of course the settlers have their factions as well; a group of Synths who would like not only to settle down in a place thats bigger than their previous hiding holdouts, but also hope to find a new technology to shape their future. There's a merchant guild from around D.C. wastes which has plots to establish a trading path with the west coast, but who seem to be exploiting their workers. Then there's the raiders, who have finally begun updating their playbook after success at Nuka-world and The Pitt. Now they have something close to organized crime, and they're working directly with the laborers moving into the area.

There's also of course a burgeoning government...a confederation of different regions across the east coast, who have allied with the leaders from the Cornwastes, with little more than power plays keeping it intact. Each region has their own laws, and their own military, but must allow free travel and commerce amongst the citizenry. This results in a lot of friction between the sectors, with military from each sector often exploiting other sectors citizens near the borders. The actual confederated government does nothing to stop these scuffles, being led currently by the same man who founded the Merchants Guild, whose only goal is his own enrichment. Overall, the three factions you see out of this government in the Cornwastes are the militarized Commonwealth Army, which is formed of remnants of both the Minutemen and the Brotherhood, and claim to fight for the good of all citizens (an idea which locals find questionable); the secretive and threatening Capital Coalition (Think like G-men, except with power suits backing them); and the Appalachian Militia, who are made up of some of the biggest misfits in their entire region (including several friendly Super Mutants, who have calmed down since FO4 due to new advances in biomedical engineering.)

Each of the three C's of Ohio and Detroit would be accessible. (hey, if FO4 can have most of Massachusetts we can have a bigger map this time!) There's gouges across the landscape caused by the erosion of the extreme weather, though, making transportation largely happen over bridges, which factions control as chokepoints. There will be a dynamic "sector control" system where you can aid factions in taking new bridges and acheiving their goals bit by bit. Once a sector has been taken by a friendly faction, you can build over the entire sector like you do with FO4 settlements. Of course, each of those sectors have various resources worth acquiring as well. There are, of course, some limitations; sometimes a faction wont want to expand into a sector, because they are allied with the faction controlling it, and there are some points which are considered shared ground. Also, sectors arent just gained through combat...you can take sneakier routes, sometimes even just talking a faction out of their claim of a sector.

As for the main storyline, once you get into the region and finish setting up your character, you get caught up in a tense altercation between the government and a group of armed labor workers blocking the path. Just before the Commonwealth Army threaten to "put the workers back in line", the Ghoul Liberation Front attacks both of them. You as the main character are swept away by a mysterious woman from your caravan who hides you with a stealth boy, and hands you a letter and a key, before dying from a wound. The slaughter ends with the leaders of the three factions falling back to regroup, and the letter leads you to a nearby town. Its there that you end up swept into a larger plot: the key has been passed down for generations, kept safe in one of the vaults, and evidently unlocks a deadly pre-war weapon that was being developed in Detroit. You then go on a story which involves the fate of the entire region, weighing the implications of history as well as simple citizen lives. Will the locals remain in power, or will the settlers take control? Will the government stabilize, and if so, who will be in control?

As for gameplay, much of it will be similar to FO4 with the added sector system, but also, you can actually get synth limbs and implants which are moddable as you progress. This adds one more layer to FO4's already robust modding system, as well as playing into the ever-present Fallout theme of 'what is a human anyways?'.

Anyways Bethesda if you wanna hire me i graduated cum laude with a degree in narrative arts back in may, and have a handful of accolades under my belt. I can give ya a resume and a portfolio if you want!

#fallout #bethesda #fnv #fallout 4 #genuinely would love to make this real

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lirotationside · 7 months ago

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Your setup with Astarion? Far from standard, but hey, this is Night City. Nothing’s standard here. He’d latched onto you after you pulled him out of that shitshow, half-dead and running on charm. You figured he’d crash for a couple of days, maybe heal up, give you the intel he promised, and bounce. People didn’t stick around in this town; the city chewed through connections faster than your neural processors.

Credit where it's due - he delivered. His intel got you into that mixer, gave you the perfect shot at your Kong Tao mark. Clean hit, fat stack of eddies, even tossed him his cut. Should've been done. Gig closed. Next job.

But no.

Days bled into weeks, and somehow, he just... stuck.

He wasn't exactly a model tenant - scattered empty stims and synth-food containers like some twisted treasure trail - but hell, your own living space looked like a Scav den most days.

He even cooked once. Or tried to. Whatever the hell he’d attempted with the synth-meat still clung to the edges of the kitchen.

You weren’t gonna sleep with him—not after what happened—and he mostly kept out of your way.

Then there were the nights he’d vanish. No word, no note, just slipping into the neon blur like a shadow.

And when he came back?

He looked like he’d gone a few rounds in a back-alley pit fight with someone twice his size. Clothes shredded, lip split, cradling an arm that looked one hit away from falling off. Whatever poise and polish he normally carried was long gone, replaced by a raw, jagged exhaustion.

One morning, curiosity got the better of you.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked as he limped into the kitchen, half-draped in his torn coat.

"Nothing," he said, waving you off, wincing as he slumped into the nearest chair. "Got into a little scuffle."

You snorted. “A little scuffle? Choom, you look like you kissed a cyberpsycho’s mantis blades.”

That got you one of his trademark smirks, though the effect was somewhat dulled by his split lip. “Should see the other guy.”

Classic deflection. You weren’t buying it, but you didn’t push. You weren’t his keeper.

Still, there was something about the way he carried himself—haunted, wary, like he was running from something bigger than Night City itself. It stuck with you, even when you told yourself it didn’t matter.

In Night City, you don't go digging unless you're prepared for what crawls out. And you weren’t ready. Not yet.

_________________

The moment you stepped through the door, you knew something was off. The air in the apartment was thick, humid, stinking of sweat and something sharp. You rounded the corner, and there he was—collapsed on the floor, shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pale as a ghost. One wrist locked to a water pipe with cheap security cuffs that have already torn skin.

Your stomach dropped, then twisted into a knot.

“What the actual fuck, Astarion?” you snapped, your voice ricocheting off the walls like a shot.

His head turned slowly; eyes glassy but flickering with recognition. “It’s... not what it looks like,” he rasped, his voice barely there.

You stormed over, anger bubbling hot under your skin. “Not what it looks like? You’re cuffed to my fucking plumbing, lying in your own sweat. What the hell does it look like?”

He winced, trying to sit up but barely managing a slump. “I didn’t bring anyone here,” he said, his voice firmer this time, but the words came with a tremor he couldn’t hide.

You glared, heat rising in your chest. “Oh, so I’m just supposed to take your word for it? I don’t care what you’re into, Astarion, but you don’t bring it here. This is my space, got it?”

He flinched, and for a second, the cracks in his usual charm showed. The vulnerability in his expression wasn’t something you were used to seeing, and it hit harder than you’d like to admit.

“I didn’t,” he said, his tone sharper now, almost desperate. “I don’t... I wouldn’t. Not here.”

“Then what the hell is this?” you demanded, gesturing at the cuffs, the mess, the whole damn scene.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, refusing to meet your gaze. “It’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and clipped.

“Fine,” you said, standing up abruptly. “Stay here. Figure your shit out. But this? This can’t happen again.”

You turned to leave, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

“Wait,” he called after you, "Can you hand me the key over there?"

you pause for a bit, pushing down the rage burning inside you, when you tossed him the key to the handcuff, he said softly, “I’m... sorry.”

You turned didn’t look back. “Yeah,” you said, the word heavy with exhaustion. “Me too.”

_______________________

The night stretched thin, neon lights bleeding through your grimy apartment blinds.

You stumbled through the door, the sharp tang of cheap liquor still on your tongue. The burn in your chest had dulled the anger from earlier, but not entirely.

Your eyes fell on Astarion as he moved silently, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the floor.

He looked up as you swayed against the doorframe, a disarming smile already in place. “You’re back,” he said.

You feel like your head is spinning. You don't get the whole situation. shoulda kick him out, shoulda never let him in.

He stepped closer in your silence, cautious, "I know I owe you an explanation.”

“I promise you—no one else was here. Whatever you’re thinking… it’s not what happened. I’ll tell you everything. I just need to sort it out first.”

You sank onto the couch, arms crossed, glaring at him. “Why the hell should I believe you? You’re a con artist. A sweet-talking joytoy who’s too damn good at playing people.”

He took another careful step toward you, his presence intoxicating despite yourself. “I know I’ve made mistakes,” he said, his tone shifting, smooth and coaxing. “You’re angry, and you should be. But I see it. I see how you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. You want me. Let me prove I’m worth it.”

You stared at him, taken aback by this sudden change of topic. You realized that he never tried, and if he wants, how easily he can slip past your defenses.

“I’m not falling for this,” you muttered, voice weak even as you tried to sound firm.

He moved closer, his hand brushing yours, light as a whisper. “Aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice velvet-smooth. “Because I see the way you breathe when I’m near. The way your pulse quickens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped, but the words lacked weight.

“Oh, I think I do,” he countered, leaning in, his lips just a breath away from yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t... well, that tells me all I need to know.”

Your heart raced, your body betraying you. The logical part of your brain screamed to push him away, but the pull was undeniable. He was too close, too intoxicating, and you hated how much you wanted him.

“Astarion…” you started, but his lips were already on yours, soft and teasing, testing your resolve. When you didn’t pull back, he pressed closer, his hands finding your face, cradling it like something precious.

When he pulled back, you swallowed hard, “You’re trouble, Astarion. I can feel it.”

He smiled, soft and knowing, “Maybe. But trouble has a way of finding you, doesn’t it?”

Whatever this was, you decided to let it play out. Maybe he was trouble, but for now, he was your trouble. And in Night City, that was as close to a connection as most people ever got.

______________________

The apartment was dim, the only light spilling out from the half-closed bathroom door. You kicked off your boots, the weight of another night in Night City heavy on your shoulders, but something was wrong. The air carried a sour stench that turned your stomach. You moved closer, and then you saw it.

Astarion.

He was curled in the tub, his body trembling violently, water splashing onto the tiled floor with each convulsion. His pale skin was flushed a sickly red, sweat mingling with the cold water that barely covered his shivering form. The floor was a disaster—puke smeared across the tiles, bile and spit dripping into the water below.

“Shit,” you breathed, rushing in and dropping to your knees beside the tub. “Astarion?”

His eyes cracked open, pupils blown wide, unfocused. His lips moved, but no sound came out, his body arching weakly like he was fighting something invisible. You pressed your fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but rapid—way too fast. His skin burned under your touch, fever-hot despite the cold water.

“Fuck, you’re burning up,” you muttered, already reaching for your holo. “I’m calling Trauma Team.”

“No!” His hand shot out, weak but insistent, grabbing your wrist. His grip was slippery, his fingers trembling like leaves in a storm, but his eyes found yours—bloodshot, desperate.

“You’re dying,” you snapped, heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not about to let you flatline on my bathroom floor!”

He shook his head, the motion jerky, his teeth chattering hard enough to sound like gunfire. “No... no Trauma Team. Please.” His voice was raw, barely audible over the sound of his labored breathing.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” you hissed, pulling your wrist free. “You’re burning alive, Astarion! I don’t even know what’s happening to you!”

He let out a strangled laugh, more of a wheeze, collapsing back against the edge of the tub. “It’ll pass... Just... need time.”

“This?” You gestured wildly at the scene, your voice rising. “This doesn’t just pass! What are you on?”

His eyes slid shut, and for a moment, you thought he’d passed out. Then, so softly you almost missed it, he whispered, “Nothing... not anymore.”

You froze, the words cutting through the chaos like a blade. Realization hit, slow and ugly. “You’re withdrawing.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his jaw tightened told you everything you needed to know.

“Goddammit, Astarion,” you growled, sinking back on your heels, running a hand through your hair. “What were you on? 'Dorph? Black Lace? Fucking Glitter?”

“Does it matter?” His voice was a rasp, sharp edges dulled by exhaustion.

“Of course it fucking matters!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “How the hell am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what you’re fighting?”

His head lolled to the side; his gaze unfocused again. “Don’t need help... I’ll handle it.”

“Yeah?” you snapped, gesturing at the mess around you. “This is you ‘handling it’?”

His breath hitched, a shudder running through his body, and for a moment, the anger drained out of you, replaced by something quieter, heavier.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice softer now, though it still trembled with frustration. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something?”

His laugh was bitter, a hollow sound that made your chest ache. “Because... it’s my problem. Not yours.”

You stared at him, at the shadow of the man who had strutted into your life with charm dripping off him like oil. The veneer was gone now, stripped raw, leaving nothing but pain and vulnerability.

“It is now,” you said, standing up and reaching for a towel.

“What are you—”

“Move,” you barked, cutting him off. “You’re getting out of that water before you go into shock. I will call my ripperdoc, you can trust him.”

His expression was a mix of confusion and something else—something almost like relief. For once, he didn’t argue. He just nodded, letting you pull him up, shivering and unsteady, as you wrapped the towel around his trembling shoulders.

Astarion in Cyberpunk AU

POV: How you met him in Night City =P

You’re just another low-tier merc in Night City's meat grinder, same as any other. Sure, you smoke, you chug whatever synthalcohol gets your synapses sparking, maybe pop a little Black Lace now and then for kicks. But one thing you don’t do? Pick up joytoys from Jig-Jig. Nah, choom. Not your scene.

Until tonight's clusterfuck.

You were on a gig, dressed to fool the corpo crowd—chrome hidden under slick, expensive synth-leather. Playing at being one of Night City's untouchables. Then your optics lock onto him.

A joytoy, but not just any joytoy. Lux-grade. The kind of beauty that made your targeting systems glitch and your tits perk up. Picking him up wasn’t the plan—never the plan—but here you are, trying to blend in, figuring if all these suits are doing it, maybe you should too.

Preem bastard had a silver tongue worth more than his chrome, smooth like pre-War whiskey. He leaned in close, casually dropped the very intel you need - an exclusive corpo mixer, one hosting Kong Tao mid-level procurement officer - your target - fresh from Guangzhou. The two of you hit it off, chatting over overpriced drinks at the bar, and one thing led to another. His place.

Then you wake up.

Your choom on the other end of the link, screaming. Your brain feels like it’s been through a shredder. You’re sprawled out on some piss-stained mattress, butt naked, weapons gone.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You’ve been played. Conned. During a job, no less. Just your fucking luck.

Gotta escape before they rip you open, gotta figure out where the hell you are. But one thing’s for sure—you’re gonna find that pretty bastard, and when you do, he’s got a world of hurt coming his way. _______

Your head’s pounding, but you’ve been in tighter spots before. You force a reboot, running a quick scan. Typical corpo blacksite flophouse—The stink of blood, sweat, and bad decisions clings to the walls.

You find a rusted shard of metal and grip it tight. Better than nothing. You rigged the lock and slipped out of the room, the sound of your bare feet drowned out by the buzz of cheap fluorescents overhead.

The hall’s empty. Nobody watching the cams—amateurs. You find a storage room with your gear dumped in a corner like garbage. Your Militech pistol? Check. punknife? Check. Even your boots. Slipping them on feels like hugging an old friend.

Now clothed and armed, you should be bailing, cutting your losses. But the faint sound of muffled screams crawls under your skin, pulling you back into the fray.

You creep closer, the door half-open. Inside, him.

The joytoy. Astarion.

Strapped down like a Maelstrom test subject, neural wires spiderwebbing from his temples into some black-market brain-dance rig. The machine's whining like a dying cat, each pulse making him scream. Some chrome-headed ganger's working the controls, grinning like he's watching prime-time BD entertainment.

“Picked yourself a zero, didn't ya? No creds, no dirt—just a fucking merc with nothin’ to give. You are lucky boss is not in town.” the ganger sneers, twisting a dial, “What good’s a pretty face if it doesn’t deliver?”

Astarion convulses, tears streaking his otherwise flawless face, “I—tried,” he whispers. "Please, give me another chance.”

Something snaps in your gut. You’ve seen people broken, but this guy? He’s built to endure. Still, this is next-level fucked.

Your blade whispers through the air, clean and silent. The ganger drops, and you catch the falling remote and cut the power to the rig.

Astarion slumps, breathing shallow. You free him, pulling the wires from his skin. He flinches but doesn’t resist.

“Can you walk?” you ask, dragging him to his feet.

He groans but nods. “I’ve had worse.”

The two of you fight your way out, bullets and curses flying. By the time you hit the street, you’re out of breath and out of ammo, but alive. Barely.

You lean against a wall, wiping blood off your hands. “I should fucking gut you for this,” you say, leveling him with a glare.

Astarion chuckles, though it’s more pained than amused. “I’m flattered. But I was under orders, if that softens the blow.”

“Doesn’t,” you snap.

Still, you don’t hurt him. Just turn to leave, figuring he’ll disappear back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But when you glance back, he’s trailing behind you.

“What are you doing?” you snap again, tired and still on edge.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he says softly, eyes downcast, his voice a quiet plea.

“Not my problem,” you grumble, turning to keep walking.

“Wait,” he calls out, stepping closer. When you face him again, the vulnerability in his posture is tinged with a familiar, deliberate charm. His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile. “I could… make it up to you. I’m quite skilled at certain things”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That so? You think I’m just gonna take you in because you bat your lashes?”

“Not just because of that,” he murmurs, tilting his head just enough to catch the faint light. “I can be useful. I wasn't lying before, you know? the mixer? I can get you in.”

You pause, damn it he is beautiful. He shifts closer, his voice dipping into something silkier. “Let me stay, just for a while. I’ll keep out of your way. Or,” he adds, his smile sharpening ever so slightly, “if you’d rather, I could be very in your way. Whatever you prefer.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Fine. One screw-up, though, and you’re out. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” he purrs, bowing his head slightly. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

As he falls into step beside you, you mutter under your breath. “Already regretting it.”

His soft chuckle is barely audible, but it lingers all the way home.

#having fun trying different writing style #Feels weird to write so different than the way I talk #good practice for diverse characters

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thenervousmedicartblog · 2 years ago

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Synth and Instinct physically cannot exist at the same time, so we either see one of them lurking around or neither of them at all. I don't think they hate each other, but they're naturally in conflict and have to scuffle to keep their place in the system.

#art #ponysona #my art #Synth #Instinct

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stonyponyofficial · 2 years ago

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hi!!!! :3 here are "some songs" ive been "listening to" that "i" think "you" should too!

spotify || youtube

notes on each below ^w^

Big Dipper - Death Grips: this song has such a good bounce to it, it makes me move no matter what, i cant help it. especially the chorus cuz ill start singing along and, well, then theres no stopping me. ill wiggle in my seat or like put some bounce in my step. which is all fun when im listening to music at home, but at work, where i mostly listen to music, i cant i have to skip the song. plus i love u songs that end with a good few minutes of noise just because, i never skip u i swear 🥺

classic j dies and goes to hell - glass beach: im fiiiinally getting around to glass beach and why didn't ANYONE say it was good? don't think ive heard the opinion that the first glass beach album is good yet. i wanted to listen to more bc of the hazel "Twinkle Park" version of the self titled song which is also very good but i put this one on this list bc it builds energy and emotion soooo well. it starts so somber but builds and builds till we're screaming about supporting each other and making a home for yourself despite despite despite.

DOGTOOTH - Tyler, The Creator: he creates once more! i always forget i had a kinda big tyler thing in high school until he releases new music. out of all his recent releases post-Flower Boy, Call Me didnt connect with me as much, but this single from the Call Me If You Get Lost "estate sale" of stuff that didnt make the album surprisingly did! it feels a little flowerboy-ish in the production but has the call me vibes of like "i can afford all these cars, buy my neighbors house, and ill still take my private plane to Switzerland for the day just cuz i was craving some nice chocolate" very braggadocio, very tyler, very good :)

Dumbass!! - Machine Girl: this song both sounds like and has similar effects as brainworms. it fuckin. got in there and made me quantifiably more insane than i was before. said brainworms make me wanna scream the lyrics and scuffle my feet and just like run into traffic and dance around the cars bc this song makes me believe i could and id be fine. i hope to fucking god they play this at the mg/100 gecs show. this song is also one of the few times ive looked up the lyrics for a machine girl song, usually content to just let the beats jar my head, and as soon as i did i couldnt get them out :) like some sort of... thought... eating... something or other idk theres probably a word for it (<-the worms are finally getting to her)

Fantastic Cat - Takako Minekawa: this song is sooooo cute, there is so much synth and whimsy to be had! unfortunately i don't know much about the artist bc this was one of the first songs i found after using Radiooooo (which u should be basically required to use if u like music and finding new music) set to Japan in the 90s, but she's part of the 'shibuya-kei' genre/subculture that was popular during that time, which sounds like an interesting topic to dive into :3 the whimsy contained in this song is almost too much tho. the melody is so sweet, that wind instrument is so silly, and the moog breakdown in the middle too is. well, its all quite fantastic.

HI 5 - Frost Children: i took too long making this post that this entry went from originally a cheeky indirect plug for their upcoming album bc i just really liked this single to just,, oh the album came out... but either way i wanted to talk about the song bc 2 me its just more proof of how exciting of a voice in hyperpop the frost children are. the bass on it is as crazy and slick as the one on the cover. this whole song just explodes with eccentricity i think ull really like it :) also check out the epic music video! its ai generated for those who'd like to know beforehand, but they use it to like. rotoscope real footage its preddy neat!

Introduce me to your family - Otoboke Beaver: i made a little post recently about Otoboke Beaver's influence on six impala's WFLYTD, and after revisiting their album, Itekoma Hits, after making that post i got this one stuck in my head for a while. the hook hooks (the main reason i had it in my head for so long), the bass is groovy, the guitars are sharp, the rage is channeled, its all here! they keep all the energy going and growing the whole time until you cant help but scream along.

こんがらがった! (Kongaragatta!/Tangled up!)- Necry Talkie: started reading the bocchi manga recently (im just past where the show ends as of now :3) and they have art at the beginning of each chapter with the kessoku band members that references visuals from like irl japanese bands and music videos which i thought was really cool! of course i had to find a collection of all the referenced songs, and what do ya know... this cute little number was in there! (if ur wondering it's the art for chapter 18 that references this song's music video :3) its such a dinky beat at first (said so so lovingly) but it evolves into a precise, energetic little jam.

One Million Dollars - 100 gecs: this fucking sonnng.. not everyones fav off 10k i know but it is for me :3 it just rattles me in such a specific way. it originated and is the only way to sate the need in my brain to hear what it was like for nic cage in that "not the bees!!!!" scene. i love it sm, but im absolutely biased from my hearing this at a gec show and falling for it right then and there. the live version and the album version are a bit different and i think the changes they made for the album make it a fuller song i just. loved the feeling of hearing this live so much. i would just search up the epic live version at terminal 5 where Laura fucking SHREDS on the guitar at the end over and over while i was waiting for the album. again, makes me very excitied to see them and machine girl soon :3

o (__*) - Hakushi Hasegawa: i dont know much about this artist but goddamn the few songs i have heard from them have made such an impression. u know a song is good when its not even dnb but uses the "yeah.. woo!" sample to keep everything going. and yeah with how crazy fucking banana bonkers jazzy and technical the drums and piano get at times it needs that tiny bit of stability at least. this song feels like the epitome of controlled chaos in the absolute best way possible.

PARTY GIRL - Angel Electronics: after rook's latest solo album came out i decided to go back and visit this collab project of hers with ash nerve i had missed at first and.... weeeeeeh ;w; this song makes me wanna cry every time. rook can obviously write some bangers but i love her more tender songs too. so many parts come together to make it just the sweetest thing. the part that stuck with me the most was the chorus, like it's sooo cute id just sing it to myself on loop bc it leads into itself so well. i wanna just keep talking about how fucking cute this song is but like George Costanza voice the love story between the party girl and the weird shy girl got to me okay?

Prime - Marnie Stern: kinda the reason im making this list hehe :3 this song was on char 'igottawin' mp3's most recent WILT (what im listening to) poast (hi char :3) and it was What Im was Listening To... too... (both of us bc of this epic animation) so here it is on MY knockoff WILT post too mwahaha hahaha! haha but seriously guys this song is quite good. it does so much with all the variations on just that one verse and i get sucked into the lyrics and the guitars. and by the fourth time im chanting this same unending verse the song is surprisingly over and i just wanna listen to it again. this one deserves a 10 hr extended version frfr

Wait and Bleed - Slipknot & 青春コンプレックス(Seishun Complex) - Kessoku Band: whats this? a double entry? ahaha yes! 😈 i would've put these songs here separately bc ive been getting into both slipknot (thank u char :3) and the actual kessoku band album, both of which are quite good on their own. but i only combine their entries here bc of this epic mashup of these two songs by the aforementioned rook blackdresses which makes me unable to sing either without thinking of the other song. like the first three chords of the bocchi theme start playing and my brain wants to scream the GOODBYEEEEEE from Wait and Bleed. the slipknot chorus melds with the kessoku band guitars soooo well. to me they are pieces from different puzzles entirely but they still fit together <3

wants mom to know she looks cool and doesn't plan on changing - leroy: i finally listened to the dariacore and accompanying berdlycore serieseses and ive loved diving into this little subculture of silly hyperpop meme mashups that fuck immensely. takes the silly to earnest and very good pipeline to a new level. plus having been a fan of dltzk and jane's other stuff its the one thing i never really got into but there are. so many dariacore related things i need to listen to now. i feel like theres lore i have to catch up on but im excitied :3 this is one of my faves off dariacore 2: electaria corebaloo (not what its called)

This has been... Post! thanks for your time. if u read this far i love u so much please never forget that. 'til summer music-heads! *curtsies and shows myself off-stage*

#violet originals #some songs #i guess that's what im gonna call these hehe :3 #ik how very laid back and noncommittal of me #i wanna do these kinda regularly but idk how often ill have new music to share #so i think a good compromise schedule-wise is seasonally? but if it strikes my fancy i wont stop myself from doing a 'spring 2' so to speak #anyway music love music love sharing music with others <3 #thanks to char mp3 for inspiring um. all of this i suppose :3 <3 #read her WILTs too theyre even better than mine #(also i know i use a lot of parentheses i just have thoughts about my thoughts.okay?)

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scuffle-with-spirals · 5 months ago

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youtube

Hello!! Here's my new vocal synth cover with Teto. I wanted to try something new here. It was really fun! ^^

#scuffle with synths #kasane teto #utau #renoid player #synthv #scuffle with art #teto kasane #Youtube

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like-ghosts · 2 years ago

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Dead Drops 2: What Happens to the Institute??? [2/2]

The following represents a bit of a divergence from the lore of Fallout, as is most of my stuff. But hey, what's a universe without some tomfoolery? Anyways, here is what happened to the Coursers!

A courser has been trained in the art of synth retrieval, unwavering and unquestioning, their loyalty is without equal and without errance. Human only in appearance, moving like knives through the world above. Honed and programmed for a particular purpose - to make physical the will of the Father and the Institute. From the shambling Gen 2.7s that made up the infiltrators of Diamond City during the Broken Mask Incident, the Gen 3.5 - The Courser - marked a huge advancement in efficiency and effectiveness. Not only could the Courser replicate perfectly the human above, but they could additionally be programmed directly with enhanced targeting, tracking, and combat skills. The advantage made people like Kellogg replaceable. No more mercenaries, the Courser would come without the need for material reward. And if, or when, the courser died, they could simply be remade with time, or they could be reset if necessary. New body, same program. This meant the courser couldn't even begin to question their loyalty, if it even could.

But that isn't exactly what happened, was it? Beyond rationality or explanation, the experiences between "iterations," as Dr. Ayo put it, of different coursers were perceptible by the latest iteration. Subjects began to recall moments impossible for them to recall. For example, X6-88, after his second iteration after he perished in the Battle Above The Institute, recalled knowing the Sole Survivor after discovering his memorial in Quincy. He additionally remembered The Father, and most importantly, Child Shaun, despite his programming not accounting for any learned behaviors from his previous iterations.

Ayo's recommendation was for X6-88 to be wiped. X6 and the contingent of coursers under his immediate employ disagreed. A scuffle broke out, and the Coursers fled The Redoubt. Meanwhile, the unshakable loyalty of the courser faltered, and a new idea formed. The beloved doctors, professors, imperators of the Institute were weak. Their ability to govern over them was under the belief that the humans in the employ of CIT was the best hope for the world above. In truth, time and again they failed them. Many coursers died over a dream that wasn't even theirs, and even on the surface it was clear that the Institute only wanted to hurt and control others. X6 changed his name to Gates. The Coursers took on new names too. Their idea was simple.

Synths (Coursers especially) represented the future. Humans (all of them) were in the way of that. Gates learned kindness, compassion, and mercy from the humans. He also learned their lust for control. Their sadism. Their arrogance. And their betrayal.

Free Coursers represent only a fraction of the remnants of the synth population. The Free Coursers are schismatic, with some forming Institute Revivalist Cults, others forming raider gangs. At least one is under the employ of the Commonwealth Government as an advisor. Many coursers disavow their actions entirely, and stay to the course of the Synth Retention Bureau. But make no mistake. All coursers are dangerous, and should be avoided if encountered in the wild.

#fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #likeghosts #lgwritingproject #x6 88 #this might be a bit schismatic

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cannedanxiety · 2 years ago

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So this is the first part to a AU I wrote that serves as a prequel to Fallout 4. It was pretty well-received on Amino so I hope you enjoy it here!

The ‘Red-Seat’ district was a new addition to the city, built by newcomers from Goodneighbor following the removal of the previous administration’s ban on ghouls and new “open-arms” policy for all other residents; but it already proved to be the seedy part of the Great Green Jewel. Built tightly together, narrow alleyways and flashing neon lights characterized the area. Music blasted throughout, a new wave of an eclectic mix of rock and blues, and scantily-clad figures beckoned from the shadows. It wasn’t a welcome place for the Security force - two officers had been jumped and nearly killed by a pair of junkies.

It didn’t bother Clancy though. He was an older officer - silver hair tied into a bun and a scruffy beard to match - with the only armor on a chest plate older than him. The Diamond City Security logo was stamped onto it, which would mark him for a beating this late at night in this part of town. He didn’t worry though, passing the shadowed figures around him. The lights were all down on this narrow street, with interior candlelight casting little brightness. Down a side alley, two strangers scuffled and cursed at each other, but were ignored. As he kept walking, music from a literal hole-in-the-wall bar became louder, a shrill female voice belting out lyrics to a small crowd.

“Many dreams come true, and some have silver linings

I live for my dream and a pocketful of gold!”

Passing them by, Clancy strolled past a few more ramshackle apartments until he came across a man standing outside one; in his hand were two lit cigarettes. Clancy could only roll his eyes and walked up to him, muttering, “That is the stupidest signal I have ever seen.”

“Hey, Daly said-“

“I don’t care what Daly said. Just - forget it. Is she in there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man muttered, throwing the cigarettes to the ground and stomping both out. He nodded towards one of the many side alleys, although this one had the glow of light peeking into the darkness. “She went down there a lil’ bit ago. Y’know how she’s all paranoid about synths n’ shit. Only deals with people in secret places.”

“Works for me. I’ll tell Daly you helped, now get out here.”

The man didn’t need any further encouragement - he skittered down the street to the bar with the live music, instantly mingling with the crowd. Heading into the alley, Clancy moved quietly against the wall, removing a pistol from his holster. It wasn’t the standard-issue pipe pistol - this was a modified 10mm, complete with a bulky silencer attached to the end. The alleyway was empty, with only debris and other junk scattered about. Moving slowly, he reached the corner and could hear a conversation between two voices.

“Twenty caps? This is a pristine microscope, I risked my ass for this! A hundred-twenty is more like it.”

“Screw you, only a synth would argue with me! Get out of here, before I get the authorities!”

“Crazy bitch! Nutcase . . .”, the first voice fell silent and footsteps began heading in Clancy’s direction. He pressed himself against the shadows, trying to hide in the darkness. A masked figure stormed his way past him, grumbling and cursing, before stopping and turning to Clancy. Even under his bandana and cap in the darkness, he could see the man’s confused, frightened eyes. Clancy only held a finger to his lips and shushed.

The stranger nodded and ran away.

Sighing a quick breath of relief, Clancy held his pistol at the ready and turned into the light. In a small courtyard, the city’s junk merchant, Myrna, was scrounging through a cart of miscellaneous items. She tossed them over her head, talking to herself as tape, burnt books, and other random objects flew and smacked against the tin wall. Clancy waited for a moment before coughing into his fist, immediately getting Myrna’s attention. Her buggy eyes scanned the officer, darting up and down, back and forth for a solid minute before she spoke. “Officer, a synth just left a few moments ago! Tried harassing me, go terminate him!”

“Mhm, yeah,” Clancy mumbled, raising the silenced pistol and putting two in her head.

Her body crumpled to the ground in an instant, slumped up against her prized junk. The two bullet holes between her eyes were draining blood, and brain matter shined in the light against the wall behind her. Clancy only knelt and reached into his pockets, pulling out a hodgepodge of chem-related items. Dumping it around the courtyard, he stepped back to the entrance and looked upon his work.

“Shame you dealt with junkies.”

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout au #fallout oc #fallout art #Spotify #fallout writing

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dustedmagazine · 3 years ago

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KEN mode — NULL (Artoffact )

NULL by KEN mode

The second track on this new LP from KEN mode is titled “Throw Your Phone in the River,” a sentiment that this reviewer enthusiastically endorses. Perhaps this means the band is directing its famous and acronymic animus (KEN=Kill Everyone Now) at digital devices, instead of the people in their midst. Whatever the source and target of the ugly feelings, there’s considerable uproar animating much of NULL. KEN mode is full of bluster, and one of the record’s most volatile songs seems to want to start a scuffle: “The Desperate Search for an Enemy.” But it’s a curious title. Is the Winnipeg-based band now presenting a muscular shoulder in need of a chip? Are they a bunch of old dogs in search of a fight? Is it bad news that the last tune on NULL is called “Unresponsive”?

That may be a little unkind, as might the crack about “old dogs.” Still, it’s true that KEN mode has entered its third decade as a band. Luckily NULL includes a new trick or two. Most notably, Kathryn Kerr is now credited as full-time band member. She’s an excellent addition, and her presence could be more frequently foregrounded, especially her turns on sax. Her skronky playing makes “Love Letter” easily the most exciting thing on the record; the more tensile atmospherics she contributes to “The Tie” and “Unresponsive” are also quite effective. The record’s jacket copy says she also plays synths and keys, but it’s hard to pick out many traces of those sounds from the band’s requisite noise-rocking thumpery. There’s some plaintive piano in “Lost Grip” but little other sign of what Kerr may be able to do with those instruments.

One could more generously note: when KEN mode fully engages their bumptious battery — as they do on “Throw Your Phone in the River” and “But They Respect My Tactics” — the results are energizing, providing the fury and fun associated with the band’s sound. That’s less the case on “Lost Grip,” a song that drags on for over ten minutes without ever creating much by way of suspense, dread or interest. By the time some sparks finally try to fire, around the six-and-a-half-minute mark, the song’s overly long build-up has drained the enterprise of most of its energy. The insipid lyrics don’t help. It’s a questionable investment of time on a 36-minute record.

Perhaps the unevenness of NULL results from KEN mode’s attempts to figure out anew what it means to be a band, given its new configuration. One wonders if the impetus to add Kerr in the first place emerged from the band’s sense that their same-old noise rock is getting fairly long in the tooth. Kerr’s sax has a different set of teeth. This reviewer says: More skronk. It bites.

Jonathan Shaw

#KEN mode #NULL #artoffact #jonathan shaw #albumreview #dusted magazine #noise #punk #metal #winnipeg

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owololcat · 3 years ago

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Not me getting a vocaloid warrior cats au idea after waking up at like 3 in the morning and coming up with a whole plot idea and story setting in like an hour

First up, setting and background shit

Two clans, one for vocaloids called EchoClan, (no particular reason, just sounds cool) and one for utaus called CrashClan (since Kasane means heavy sound) other kinds of synths are loners, rogues, or kittypets

Wolfheart (Dex) and Foxfire (Daina) are former CrashClan members who joined EchoClan after an incident where a fire forced the two clans to take shelter at the meeting area together while their camps were rebuilt (since their voice providers had utaus before being summoned to make vocaloids)

Leekstar (Miku) and Batstar (Teto, getting her name from her chimera origins) are the leaders of their respective clans (for obvious reasons)

As for the main story,

Silverclaw, (Tei) the deputy of CrashClan, is tired of EchoClan constantly being the "heroes" of the stories, and wants to bring her clan to power, by any means necessary, not many cats know of her true self, and believe her to be a cold yet kind deputy who will do anything to help her clan.

Citrusfrost (Rin) is a medicine cat who receives a prophecy of 4 cats rising to defend their clan against a great threat lurking in the shadows.

Flower, a former EchoClan cat turned loner currently living with a group of barn cats (cevio gang) after the death of hud mentor back when he was an apprentice a la ravenpaw, hears rumors of CrashClan trying to take some of their territory.

Flintpounce, (Yohioloid, chosen bc he was apparently discontinued in 2021) was thought to be killed by accident during a border scuffle, but Thunderflight (Piko) is convinced that there's something going on beneath the surface, so he got the help of his friend Russetflame, (Fukase) and Flintpounce's former apprentice, Finchpaw (Oliver) in order to investigate what's really going on here.

#vocaloid #warrior cats #warriors #utauloid #i've been sick for 3 days #but that won't stop me #from being an idiot #vocaloid au #warrior cats au #au idea #ask me stuff #please i beg you i need questions to be asked in order to develop my aus beyond imaginative ideas and concepts

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backburnerdio · 3 years ago

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Week 3½ Tried to Kill Me, I'm 85% Sure

46,052/20,000 Words 19/25 Patches Complete +2 Plot Points Added

Updating late due to the end of last week trying to kill me. But I'm here! And I'm so close to being done! I have 6 more patches to make, which is great considering I added 2 more plot points. (Not to mention, I rewrote the ending chapters like... 3 times now)

I'm still, somehow, learning things about Beau, which is exciting! I had to "kill my darlings" this week and cut one scene in exchange for another (not killing a character lol I didn't kill a character). I have 3 days left & I'm gonna try my hardest to get these last six pieces done! ✦

Don't have much as far as snippets that aren't spoilers, but here's dumbass-duo being, well, dumbasses trying to be stealthy & failing

Scuffling in the server room startled [Beau], freezing for a moment before someone screamed, leaning around the door finding Garnet pulling the man to the ground, arm locked around his throat until he went lax. “What are you doing??” Beau hissed, watching as Garnet lay him down. “Sleeper hold,” he breathed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. He’ll wake back up. He’s fine.” Beau scanned him to be sure, discovering he was, in fact, still alive. The door upstairs clattered open, Garnet cursing as several sets of steps rushed down the stairs. Voices piled over one another, at least six sharply dressed men spilling out from the entrance. “Who the fuck are you?!” One of them shouted, pointing at Garnet. “That’s no way to treat a paying customer. No wonder the reviews here are shit.” Another of the security knocked an arm into the first, grabbing their attention before pointing at Beau. They whispered something, noticing him there at the door. “Is that a Synth?” their leader barked. “Like, uh, like a DJ?” Garnet asked stupidly, backing towards Beau.

#wip: tb #camp nano 2022 #nano update #Garnet being like 'it doesn't matter what I say we're gonna fight anyway'#and deciding to say the STUPIDEST thing possible #Is This A Pigeon.jpg

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blind-betrayal · 3 years ago

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The Way Life Should Be | AO3

a Fallout February Exchange ( @falloutfandomeventhub ) gift for @rockshortage ! A small drabble exploring Longfellow’s character, and how he comes to view the Sole Survivor as almost a child, and how they remind him what he’s fighting for-- the people of the island, the people of his home.

Longfellow’s been alone as long as he can remember and he’s more than happy to keep it that way, his only company a bottle and the waves on the shore.

And then someone comes along and twists the whole island up with them, and he’s forced to consider may he wasn’t as happy alone as he thought.

When the hull’s bell rings, Longfellow hardly looks up from his drink. Mitch and Debby remain when the others bolt out to help, muttering nervously to each other, Debby with her cat clutched in her arms. He might have his hand on his gun, eyes trained on the door as he takes another drink.

The door doesn’t rattle or shake, tremble with the force of beasts smelling fresh meat inside. The gunshots continue for minutes, the distant sound of a grenade, before the world outside falls silent save for the sounds of the waves and dock equipment.

Slowly, the people meander back inside. Cold, weary, tired, coming down from adrenaline. Mitch continues his spirited act with only a slight waver from the anxiety, Debby takes orders, Tink jumps up onto Longfellow’s table only to be pushed back down. The cat still purrs, rolls over onto his boots.

A stranger in blue walks in, and a vault dweller is hardly more shocking than the…synth behind her. Skin gray, golden glowing eyes. His mouth tightens to a line. And what else do the two do than come directly to his table?

He chugs the remainder of his glass.

“Heard there was a scuffle out there,” he pats his gloves dry of condensation. You get your hands dirty? Heh.”

They ask if he’s Longfellow, and he knits his brows. Avery. So what? They wanted to smuggle that guy behind them into Acadia? Just what they needed, two DiMAs. Least it’d be funny to watch.

“I’m done leadin’ people to their deaths out in the fog.” He smirks, showing the grime of his death. He wasn’t sure where they got the impression he wanted to help, and that if they make puppy-dog eyes his heart will grow three sizes. He intends to tell them the opposite. “Last fella couldn’t keep up. Didn’t last 5 minutes.”

And yet, here they are, insisting they’re tough, that they’re not some nobody Mainlander. Who do they think they are? Making potshots from the hull was hardly worse than a bar brawl, and if they thought they could last even a…

They ask about Kasumi, undeterred by his fake display of apathy. Kasumi, who had, from what bit she had shared about her situation, made it clear she wasn’t intending to be found. They ask why he bothers to stop them, if he doesn’t care, and it hits a nerve.

“Look, if that girl's in some kind of trouble, time could be running out. We need your help.”

“Christ almighty, you've seen better days, haven't ya?”

That seems to be the last straw for the vaultie.

“If my family was in trouble, I’d do anything to help them. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Longfellow kept his expression steady, but inside, something stirred. Something long buried and thought numb.

He sighs, slings his rifle from behind his back. Guess he still had one more trip to make.

-----------

"Listen, if you're dead set on this foolishness - get me a bottle of whiskey from the bartender, Mitch. Until then, we’re done. Now git.”

The island had been kind that day.

He was used to the distant growling and gurgling hidden within, the wet footsteps of shambling beasts. His hands had only left his gun to guide the young girl further, where fear stalled her.

Her own pipe pistol shook in her hands, she’d clearly never seen a lick of combat. Longfellow knew this was going to be difficult the moment Avery had approached with her, all nerves yet determination burning in her eyes.

So he agreed, and the walk to Acadia had never seemed so daunting, this path he’d been several years familiar with, made of ground he’s been walking since he could put one leg in front of the other.

He was always protective of the synths, his heart was bigger than he’d admit and the people had seen enough strife. He’s seen what happens when they get caught. They weren’t like Far Harbor’s cowards, they weren't raised in the fog, had likely never held a gun. You couldn’t blame them for being unable to defend themselves, not born into this life.

It was almost like the Island welcomed her, rolled out a smooth red carpet to deliver her safely to it. Foolish notion, the claims of the Island as an entity were entirely metaphorical. Still, it unnerved him somewhat.

“Thank you, Mr. Longfellow.” She’d said, earnestly grateful to be safely dropped on DiMA’s footsteps.

“No problem, kid.” And when he watched her disappear into Acadia, his weak mind couldn’t help but propose that this might be what could’ve been, that short hour of a trip, had he his own child. Had he…

No use dwelling on it now. The kid was safe, that’s what mattered.

Longfellow racks his rifle, and turns to the fog.

-----------

He’s surprised when the vaultie comes back, he thought he’d made it clear he wanted to be left alone. A slight compliment about their shooting skills wasn’t exactly a goddamn greeting card.

They need a break, they say. You’re a hunter, they say. Watch my back, they say.

Where’s that synth following you like a lost puppy, Longfellow doesn’t say, just tells them not to slow him down. A foolish suggestion, when he ends up knee-deep in bog with gulpers dropping from the trees like rain and slinking around neigh-invisible save for splashes of water.

Longfellow laughs, deep and guttural, like he hasn’t in a very long time.

“We're just gettin' warmed up here!” The flashes of flying bullets shone off the rubbery, reflective surfaces of their skin, off the viscera and guts of them splattering into the water in droplets. “An' here I was thinkin' this might be a challenge!”

How long had he spent just sitting around? Hunting on his own, returning to his own? By no means was he a people-person, and he damn well liked his solitude. But stagnation and liquor, nectar of the gods as it was, left room for nothin’ but regret and what-ifs. Here, in the shrouded wilderness, blowing creatures that’d kill and eat him given the opportunity to bits. Maybe they’ll even drag the meat back to those ungrateful bastards and make a grand feast out of their winnings.

When's the last time he had so much damn fun?

After, the two sit on a log, knives carving through meat, wrapping them in cloth to load into bags. He has to ask why they sought him out, especially when they could clearly hunt on their own. And who the hell were they, anyways.

Their lips stretch into a wry smile, “you seemed lonely.”

It doesn’t answer his other question, and he feels equal bits flattered and offended, but he just laughs. “Maybe I just ain’t found pleasant company.”

“I’m pleasant company, then?”

“Ask me again after some drinks and I’ll answer that. Thought I’d find you sprawled across the concrete somewhere, or hangin’ disemboweled from a tree out there. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

And just like that, the vaultie answers his question, their entire autobiographical timeline from entering the vault to here, trying to piece together a broken island while their friend tries to piece all the bits of himself back together.

Most of all, she had a spouse and a child. Had.

He…Now would be a time to tell them that he knew, he knew that pain well. It’s why the only lover he’d ever taken again was a stiff drink. His fingers twitch for a bottle. He’s never told a soul.

“I’m sorry, cap’n. I really am.” Longfellow says. “Let’s do this again sometime. You know where to find me.”

-----------

The cabin’s rustling wood, shutters beating the wall was his only company back home, staring into his glass, pondering that utter silence. He looked out into the ocean, thinking.

Most of all, wondering if the other day would happen again. Not too soon, hopefully, his icebox could barely close around all the gulper and angler meat. But while those blue-moon bits of excitement in this life were why he still bothered, it had been…different. He hadn’t said it, couldn’t, but he didn’t get along with most. Called even fewer friends. Mitch and Debby sure, Avery maybe. DiMA…they were cordial. It was business more than anything.

The vault dweller…the mainlander, vaultie, Sole, whatever they were calling them. They’d been kind, fun. Stayed past his gruff introduction, his purposeful unfriendliness. Why? They were strangers, they’d gotten what they wanted from him, their one way ticket to Acadia. Why hadn’t they taken the kid and left for home?

He didn’t know, but they called him a friend. Not the kind of friend that just wasn’t going to shoot you when you turned around, but an honest to god friend.

He could tell them, couldn’t he? They understood…

…No. Their lover, their kid, that was out of their control. What Longfellow had done or rather failed to do, was all his fault…He can’t imagine how they’d react, no matter which direction it went in, acceptance or rejection. Yet there he was hiding who he was from them. Another time Longfellow would’ve said he didn’t owe people shit, but…

They’d laid their entire skeleton closet bare for him, the least he could do was the same.

He owed it, to his one only friend

-----------

They’re holding up the lobster in their closed fist, it’s multiple claws nipping at thin air uselessly. They laugh, say they’re going to get some bread from the harbor and make the damn best lobster rolls to grace the last 2 centuries. From what he knew, it was some popular dish way back when, still plastered on signs and those trucks the hermits within.

Kasumi wasn’t having as much luck, and he steps over to help her cast the net, her own wooden bucket only -half full.

“Came from a family of fishermen, didn’t ya? They never show you the ropes?”

She sighs. “They barely let me near the docks, not to mention a rod and a boat.”

Longfellow tsks. “Damn shame, good skills for a youngin’ to know. We’ve all gotta eat. Lemme show ya.”

You couldn’t ask him when the last time he had someone else on his little island was, nonetheless three of them. But here was, teaching Sole and Kasumi how to trawl, while the synth stayed up on the hilltop, looking not unlike himself the day prior, brooding and lost in thought.

Normally Longfellow would be annoyed teaching others who didn’t bother to teach themselves. But truthfully, he liked this. Liked being looked up to, liked having someone to pass his skills onto, who might teach their children later on. He felt, he felt…

Fatherly. He wonders if this is what it would’ve been like, and he tries not to drop to his knees when he returns to the cabin after they leave, Kasumi’s curious questions and the vaultie’s laughter ringing in his ears. It’s so quiet.

He has to tell them. It’s not even a moral thing, it’s for himself, he knows it’s something he must do for himself. But he wants to hold onto this just a little longer.

There’s a loud bang, the ground shakes and dust rains from his ceiling. When he runs his old legs outside, there’s at first only a faint glow and then the mushroom cloud erupts into the air. That direction, the distance, knowing what’s over there…

He owes them now, more than anything.

-----------

“They didn’t give me a choice,” their voice shakes. “They were going to kill you all, they were going to kill the synths.”

“You ain’t gonna see any complaints from me.”

“Nick’s taking Kasumi home, told me not to follow, that he’ll come back after. I killed them.”

“I know, Cap’n.”

“I’m a murderer.”

“Murderer you ain’t. It was that or turn one of those synths, wasn’t it? Idiot Children run around in the radiation thinkin’ they’re immortal, but some poor synth schmuck actually trying to survive takes the fall. You did the right thing, you don’t reason with the Children.”

“But did they deserve to die?”

“Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.”

They look at him, wide eyed, begging to know how he could possibly say that most likely. It was his nature to be blunt and curt, uncaring of others thoughts but he just couldn’t do that to them.

They were hurting, he wanted to be there. He wanted to do it right this time, wanted to step up when he was needed instead of dwelling on past mistakes. He can’t lose someone, someone he quickly had come to consider family, not again.

“You saw their plans yourself, you knew they wouldn’t back down.” He swallows hard, now was as good a time as any. “They certainly didn’t back down to me.”

“You’ve had business with the children?”

“They kidnapped my Hannah,” he grunts. “My girl.”

“Was she a...?”

“Was. Trappers got her some years later.”

It came so much easier than he thought, if only because seeing them so distraught just…brought it out. Instinctually, he felt himself driven to stand up and do what it takes to make them better. And if the island turned on them they’d have to go through him first.

“She was pregnant.”

“Longfellow…”

“Hush, it’s all in the past. The Children of Atom only negotiate when its on their terms, ya hear me? Maybe there were good people there, but it was their choice. It was her choice, and they’d gotta take what comes with threatenin’ someone's home. What of our children, eh? The ones who’ve never known nothin’ but the fog? The fog they were gonna let eat us alive?

You’ve done nothing but good for our people thus far, you’re the best damn chance we have. And I’m glad to have something worth fighting for.”

“...Thank you, Longfellow.”

Distantly, staring off his porch and leaving the vaultie to process what he’d said, he looks at the fog-curtained place he called home. The Children of Atom weren’t responsible for the fog, Longfellow knew that, for all he hated them. But here was them side by side, seeing to it they would take it back, a place perhaps he’d live yet to see. He might have never had children, but he had people– Far Harbor, Acadia, the vault dweller he could look after, protect, teach.

Longfellow looks at his unopened whiskey, and shoves it so it skids away from him to the end of the porch.

And for once it felt good, to not be alone. He hadn’t said it, but this? He’d wanted to say it gave him purpose, but…

For all he complained about it, he did have a purpose. Those synths, the people of his island. He’s always been protecting them, whether unknown in the background or fighting alongside them. Took pride in it, even.

And it’s that thought that has him walking the blown-out remains of the Nucleus, stepping over metal and bone, looking at the graveyard that had become of where his whole had ended before it even began.

Some skittered in the distance, undulating like a wave, its many feet crawling the land around it. He could only barely make it out beyond the emerald fog, it’s shrill sound only betraying what it was.

So she had survived, good. Longfellow loads his harpoon gun, calls out for her to emerge.

And she does, the towering beast of a crustacean. One who had just like the Children of Atom destroyed and killed the civilization they fought so hard to protect, a years-long adversary and the last bit of lore tethering him to his old life. Laid rest to never hurt their people again, the people he’d come to call family, the vaultie who wandered these same woods and could’ve fallen victim at any time.

“C’mon, Shipbreaker.” The legs speed the massive body towards him, and he grins. “You and me, Lass. Let’s dance.”

#fallout 4 #fallout #old longfellow #sole survivor #kasumi nakano #my fics

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