#Fo4 fic

[callmewisteria]

Five Albums For My Lone Wanderer, Courier Six, and Sole Survivour

Here are five albums I imagine being either liked/loved by and/or describing my Lone Wanderer (Annette Davis), Courier Six (Calinda Carter), and Sole Survivour (Nora Norwich). Their stories are linked here via my Fallout fics masterpost.

Lone Wanderer/Annette Davis

Amorphous (Icon For Hire)

Messy (San Roman)

Speak Now (Taylor Swift) + click here for the best version of Better Than Revenge

Life Screams (Lacey Sturm)

Unbreakable (Fireflight)

Courier Six/Calinda "Cal" Carter

Death In Venice Beach (The Bombpops)

Holy Fvck (Demi Lovato)

Gothic Summer (The Veronicas)

To The Wolves (Stitched Up Heart)

Black Sky Sunrise (Crashing Atlas)

Sole Survivour/Nora Norwich

Kenotic Metanoia (Lacey Sturm)

For Those Who Wait (Fireflight)

Call Me Hysteria (Crashing Atlas)

Memento Mori (Flyleaf)

Darkness (Stitched Up Heart)

[solesurvivorkat]

'Shadow of Steel' - the 'ghosts' never left me...

Maybe it's because I've started wearing my 'Maxson coat' again for the fall/winter season (yes, I seriously have one IRL. I love this coat so freaking much, lol. It's ridiculous how much I love this coat, lmao. And I've gotten *SO* many compliments on it from people! But I digress...), but I've been thinking of 'Shadow of Steel' a lot lately (my 'Fallout 4' fanfic, for anyone who doesn't know).

Truthfully, I really never stopped thinking about it. Even in my busiest days, it was still always in the back of my mind. I never wanted to give up on it, and even when I thought I might have to just let it go forever, it was still lurking around in the back of my brain, demanding I continue the characters' stories (especially since Nora is still technically kidnapped in it and I actually feel bad about it, and Arthur Maxson hates me for it, LMAO).

I don't expect many people to still care about this fic - and considering how much time has gone by since I first started writing it, I wouldn't blame you. And it's not a short fic, either. It's quite long. So to anyone you might want to read it or start over from the beginning to refresh their memory of it, it's a bit of a feat.

Looking back on it, there's parts of the fic that I'm not crazy about - either b/c I'm not 100% thrilled with the way I wrote stuff at that time (quality-wise), or little tiny decisions I made with characters here & there. However, people who have commented on the fic have been sooo generous, kind, and flattering to me regardless, and I can't even put in to words just how much their words have meant to me (especially a review that I actually got kind of recently, to my surprise, and it blew me away... if you're reading these words now, I will respond to your comment as soon as I can! I haven't forgotten/ignored you! <3 )

SO.

Here's my 'thought': despite everything, I DO want to continue writing this fic! Even if no one read it, it's still something that's important to me - even if I can't put into words why, exactly.

If even one or two people reading this would be willing to continue enjoying a future of 'Shadow of Steel', I put it to you - would you rather see: - a 'rebooted do-over' of 'Shadow of Steel', starting from the very beginning - the main plot would be exactly the same, but small (insignificant in the long run) details would be updated/rewritten in a way I feel more satisfied with - and once caught up to the current point, the fic would continue from there. - OR - - I just keep whatever's already there there, and just continue straight on from this point.

Should I fix/update what I've already written and (attempt to) make the writing a little better, or just move forward? (I feel like it's similar to when an artist looks at a drawing they made long ago & thinks, '...My skills are different now. I could draw that better this time around.') Please let me know what you think, anyone! Your feedback would be greatly appreciated! <3

[mars-colony]

Keep Close Chapter 23: The Den

The new chapter for my Paladin Danse slowburn fic is up now on ao3! 💕

Due to recent issues with AI and what not, the fic is only available for registered users.

[baddieladdie]

On Love & Loss

For mature audience, TW: Grief, Fear, mild gore

Chapter 3: Rules be damned, I will help her [part 1]

Description: Soldier's fortunate enough to board the Prydwen are expected to adhere to her rules. The rules protect the sanctity of BoS intel, dangerous technology, and future plans involving the Commonwealth. This knowledge in the wrong hands could devastate the BoS. Understandably, tensions run high and rumors rampant as Paladin Danse carries the unconscious body of Nora, General of the Minutemen aboard. Can Paladin Danse convince the Brotherhood to accept her?

Chapter 2 - The Paladin, Chapter 1 - The General

Please read on my ao3! - per my housekeeping notice [here]

Continue Reading - Chapter 4: Rules Be Damned, I will Help Her [Part 2]

[unholycourier]

heyheyheyyyy… me and my bf are working together on a fic featuring my fo4 oc and his budding romance (as well as his struggles & healing thru the commonwealth) with hancock.

a quick summary: lecter d. longfellow, born resident of far harbor and adopted son of old longfellow, is taken to the commonwealth for a change of scenery to deal with the revelation that he is, in fact, a prototype synth himself; a cyborg between a gen 2 and gen 3 and falls in love with none other than john hancock.

all warnings needed for the fic are tagged! but to give you an idea, things that will be prominent throughout chapters are drug usage, alcohol abuse, and topics of death, among other similar topics.

you can give it a read here:

[theskeletonatthewritersblock]

Chapter 4: Blood in My Eyes

“Well, hardware breaks down, eventually. The bots used to make and maintain that hardware needs it’s own repairmen, and so on. Eventually the circle will be complete, and they can support one another without human intervention, but there are still big wigs at the top over seeing it all in their neat suits, sitting around tables, talking about profit, and investment, and return profit, yada, yada. Me? I was one of the few human components that proofread their emails and acted as a communication liaison between different offices to make sure they didn’t tear each other’s throats out.” They took a long pull of their drink. “You were a courier?” They giggled, a delight in their voice that took him so off guard he had to wonder what joke he was missing.

[sparrowsingsstories]

WIP Wednesday

And on a Wednesday!

Tagging: @alder-berry @wastelandhell @bokatan @kyngsnake @twolargepepperoni-and-a-calzone @vnknowncrow and anybody else who would like to share from WIPs!

This is from a companion story: Fly Away Little Bird:

“Damn! Throat’s been cut! We got an attacker!”

The raiders all stood and spread out, looking around frantically for her. But Sparrow had been prepared for this and had moved to the opposite side of the camp. She slid up to a log that had just been vacated by a stocky raider and waited for the man to come around the log to look for her. As soon as he was in range, she sliced his hamstrings and then slid her knife up his leg as he fell, nicking an artery and leaving him to bleed out. 

Two.

A hail of gunfire peppered the ground where she was at. One bullet hit her arm, the pain a sharp bite, but she didn’t let it slow her. Instead, she stood and ran towards the one with the wicked energy weapon, leapt, and stabbed into the raider with her knives. The raider screamed, high pitched and pained, and tried to pull Sparrow free. She held onto the knives and dropped her weight down, letting her body weight drag the wickedly sharp edges down and through the leather as if the leather was paper. The raider dropped as a bullet winged her shoulder. 

Bean was going to be pissed.

She landed on her feet and spun, tracking the two raiders who held guns up and pointed at her. Diving forward, she let the wet ground sink under her to pull her from sight, counted to five as bullets landed in the muck around her, and then pushed up to her feet, jumping free of the mud and running towards one of the remaining raiders. 

The second raider fired at her as she ran and she dodged, throwing herself forward and towards the first remaining raider. They squawked and danced backwards, trying to get away from her so they could fire. She grinned and came up and pushed them, watching as they fell into the fire, roll out, and run towards the water. 

The bark of a gun behind her reminded her that there was still a raider. She felt the bullet hit her just above the last gunshot, also going through her arm. The pain was starting to get bad. She needed to end this.

She grabbed a burning stick and threw it at the raider, who dodged out of the way. It gave her enough time to throw one of her knives and hit them in the chest. The raider went down. 

She walked over to them and kicked their corpse, pulling her knife free. She picked up the slim rifle and looked through the scope, grimacing at the vision of the last, steaming, raider. She hated guns. She hated rifles. This one was too long to shoot from her shoulder, so she lowered it to her hip and saying a begging prayer, fired. 

The gun barely bucked in her hand. A greenish ball of energy flew out and slammed into the raider, dropping them. 

[maggotwithanf]

[ Midnight Blue, Leopard Print Interiors ]

In which Lloyd restores a trailer for his crush - Inspired by Mac's line "I've always wanted a trailer... maybe midnight blue, with leopard print interiors... better than living in a cave, anyway."

---------

“Almost there.”

I tried my best to make sure my fingers covered the entirety of Mac’s vision, not an easy task when the wiry sniper was about as jumpy as a bucketful of rabid radroaches.

“Aw, c’mon, Lloyd,” he complained, the playfulness in his voice growing more quavering by the minute. “Any longer and this isn’t gonna be funny.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re here, right?”

I grinned, feeling just a little bad about making Mac’s heart beat like a fusion core in a bad way, but the second he opened his eyes, it was all goddamn worth it.

In front of us, in resplendent midnight blue, was a gigantic pullable trailer, its silver body still peeking out from the strappy paint job I’d tried my best to hide. The door, initially found hung off its hinges, was fixed up with a screen and a window, and the whole thing sat perched up on cinderblocks, like it was ready to be moved in just a second.

“I remember what you said, you know, the other day when we were at Fiddler’s Green, and I just, you know, I thought… well…”

I scratched the back of my neck, as MacCready jumped from my side towards the trailer, mouth ajar, genuinely surprised.

“You - you’re kidding. You didn’t.”

I grinned again, this time a little more sheepishly, still nervously scratching the back of my head. Man, when did I become the Commonwealth’s biggest dust sponge? Good thing nobody notices all the way out here, with everything else covered in the same crust of dirt. I guess.

Hopping around like it was Christmas morning, MacCready jumped onto the top step of the trailer, peering inside, sidling round the edges, getting into every nook and cranny. He leaned over to inspect the bumper, an aged license plate dangling off the middle; he looked through the windows with thoughtful, aweswept eyes, trying to get a peek of the interior, before climbing in through an open window left ajar from the side.

“Look inside,” I suggested, looking down and digging in my pockets for the keys. “Check out what I-”

“LLOYD!” I heard Mac scream from inside the trailer, his voice echoing outwards against the metal and upholstery. “You f- - you totally didn’t!”

“Heh. You like it?” I smiled, finally digging the keys out. I jangled them on my fingers with a jovial shake.

“You remembered!” I heard Mac yell from inside the trailer, as I watched him flip up the cushions on the couch through the dirty, sand-soaked windows. “Leopard print interiors! Just like - just like - oh, man, Lloyd!”

The grin on my face threatened to eat me alive. No problem, though. Felt like I could get eaten alive and it’d be okay, right now.

“You remembered!”

“Yeah! Of course I did. It just - I guess I don’t have to explain it to you,” I muttered, still struggling to contain my grin. “I know - I know you said, you know, you always wanted one. And it’d be a hell of a lot better than living in a cave. And, you know, I know - we don’t, uh, live in a cave, any more, but - I figured you’d like the idea of having a permanent place you can call, uh, home… even if we have to move that home around a lot. Uh. If you want.”

I stuttered, feeling my ego fade into obscurity with every extra word. I stopped jangling the keys.

MacCready popped his head back out of the trailer, staring back at me.

For a second, I was almost afraid to see what he looked like, but, like Orpheus and his world’s biggest mistake, I glanced upwards.

He had the biggest, widest, shit-eatingest grin I’d ever seen smacked right across his adorable face.

“You mean it?” he said, in a hushed voice. The kind of voice I hadn’t heard since we were kids. “It’s mine? I mean, it’s… it’s all mine?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I - I mean, I’d say don’t make a big deal about it, but, uh, I’m - I’m kind of tired of not being real with myself, so, uh - do. Do make a big deal out of it. If you want. I like you a lot, MacCready. Traveling with you has been, uh - uh - f- fuck.” I choked. “Heh. You got me worrying about swearing, now.”

Mac grinned. “You can swear, you know.”

“Yeah, well, what if I ever meet Duncan, huh? Better start practicing,” I winked.

MacCready smiled, and swung his head back inside for just a second, before tilting it back out towards me.

“You know, it might be my trailer, now, but, uh, I don’t mind if it’s, you know, our trailer.”

He gulped, his grip on the doorframe tightening up just a little. “Uh, you know. If that makes sense. Since you’re my partner, and all. And we do end up sleeping in the same place almost every night. And - and - ah, jeez, Lloyd, don’t make me spell it out.”

I struggled not to let my ecstatic fucking joy at this leak out too much. I nodded, hopefully just enough to convey how fucking excited I was without freaking him out too much. That said - it seemed, more often than not, that Mac actually leaned into my ride-or-die attitude.

“It’s your trailer,” I offered, unhelpfully, though I could feel the old familiar sensation of trying to tamp down my emotions when I heard the distant eking siren call of someone possibly liking me.

“Yeah,” MacCready nodded, thoughtfully, before turning to me, again. “And I want you. In it.”

He grinned. For a kid who grew up drinking Nuka Cola, whiskey, and chain smoking, I couldn’t really believe his mouth was all in one piece, but that crooked smile was a baseball bat across my chest that I could never resist.

“For real?”

“Yeah, c’mon, man! You didn’t fill this thing with every pillow in the Commonwealth just so we wouldn’t build a fort with them, right?” Mac grinned, tossing one of the leopard-print cushions at me from inside the trailer.

I caught it with another grin. “You’re on,” I said, scurrying up the stairs to join him inside.

–--------------------

I woke up on one of the side couches to MacCready’s thunderous and incessant snoring, but something was wrong.

Peering over at my merc partner, hat over his eyes, legs slung up over the armrest of an alcove, rifle perched cutely in his arms like a kind of stuffed animal, I knew it wasn’t him.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, I hauled myself upwards, like I was doing a rep, twisting to try and peek out the melted plastic window separating me and Mac from the rest of the world.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized with a sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t done enough to secure the perimeter.

Coming up from all sides, though they hadn’t quite noticed us yet, were ghouls; crawling through the woods and the woodwork, attracted like moths to the Fiddler’s Green sign. I knew I should’ve tried to haul the trailer out of there. My gut told me in every sense that I should’ve gone the extra mile - but it was, again, a little late for that.

Darting my eyes to catch each movement, I started to count. One. Two. Three. Five. Six. Eight. Shit.

The last thing I wanted to do was wake up Mac, and that sent shivers down my entire body. He was my partner, sure - but if he woke up to find this place wasn’t as trustworthy as he thought? As he felt? Well, shit, damn, maybe - maybe he’d think I wasn’t -

SCCCKKKKRRRITCH.

Oh, shit.

I slammed my way out of the trailer, grabbing my chained baseball bat, Gloria, on my way, any notion of not waking Mac running out of my head about as fast as those ghouls were running towards the trailer.

Hurtling out through the door, and feeling the flimsy metal shake as I flung myself outwards, I brandished my baseball bat like a total madman, using the chain to swing it around like a morningstar. I jumped down from the steps and onto one of the rusted cars left nearby, trying to get a good look at just how bad things were getting.

Two feet away, a collection of ghouls were starting to climb up the rusted car body towards me, and I hastily swung my bat like a champion golfer, sending their heads swinging drastically eastward into the slowly rising sun. Hopping down from the car, I eyed another cabal of ferals snap their heads towards me as they heard the sickening crunch of their compatriots losing their spine, leering in the disposable light of the Fiddler’s Green sign.

Okay, buddy. Do it for Mac. So he gets some more sleep. And so he doesn’t think I’m such a fucking -

SMACK. Ghoul head flying across the parking lot.

- asshole -

SLAM. Ghoul head crunching like an overripe pumpkin under the sickening crunch of Gloria’s weight.

- for trying to make him feel -

CRUNCH. Ghoul head splitting in two from the well-placed spikes in Gloria’s armor, sending flecks of brain and skin splattering all over myself.

- safe. And failing, I added to myself, miserably swinging Gloria around in a wide arc so that the loose end of her chain smacked another oncoming wave of ghouls square across the legs, tripping them up. I winced as I stomped on them, to finish them off. Shit. This really wasn’t going according to plan. This really wasn’t -

HRNNG.

I felt a hand close around my neck from behind, as I snapped back to attention, face still lit like a dumbfuck in a trainwreck from the sickly yellow and green light of the Fiddler’s sign. The fingers felt like bone, the split in the flesh giving way to the sharpened tears of a feral grip strengthened by two hundred years of violent anger. I gagged, as my Adam’s apple got caught in its fingers, reaching impotently for my neck as I - fuck - fuck, how am I going to -

I felt Gloria slip from my fingers as I inwardly, painfully, and, beyond everything, panickedly, started cursing my inability to trust people. Maybe MacCready should have been woken up. Maybe that’s what partners mean. Maybe he’d have my -

BANG.

The grip around my neck loosened, whatever was holding onto me folding away, slumping against my back like an old rag doll. From the giant wet splotch bleeding through my shirt, and the telltale tingle causing my Geiger counter to crackle, it was probably a Glowing One. And a big one, at that.

I shuddered as the dead ghoul sluiced itself down my back, and onto the floor with a wet slump, crossing my arms to look back at MacCready, tipping his sniper rifle out of a corner of the smashed trailer window.

He waved, as hard as he could. “Did I get him? Are you all right?”

I nodded, still shaking. “Yeah. Yeah, you got ‘em good. Did - did you just line that shot up with me in the field of view?”

I squinted, as Mac shook his head, as hard as he could, evidently trying to get his point across from all the way across the trailer park’s parking lot. “I’d never put you in danger like that,” he yelled, trying to carry his voice across the mangled mutterings of the ghouls I’d yet to finish off, lagging near the rusted cars, waiting for death. Well. Death, a second time. Gave me the shivers, but I couldn’t let Mac see that.

“I woulda aimed for the legs if you hadn’t stayed still, but - sh - shoot, Lloyd, are you okay?!”

MacCready jumped down from the trailer, hurrying across the lot with his sniper rifle slung across his back, one boot still untied as he pulled up the laces so he wouldn’t trip.

“Uh. Yeah,” I nodded, smoothing myself down. I wasn’t. But I wasn’t about to let Mac know that, either.

“Good! Good.” Mac’s voice radiated with relief as he eyed me up and down, checking to make sure I really wasn’t hurt too bad. “...Then I can ask if that shot was impressive, right? Totally nailed it?” he grinned.

I stared at him. He stared right back, his grin turning to a sort of frowning pout.

“Why’d you go out like that without me?” he asked, folding up his arms tight.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” I answered, truthfully, leaning down to pick up Gloria from where she’d rolled under the car. “I kinda thought you deserved a break.”

MacCready looked exasperated. “We’re partners, Lloyd,” he said, with a heaving tension that betrayed his true sense of worry. “You got my back, I got yours, right? So let me have your back.”

I looked up at him, as he crossed his arms, lingering below the neon sign like one of the lost ghouls. He gave me a pleading look.

“C’mon, Lloyd. Please.”

I felt another sigh get caught in my throat. “Mac…”

“Lloyd.”

“It’s really hard for me to trust people.”

“Yeah, well, me, too,” MacCready frowned, with the saddest, most lopsided half-smirk you’d ever seen. “But I wanna trust you. So I do. Okay? Don’t fuck - I mean, mess this up, Lloyd.”

I laughed. “Okay. Okay, sure. Yeah. When you put it that way, how could I resist?”

MacCready smacked me playfully with the base of his rifle. “Aw, c’mon. I tried to use the words. Be my partner again?”

“I never stopped,” I smiled, smacking him back in the back of the knees with Gloria. Mac stumbled a bit, not expecting the gesture, and I caught him just as he was about to trip.

“Shit. Sorry, man,” I added, hastily, straightening him up by the elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mac grinned, dusting himself off out of instinct. “Hey, we’re even now!”

“Even? Not even. Not even a little bit.”

“We’re even.” Mac darted me a mischievous look. “Until the next time you need me to save your ass.”

“What if my ass needs saving again? Would you hold it against me?”

MacCready burst out laughing. “Is that a come-on?”

“Do you want it to be?” I grinned.

He elbowed me again, and I elbowed him back, the sun finishing its lazy rise against the backdrop of the Green.

Guess I didn’t mess it up that bad, after all.

[twosides--samecoin]

far from skid row I dream we'll go somewhere that's green

[nukacoola]

Omfg I know I’m shouting into the void but every Fallout fan needs to read the journals of the Railroad leaders from P.A.M.’s mainframe terminal. There’s that huge theory that Deacon is the lone wanderer but he was actively, documentedly, doing stuff in the Commonwealth before, during, and after Fo3’s events jfc. I feel like I’ve uncovered sacred texts with untold secrets but they are fully available both in game and online.

The timeline does match up for Pinkerton in Rivet City to be Pinky from the Commonwealth Railroad tho which I fully believe.

[gobald]

Part of some Dansecock goodies I'm sketching that I'll probably finish on the weekend. Why can't I stop thinking about them? And why haven't I found any Dansecock fics in here? TT^TT

[callmewisteria]

CJ's Fallout Fanfictions Masterlist –

It Began On October 23rd, 2077

In chronological order, We Know The Price We Pay is the first, taking place from 2277–2279 (Fallout 3), Veni Vidi Vici takes place from 2281–2282 (Fallout New Vegas), A Man Needs A Maid (post-Fallout 3 but pre-Fallout 4) takes place from 2282–2285, and At The Precipice Of Something New takes place from 2287–2292 (Fallout 4).

We Know The Price We Pay –

120 chapters (in progress)

First person, alternating POV (James, Madison Li, Annette (Lone Wanderer), Sarah Lyons, Hadley Branson, Harkness)

AO3 Link | ff.net Link | Wattpad Link

Veni Vidi Vici –

75 chapters (in progress)

First person POV (Cal/Calinda AKA Courier)

AO3 Link | ff.net Link | Wattpad Link

A Man Needs A Maid –

30 chapters (in progress)

Third person POV

AO3 Link | ff.net Link | Wattpad Link

At The Precipice Of Something New –

120 chapters (in progress)

Third person POV

AO3 Link | ff.net Link | Wattpad Link

Note: updated 19. January. 2024. All of these are part of my series It Began On October 23rd, 2077. Includes one shots and longer fics. All of my fallout fics are in the same world, but aren't dependent on each other and can/do/are able to be read standalone.

[rad-roche]

post-timeskip nick. unfortunately his trip to acadia is turning into a 'using your own intestinal wiring as an arm sling' kind of week

[robyn-reliant]

Okay but...

Sole and Hancock sheltering from a rad storm dancing to Some Enchanted Evening together, they're both madly in love with eachother and everyone can see it.

They're soulmates and so in love your honor 😭

[rad-hound]

Hm... Nikc Vaelntine. 👍

[ruexsdrty]

Petty Thievery

Pairing: The Ghoul x Reader

Note: Mentions of the game Fallout 4 setting/gameplay because duh I played it too fucking much.

Gloved fingers gripped at the slicky thin bobby pin, twisting and turning gently just in the await of that sweet click. The wind was strong tonight but her overhanging hood saved her eyes from the unforgiving—and probably radioactive—sand. It was ironic that a radaway bag hanged on the inner side of her coat while she donned a gruesome ghoul mask on her face like second skin.

She had found it hanging alone on a wall shack in the corner of an empty costume house when she was seeking cover from the blazing raiders and mutants outside. There were a few of them until she had shot one with her .308 pipe revolver, awaiting a horde of sick grunts and snarls only to be met by silence. That was when she realised that it was no feral, just a harmless mask. Those were probably zombie masks but, well, there was nothing she couldn't fake.

‘Well, I had this idea...’ she narrates, her eyes catching the glimpse of a distant man coming towards her again through the sides of her vision. She wasn't mistaken, that silhouette was distinctively clear in her head. Only one man she knew held himself with grace and sickening danger altogether. The cowboy hat, the overhanging coat... ‘And when I thought I could handle lying about being a ghoul with wastelanders and other ghouls alike, I wasn't fucking counting him.’

Her fingers trembled as yet another bobby pin snapped, spitting curses under her breath that would make a sailor blush. She heard the familiar reload click of a shotgun a few feet away.

“Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you right now, sweetheart.”

Oh, yeah, that voice. She knew it, was familiar with it. She has had one too many run-ins with him whenever she played the role of a runaway vaultie, and she could recall none of them to be pleasant. She just hoped he won't recognize her voice.

The flickering neon board hung overhead, a few lights hanging off its hinges, it read, ‘Pharmacy’.

“Nothin' wrong with a woman trying to survive,” She grumbled with an intentioned rasp in her voice, deepening it. ‘We practised this,’ she told herself to take deep breaths, ‘Just don't overdo it.’

“Well, darlin',” His southern accent was strong, dripping off each syllable, “Ain't nothin' wrong with a man wanting it all to 'imself, eh?” The barrel of the shotgun dug into the sides of her forehead through her hood. Ofcourse he'd want the whole store. Who wouldn't?

She sucked in a deep, slow breath, quiet and shaky. “That's not nice.” At a loss of words, that was all that she could've come up. She wasn't particularly proud of it, especially when even he couldn't bite back a short laugh.

After a long pause of silence, she huffed, “If you kill me, you can't get it. The lock's pretty tight!”

“Yeah?” He drawled, she peeked through the edge of her hood to catch a glimpse of his uninterested eyes. “And what gives I don't just break the damned glass?”

Again, a silence befell them. “I'm fucked then.” She had stopped fumbling with the lock now, looking at him with distrusting eyes while the wind furled gently against her hood. His fingers repositioned around the trigger.

A guttural growl filled the air as heavy steps shook on the ground they stood on. Their gazes widened at each other. He hit the barrel on her head lightly to accentuate the tension, “Get to it,” he barked.

She returned to pick the lock, the nearing footsteps of the wasteland creature and the edge of the gun digging on her head pushing her hands to shake more. With an irritated groan he knocked the glass with his elbow before opening the lock from the inside. With heavy breathes they rushed inside and pushed the door close.

He turned to her with an exasperated frown. She huffed, a hand to her chest to contain her beating afraid heart. “Don't blame me for having performance anxiety!” He looked at her incredulously like she was crazy.

It was dark, her feet hitting some clutter or the other as she creeped closer to the wall for safety. She stumbled behind the counter and slid down the wall, sitting on the floor as she stared out the glasses in fear. The sudden ticking of radroaches' mantis caught her off-guard and she let out a yelp, fingers curling around the revolver in her holster and shooting the creature before it could close in on her. Silence befell and she collected her breath with a heaving chest. Her legs sprawled in front of her, back hitting the wall in exhaustion but her fingers stayed tightly clutched on her revolver.

The Ghoul clicked his tongue, “You don't sound much like a ghoul.” Was that a joke? A threat? An accusation or just an observation? Whatever it may be, she knew she didn't way to stay around him much longer than necessary.

The fucking Deathclaw outside was an absolute epitome of her bad luck.

Heavy footsteps neared her. It was The Ghoul this time. For some reason, she thought it'd be easier to take down a Deathclaw than this man. “Gun,” he demanded with an outstretched palm in front of her face. She glanced at it once.

“And why should I?”

His foot striked down her wrist, the gun falling out of her grasp to the floor. He stood over her, kicking the gun to the corner and out of reach. His boot planted on either side of her legs. There wasn't much she could to save herself in this situation... or, well, position.

“Smooth skin, soft voice...” He observed, “When did ya' start turning?”

She hasn't done her research. “Seven.” But she figured seven years might hit the sweet spot.

He hummed and leaned downwards, the barrel nudging against her shoulder. ‘Don't panic,’ she met his gaze. He tilted his head down at her, sighing heavily in thought. He laughed short, fingers tightening around the trigger. Gunshots don't kill ghoul, at least not until their brains paint the floor.

"Well, sweetie,” he drawled, his voice deep and ruthless, “Let's see how much of a liar you are, huh?”

Deafening gunshot filled the small store.