#and so much of the stuff ive seen about the caravan is just more fighting and conflict...like cmon...

[spacedlexi]

for a game that has like... one of the best endings to invite continued fan content.. there sure isnt a lot of post s4 fan content out there :/

[siribear]

before they leave, virgil reveals he has plans for their relay. a pipe dream, he called it, to get back into the institute. get the serum himself. but now that they’ve come - it’s the most excited, most hopeful, he’s been their entire time here.

by contrast, deacon isn’t happy to learn the plans are on the terminal. with no spare holotapes to download the plans on, she has to interface with the terminal herself. which means she has to step out of the power armor and bathe in radiation until a rad-x pill kicks in.

and it does, but not before she feels the growing headache, the ache in her gums. the plans download to her pip boy quickly in comparison.

‘think we should relocate out here?’ deacon says suddenly. ‘even the institute doesn’t want to come out here. worth it in exchange for the radiation, if you ask me.’

whisper looks over her shoulder to see him fiddling with some scrap on a table. keeping his hands busy, maybe. while one hand pokes at an old typewriter, the other is balled into a fist. his fingers flex, then clench, then flex.

‘i can have sturges draw up a floor plan for your new house when we get back, how about that? we’ll start construction when we bring back virgil’s serum.’

he walks up beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders. ‘this is why you’re my favorite.’ his voice sounds even more distorted through his suit up close, unfiltered through the power armor’s speakers. ‘always giving me something to look forward to.’

before she has time to register and unpack that statement, virgil’s terminal pings. file transfer complete. she has him check for any missing pieces, any file corruption, just in case. it’s all there. every little piece that’ll bring her to shaun.

except one.

‘someone will have to decode the courser chip before it will take you anywhere,’ virgil explains. ‘that’s the only missing piece.’

‘we know a guy,’ deacon says, ushering her back into the power armor. honestly. a girl collapses from radiation poisoning once and now it’s an issue. ‘anything else we need to know?’

virgil ignores him and looks up at her once she’s fully settled within the armor. he considers her, frowning. ‘you look.. familiar,’ he says slowly.

‘i’ve heard that before.’ from the synth she met with danse. he looked at her and said he could trust her.

he hums. ‘how old is your son?’

at that, whisper pauses. she - doesn’t know. the boy in kellogg’s memories has her confused. is shaun still a baby? or is he that ten year old she saw with kellogg? how long after the murder and kidnapping did she really wake up? whisper clears her throat. ‘an infant,’ she answers. ‘why?’

a heavy sigh is her answer before he shakes his head. ‘it’s nothing. the virus,’ he says, eventually, ‘has its side effects. sometimes i think i’m losing parts of myself.’ he knows something, or thinks he knows something. or maybe the combination of the virus and isolation have gotten to him.

whisper lifts her left arm slightly. ‘it’ll take some time to complete all of this, but i promise, i’ll be back with your serum.’

virgil nods. ‘thank you.’

-

deacon is almost comical in his ushering her out of the cave. ‘i thought you wanted to put down roots here?’

he grunts, slapping his hand against the back of the armor to get her to move faster. ‘right. casa del deacon. that’s after we get back, though. for now, we should go.’

‘alright, alright. i can’t wait to get out of this tin can, anyway.’ she breaks into a jog; the power armor’s strength carries her bounding steps further than deacon’s expecting. he yells hey! as she speeds back toward the edge of the glowing sea.

the return trip is quicker than the initial journey. they opt to keep walking through the night, dodging around packs of ferals and more wandering deathclaws until they’re finally out of the sea. she and deacon remove their respective helmets once her geiger counter finally stops ticking halfway down the road. blood drips onto one of the gauntlets, pooled at the bottom of her helmet collar.

at the edge of a small farmstead, nestled in a grove of dead trees, they treat her bloody nose and rising rads. a man interrupts deacon hooking up her radaway bag, gun raised, he shifts it between the two of them. ‘what do brotherhood bastards want now?’

whisper brings a blood-soaked cloth away from her nose. ‘not brotherhood,’ she explains, nasally. she illuminates her power armor with her pip boy, the area awash in green. ‘have they been through here much?’

the man lowers his gun slightly. ‘asked for supplies. a place to stay. kicked my own kids out of their beds so they could sleep here. if you aren’t brotherhood, what do you want?’

‘my partner here’s got two left feet,’ deacon explains. ‘tripped and fell on her nose. we just need to rest a moment. outside your house. totally out of your way.’

whisper snorts, more blood spurting from her nose. she spits red onto the ground. ‘we’ll move on soon, and we won’t be a burden on you or your children.’

the man grunts. ‘you’re minutemen, right?’ at whisper’s nod, ‘come on. at least i can keep a better eye on you inside, if you’re lying.’

deacon stuffs the ivs and needles back in his bag, and whisper removes the fusion core from the power armor and tucks it in her own. she removes a pouch of caps and hands it over to the man. ‘i don’t know if this will make it up to you, but - ‘

he takes it. ‘didn’t know if you minutemen would know how to find us out here. no caravans. my kids only hear the stories on the radio. my little girl’s a big fan of the general.’

deacon elbows her lightly, then tips her head back again and leads her toward the house. ‘i’ll make sure a patrol makes it down here. supplies, food, anything we can provide.’

‘you’re the general?’ he asks with disbelief. then he laughs, his demeanor changing completely. ‘oh, my little girl’s gonna love this.’

-

between whisper’s recovery and deacon’s stories to the kids, they end up staying the night. the father ushers the bother and sister back to their rooms once the sun begins to set. the exhausted pair are left alone with a pile of extra clothes on the floor as bedding and frayed blankets draped over a lone couch. broken and open windows allow the cold night air to blow through the small house. whisper sits on the couch, curled in on herself with one of the blankets wrapped around her.

‘you’ve got a little fan,’ deacon murmurs at her feet, wrapped in his own blanket.

‘and you told her i killed the mirelurk queen by myself.’ she kicks him softly.

‘hey, i was knocked out. what do i know?’

she chuckles lightly, drapes her arms over his shoulders and rests her chin on his head. under the ever-present wig, deacon’s now sporting a rough, ginger stubble that scratches against her chin. whisper watches the kids in the other room, smiling, as they sprawl out in their sleep.

deacon runs a finger along her palm, and her fingers curl in response. ‘what’s on your mind, partner?’

‘these kids have to deal with a lot,’ she says, airily. ‘back - back where i’m from, it wasn’t this harsh. certainly not perfect, but nothing like this. but they’re still finding things to be excited about. they looked so happy listening to you.’

‘it’s you everyone’s enamored with, pal. that little girl definitely wants to be you when she grows up.’

‘she’ll have to find herself a mouthy partner, then. wouldn’t be the same without one.’

-

at some point in the middle of the night, whisper abandoned the couch entirely, and finds herself waking up curled next to deacon on the floor. she sits up, one of deacon’s arms sliding down to rest in her lap. the rest of the members of the house are already awake, despite the sun barely having risen. beside her, deacon stirs.

‘i’m getting too old for this, for sure.’ he stretches out like a cat. ‘the kids are up, too? man.’

whisper notes he isn’t surprised at all to see her next to him. ‘come on, old man. let’s go home.’

-

they haven’t talked at all about what virgil told them. maybe he’s waiting until they return to hq so they don’t have to repeat themselves when making their plans - and even have more opinions on what’s surely going to be a ridiculous plan. whisper remembers the dead bodies strewn about the switchboard. the names deacon could remember. methodically and easily cut down, only slowed but not stopped by hails of turret fire.

‘a courser,’ deacon says absently. always following her own train of thought.

‘a courser,’ she repeats.

he sucks in air between his teeth. ‘that’s not gonna be easy.’

she sighs. ‘you saw him. if there were another way, he’d know. for now, this is what i’m stuck with.’

‘i’ve seen you do some crazy things, whisper, but this?’ he pauses. ‘tom could probably cook something up with those blueprints. let’s have fighting a courser be the last resort, okay?’

he’s scared. deacon, who led her into a den of synths with just the two of them, who followed her into the glowing sea despite its inhabitants, is scared. ‘you don’t have to do this. i’ve seen power armor take a beating.’

‘what kind of partner would i be if i let you go after a courser alone? if that’s what you want to do, i’ll be there. let’s just explore our options, first.’

‘okay,’ is all she says in return. she can’t allow his nerves to get to her. not since this is for shaun. she’s so close now; whether deathclaw or courser, she can’t let anything stand in her way. but it will be comforting to have him by her side.

-

sturges greets them at the gates to the castle, and she’s all too eager to hand over the power armor to him. he notes the flecks of blood in the helmet and the dried stain on her jumpsuit, but she waves him off. ‘radiation. where’s preston?’

‘in the armory, working with a few others on building more guns. havin’ trouble keepin’ everyone armed, now.’ he grins. ‘but that’s tons more friends we’ve got, and much less more enemies, right?’

whisper is mostly just glad to get out of the armor. the reminder that she’s now built a militia, an army, doesn’t bring the same smile to her face. with the prydwen looming across the bay, she remembers the words from nate’s speech, the only part she didn’t have to help him write: war never changes.

‘how’s everything going here, then? i see the shops are coming back outside now.’

sturges ducks down into the hallway. ‘yep. we’ve had some caravans out of bunker hill set up inside those old buildings. a family or two are living further down the neighborhood and joined us. all’s goin’ pretty well.’

when they reach the armory, there’s already a group of minutemen standing in the small room. it smells of gunpowder and grease, and a stack of ammunition sits on the middle table along with a series of laser rifles and pipe guns scattered along the other tables. with the slight rumbling from the power armor, one of the minutemen drops a screw for his pipe gun and looks up at the incoming armor.

there’s a scramble of movement as the minutemen move out of the way while also trying to clean up their mess of weaponry. sturges makes it through to the power armor station toward the back. the armor powers down, and after he steps out of the armor, pulls down a series of hooks to hold the frame in place.

with the power armor out of the way, the others finally see her walking down the hallway. the minutemen stand at attention, black-stained hands across their brows. preston, however, moves away from the bench, his jacket slung over a chair in the corner. he approaches her, hands reaching for her but stops himself short.

with a sigh and a soft smile, he says, ‘i’m glad you made it back safe, general.’

whisper looks behind him to the minutemen standing at attention. ‘thank you, preston. i do have something to talk to you about. and you, sturges,’ she adds, noting that he’s already put on a pair of safety goggles and heavy gloves.

after telling the rest of the minutemen to return to what they were doing, whisper leads them down into the tunnels and to sarge’s terminal. deacon startles at the doorway. ‘uh, anyone else see that thing, or did i eat some bad rations on the road again?’

‘he’s deactivated, don’t worry.’

deacon looks him over. ‘he’s facing that terminal. did he deactivate himself?’ whisper takes a deep breath. ‘whisper.’

she shoves his shoulder, but he crosses his arms. ‘you can punish me later, okay? but first - ‘ whisper explains virgil as she loads up the plans onto the terminal. behind her, sturges whistles.

‘complicated, but given some time, i can do it. this part, though,’ he circles a finger around the schematic for a computer, ‘that’s gonna be the hard part.’

‘we know a guy,’ whisper and deacon say simultaneously.

at that, sturges nods. ‘alright. no problemo. give me a few months, and - ‘

whisper nearly chokes. ‘months?’

‘this is a pretty big contraption here, general. we gotta clear out an area, build the thing - and the amount of materials we have to collect. our numbers will help, but it’ll be a while.’

months. her stomach sinks, same as when she walked into kellogg’s empty house and found nothing. a hand suddenly lands on her shoulder, startling her. ‘a vacation. thank you, sturges,’ deacon says, voice pitched higher to match her own. in his voice, ‘we have to coordinate with our other friends, too. and i’m sure everyone will come out of the woodwork with their own problems they want you to solve. it’ll pass quickly, don’t worry.’

whisper takes a deep breath. right. months to finish, months to scratch everything else off her to-do list. she angles her head in his direction. ‘to our friends, then? should we bring them here, so they can work together?’

deacon grimaces. ‘that’s between des and tom. the amount of battery acid injections he’ll make us all take before he agrees..’ he trails off with a wince.

‘battery acid?’

‘carrington wasn’t happy when he introduced it.’ he shrugs. ‘less happy when i let him inject me with it. i might be able to convince him, but it’s up to des.’

preston and sturges look at each other, then to whisper. ‘it’s, um. a long story.’ she shrugs off deacon’s arm and inserts one of the holotapes on the desk. ‘just in case, i’m going to make a copy. that way tom can at least look at it.’ she does and puts the holotape in her bag.

‘alrighty then. you and your friends story everything out.’ he claps whisper on the shoulder, and she’s sure there’s going to be a bruise from all the reassurances today. ‘i’ll get started on this right away. don’t you worry.’

but she worries. back up the stairs, she worries. because it’s months. she barely notices preston still following behind her until he puts a hand on the small of her back. ‘i don’t... mean to add more to everything going on, general, but i thought you should know: mama murphy’s been asking about you. she wants to talk to you, back in sanctuary.’

mama murphy. ‘you don’t think she had a vision, do you?’

‘i hope not. she has to take jet to see anything. can you - can you check in on her, at least? i’m sure the longs would like you see you, as well.’

‘of course. i should see how codsworth and dogmeat are doing, too.’

‘right. uh,’ he removes his hand and takes a step back. ‘i guess i’ll coordinate a few groups to retrieve scrap metal for this project.’ he wipes his brow. ‘after a shower.’

‘i know a few places that might have some useful scraps. i can mark it on - ‘ she pauses, then, ‘did you say shower?’

‘yeah, sturges found some piping after we cleared out a collapsed wing. we put up some curtains and he set up a few showers.’

whisper blinks, then bolts toward the workshop once more. tom and mama murphy can wait. she’s going to take a shower.

[gamearamamegathons]

Dragon Quest V: Out of Order

Circe here! So, uh, yeah. After the hero and Henry are kidnapped, we flash forward and it turns out we end up toiling away as slaves for ten years. Nnnot much to say about that. Apparently the guy in charge around here is the high priest of the Order of Light, who claims he's going to save the world or something, and to that end he's having all these slaves build a huge temple. It's, you know, not a great scene. Things pretty much go along as normal up until we see the guards whipping a girl, and so we and Henry turn on them to try and protect her. We're launched into a battle in which I have access to all my spells, which raises a lot of questions if we could've just summoned fucking tornadoes on people this entire time. In any case, I win the fight, but we just end up jailed for our efforts. And that would be the end of that, except that it turns out the girl we tried to help was the sister of one of the guards. He heard that after the temple is finished, all the slaves will be killed, so he helps you out of there and asks you to take his sister Maria with you. So we float outta there on a barrel and end up washing up next to a nunnery.

So yeah, that happened I guess? The nuns help us get back on our feet, and Maria stays there, so it's just us and Henry...for now! This game introduces an exciting new mechanic, which is the ability to recruit monsters. And not just a temporary one-off thing like in Dragon Quest IV, monsters we fight in battle can decide to join us afterward, and become full-fledged party members. The roster of monsters here seems surprisingly deep, and we start picking them up right away, but the one I start with and keep in my party is an ordinary slime. It seems like our party size is back down to 3 for this game, so it's just me, Henry, and the slime. New party members can join on, but you need to buy a caravan, similar to how we had one in the previous game. We can find one in the town of...Oracleberry? Okay.

Apparently the big thing about this town is that there's all sorts of gambling and stuff going on at night, but I'm not really interested, so I just stock up on weapons. Henry is hilariously weak, seeing as he's level 1 and wearing rags, so I get some basic equipment on him. We travel further north, and we find a ruined town that looks like...well, it looks like Santa Rosa. Our hero is really not having a great life thus far. Apparently, after Henry was kidnapped, the queen blamed Papas, and destroyed his entire town as punishment. Which seems like kind of a non-sequitur, but we know this is just a coverup anyway, so I guess that's okay. There's an old man in town who tells us that Papas hid something valuable in the cave, and now we can take a little boat down the river into the cave to find another section of the dungeon. Here, we find a surprisingly familiar item -- it's the Zenithian Sword! We also find a note to us from Papas. In it, he says that our mother was taken away by some evil, and the only way it could be defeated is if the legendary hero wielded the Zenithian equipment against it. But, even though he spent his whole life seeking the equipment and the hero, all he ever found was this sword.

I admit, I'm a little confused about the whole thing with our mother. I guess she didn't die in childbirth after all, so either something was communicated poorly, or I just misunderstood...or else, it gave that impression on purpose? I don't know, it's weird. But I guess it doesn't matter that much. From here, I decide to go back to Alcapas to see if I can meet up with Bianca. Alcapas is fine, but it seems that Bianca's family sold the inn and moved away. So that's no good. Instead, let's go east, to Reinhart. Unsurprisingly, it seems that the queen is using King Dale as a puppet, and Reinhart has fallen into tyranny and suffering. Of course, it's not a simple matter to get inside the castle...I'll admit, I got a bit lost here. We can get in the front entrance to the castle, but the way in deeper is blocked by a guard. As we leave, Henry remarks that he remembers a secret path inside. Of course, I remember Henry's secret passage, so I immediately set about trying to get in there. We can't access the area the passage led to, but it is connected to a side door...which is locked. I spent a good while trying to find a way into this area, before I gave up and consulted a guide. It turns out I had it all wrong. You're supposed to notice that when the drawbridge is up at night, it reveals a secret tunnel underneath, which you can reach via a boat. I noticed this passage when I first entered Reinhart, but I immediately forgot. And in my defense, Henry's dialogue seemed to be reminding the player of a secret passage they already saw, so it was actively misleading. Is this because of the translation, or was it also confusing in the original? No way of knowing, I suppose.

Well, I'm grouchy about needing to use a guide for that, but there's nothing for it but to move on. The secret passage leads to a dungeon, naturally, and here we find the queen in prison. Eh? This is a bit confusing at first, but if you recall, we've seen imposter monsters before, so perhaps this isn't too surprising. What *is* surprising is that the plot needed to replace the queen with a monster at all, I mean, she seemed pretty evil from the start. I didn't bat an eye when I heard she was destroying villages and oppressing people. But apparently the real queen regrets her ruthless ambition now. Woulda been nice for you to reach that decision before you kidnapped us into slavery, lady. Well anyway, we make our way to King Dale, and Henry reveals that he's his brother. When Dale hears that his real mother is in prison, we all decide that something has to be done about it, and...I think it's Dale who tells us what to do next? In any case, we find out there's a hidden teleporter that can lead us to a tower where we can find a magic mirror that can reveal the monster's identity. No surprise, the Mirror of Ra is back.

The teleporter actually takes us just a bit south of the nunnery, so we could've walked here if we wanted, but this is a lot more convenient. Makes me wonder if we could've gotten the mirror early. This dungeon is a bit annoying because it ends with an invisible path you have to figure out by trial and error (if there was a trick to it, I didn't find it) but we eventually got to the mirror, and head back to Reinhart. It seems that Dale has tried to resolve the problem himself, and we come to the queen's chambers to see two queens there. Well, we've got the mirror, so we just use it on the queens to find that one of them is a...goblin hula dancer? Okay. This boss fight isn't very hard, so we take care of that, and save the day. After all this, Henry decides to stay by his brother's side, but luckily I've been slowly filling up my caravan with a whole host of non-human companions, so I replace him with a slime knight. Guess I'm rolling with a slime theme, here. Henry tells us that ships should be sailing in a harbor called Vista, so I guess that's where we'll be headed next.

Now that I've gotten into the game a bit, I can talk about localization. I'd hoped I'd have more interesting things to say, but largely it seems fine and pretty unremarkable. For the most part, spell names are following the conventions of the previous Dragon Warrior games, so no surprises there. It seems like a lot of the monster names are fairly literal translations, or just straight up the same name as in Japanese, since a bunch of the original names are actually in English. There are some spelling errors here and there, but nothing too surprising, it being the work of a small fan group instead of a professional localization team. There's also some incongruous swearing here and there, but it's rare. Oh, and as you may have already noticed, Nintendo of America-style censoring is out. House of Healing are called churches, people get drunk at taverns, and our dead party members are coffins instead of ghosts. But all in all, you might barely notice it's a fan translation. Well, it makes playing the game pretty smooth, so I can hardly complain.

I've been playing a lot of Dragon Quest lately, so my next post might be something different. I dunno, I'm still thinking about it. In any case, I'll see you then.

[regrettablewritings]

All the Write Words, Pt.II (Library AU!Vladimir Ranskahov x Reader)

Prologue Part I Part III Part IV Part V

(Y/N) knew all along. She had to have known. There was just no way she could be this oblivious. These were the thoughts that plagued Vladimir with every agonizing minute he stayed in this forsaken den of books and the mindless people that read them.

That Wednesday morning had started off easily enough (or as easily as it could with a man like Vladimir): (Y/N) showed him around the building, with him taking extra time to memorize the areas and their names so that his lack of grip on the English language would not hold him back from at least locating things. She introduced him to the rest of the “team”, which was composed of either interns or volunteers. Karen the intern wasn’t alone this morning, as she was accompanied by her friend (boyfriend, maybe?), Franklin.

“Call me Foggy,” he offered in an attempt to be friendly. Vladimir said nothing. Foggy recoiled his hand slowly, something Vladimir was beginning to see as a habit of the interns. One of the volunteers, a woman named Claire, was around his age but seemed to have no problem taking orders from someone as young as (Y/N) (whom Vladimir later learned was five years his junior, causing him further inner fury).

But perhaps the leniency was due to the fact that the two noticeably got along together, even made jokes. But the more Vladimir looked at it, the more he realized that this was how everyone was with (Y/N): her coworkers, the library regulars, people just making small talk checking out their books even managed to throw a genuine smile in at (Y/N) if she was the one handling their books. 

“This is kingdom of mindless sheep,” Vladimir muttered to himself as he watched (Y/N) and Claire exchange brief gossip about God knows what. “I have wandered into brainwashed territory.” A territory led by a teensy, soft-skinned bookworm in sweats. He almost wanted to imagine that hidden in her bushy hair was a crown of some sort that made her the messed up ruler of this even more messed up realm. Almost. When he realized how stupid it was, he mentally scolded himself and decided to focus on something more believable. The problem was, the likelihood that she was unaware of his predicament just wasn’t believable.

As much as Vladimir hated to admit it, (Y/N) did have something about her. The assumption that she was the wily peasant from a fairytale stood somewhat firm during their second meeting. It hid in little things like the sly smiles she would give off, the way she instructed confused interns, and how she would go quiet and stern-eyed whenever she focused on a mishap or a person in need of assistance for finding a certain book. A little too much like the queen she couldn’t possibly be. More like a rebel. Or a leader of a caravan of misfits, just waiting to cause him trouble and create an obstacle between him and the freedom he wanted. Yes, that was more likely: a little wannabe leader in charge of a smiling group of ragamuffins with regalia made of sweats and an imaginary crown.

This morale-boosting thought would have normally kept Vladimir smug and sane just long enough to get through his required three hours today. But it was all too real to remember one major issue in the plan: wannabe or not, he was in her world. In the realms Vladimir had lived in and conquered, fists were the law of the land. If you didn’t like something, you beat the shit out of it until they gave in. It’d be even more efficient if you had a baseball bat or a glock. But (Y/N)’s realm consisted of an army of smiling people, all versed in the war of words: barricades of books, moats made of magazines, knights of old newspaper clippings, etc.

And there lay Vladimir’s problem: How do you fight in an environment you don’t understand?

(Y/N) suggested he shadow her for a bit, just to see how things worked. She outright admitted that computer work was probably a bit high up of a priority for him at the moment so it’d be best to start him on foot as someone who restacks the books or goes searching for certain ones on request. If his mother knew he was using his first prayer to God in a long while to be that nobody would need for him to search for a book the entire time he’d be in this damn program, she would have thwacked him on the behind with a wooden spoon.

When he wasn’t studying the areas of certain books and trying to match alphabet shapes to memory, Vladimir was noticing just how often (Y/N) required the use of a stepping stool to reach just two shelves above her. If he didn’t detest her, he might’ve found it cute. And if it didn’t happen every few minutes, he wouldn’t find it as annoying as he was beginning to. After the fifth time in seven minutes, a hiss burned in Vladimir’s throat as he grabbed the book she appeared to be reaching for and shoved it into her hands.

“Thank you, Vladimir!” (Y/N) chirped. It took everything Vladimir had to not roll his eyes or make a face of disgust; those stupid eyes, cheeks, and smile had come back for the umpteenth time today. But then it hit him: she couldn’t reach for crap. She was too short! Finally, there was something he had over her, he thought in juvenile pride. A part of Vladimir – a normally louder, brasher part of him – had become weakened from the lack of morale throughout the day. It suggested that maybe this was seen as a small victory because he’d had so little to go on. After all, what good could the height difference do? Hide lunches, put books up higher than before, hide her stuff on the tallest shelves were all offered by the louder, more childish side of his mind.

“Nichtozhnaya lichnost,” the man muttered as the smaller girl walked by him to get to the next aisle. She heard him. Whenever she turned, her curls swung and bounced a bit.

“Hm? Pardon?”

“I said . . . ‘you are welcome.’” A second weapon of stealth insults.

Vladimir’s stomach sunk low into his body when (Y/N) gave him his first official task.

“It’s simple, really: These books need to go in the GSP section. Just – you know what? You can handle it, just read them off and put them up, you’ll know what to do.” That little bitch probably knew all the expletives flying about in his cranium. He swore he could feel her smirking a hole into his skull from her place at the desk but didn’t dare turn back to check. He was convinced that if he turned back, she’d use those pupilless demon eyes of hers to see the nervousness he was in denial of feeling.

He remembered where the G section was and quickly shuffled to the end of it where the G’s would be followed by S’s and P’s. But that was where his recollection ended. He glanced at the book spines on the shelves before him and then at the several books in his hands. The letters and numbers were mostly the same but it was the titles, the authors’ names. They swirled before his eyes, becoming entwined almost.

How did – Where would – He bit the inside of his cheeks. Then he caught himself: Why bother worrying about getting the order right? Just shove them wherever the hell he saw fit and be done with it, that’s what all the other peasants did!

I am King of Strength, Vladimir chanted mentally over and over. He continuously mocked the ludicrousness of book order. Why the hell does this matter?! He shoved an ‘F’-surnamed book in between two ‘W’s. This is foolishness! He placed a book that should have been between “Adams” and “Adomian” beside one authored by “Gardwell.”I am wasting my time here! He shoved the final two books on their sides atop a row of neatly placed books. A village consisting of paper-drooling idiots led by a bug-sized little --

“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” It was odd to imagine a tall, muscular Russian man freezing at the voice of a teensy, squishy black girl. When Vladimir turned to (Y/N), he saw her at the end of the aisle. Her arms were crossed, eyelids lowered slightly. Her voice was quiet and her hips were cocked ever so slightly. A killer rabbit.

Vladimir said nothing. What could he possibly offer? Aside from Russian insults, curses and threats? But even then that was a stretch because of the crippling embarrassment being cast upon his soul.

“It’s okay if you don’t!” she insisted, her voice suddenly lighter as to attempt sounding friendlier and more understanding than the previously low and bemused tone. Her sudden change in demeanor was quickly accompanied by her tiny hands going up in a gesture that was meant to calm the situation. It failed entirely.

“Do not suggest that I am simpleton, suka,” Vladimir hissed. It did not matter that it was through clenched teeth, the animosity was just as clear. Hell, it didn’t matter to him that he’d just insulted her, he could’ve called her “teacher” and the tiny woman wouldn’t have known the difference—

“Don’t call me that, Vladimir, that’s rude!” (Y/N) scolded, to which Vladimir’s face fell slightly more into confused territory. The anger was still very much alive, but how did she even . . .? (Y/N)’s own expression became calmer as she began to recognize the astonishment on his face.

“Uh – I – Nadsat. I read A Clockwork Orange and they used a language that was basically Cockney slang mixed with bastardized Russian. Called Nadsat . . .” you sheepishly explained. “They had this word – ‘soomka’? – they used it when referring to a woman in a very rude way. I know you didn’t exactly say that but it sounded similar so I just thought you were insulting me . . .” (Y/N) rambled on and on. As she did this, Vladimir couldn’t help but notice her little brown fingers fidget. And if he focused his piercing eyes on her face just right, he could see those dark eyes of her flicker downward and her cheeks gain a stronger rosy tint than when she smiled. She was embarrassed.

Of being a book-munching lamb? Only Vladimir couldn’t bring himself to even mentally scoff that. As much as he hated to think it, he was subconsciously impressed by her awareness. Even if she didn’t have the exact word right, the assumption wasn’t too far off. Maybe the caravan queen had another weapon she didn’t want to show him just yet?

Vladimir coughed slightly. “I . . . Da. I mean ‘yes.’ I was insulting you. I apologize.” Not really, but he had to prod further. It sounded clumsy and dusty, probably because it was a statement he hadn’t used since he was a young boy in Moscow. Unless your name was Mrs. Ranskahova, you would probably never hear politeness or an apology from Vladimir in all your years of existence. Even Anatoly was lucky enough to get a simply grunt of response if he had been wronged by the more volatile sibling.

And (Y/N) knew it. There was no way she couldn’t have.

Even still, she attempted a clumsy recovery from her moment of weakness with her own slight cough. “I – yes, well.” She scratched the back of her neck and forced her eyes to center on his own, way up there. “Either way, you shouldn’t insult someone for pointing out something that needs addressing.”

From there Vladimir’s face collapsed once again. The anger wasn’t as physically apparent as the embarrassment but the man had spent years attempting to control the weaker of emotions and managed to keep the blush down just enough.

“Vladimir,” (Y/N) sighed, taking a few steps closer. “You don’t know how to read English very well. I’m stating that instead of asking that because it’s kind of apparent after a while – sorrysorrysorrydon’tgivemethatlook!” She cringed with anxiousness, taking a moment before lapsing into a less tense demeanor.

Still guarded, she continued, “But just . . . You’re already in this program for the long or short run. I know you don’t want to be here any longer than necessary, and that’s understandable. But if that’s the case, then allow me to be blunt: you putting this off and pushing people away from trying to help you or trying to bite the heads off of people for making a simple comment isn’t going to rush you out any faster. Well, unless you did that last part literally. But then that’d get you tied up like Hannibal Lector – ”

She was rambling again, something that Vladimir noticed she did when nervous or if she felt things were becoming too quiet on her end of a conversation. “—but the point is, this is proof I could show sympathy to the devil: I’m going to help you.” What. “I’m going to help you learn to read English.” . . . What? “Mostly just basics, though, because there’s only so much time . . . But hey, maybe that’ll mean homework? You’re a good listener, in spite of that whole unchained spirit thing you got going on. Mighty observant, there’s a lot of potential for good schooling in that!” What?!

“Here, lemme handle those,” (Y/N) insisted. She gently nudged Vladimir to the side as she retrieved the poorly-placed literature. Too stunned at the words he’d heard moments before, Vladimir moved. “You go into the lounge for a while and I’ll get right with you. Just gimme a moment to get a few items and we’ll start this lesson, okay?”

But it wasn’t okay. It’s just wasn’t.           

Vladimir stood by her for almost a full minute, desperately trying to compose himself as he struggled for something to say, something to do. He had to go through about seven different vulgar statements and two scenarios that involved him pushing the shelves over in protest until he eventually arrived at something a bit more conventional.

“But . . . W-who will watch desk?” he questioned weakly. He was still too stunned to really notice just how much like prey he sounded.

Without turning, (Y/N) hummed thoughtfully.She shrugged, pushing her bouncy curls up slightly. “Foggy and Karen’ll be alright. Even if they aren’t, Claire’ll be around in about fifteen and can help them. It’s nice you’re becoming concerned about productivity, though.” She glanced back at him with those dark eyes and a small, soft-cheeked smile. “Go on and head to the faculty lounge, I got it from here.”

As if he were a robot, Vladimir walked stiffly on command to the front and towards the back of a short corridor. It wasn’t until he had settled himself into a cold plastic chair at the small round table that reality crashed into him. To be honest, it hurt harder than the fist that busted his nose all those years ago. Just as shocking, too.

“Devil queen,” Vladimir spoke to the lounge. A lady Satan who can use her words to pierce and stun the deepest of flesh, man or beast. And what was worse was that wolves had good hearing.

No wonder she kept calling him a “good listener.”

[coureirsix]

ive been thinkin’ abt jax a lot and like... ive given who he is after the events of the game a lot of thought, like the whole, shooting kids, going on a bender after everyone leaves his sorry ass and then dragging himself out over the mojave to try and get his friends back but like--- i’ve literally never thought about thinking abt who he was /before/ benny

and tbh the more i think abt it the more im sure he was an absolute piece of shit. like even more so than now. 

alright, imma roll up my sleeves here comes some oc backstory.

K. SO. 

The only real things i’ve thought about in terms of his past, is that 1) his parents are from new caanan so he was born there but they moved to central california.

that’s all i’ve had.

but now, here’s this. they moved to a part of california and settled in a community by the lake. jax’s parents were decent enough farmers so he became the only child of two hardworking parents who made sure their kid never wondered if he was gonna eat that day.

so the elders of the comminuty in the quasi-school setting they had realized that this kid could not read bc he kept seeing words all jumbled, which in turn turned the other kids to making fun of him and then that lead into him hating all the other kids. it was a vicious cycle. 

his parents tried getting him glasses, and anything rly that was semi-plausable but he just grew up like that cause there wasn’t anyone anything could do for him. this and the fact that was literally the tiniest kid, like he hit his full height of 5′6 when he was 18, so he was always small and the fact that he couldn’t read didn’t help. so he grew up bitter and resentful. this led to him just fucking up all the other kids’ lives as much as he could.

it all peaked when he was like 16 and he and this other kid ventured out past settlement borders to get into a proper fight. and they were ambushed by something jax swears was a deathclaw (it was a raider) and the other kid died in the process and jax, being like... 5′3 and skinny as fuck managed to get away fast enough with only some semi-deep scratches.

that just made him want to leave. but you know, you’ve got parents who love u so you cant just up and go. so he got a job from one of the passing caravans as a courier. like if the caravan would stop at one settlement, but it had things that were meant to go to two settlements off the route, then jax would make that trip and the caravan would continue the route once he’d gotten back. it was a good deal. his winnings actually helped his parents a whole lot once they were older and harvesting was a lot harder. he just bought them shit.

and that went on for a while. he stayed with that one caravan for years, up until he was like 28. then he started getting antsy. he’d seen a lot of california and a little bit of nevada but he’d long heard of new vegas. new reno. hell, even of the stuff in DC. he was curious as hell and given that a lot of kids he’d grown up with were either married or dead, he figured he’d take the shot.

he left the caravan and started doing things on his own from the contacts he’d made. he made two trips up to new reno in six months, meeting a showgirl there and basically falling in love with her. on the second one he’d been ready to ask her to move back down to california with him. like he’d leave it be for her sake, but she was gone by the time he got back.

sad boy took his things and went back to carrying things back and forth. he made the trip to new vegas once and had the time of his life. on the way back, he caught word of the jobs the mojave express was offering and cashed in. he worked for them for roughly 4 years, moving things all around.

he made a trip back home, to his now aged parents bc at this point he’s 33. they were still alive but his mom had developed this bone disease that made it rly hard for her to walk and his father spent all his time looking after her. the morning that he left for nevada, jax took a letter that his mother had written to his father. a love letter.

the day after he left, his mother finally died. 

he made it back to the mojave express. 

then benny happened.

when he woke up, doc mitchel gave him his stuff back, and he opened the letter. he couldn’t make out much of it and it made his head hurt a whole lot to even try. he saw the name “jax” stick out in a paragraph, so he told the doc that was his name. he didn’t remember what it was short for then.

and when the doc asked for a last name, he looked back at the letter. it hurt his head, but at the bottom he saw a smudged name, “currie.” so that became his last name.

then came the thing with the powder gangers, where his brain was in a vegitative state and he was easily persuaded, kind of lobotomized. and he wandered into the powder gangers terrain and they had their way with him. that’s not to say in a disgusting way, but they absolutely made him do stupid shit for entertainment, and sent him out when they needed things. 

one day he tripped over a rock and got blood on someone’s pants and so they just beat the shit out of him. that knocked him back into his senses. he ran away that same night and came back with boone four months later.

one of the things that came back with the beating was that his full name was jackson. he still couldn’t make out much of the letter, but he knows that it was probably written by someone close to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have it.