#he's the most powerful man in the Wasteland he's not going to waste time dealing with randos who aren't doing anything

[theology101]

The Brotherhood of Steel don't commit Genocide

Their goal is to protect humanity - not including Ghouls - from Dangerous Technology (Laser weapons, FEV, Replication tech) and try to destroy the fruits of that danger.

But they're not the Enclave. They're not out here trying to make a Human Ethnostate.

As a rule, they've given it a go once or twice but, typically, they're not genocidal. Does the Brotherhood of Steel dislike Ghouls and Super Mutants? Absolutely. Did the West Coast chapter care that the NCR allowed both to be citizens? No, they didn't. Because they weren't a danger to Humanity as individuals.

Why haven't they wiped out Goodneighbor in Fallout 4? Or hell, why doesn't MacCready (who isn't the BOS biggest fan) bring up Underworld or any Brotherhood activity there? No, he doesn't - so its safe to assume that they weren't wiped out.

In Fallout 4, the fight is against Synths the same way it was about Super Mutants in Fallout og - the Synth is just the dangerous byproduct of the Brotherhood's actual target, the Insitute. Just like how the Brotherhood wasn't out to kill all Super Mutants, but the Super Mutants who served the master and threatened Mankind.

From Maxson's perspective (wrong as it may be), he thinks that Synths represent a danger to mankind for two reasons:

They have the ability to near perfectly infiltrate any organization with sleeper cells that can be activated at a moment

Synths might one day decide that they don't need Humans anymore, and instead of trying to run away from the Insitute they'll take over and mass produce

Both of these are nightmare scenarios for the Brotherhood. But the second the Institute is gone, so are both of those points. There will be no more infiltrating (except for DiMa's shenanigans) and the ability to make new Synths has exploded. And, actually, so too did the way to make new Super Mutants so once the current batch is gone there won't be anymore.

Arthur Maxson's work here is done. Now he'll just set up a new local chapter (he has the ego to just unilaterally make one, or he could have made contact with the West Coast and got permission) in Boston. The Brotherhood doesn't want to be the local government, so they'll let the Minutemen do that but they'd mostly just be here to vibe.

Shit, they can't even do anything about the Synths. Not even a deep brain scan will reveal if there is a Synth component, and its impractical to do mass-brain surgery. The Brotherhood pretty much has to wipe their hands and go "we did good gang"

So sorry Thaddeus, no we will not be "killing all the ghouls" because, to be completely honest, there are more important uses of the Brotherhood's time and micro-fusion cells.

[onceandfutureoshainspector]

- oh, for fuck's sake, what in the goddamn are you doing here?

---- i gotta say, i'm very surprised at this. i think this is the first time i've seen Maxson outside of his Brooding Room, let alone this far from the Mothership. the fact that he's not surrounded by guards implies to me that he flew himself here, too. no backup, no witnesses, presumably nobody told where he was going - what the fuck is up with this??????

Maxson: How dare you betray the Brotherhood! Danse: It's not her fault. It's mine.

- ah, dagnabit. my process at the moment is that i play through a little chunk, making notes and taking screenshots, and then i type out the dialogue from the screenshots in the appropriate spaces in my notes (and format in html as i go because the sad fact is that that's less aggravating than trying to format with tumblr's rich text editor >_<). except now my xbox is being a shit, and i've apparently missed a few lines of dialogue, after i've overwritten the file saved before this conversation. i'm so mad.

- physically placing myself between my grandson and this lunatic.

Maxson: [missed line? screenshot unclear] Cat: He's not a "thing". He's one of your best men. Maxson: Have you taken leave of your senses? Danse isn't a man, it's a machine... an automaton created by the Institute! It wasn't born from the womb of a loving mother, it was grown within the cold confines of a laboratory! Flesh is flesh! Machine is machine! The two were never meant to intertwine! By attempting to play God, the Institute has taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure!

Danse: After all I've done for the Brotherhood... all the blood I've spilled in our name, how can you say that about me? Maxson: You're the physical embodiment of what we hate most! Technology that's gone too far! Look around you, Danse! Look at the scorched earth and the bones that litter the wasteland! Millions... perhaps even billions, died because science outpaced man's restraint! They called it a "new frontier" and "pushing the envelope", completely disregarding the repercussions! Can't you see that the same thing is happening again?! You're a single bomb in an arsenal of thousands preparing to lay waste to what's left of mankind!

- Maxson really, fundamentally doesn't get what the Institute's whole deal is, does he? like, their thing is sinister and horrific, but he's talking about them like they're the Brotherhood. this entire crusade was never about any of the actual harm the Institute were doing, it was because he heard someone else had power and technology and assumed that they'd use it like he would if he had the chance.

Cat: That's insane. He dedicated his life to protecting mankind. Maxson: Is that what it told you? How can you trust the word of a machine that thinks it's alive? Those ethics that it's striving to champion aren't even its own. They were artificially inserted in an attempt to have it blend in to society.

- WELCOME TO BEING AUTISTIC MOTHERFUCKER YOU JUST DESCRIBED *LEARNED SOCIAL BEHAVIOURS*!!!!!!!!!!!!

Danse: It's true. I was built within the confines of a laboratory, and some of my memories aren't my own. But when I saw my brothers dying at my feet, I felt sorrow. When I defeated an enemy of the Brotherhood, I felt pride. And when I heard your speech about saving the Commonwealth... I felt hope. Don't you understand? I thought I was human, Arthur! From the moment I was taken in by the Brotherhood, I've done absolutely nothing to betray your trust, and I never will. Maxson: It's too late for that now. I don't intend to debate this any longer. My orders stand. Danse: You've convinced me that I was wrong to be ashamed of my true identity, and I thank you for it. Whatever you decide, know that I'm going to my grave with no anger and no regrets.

- dude, come on! we just talked about this!

Maxson: Touching.

- YOU shut the fuck up!

Cat: After all the sacrifices I've made and all the battles I've fought for the Brotherhood, you need to listen to me. You owe me that much. Maxson: Very well, I'm listening.

- :3

Cat: If Danse dies, then you lose me as well. I can't stay in good conscience if his life means that little to you.

- this is very similar to the position i was in with High Confessor Tetris. i have too much clout for even Lord Eyeshadow to sweep me under the rug now, and i think he's just now realising it. literally anyone else, even renowned heroes like THE Paladin Danse, he can do away with if he's quick and quiet and doesn't let them get a word in edgeways, but me? i go loud, and i go messy, and i take the bastard with me.

---- check.

Maxson: Unbelievable. You'd be willing to sacrifice your career... for the sake of a machine. So. It appears we've arrived at an impasse. Allowing Danse to live undermines everything the Brotherhood stands for, yet you insist that he remains alive. Which leaves me with only a single alternative. Danse. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead. From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen, or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you'll be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other? Danse: I do. [missed line i think] Maxson: Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance. I'm returning to the Prydwen, Knight. Take some time, say your goodbyes, and then I expect to see you there. We still have the Institute to deal with.

- good move, buster.

[justsomeoneunordinary]

Dark Fic Recs

@rhodee asked me for some dark fic recs and since this is one of my favorite tropes, I know quite some. I wanna make clear from the beginning that those are dark fics. Means stories with fucked up/morally dubious/voilent content. And not salty “Team Cap was mean to me, so I become evil now” kind of fics. If you’re interested in the latter, I am the wrong person to ask.

Some of them are much darker than the others, but you should read for each one carefully the tags and/or the Author’s Note, since some have special twists in the end that aren’t mentioned in the tags.

Basically: know your limits.

Dark!Tony fics (my personal preference)

Faster, Colder, Sharper by Penned (WinterIron)

Tony is kidnapped by Hydra. When the team gets him back, he has changed far more than they suspect. More than even the surface shows.

Bucky though, he notices it all.  

A de-aged Tony fic with Bucky as a caretaker... of sorts.

Radioactive by Valmasy (WinterIron, Series)

The pain is all-encompassing. It’s all he can think about. It’s all he feels. It’s all he breathes. It’s all he lives. Like a barbed net, its sharpness swallows him whole, over and over and over. Tony’s mind tries to hide, tries to save itself, but the pain finds him even then. It burns away at his resistance until all he is crumbles, until he’s nothing but ash and dust.

Attack dog by salytierra (Stony)

Steve doesn't swim in self-delusion. He knows that he is sick and that his owner is even worse. He is aware of it every time he rips some nameless guy’s throat out and feels the crunch of bones under his fingers. He is aware of it every time the rush of adrenaline at seeing life slip away from a stranger’s eyes hits him and gets him bothered and panting in ways that have nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

But it  feels so good…

His owner’s approach is less personal. His shots fall clean and take out several foes at a time, his figure elegant and so graceful he looks like a god among savages. He is power incarnated, cold and burning like a sun at the same time… and Steve tries not to focus on him when they are fighting together, least his knees go weak and his technique falters. It’s fine though. They will go home afterwards and his owner will fuck him on the hard floor, with most of their gear still on and a vicious grip in his hair.

Anatomy of a Moral Man by ShyOwl (Stony, WIP)

At a young age Tony understood he was not meant to be a hero and the world, he believes, is far better for it. With his rule now set in stone, his life is finally settling down. That is until something was found buried underneath the ice.

Tony may not be a hero but that did not stop him from falling in love with one.

In Restless Dreams by charocalwinter (WinterIron, WIP)

When he discovers what he believes to be the truth about his parents’ recent deaths, a powerful and morally ambiguous Tony Stark sets out to get his revenge on Steve Rogers. How does Bucky Barnes fit into this feud and why isn't anybody giving him a pair of socks?

“It isn’t often that Tony Stark finds himself unsure of anything, but this situation has him doubting his every thought, his every move … with Rogers comes James, and that boy is muddling Tony’s mind.” ~ interrupted excerpt from ch 4.

A Pound of Flesh by jellybeanforest (Stony)

To save Bucky, Steve volunteers to work off his debt to the Carbonell crime family. Unfortunately, he is unsuited for the role of enforcer, unable to beat and murder those in the same position as Bucky. He is brought before the mob boss, Tony Stark, who demands his pound of flesh in the wake of Steve’s failure. But upon seeing the attractive blond, Tony proposes alternative employment, one that won’t require him to harm others: Becoming his kept man.

“This isn’t an offer I make often, so you should be flattered – count yourself lucky, even – that I am extending you this rare opportunity.”

“To be raped repeatedly?”

“To have a second chance to work off your debts after you failed so spectacularly the first time. But I don’t have to. I could just use these knives I’ve brought along, carve up that pretty face of yours like a Thankgiving turkey, which would be a shame, really. Then I suppose I’d have to pay a visit to your little friend. This entire exercise has been a waste of my valuable time… perhaps I’ll take an arm for my trouble,” he muses. “So, tell me, Rogers, is Barnes right- or left-handed?”

It’s an offer Steve can’t refuse.

Take Away (everything I am) by salytierra (WinterIron)

“Everyone I kill deserves to die.”

“True. But try to explain that to Captain Justice and Faith.” He takes a gulp of the scotch right out of the bottle and flops down on Tony’s lap, straddling his hips. “He cares too much. You and I? – We do what needs to be done.”

Tony circles his waist with both arms and pulls him closer, opening his mouth when Barnes offers him the bottle and swallowing the bitter liquid dry.

“Nobody ever believed I was able to care. So why should I?”

“Coming from somebody who is expected and probably should care more but doesn’t really give a fuck? – I’ll drink to that.”

Operant Conditioning by dracusfyre (WinterIron, Series)

In which Tony is HYDRA and Bucky’s handler.

in another country (people die) by pprfaith (FrostIron)

“The world is not your playground, Stark!” Fury yells at him one time, after he maybe brings down a building or two and Tony just laughs because, seriously, yes it is. 

on the bleeding edge by esama (Pepperony, WIP, abandoned (still good tho))

Tony Stark goes back in time and becomes a super villain. 

Almost Perfect by One and Five Nines (Obani) (Stony, Comic)

A powerful enemy invades from an alternate reality, but the only thing he really seems interested in is Steve Rogers

Eventually by One and Five Nines (Obani) (Stony, Comic, WIP)

Tony is godking of the wasteland. Steve is not.

Victim!Tony fics

Deliver Us by romanoff (FrostIron)

Loki comes back for revenge. Tony Stark is his captive.

“Why,” he tries, voice failing “do you want me.” He coughs into the ash.

“A king needs an advisor. A king needs concubines. A conquering king must learn the ways of the natives or risk expulsion,” he wipes blood from the sceptre with the end of his coat “and I’m rather fond of you, I think. Even in the face of death you use your wit, you charm with your tongue. It reminds me of myself, maybe, one or two millennia ago.”

Terms & Conditions by Penned (WinterIron)

Tony Stark is desperate and trusts too easily. Bucky Barnes takes advantage of that.

A mob AU with no powers, featuring a very dark, very off-kilter Bucky.

(reverse) Kidnapping by AngeNoir (WinterIron)

Tony Stark is wallowing. He has a right to - he's just finished the funeral preparations for his parents in New York. He didn't expect them to live forever, but still...

And then he falls asleep from his bender.

And wakes up in a nightmare.

(Is it a nightmare?)

Anything (and Everything) - remix by Penned (WinterIron)

The Soldier will do anything to make Tony happy, with or without his explicit consent.

Heavily inspired by Shi_Toyu's  IronWinter Holiday Exchange fic "Anything." This is a much darker version of that story.

like flowers soaked in monochrome by deathsweetqueen (Stony)

Steve Rogers woke up to a world where everyone he loved and knew had forged on without him. But this world, it's nothing like he's used. It wants something brutal from him, something unforgiving. There are so many compromises to make. There are too many monsters behind kind smiles.

But if it means keeping Tony safe, if it means protecting him, he's willing to do whatever it takes.

He can't be soft.

After all, the weak are meat; the strong do eat.

Sins of Omission by Kiyaar (Stony, WIP (tbh I still haven’t started reading this story, but the tags and summary sound perfect!))

A Post-Civil War, Pre-Secret Invasion AU where Steve is dead, Tony's a mess, and everything sucks.

In which Tony deals poorly with Steve's death, falls off the wagon, sees ghosts, and misses a lot.

Oh, and the Skrulls are about to invade.

That’s it. Read all warnings carefully and enjoy!

[believerindaydreams]

It's Saturday night, I'll write some Colonel Autumn being a dick to Arcade fanfic if I wanna

Autumn

Defending Paradise Falls. Ha.

Up to now the arrangement has been going smoothly enough- the Enclave lets their activities slide, even pays half again what Ashur would for a first pick at quality captives. Given the alternative of being sent north to the Pitt, most people are only too happy to be taken to the shelter of Raven Rock.

Part of the bargain, though, was to save them if anyone should break through the defences- and so that's what you and your men are doing here, responding to Eulogy's urgent plea. Standing at the gate of a settlement wreathed in flame.

"Sir," one of the men says. "Shouldn't we be assisting?"

You watch the slavers, firing for their lives; and the flag of the Temple of the Union waving above Hannibal Hamlin's incinerator squad. A sense of overweening disgust takes you.

"Let them wipe each other out. We'll move in when it's over."

They wouldn't trust the assessment from anyone else; but you're Colonel Autumn, darling of the Enclave, and your word is iron law.

So they hold fire until the battlefield is only a cemetery, bodies of slavers and slaves scattered, and then you nod and they move in. Plenty of flame here to cleanse the corpses, scour this place for keeps.

Ashur will be displeased; well, let him be. It doesn't do to let any one faction in the Wasteland grow too powerful, and there's still too much risk of him rejoining his former allegiance. A Brotherhood with the Pitt's resources at its command could break the Capitol balance of power.

And as for Hannibal...well. President Eden doesn't care for non Enclave heroes.

So he's a particular priority to locate; and when your men report him in the clinic, defended by an Enclave Eyebot of all things, you raise an eyebrow and follow.

They aren't joking. Half its metal fronds are gone, it bobs up and down in a faltering pattern, but it's still functioning somehow. Impressive. They usually explode after the slightest tap-

wait, is this one of those Duraframe models? Damnit, this should have been scrapped already.

It does its best to zap anyone who goes near it; and any of your men could down it at need but they're all holding back, perplexed and disturbed. No one's ever hacked an Eyebot like this before.

There might be a good explanation, of course.

You nod at the Eyebot, draw your gun and place it down again. In its place, you hold out a super stimpak. It beeps, twice, and when you move forward it allows you.

Hannibal is alive, if barely; a medkit will keep him that way for now. The others- a mix of silver Temple armor and those new-fangled Follower coats- aren't wounded quite so badly, you can afford the resources to patch them up.

Somewhere around the second bottle of purified water wasted on someone who might not even be good Enclave material, you realise that you've slipped back into character, Lone Wanderer instead of colonel, and that's a foolish thing to do with your men watching in silence. They shouldn't watch their leader showing softness, or aimlessly pocketing ammo like a common prospector. Maybe it's been too long since you've travelled with Boone.

"I will fight you," Hannibal mumbles, training a lever-action rifle on you.

It has been too long. Taking this sort of risk doesn't befit this uniform. "I'm not trying to kill anyone. Shut up and let the Enclave save you people."

He lets the gun drop, but maintains a hard stare. "I never heard that your men ever left your Vertibirds."

You lean in close. "I stole this colonel's uniform so these folks wouldn't shoot me. They don't know I'm the Lone Wanderer."

His pained face eases into a smile. "That isn't a title to be claimed lightly."

"Believe me, I don't."

He chuckles, accepts the vodka you offer him. "I remember forging a claim just that mad and making it stick...all right then, Colonel. How about the slavers, any of them make it out?"

"No. We made sure."

"Good...Arcade? Arcade, we did it. We're still alive, and it's thanks to your medic skills."

The Follower he's attempting to wake groans, covers filthy glasses with the sleeve of an even dirtier coat. "Take two stims and call me in the morning. I'm done in."

One of the others is waking now, a short woman who was still clutching her shotgun when she passed out. "Hannibal? Arcade? You feel as good as I do?"

"Just about," Hannibal says warmly. "And I'm very proud of you."

She snorts at him. "Enough soft soap. I only helped murder, oh, every slaver in Paradise Falls."

None of your men would talk back to you like that.

For a moment, you wish they might.

*****

Arcade

Well. This is good and bad.

It's good, because the last time he was conscious had left him fairly sure it would be the last. The trip here was meant to be recon, not a full-fledged battle; Hannibal's insistence on always being prepared is all that had saved them. Well, and his own battlefield skills, which have improved of necessity on this coast. And Simone carrying so many guns that everyone in the pen could take one.

And the small Eyebot that's been their secret weapon, going in for the kill in tight spots. He's sure it made the difference between their life and death at the last, when Eulogy and his minions were taking them on personally.

And considering that, thinking of blowing up ED-E seems hugely ungrateful.

He repacks his depleted doctor's bag, feels the heavy weight of the detonator in his pocket. One quick movement and it would be over. Nothing to tie him to a piece of technology that he had no business dealing with in the first place.

An Eyebot bound for Navarro, never even making it out of the Wasteland; and if it reached its goal it would find nothing but dust.

Arcade raises the detonator unobtrusively, looks at the Eyebot. An Enclave scientist is trying to mend it, cursing under his breath as it beeps cheekily, bobbing up and down.

He sighs and doesn't fire, walks back into the clinic to meet Hannibal, who's beaming with pleasure.

"All well then?"

"Frankly, I could have done without the Enclave swooping in to loot everything. Simone's giving me plenty of lip for that. But we've found a few more survivors and the Colonel's men are helping out." His voice softens. "And Paradise Falls is broken forever. We can go back to the Memorial and be at peace, now."

"Actually, Arcade Gannon will be coming with us."

Arcade jumps- not least because he hadn't heard the colonel's footsteps. "Sorry?"

"Can I speak bluntly to you two?" Autumn asks, in an undertone.

"Shoot," Hannibal says, evenly. "Because he seems taken aback by this."

"See, it's like this...my men checked the records, they say he's a deserter. That means either him or his head. I'd rather it be him, you know?"

The soft drawl is attractive, but not enough to distract him from the content. "That's a- a mistake?"

"We have good records," Autumn says, looking apologetic. "And the Eyebot...the Eyebot was a give-away, you know. They wanted to know who did that. And more than that..." His voice lowers. "I need help. Badly. We're supposed to go back to Raven Rock today, and I don't even know where the damn place is."

Arcade looks around to see if any Enclave soldiers are here to witness this remarkable statement. They aren't.

"You get into some funny situations when you're the Lone Wanderer."

"Oh! Boone's friend!"

"...you know him?"

Arcade gulps down an incriminating statement. "Yeah. He shows up at the Followers tent for help with his addictions, he has a weakness for Steady. And moonshine. I tell him to cut back and he never does."

"Sounds familiar," Autumn says dryly. "My vice is vodka- he talks about me? Because I've met more talkative Deathclaws."

"Ooh...um, not that much. But apparently you pay well and you don't sleep enough."

"True enough...and look, I'll be honest with you. This scares me. An in to Raven Rock is the biggest thing I've ever been caught up in, and in twenty minutes I have to head there with no backup. Maybe you could come along?"

"If you're unwilling to go back," Hannibal says, squaring his shoulders. "We'll help you. I don't approve of people being held under duress."

"But I could do so much good by finding out how they tick," Autumn says quietly. "Even if it kills me."

"It will kill you," Arcade blurts out. "You don't know what you're doing here."

The door swings open, a soldier marches in and salutes. "Sir. The Vertibird is warming up."

"You don't have to go," Hannibal says, loading his gun; and Arcade knows that's meant for both of them.

"Duty calls," Autumn says.

And his solemn tone decides Arcade like no rational argument could; a man walking into hell of his own accord with no idea how to get out. Because he's trying to save the Wasteland, because there's no one here to help.

And it isn't even Autumn's responsibility, or heritage, or guilt.

Arcade steps in front of him. "I'm convinced. I'll come back to the Enclave."

It's the thing he's been running from all his life; and he won't let an innocent walk into it alone.

"And the test came back on this, sir. Scientists say it won't explode, but they can't quite figure what it does."

Autumn takes the weapon, gingerly pockets it. "We'll let them loose on it at base."

"Tell the Followers," Arcade starts, and stops. "Tell them I'm dead."

Boone would understand, feeling like destiny has caught up. He won't have the others trapped too.

"I'll honour that," Hannibal agrees. "Godspeed, Follower."

If it's the last time anyone will call him that, there isn't a better man to say it.

That's the last thought he has, as they go outside and start for the Vertibird; because Colonel Autumn doesn't take a chance and shoots him in the back.

The Eyebot that witnesses the act goes down next.

[profishionals-have-standards]

Y’all, I actually did it! Meet the Outlaw!

(there’s still a lot to make for her, especially her weapons and other gear, but it’s a start)

The Outlaw

Name: Emilija Vance (ehm-eel-yah)

Origin: appx. White Oaks, NM

Age: 30

Class Role: Offense

Weapons: dual revolvers (primary), lever-action rifle (secondary), bullwhip (melee)

A New Mexico native, who hardly ever left the Badlands, Vance had up until recently been very busy enjoying a life of relative quiet and mundanity, apart from all the murder. Her father being a bit touched in the head, see, meant she had been raised isolated enough that she, from a legal standpoint, did not exist. No birth certificate, no papers, not so much as newspaper subscription. Left with a paid-off house in the middle of the desert, bills accounted for thanks to a string of favors, Vance was free to live her best life.

This, for her, largely meant terrorizing the unsavory sorts in the greater Badlands area. Obsessed with the idea of frontier justice, she provided her services not to rich and powerful clients but the common man. Whether it was hunting down an abusive husband and beating him within an inch of his miserable life, protecting a struggling family from a particularly ruthless debt collector, or stealing back the wealth of a boss who didn’t feel like paying his workers a fair share, she took them all on in exchange for practical favors and some under-the-table cash. She took special preference towards targets who thought they could escape the admittedly incompetent and corrupt local law, and prided herself on cleaning up when the so-called justice system failed. Operating somewhat anonymously out of the local saloon, a relic fittingly called “No Scum Allowed”, she made connections far and wide across the post-boom, dried-up communities of the New Mexico wastelands.

Vance has leveraged her peculiar background into making herself a formidable opponent on the battlefield. Her family were old-fashioned Western show performers by trade, and as a result she’s one of the last remaining expert whipcrackers in possibly the entire Southwest. Combined with her uncanny aim with a revolver, she’s a force at close-to-medium quarters. If all else fails, the big family rifle helps clean up the rest, although she’s honestly a terrible shot with it by comparison. She’s also deceptively strong--years of slinging a heavy leather whip will do that--and can throw a decent enough punch, although it’s rarely her first choice. Used to working alone, she leans on speed and agility, and ambushes when necessary.

Not content to rely on having years to do nothing but practice her aim, Vance bartered her soul to a demon (he’s cagey about stating his affiliation, and Vance isn’t sure if he’s the genuine satanic article or he’s made it all up for show) named Jacovy when she was around 16. In exchange for some measure of improvement to her skills (not so measured that they’d draw attention or demand a higher price), they came with the obligation to send a few wicked souls down to the black pit every now and then. Turns out demons are much less inclined to waste time with temptation when there are plenty of future victims who could just hurry up and die already. Jacovy pops up around crossroads from time to time to bother her, but she lives otherwise fairly free to enjoy the benefits of her deal.

It did have the unfortunate effect of making her more noticeable to some of the local Peculiarities one finds in the Badlands. While lack of a soul might sound like an advantage, a gaping void in the shape of where a human is supposed to be can still attract unwanted attention. Obsessed with the mysticism of the desert her whole life, Vance is well used to dealing with the strange things that come out at night to roam under the stars. She maintains that dealing with them is actually pretty simple if you keep your head. Be respectful, don’t touch what isn’t yours, mind your own business but don’t let your guard down.

It was neither a magical mishap nor a community contract that brought Vance in touch with the REDs. After “rescuing” Miss Pauling, who had stopped while passing through town at the No Scum Allowed for a well-deserved drink, from a sleazy bar-goer, Vance kept the suspicious secretary’s number and thought nothing of it before heading out to a heist job the next town over. She returned to the burned-out wreckage of her lifelong home, thirty years of her life collapsed in a charred ruin.

Incensed, she hunted down Pauling, who denied any involvement until Vance revealed the only clue she had found: the casing of a flare gun round, distinctly Mann Co. make. Vance’s friendly neighborhood arms dealer knew only one company desperate enough to regularly be buying Mann munitions: Pauling’s supposed employers, Reliable Excavation & Demolition. At gunpoint by a murderous Vance, Pauling realized she had, in fact, been responsible, though not directly. There had been a job near White Oaks that night, at a derelict industrial facility in the shadow of which had sat Vance’s home. It had to have been a stray shot from the Pyro’s gun that by some fantastically poor stroke of luck landed close enough to the old building to ignite it.

Devastated, but satisfied enough with Miss Pauling’s explanation to let her go, Vance was left with few options. Most of her money had been stashed throughout the house, and while a few things had been salvageable (she’d never been so grateful for all her paranoid father’s old lockboxes being so sturdy), she had very little left to her non-existent name. Unable to afford a new property or to restore her old one, and too dangerous a houseguest to be willing to inflict herself on any acquaintances, Vance was facing a very long and unpleasant camping trip. It stung her pride and went against every instinct that screamed in her gut, but having determined the true nature of the RED company’s work, she asked Pauling for a job. While moving into what seemed to be a mercenary frat house and taking orders sounded hardly ideal, it beat homelessness in the face of the oncoming desert winter. With the optimistic promise of decent pay and a roof over her head weighing heavily on her uncertain heart, she packed her last possessions onto her motorcycle’s trailer and drove out to the coordinates Pauling had left her...

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

Author’s notes: Finally, after months, I finally got to updating the fic! Schedule will be still irregular, but if things go according to plan the next chapter might come at around April 7. Thank you for staying tuned, please enjoy the chapter!

XXIX

January 14, 2278.

The green glow of Percy’s Pip-Boy illuminates the dark corridors of the Vault. I squinted, vaguely reading the time as two in the afternoon. She stands closer next to me. My partner does that whenever we explore vaults, and I can’t blame her.

Even I get creeped out by these damn things.

I didn’t know which was worse; the ones filled with insane clones who screamed “Gary”, or the one that filled my lungs with some kind of drug that made me and Percy trip out of our minds and almost hurt each other.

I don’t even wanna remember either. I must shift my focus on helping Percy find the GECK.

The ventilation is dead, and so is the thermostat, with the vault being in a state of decay for fuck knows how long. Some of these underground bunkers were built when I still had skin. Percy was extra cautious, and she was right to be. We faced several super mutants; Percy took care of them from a distance, while I offered additional firepower, ensuring none of those big green muties came within ten feet of her.

Reloading my shotgun, I hid behind a fallen desk as Percy fired another round from her Gauss rifle, nicking one mutant coming from my blind spot. The corner of my mouth tugs upward when I remember the first time we faced super mutants together, in the DC ruins.

I look at her now, and how she’d grown as a fighter.

Once all the muties in the area are dead, Percy sneaks over to a terminal, the glow of the monitor washing her helmet with a sickly green hue. My partner retracts her helmet, and begins typing away.

Shotgun still warm on my peeling hands, I’m alert to my surroundings as usual, though I can’t help but glance at her baffled expression, her frown frown deepening the more she reads the text on the screen.

“Shit. This isn’t science, this is sick! Charon, oh my god,” she whispers, eyes fixed on the terminal. “Some twisted scientist experimented on the vault residents to make the mutants. Vault 87 is where all the muties are coming from. They kidnap wastelanders and take them here and infect them with the FEV strain that doctor concocted.”

Expression grim, I turn to Percy. “Are you hinting that we blow this place up too, like Paradise?”

Sighing, Percy shuts the terminal off. “It’s too dangerous due to all the radiation in the area, and we don’t have the means to do it now. Maybe we can inform the Brotherhood.”

Knowing those tin cans, I roll my eyes at her. “If they decide to do something about it. They can’t even send their own men to fetch the damn GECK and they sent you.”

“My opinion of them is slowly getting worse as the days pass, that’s for sure,” Percy quips, powering down the terminal. “Fuckers have the most advanced weaponry in all of the Capital Wasteland next to the Enclave and they’re hiring a teenager and her ghoul partner as errand runners.”

At Percy’s remark, I chuckle.

“You mean the Wasteland Avenger and the Ghoul Reaper.”

“I thought you hated those nicknames,” she chuckles, the helmet of her suit protracting to cover her face once again.

“I still do, and Three Dog has no fucking problem using them, and us, to promote the Brotherhood. But those assholes don’t even respect you.”

Percy pauses, then her helmeted face turns to me. “Do you think he’s a little bit biased towards the Brotherhood?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, he preaches about how ghouls are people too, and he’s absolutely right about that, but he says nothing about the Brotherhood's bigotry against ghouls. Worse, a ghoul had been directly and indirectly helping them, and he’s still quiet.”

I rubbed my chin at her observation. “Huh. I’ve never thought of it- Percy, your six!”

She turns around, and sees the centaur approaching us, those god-awful tentacles writhing as it advanced. A few things unsettle me, seeing how I have to deal with my ugly mug whenever I look in the mirror, but those things? It makes the hairs on what little skin I have left stand.

It took two rounds to take it down, its head splitting like a rotten fruit the second time Percy shoots it. Disgusting.

Percy seems to be thinking of the same thing, recoiling and shivering. “Thanks.”

I grunt in response. “Let’s get a move on. I don’t wanna spend another minute in this damn place,” I muttered, and my partner nods.

We advance, taking care of any mutants we bump into along the way. Percy sweeps every area we go into for supplies, and terminals she can tinker with. I have a feeling that her accessing the files in this vault isn’t born out of her natural curiosity now. She’s seeking something.

A truth of some sorts.

On one particular terminal she accessed, she recoiled in horror, stumbling into me. I steady her, my large hands cupping her shoulders as she takes a sharp inhale.

“That bad?”

“Yeah,” she gasps. “Look.”

Barely making out the words, I lean over to read the text with difficulty. Thankfully, Percy spells it out for me. “These are death codes. They represent what the vault residents succumbed to. See that?”

She points at a string of text on the screen. “UD000.”

“Unexplained deaths. If I had to guess, they came up with this to cover up the fact that these people actually died due to the experiments their bastard scientists did to them. Now look at this,” Percy continues, typing away and accessing a list of the deceased. Eighty goddamn seven of those were unexplained.

A twisted feeling crawls up my spine, reminding me of the government program I was forced into.

??? ??, 2074.

Lined up, waiting for what’s about to come next, I stood beside Mag. My lanky limbs were tense, and the skin of my neck felt sickeningly tender, the collar around it making it bulge. From the corner of my eye, I look at my fellow trainees, all six of them.

Out of the hundreds of people they brought in, only the seven of us survived.

Sergeant Williams steps in the room, and all of us move in unison to salute, starched black uniforms barely creasing as we raised our arm for the gesture.

“Listen up, maggots! Out of the four hundred seventy three recruits we had for rehabilitation, only the seven of you didn’t wash out, drop dead, or ate a gun. Consider this the greatest honor, for you are now considered rehabilitated from commie propaganda,” he barks, barely concealing his Texan drawl, spittle flying everywhere.

“Consider this the greatest honor, for you are now ready to dedicate your worthless goddamn lives to the USA! You are to follow every damn command issued to you by whoever holds your contracts! You were trained for this singular purpose, are we clear?”

Our voices filled the room as we shouted “Yes sir!” in unison.

That was the day I was given my name.

The sergeant christened me as Charon, burning away whatever was left of Artyom Volkov, or so he thought.

Out of the hundreds of souls that got wasted from the Enclave’s bullshit, I somehow managed to survive, and I still intend to continue surviving. I have my partner Percy, that jackass DeLoria, and the dog now.

I pull myself back to the present as my partner shuts down the terminal, turning to the medical safe and taking whatever supplies we can get.

“C’mon. I don’t wanna linger here any more,” she whispers, a small tremble in her voice.

Following her to a corridor, the red lights glower over us almost ominously as we pass by several holding cells. The goosebumps on whatever’s left of my skin intensify. It was cold, desolate.

Until some crazy fuck lunged at us from behind a reinforced glass window and scared the living daylights out of Percy, who screams in surprise and bumps into me. Out of instinct, I catch her, and use my body to shield her.

The man continued to bang on the window as we both recovered from the damn surprise, a frown on my face as I took a closer look. The poor guy’s been driven mad from being held there. I doubt we can save him.

Of course, what happened made us look inside the rest of the holding cells.

I regret doing so immediately.

Centaurs, blobs of vaguely fucking human abominations and other unsightly shit occupied the holding cells. Percy is visibly disturbed, gagging, her helmet retracting just in case she vomits from the sights.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she curses, sweat dripping from her brow despite the cold. “We should put them out of their misery.”

“Do you really want to deal with them right now?” I ask her as her eyes watered from the scene. “Let’s just come back for them once we retrieve the GECK,” I continue, gently placing my hand on her upper back.

Percy nods, and wordlessly forges on.

As we rounded a corner, we heard a brash voice ringing through an intercom.

“It can’t be!”

Both of us turn towards the sound. Slowly, cautiously, we creeped at the source, and we saw the unthinkable.

A super mutant is locked behind a holding cell. He’s standing next to the window, looking at my partner and I in surprise. Then, he continued talking. Not the broken speech you’d expect from a mutie, but full, actual sentences.

“Either you are quite real, or I’m going quite mad. Could you actually be a pure human?” the super mutant asks, gawking at Percy. Just to be safe, I remain at her side, still gauging if he can be trusted. “And this… is he another of the experiments, like me?” he continues, addressing my presence.

“Yes, I’m human. He is a ghoul. He’s like that because of the radiation and not an experiment, I’m afraid,” Percy replies, stepping closer to the glass to stare at him back, craning her neck to get a better view of him. What’s left of his jumpsuit are in tatters, and he loomed over the window, as big as the uglies who were dumber than him, if not even bigger. Even I had to crane my own neck upwards. This guy dwarfed me.

Damn, is this what Percy feels like when she’s with me?

“But what are you?” Percy asks.

“Me? You care who I am?” he asks, and I can almost hear Percy’s heart break at the question. He seemed like an outcast, locked away like this. I get the feeling he’s exactly on good terms with the mutants that roam the vault.

“I’m not used to pleasantries, forgive me. I’m more used to being struck around by the others,” he responds, pressing a meaty hand against the glass. Just as I thought. Guy’s an outcast.

“My name is Fawkes. I’ve lived in this cage… all my life.”

I looked at Percy and expected the sympathetic expression on her face. One look at that face and I already damn know she’s thinking of how to help him out.

“I’m Percy Zhou,” my partner introduces herself. “This is Charon.”

“A friendly mutie. Now I’ve seen everything,” I comment, and I hear Fawkes groan.

“Must you use that vulgar term?” he laments, face twisting in disdain, or disappointment, or an approximation of either seeing how the movements of his face muscles are limited. “Indeed I was born in the F.E.V. Chambers, but super mutant I am not. I prefer the term Meta Human. Suits me better, don’t you think?”

I was taken aback. I mean, damn, this guy sounds smarter than DeLoria. Hell, he sounds smarter than me. And that’s what makes him dangerous; if the dumb ones are a menace, imagine the damage a smart one can do.

“Percy, I think we should go. He might be dangerous,” I mumble, and Fawkes moves even closer to us, a shift in his tone.

“No, please! I haven’t had a single civil conversation all my life! Don’t go,” he begs, and though his voice is grating and booming like the rest of the super mutants, you can almost hear pain behind it.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Percy reassures him, pressing a small hand against the dirty window as a gesture of camaraderie. Then, she whips her head towards me, and whispers. “Charon, he’s lonely. Don’t you think he deserves even just a polite conversation?”

Grumbling, I fold my arms and nod. Percy smiles softly, and turns to Fawkes again. “Is your name really Fawkes? Like Guy Fawkes, the man who was involved in a plot to end his people’s persecution by assassinating a king?”

Fawkes seems delighted that Percy knew that tidbit of information. “Ah! You know your history as well! Yes, the name comes from a man who was willing to fight and die for what he believed in. I found it fitting, given my current circumstances. I’ve taken it from a historical entry in the computer,” he replies, gesturing to the terminal in his cell.

As they continued their conversation, I scanned for any threats that might befall us. What’s left of my ears picked up something from their chat, and my head whips towards Percy.

“I’ll get you out,” she said.

I frowned and folded my arms. “Percy, what the hell are you doing?”

“Charon, Fawkes said that the chamber holding the GECK is highly irradiated, and he can get it for us. Don’t you think it’s a good trade? He can have his freedom, and we can get what we came here for.”

“And I’m immune to radiation too. I’ll take the GECK,” I tell her, straightening my back subconsciously out of bravado.  “We don’t know if he can be trusted. For all we know, the moment he gets out of his cell, he’ll attack us!”

“You’re not an errand boy, you’re my partner. That’s perfectly reasonable, but we’ve handled mutants before, Charon. If he gives any indication that he’s going to betray us, you’re free to empty your clip on him.”

This is starting to turn into an argument. I massaged my temples, frowning. “I’m not going to take that risk. I need to protect you.”

“What if he’s actually decent, and we just leave him here to rot and be tormented by the other mutants? You have your freedom now, Charon. Don’t you think he deserves his too?” Percy almost shouts, voice raised, and on her tiptoes.

Her words made me pause. Percy just had to go there, didn’t she? And it was effective too. I look at the big, green super mutant, or Meta Human, whatever he wanted to call himself, and a pang of guilt tugs at my gut.

Grumbling, I relent and nod.

This woman’s heart might be the death of her one day. Setting Fawkes free better be worth it.

[thewindorsomefuriousvexation]

World Building the Wives from MMFR background for my own sanity

I have a lot of ideas about who the wives were before Immortan Joe got them. A lot of stuff is going to be pulled from the game more so than the comics because it really does speak of a world outside of their car chase through the desert,

The Splendid Angharad (also known as "Splendid" or simply "Angharad")

I honestly believe Splendid is the daughter of The Gyro Captain and ‘The Captain's Girl’, she was never given an official name it seems. Due to the old Max’s actions, her mother and father (they could easily have been her grandparents as well) were able to escape and create the Great Northern Tribe in ‘Paradise’. I really do think the people made it there and lived happily for a handful of years. Of course with something like that sitting out in the open and the tribe didn’t really have any warriors left, a bigger stronger group came along and pillaged/captured it. Angharad wasn’t captured by the War Boys at first, but by a lower ranking group of raiders whom she traveled with for a short time, eventually being traded as shown in one of the comics. No one grows up in the Wasteland not knowing that ‘everything out here hurts’ unless they were extremely privileged. Seeing as The Captian’s Girl wasn’t really all that involved with the fighting, we can assume she got her reluctance to kill from her, while also having her father’s attitude towards anti-establishment. But heres the kicker, i think her father was kidnapped (its not shown in the comic) with her and her Mother was either left for dead out in the wastes or killed in the first raid. He was probably used as a bargaining chip to get her to comply, thrown onto the wheel and worked himself to death and thus his head is used as an ornament on Nux’s car. She doesn’t speak of ‘Paradise’ because she knows it is no longer there unlike Furiosa who still believed ‘the green place’ existed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Toast the Knowing

“According to Fury Road writer Nico Lathouris, Toast has come from the Wasteland. She was most likely passing through War Boy's territory and was captured by them. According to him, she most likely has some experience from the Wasteland, has been taught to defend herself, be able to drive a car and operate weapons.”

If i had to give a guess, i would say Toast was from one of the strongholds in the Mad Max video game. My best bet would be on either Jeet or Pink Eye’s strongholds. If she was with Jeet i would be more likely to believe she grew up with a small family, perhaps a father and older brother, or just a father. Under Jeet’s leadership and her Father’s guidance she would have defiantly learned all the skills she would need to live in the Wasteland. Jeet was a guy where he would say ‘everyone’s got a job’ and put her to work early on as a child. Perhaps she was on a supply run with another Wastelander or her Father when the War Boy’s found them and ran them down. Her Father/other person would have been killed and herself captured. Maybe one day, after she helps the Citadel, she would go back to try and make an alliance with Jeet or whomever else was running the place now.

If she was with Pink Eye, than i would say she probably knows some of those War Pups. Pink Eye was known for raising children and they were some of the brightest in the Wasteland. Toast obviously display’s her intelligence when she is naming vehicles from afar and knows her bullets. But at some point Pink Eye has to send her children out into the world, Max helps them gather supplies to do so, and so we can assume the Stronghold was nearing it’s end, thus why Toast never speaks about it. She and the children would have been sent out into the world on their ‘wind powered machine’ and cruising through some territories. The War Boys could have easily seen their massive sail and chased after them. Toast and the other older one’s would have fought and shot, but with so many children they were no chance. The War Boys would have captured her and any healthy children, raided the supplies they had, and left the others for dead.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Capable

Capable, i believe, was the daughter of either the Bullet Farmer or the People Eater. Even though she was the daughter of one of these men, I don’t believe she was given a lot of freedom or respect. Her Mother was the daughter of a great Singer, Elvis Presley, who was captured a long time ago. Gifted with her Father’s talent, she passed it onto Capable thus how she knows to play the guitar in the comics. She would have no doubt have had half brother’s or sisters, either they died young or were sent off to ‘do war’ for the Immortan. Eventually, once she came of age she was gifted to Joe as a Wife, thus ripping her from her Mother. Her Mother maybe fought to keep her daughter, but was deemed ‘too old’ and killed or left out in the waste’s to die. With the only thing she considered home gone, she would not try to go back for obvious reasons. Capable was probably groomed from a young age on how to ‘act’ for the Immortan, but would put up a front while secretly getting their fighting spirit from her Mother. While Angharad was pretty much the mother of the group, Capable easily takes over that role once she is gone which leads me to believe she was given a lot of motherly attention. Plus she seemed pretty comfortable around a War Boy aka Nux which tells me she had plenty of experiences dealing with them.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Dag

The Dag is probably one of the few left whom one could call a mystic of sorts. Despite her outlandish behavior, she seems to connive with the world on a different level than the other Wives. Her personality is a lot like Griffa’s, despite being a little childish she has the pillars to be one day a history woman or even some sort of wanderer whom goes around spreading stories/life lessons. My theory with her is that she use to be a Buzzard, or atleast a ‘diggling’ (children used by buzzards to dig and scavenge stuff from the old world underground). She was either kidnapped as a child or was born to a woman there whom had no social standing in the Buzzards. She, her Mother, and the other lower society may have one day realized there was more of them than there were Buzzards and fought back. Unfortunately, the casualties were great on both sides and everyone was scattered. Dag may have gone underground for a while, scavenging what she could, seeing what the old world was but not really understanding it. Eventually she came to the surface, was seen by a War Party, and captured before she could scuttle back underground. This would explain her almost ‘feral and defiant’ nature when trying to stand up against Joe. She may have never been a proper Buzzard, but she gained their quick snappish personality and fierce protectiveness of those she considers her own.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Cheedo the Fragile

Cheedo knew not of anything outside the Citadel and lived comfortably her whole life. My belief is that she was born to what was considered ‘middle class’ at the Citadel, those whom have valuable skills. Her Mother and Father were taken/captured by Joe when her Mother was pregnant with her. But as soon as Cheedo was born, her Mother died, thus leaving it up to her Father to show they were worthy of staying. He proved himself and probably raised Cheedo in the middle class, away from the prying eyes of the Immortan. With her father raising her, Cheedo didn’t have to believe Joe was ‘a god’ as believed by the War Boys and the Wretched. When she came of age, obviously someone saw her and reported it to Joe. He promised her a better life no doubt, leaving out certain details which i’m sure the middle class was naive to at the time, and took her away from her father. Most likely her father tried to get her back once he learned of what was going to happen, he was killed, and Cheedo was just told ‘he passed peacefully and or killed in an accident’. With also the only one not rapped yet, this would explain why she idolized and thought Joe was a quote on quote “good man” who would “forgive them”. With no other family left but Joe and the Wives, she would have clung onto them as we see in the movie and make up any excuse she could.

[firewoodfigs]

hug me ‘til you drug me, honey, love me 

(for @royaiweek day 1 - letters & day 2 - little pistol. thank u mods!! 💕)

read on ao3 

Summary: They don’t, can’t remember each other - not when they’ve been stripped of their identities and labelled with letters and numbers, before being slotted deftly into an inescapable hierarchy and social destiny. The only brief memory they have of each other lies within a letter inscribed onto her back.

Rating: M, for Machiavellian bastards!! 

a/n: (i) inspired by many pieces of art - Huxley’s Brave New World (some of the italicised lines, as well as the title, are taken from his book), Wilfred Owen’s Anthem for Doomed Youth, snippets from Mother Mother’s Little Pistol, as well as soterianyx’s analysis of Riza’s tattoo and my friend’s explanation that fire on sand brings glass (hello friend thanks for teaching me physics!!).  (ii) please note the rating - it’s rated for graphic depictions of violence and war, and the context of this piece is based on an autocratic dystopia. (iii) count the alphabets if you’re confused by who’s who xD  (iv) i wanted to experiment with a different writing style - it’s meant to sound more detached etc (quite out of my comfort zone tbh haha because i'm typically a sap) to bring across the ruthlessness of everything that’s going on here. feedback is greatly appreciated!

~x~

Memory. Identity. Emotions.

The Amestrian military has no need for silly things like these. Sentimentalities are but frivolities in a war zone. The military needs people who can kill without batting an eyelid - cavalier about murder, like the Autocrat’s rapier. Soldiers who will mindlessly obey orders; subjugate themselves to the will of the State without resistance.

The individual is not its own being. It is a part of the State.

Bearing this axiom in mind, A-18/13 dutifully accepts his fate as a State Alchemist. He snaps on his ignition gloves, staring blankly at the red sigil - a lost, distant memory, perhaps? Regardless, he does not probe, does not flinch as the heat engulfs his hands and reminds him of a bittersweet embrace that he’s never tasted.

After all, the perfect soldier wastes no time on ruminations like these.

A-18/13 is armed for battle and ready to abide by the State’s decree. What might have once been remorseful reluctance and moral scruples are now replaced by an undying loyalty, an unwavering fealty to the State.

The white coat shrouds him like a cloud, but there’s an inexplicable coldness to it. It’s odd. He’s supposed to be the Flame Alchemist, but using his powers for simple comforts like warmth instead of killing feels rather inane. And so he refrains from doing so.

Instead, he stands ruler-straight with the rest of the State Alchemists, ignoring the subtle hunger and discomfiture bubbling in his throat.  

“For the greater good,” the soldiers chant, mouths moving like parrots. “For the greater good of the State.”

On the other side of the room, E-18/8 likewise accepts her orders. She’s young - hardly an adult by legal standards - fresh out of the academy, but it’s of little import to the State. All that matters is her talent in handling a gun, a rifle; her readiness to be shipped out to the desert. Notwithstanding her relatively petite stature, there’s a stubborn strength in her shoulders that beguiles her age and inexperience in war.

“Stay in the shadows, fire at any threat,” is the command given to her. “Sacrifice yourself for those who are above you.”

At their behest, she salutes before stepping forward to accept her instrument of death. The rifle feels cool against her palm, but she doesn’t flinch. What might have once been a burning desire to protect someone has been quashed and replaced with hands that are cold as ice. Indifferent to bloodshed.

“For the greater good,” the soldiers recite again. “For the greater good of the State.”

Their hollow voices reverberate across the room like the sounds of a lonely, dispassionate choir.

“Silence, silence.” Chanting dies off into light, regular breathing. The air is sibilant with the categorical imperative as they await further orders.

The Autocrat begins his descent down the stairs, into the basement shrouded by a thickening, eerie atmosphere of gray. He enters into the room: regal, powerful and of stalwart built.

The ultimate Alpha.

Everyone bows deferentially. “Fuhrer King Bradley,” his puppets’ voices resonate in perfect harmony across the room.

He looks upon them from the platform on which he stands with an unreadable expression. Then, with a deceptively pleasant smile, he asks, “You know what Ishvala is, I suppose?”

A rhetorical question. The soldiers chime in with the answer he anticipates, without any need for prompting. “A dead religion,” they reply, in perfect harmony.

Deadened, darkened eyes turn to look at him.

“Wonderful. Such excellent soldiers you all are. Well, remember this now, even if you forget everything else.” There’s a gleam in his eyes that’s disgustingly delightful as his lips curl upward, undertones of menace lingering within. The Autocrat draws his sword out. The tip of his blade meets the ground, and he rests his palms on the hilt as he barks out his next command. “All orders are to be obeyed immediately, for the greater good of the State.”  

“For the greater good of the State,” his lackeys reply, an incantation thoroughly internalised by now.

He smiles once more, before letting his gaze linger for a little while longer on A-18/13 and E-18/8. The two soldiers who, reportedly, were the most difficult amongst the lot to deal with during the extraction process.

Amelos potamos, it was called - a process by which soldiers were medically induced into a coma before utilising alchemy to tap into their subconscious, to extract and seal their memories away.

The goal was for them to wake up without any recollection of who they were, save for their fighting capabilities, as the gold-toothed doctor so kindly explained to the Autocrat. Emotional capabilities eroded so that troublesome fetters like - god forbid, feelings! - could get out of the picture. Consciences atrophied, minds brainwashed. All obstacles to the full realisation of their indestructible power in the war erased.

Reduced to subconsciousness, amelos potamos had been a surprisingly easy process to perform on most soldiers. For the general majority there was no struggle against the process, and they awoke into nothingness: nothing but shells of their former selves. For some, their minds had repelled against the procedure initially, as if desperately grappling on to fragments of their former selves, but eventually they’d succumbed as well.

A-18/13 and E-18/8 had, however, proved to be most cumbersome with their startling mental resistance. Even in their subconscious their minds had clawed frantically at the memories they shared with each other, stubbornly refusing to let go of the basis behind their shared bond. The doctors struggled to find a way around this, and even when they arrived at a solution it was a long, painstaking process to go through the elaborate removal of their memories, piece by piece - for there were so many - and -

-- and destroy every single trace.

And finally, at the end of it, they recalled nothing, felt nothing as they arose from their comatose states to a chilly hospital room. To a perfect world, without hindrances to ruthlessness. The perfect soldiers were engineered thus.

What man has engineered, nature is powerless to put asunder.

The Autocrat smiles beatifically at last, eyes crinkling with genuine pleasure. He inspects the soldiers once more with all the coldness of someone debating a pawn’s move on a chessboard.  “It’s time.”

At his beckon, they march out into battle like an army of marionettes.

~x~

Out in the battlefield, the Amestrian soldiers are like industrialised man-machines, way ahead of their time. An inward dehumanisation, an outward mechanisation. The Alchemists, in particular, possess a power so lethal that they could wipe out an entire army of men with the slightest snap of their fingers, the briefest clap of hands.

This they do unflinchingly, without hesitation.

True to the gold-toothed doctor’s predictions, there were no obstructions to the realisation of their full potential. Gone were nuisances like compunction, pity - foreign concepts that didn’t belong in the desert. The soldiers simply stare at their corpses laid out before them with glazed eyes, before continuing to traverse the desert like the very harbingers of doom themselves.

Death and destruction follow them, wherever they go. There is no remorse to be felt amidst the rifles’ rapid rattles; no guilt or sympathy that halts their movements.

Neither does fear plague the brave, heartless soldiers - not even when the soldiers are held at gunpoint or witness an explosive being thrown their way. Epsilons like E-18/8 protected those who were ahead of them in the hierarchy, and were willing to kill, murder; sacrifice their bodies without a second thought.

When A-18/13 was almost stabbed from the back, for example, E-18/8 had fired a shot straight to the culprit’s head that instantaneously killed him without batting even so much as an eyelash.

Her victim’s blood spills in the distance. A bright splash of scarlet, like carmine roses growing on a decrepit wasteland. He falls lifeless to the ground.

She doesn’t recoil in the slightest: her eyes are as lifeless as the cadaver’s.

For the greater good of the State, they cantillate in their heads. An anthem for doomed youths who are slotted into an inescapable social destiny.

A-18/13 notices the sniper hiding in the comforting darkness of a bell tower from the corner of his eye, and makes a mental note to thank the stranger as she begins walking towards their base camp for their lunch break. They stand six feet apart, glassy-eyed amidst desultory conversations.

He approaches her slowly when their eyes meet. There’s an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his gut - have we met before? But he’s quick to quash it, as if stepping on a bothersome insect. “Thank you for earlier,” he says.

“Not at all. It is my duty, sir,” she responds tonelessly, before taking a seat opposite A-18/13 and B-13/8. They sip coffee and eat ration bars in a wordless, somewhat peaceful quietude despite the chaos around them.

The coffee tastes like dirt, and the ration bar reminds them of cardboard.

They eat anyway, without complaint.

Incidentally, A-19/10/11 happens to overhear their interactions. He turns around to face them. “Cadets like her deserve no thanks when they are simply doing their jobs,” he sneers. It's doltish, he thinks, to thank someone for something they're ordered to do.

E-18/8 makes no protests or objections despite the condescension in his statement. In a world without trivialities like memories or identities or emotions, the hierarchy’s austerity elicits no complaints.

Suddenly, a bell goes off. Duty calls. It signals the end of their lunch break, and they're quick to finish the last of their measly meals before standing once more for battle.

E-18/8 slings her rifles and prepares to leave. Her back reminds A-18/13 of the tall, white columns of an estate that occasionally appeared in his dreams.

A ponderous lump begins to form in his throat, but before he can ponder further the bell chimes again. Around him, soldiers recite the dreadful axiom once more.  

War wages on. The Flame Alchemist rises, and the sigil on his leathery glove begins to glow a lethal claret.  

A snap. Bodies burnt beyond recognition. Another snap. Curses and vows of vengeance eventually subsiding to muted prayers.

It’s a mortifying sight to take in: the entire place reeks more of death than sand.

The desert wind carries the howls of pain, the screams for mercy and the broken pleas for salvation from a god who doesn’t seem to hear the dying voices of its people. Please, stop - what did we ever do wrong? Don’t take my lover’s life, take mine instead -

(I pray that you’ll always be that way… May you shine like fire before men; kindness and mercy your strongest traits.  And most of all, I pray that our love for each other will always -)  

A-18/13 simply regards all of this with a vacant, uncaring look. He’s quick to snap once more, incinerating mortals into ash - from dust we were made, and back to that we shall return - as if they were but matchsticks waiting to be lit up.

Unfettered by scruples, carefully curated gardens and entire landscapes are eventually swallowed by a lake of fire and brimstone. Roses are set on fire, and there’s a pistol party going on somewhere behind him.

A cacophony of bullets, a symphony of death.  

(Be thou for the people. You’re… you’re the most honorable of all my apprentices, and you deserve to have it. If you just ask my daughter, tell her you’ll use it for the right reasons… she will give you the key to the secrets of flame alchemy.)

(Can I… can I trust you with my back, Roy? You’re a good man, and I’d like to put my faith in that dream of yours.)

His expression remains unfazed.

~x~

Amelos potamos, despite its promises of creating the perfect soldiers, did not grant its victims immunity from physical sensations.

Pain. It's a complex feeling (feelings? god forbid something like that exists!) - equal parts physical and mental. It's as much biological as it is psychological.

E-18/8 bites her lips to stop herself from screaming in pain when the explosion burns her instead of A-18/13. Jumping in front of him to defend his body was an intuitive reaction, one that doesn't even require any contemplation.

(I would do anything to protect you, Riza. Even if that means sacrificing myself.)

(As would I, Roy. A life without you is not one worth living.)  

Surely, it must have been the call of duty that compelled her to act that way. The words of A-19/10/11 echo in her mind, and she decides that she doesn’t deserve any thanks or show of concern for merely complying with orders. She’s prepared to walk - no, crawl - back to the weather-beaten tent despite the agony that sears through her, but -

-- for the first time since the war, the Flame Alchemist’s expression cracks ever so slightly.

He crosses the distance between them in two long strides and ushers her towards the tent, allowing her to lean on him for support. E-18/8 staggers from the pain, but holds in her scream nonetheless. A subtle hint of worry starts to sneak into his frown.

A-18/13 pushes aside the flap and quickly shuts it for privacy, before setting her down slowly on the bedrolls and deftly removing what was left of her uniform jacket and undershirt so that he could tend to her wounds.

The lacerations that she’s sustained look awful. It’s the worst on her shoulders, angry blisters mottling her smooth skin. His eyes move lower down her back - the injuries there don’t look as bad, and for the most part the ink there remains.

The scene feels strangely familiar, like he’s done this before.

He pours out the antiseptic and dabs gently at the gaping wounds. She winces, but before she can yelp she contains it with another hard bite down her lips.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

E-18/8 thinks it’s strange. There’s nothing to apologise for. In the first place, it’s an oddity why someone higher in the hierarchy like him is even helping her dress her wounds. But she supposed it made sense - she couldn’t reach those wounds herself, after all, and it was best to repair his subordinates quickly so that she could resume her duties as his human shield.

“Not at all, sir,” she manages to exhale through the pain. Bandages are rolled around the injured area on her shoulders fastidiously. He moves on to the wounds on her back.

It is only then that he takes a closer examination at the tattoo, and to his surprise he realises it’s an alchemical array - an array that’s strikingly similar to the one on his gloves.

The epiphany hits him then, like a blaring truck. It bears an uncanny resemblance to the back of the nameless, faceless girl that appears in his dream.

He wonders why he dreams of someone he supposedly doesn’t know.

“Sir?” she asks, snapping him out of his reverie. His mending has come to a pause. E-18/8 wishes he would hurry up so that they could return to their duties. The perfect soldiers, after all, wasted no time on silly musings or dilly-dallyings.

“Ah, sorry,” he apologises again. A frown makes its presence known on her ashen countenance, but she swallows the pain as the dry air kisses her blisters along with the - dare she say, irritation?

“We should hurry up,” she whispers softly through gritted teeth, masking her - well, she didn’t know if it was irritation causing her teeth to grind against each other.

“Right,” he replies. He makes quick work of patching up the last of her wounds, before continuing to trace the tattoo in a dazed trance. There’s a tender sort of carefulness to his movements as he caresses the planes of her back. It elicits a shudder from the blonde, and she pins the blame on the desert wind that blows in fiercely through the little gaps pockmarking the flimsy tent.

His fingers continue their methodical dance down the grooves of her spine. E-18/8 shudders again, but the winds have stopped.

The Flame Alchemist gently thumbs the words that lay below the intricate array. Poems alluding to love and apology and light; frivolities that are unequivocally frowned upon by the State.

(Through fire, we gain knowledge and truth - the same way fire brings clarity to sand in the form of glass.)

(Well, that’s very... poetic, Roy.)

Further down, there’s an inscription that stands out in a gentle blue cursive - like the waters of an ocean, or a clear, azure sky he doesn’t quite remember seeing since time immemorial. The only images they saw in the desert were rivers of blood that drowned land and sky in crimson, the colour of the sigil on his glove and the words above.

This particular inscription, though, is different. Aside from the disparity in colour, it speaks not of holy flames or physics or thermodynamics. Instead, it’s a letter, seemingly addressed to someone. It’s intriguing and frightening all the same, because it whispers taboos and a dangerous secret that he can’t quite wrap his finger around.

Nevertheless, he runs a finger across the alphabets spelling out a… a name.

A name.

His face pales, like the posthumous whiteness of marble - does this blaspheme against the State? - but ignoring the warning bells his fingers continue their descent.

It’s not just a name, but two. Two names, framing an inscription of identity. Emotion. Memory.

My dear Riza, dearest Riza Hawkeye,

You will always be your own person, And I will always love you for that.

Lest we forget, Roy Mustang

“Ri...za,” he calls apprehensively. The foreign taste lingering on his tongue makes him feel like he’d just eaten the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.  “Riza,” he tries again, “Hawkeye.”

“Who is that, sir?”

Riza Hawkeye.

The image of a young girl in a sundress flashes before him. His mind reels like a film-roll as memories flash past, sepia tones of nostalgia colouring them. It’s vague, but he’s starting to see the barely discernible outlines of a girl who looks like a younger version of the injured sniper before him.

The nameless, faceless girl that haunted him in his dreams…

Was it - was it her?

“It’s… I think it’s you.” he says, a desperate plea for them to remember, remember - lest we forget -

“That’s impossible, sir. I go by E-18/8,” she answers, but there’s a nervousness that creeps around her placid tone as she remembers the occasional dreamful slumber.

The picture of a younger her with a nameless, faceless raven-haired man, summertime and sunlight kissing their skin as they sat together on the front porch, feet dangling and fingers intertwining. The dream would always end, without fail, whenever he began to whisper their names to the wind.

But once, just once… she’d seen him mouth a “ri” before the dream came to an abrupt end.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s you,” he says, with more urgency to his voice this time. A desperate plea for them to remember, remember - lest we forget - “There’s another name here - Roy Mustang. Does that sound familiar to you?”

(... Hello, Mister Mustang.)

(Please don’t call me that, Riza. Just call me Roy - I won’t bite, I promise.)

“... Vaguely, sir.”

(Alright… sir.)

(That’s even worse! I’m not some… some old-fashioned lord. I just want to be your friend -)

(... Friend?)

As if possessed by some kind of uncontrollable automatism, they begin to cry. A teardrop falls on an open wound on the small of her back, and she jerks upright.

“Sorry,” comes his third apology.

Acting purely on instinct now, he wraps his arms loosely around her from behind, trying to navigate through the storm brewing in his mind. He finally has a taste of the embrace he’s subconsciously been yearning for. It’s bittersweet and agonising all at once. Desire burns, and he finds himself longing for more.  

She makes no move to escape his hold. Instead, she rests her palms on his scorched skin, feeling the calluses with a rough, padded thumb. It’s warm underneath her. He lives up to his moniker, she thinks, as heat begins to surge through her body.

Hug me till you drug me, honey; kiss me till I’m in a coma…

An almost carnal desire spills from his heart, running to his lips. He presses his lips on the back of her neck to soothe it. She shudders again, and this time she knows - it’s not because of the wind, but him.

“What… what were we, Riza? What are we now?”

“I don’t know, Roy,” she cries out softly, as she turns to return his gesture of affection.

For the briefest of moments, their lips meet. Flames unfurl beneath them, and suddenly the only war, the only tussle is not the one awaiting them outside, but within them - their souls and memories desperately trying to reconnect with their bodies -

(I pray that our love for each other will always remain. I pray, Father, that you forgive us for our sins, past and future, and that the scarlet thread that runs between us will be one of love, not murder -)

The bell rings, again. Any memories that they might have recollected of each other immediately recede like a spectre.

For the greater good of the State.

They break apart from each other in stunned silence. E-18/8 is the first to stand, thanking him for tending to her wounds. “I am alright now, sir. We should get going.”

(Isn’t it interesting, Riza? Fire on sand brings glass. Here, let me show you - )

(Yes, Roy. I’m well aware. You’ve made that clear with your incessant rambling.)

Their consciences remain unclear as they step back out into the arid, sandy wasteland.

[dyedmaxiian]

JAMIE ON THE FALLOUT 4 MAIN FACTIONS:

THE MINUTEMEN

THE INSTITUTE

THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL

THE RAILROAD

THE MINUTEMEN

Initially when Jamie arrived in the Commonwealth he didn’t really think much of the Minutemen considering their numbers were extremely scarce to the point where they couldn’t have possibly made a high impact seeing as they were small and didn’t have much power. Seeing as initially Jamie was running with the Brotherhood still he didn’t really tend to cross paths with them much, the only really notable interaction he had was with Preston Garvey, who he had a sort of respect for due to his drive to keep the Minutemen going. However as Elder Maxson arrives in the Commonwealth and the truth about Danse is revealed, Jamie’s tune changes significantly, and Jamie over time begins to look at the Minutemen as really the ONLY people who truly seemed to care about the Commonwealth and its well-being. After Maxson formally removes Danse from the Brotherhood’s ranks, Jamie lives in the listening post with Danse for few months before he and Danse approach Preston Garvey & the Minutemen General about joining the ranks of the Minutemen. 

After the fact, Jamie’s time in the Minutemen comes from a place of sheer devotion. Though not a particularly strong leader, Jamie does have deep respect for their cause, generally bonding the MOST ( if at all ) with the Sole Survivor during his time as part of the Minutemen. Jamie fully devotes himself to the betterment of the Commonwealth through the Minutemen and eventually is named Lieutenant of the Minutemen and placed in charge of his own specialized operations unit called ‘The Lancers’. All in all, Jamie fully devotes himself to the cause of the Minutemen, aiding in any way possible and even taking part in a number of protective sieges by the Minutemen to keep the peace in the Commonwealth. 

Jamie is also rather instrumental in the establishment of trade routes and the securing of settlements in Far Harbor & Nuka World, helping to try and ensure that both locations are secured and taken care of. After the General decides to siege Nuka World and remove the three Raider Gangs, Jamie and the Lancers along with the General, Colonel Garvey, and their allies lead the charge into Nuka World to face off with the Raider Gangs. At the end of the day when all is said and done, Jamie tends to ERR on the side of preferring to HELP the Minutemen be more of a force in the Commonwealth, protecting its citizens BUT making sure that the other factions don’t get TOO cocky with their existence. Sitting on a SORT of council with the General, Preston, and other officials affiliated with the Minutemen after he & Danse defect, Jamie tends to stand as the voice of gusto. Often pushing for the Minutemen to declare the full fledged removal of Brotherhood occupation in the Commonwealth. 

THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL

The Truest disappointment in every sense of the word. Jamie, having served under the Brotherhood’s banner for an entire decade of his life following the wake up he experienced from Vault 112 with the aid of the Lone Wanderer, and then the subsequent recruitment into the Brotherhood’s ranks serving under Sarah Lyons, Jamie was proud to say he was part of the Brotherhood of Steel. They had their faults but he was proud that he was finally getting the CHOICE to be part of something greater than himself. He served happily with them for ten years, and in that time the joy and pride deteriorated as Owyn Lyons passed, and eventually Sarah Lyons was mysteriously lost during a crucial mission, leaving only young Arthur Maxson to take her place.

That’s when things turned inextricably dark. Maxson’s IRON FIST over the Capital Wastes left Jamie feeling progressively more and more sour about his time as a Brotherhood of Steel knight. Though he can somewhat respect Maxson’s gusto, he finds himself near CONSTANTLY at odds with Maxson’s line of thinking, consistently finding himself thinking mid-operation ‘Elder Lyons would be ashamed of us’. As the Brotherhood & the Outcast fighting continued to rage and Maxson’s grip on the Capital Wastes tightened, a new team was dispatched to the Commonwealth in order to get a lay of the land due to increasing rumors regarding SYNTHETIC humans being found all across the wasteland striking fear into the hearts of the Commonwealth Citizens. 

Jamie willingly volunteers for the operation being top of his CLASS and serving under Paladin Danse. And with distance from the Brotherhood he felt his mind begin to waver and change. His loyalty, however remained, and with time spent in the Commonwealth under Danse’s command Jamie began to feel a semblance of renewed belief in the Brotherhood. Danse spoke so highly of their cause and it only served to inspire. Jamie feeling himself more and more willing to confide in his commanding officer and TEAM as they did their best to survive the wasteland. 

Eventually when the team came across the Sole Survivor, a fellow vault dweller, Jamie kept a safe distance but maintained a politeness, trying to MAINTAIN the anonymity of his own origins so as to ensure no one was the wiser, having grown close enough with Danse to have divulged the information but ENSURING the two of them keep it between themselves. It isn’t until the TRUTH about Danse comes out that Jamie’s tune changes completely. With the way Maxson speaks about Danse being a traitor SIMPLY for being a synth, Jamie sneaks off the Prydwen in the dead of night and tracks Danse down to the listening post, confronting him about not standing up for himself to Maxson. They argue but Jamie resolves that if Danse is to be exiled, HE TOO will enter exile as he refuses to be part of an organization that will turn so vehemently on their people.

Maxson’s entire demeanor during the ordeal leaves Jamie empty, raw, and most importantly VENGEFUL. With his newfound hatred for the Brotherhood for their treatment of Danse he’s sent into a tailspin. He’s without purpose once again after ten years of service, knowing only that his loyalty belongs to Danse and that he can’t go back to the Brotherhood knowing how they treated him. Since that point Jamie has been marked as a traitor and after he joins the ranks of the Minutemen he happily engages in operations that involve disrupting Brotherhood operations.

THE RAILROAD

This is a case of ‘THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS’ in Jamie’s mind. They mean well, and it counts for something, but the truth is, what distinguishes them from the Minutemen, or rather what MAKES them less appealing to Jamie is the fact that they don’t seem to care about the people CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE of their fights, and the fighting between the Institute & the B.O.S. as well. As such they ONLY seem to help Synths, which for Jamie doesn’t really hold as much as the every man goodness that the Minutemen seem to have regarding their desire to do good and REBUILD society. So Jamie doesn’t exactly DISLIKE them, but he does think Desdemona’s view on the Commonwealth as a whole is fundamentally flawed.

He respects their goal, but ultimately feels it’s TOO singular. However, despite personal disagreement with their beliefs & operations, he wouldn’t be opposed to helping them as in his mind AT LEAST they’re actually helping innocents, where the Brotherhood does not. Despite the fact that Jamie believes Synths should be given a chance to create a life of their own without the scrutiny of the Institute, he struggles to agree with the idea that the Railroad should ONLY help the Synths. With that being said, Jamie does occasionally ASSIST them if he comes across their agents, or is assigned to due so at the behest of the General. 

In Jamie’s IDEAL Commonwealth set up, the Railroad & the Minutemen would work as a unit instead of being completely separated as he believes both parties stand to gain a GREAT DEAL from the alliance, especially given who both of them are respectively contending against. Seeing as Jamie would trust the Railroad to be able to handle SUBTERFUGE operations, he thinks their assistance to the Minutemen could be substantial, and in return the Railroad would benefit from having a LARGER MORE FIRE-POWER EQUIPPED group to watch their backs and over them various outposts in which to conduct their operations on a MORE SAFE level.

Ultimately, Jamie’s primary problem with the Railroad stems from Desdemona directly. He respects her prowess as a leader, and even her devotion to the cause they’ve laid forth for themselves but he cannot excuse her negligence of innocent people who need help. There’s a point where Desdemona EVEN says the people of the Commonwealth DON’T deserve the help of the Railroad because they’re not being prosecuted the way Synths are, which, to Jamie is a bitter view of a populace that is being crushed under the weight of a WAR waged around them.

While Jamie was in the Brotherhood, there were a number of operations he engaged in trying to figure out where the Railroad agents were conducting operations, and on the OFF CHANCE he ever encountered a Railroad agent he OFTEN if not ALWAYS let them go unscathed as he had no intentions of bringing an agent in ESPECIALLY considering the fact that he knew EXACTLY what kind of leader Maxson was, and he had NO desire to hold more on his conscience because of the horrible things Maxson believes in.

THE INSTITUTE

PERHAPS the most difficult pill to swallow for Jamie about the Institute is that they are a SHINING example of how humanity STILL hasn’t learned its lesson about playing god. The existence of Synths alone proves that, and to Jamie the very idea that scientists IN GOOD CONSCIENCE can hide their technology away from people who could truly benefit from it, disgusts him. Jamie’s heavy handed criticism of the Institute isn’t because he believes they’re ‘the boogeymen of the Commonwealth’ but because of the fact that they are EVERYTHING wrong with Science when given into the hands of people who would IGNORE the moral element that comes with Science & Scientific advancement. Make no mistake, Jamie doesn’t think the Institute is ENTIRELY bad, the things they’ve accomplished ARE amazing for sure, but Jamie also thinks they’re SELFISH.

Again, referencing Jurassic Park, the idea of the Institute basically GOING so far in their technological advancement, they get CAUGHT in it almost and get swallowed up in the grandeur of it but they don’t stop to think if they SHOULD or not. To him, once again, there is no greater example for him than in the form of the Synths. To Jamie, the synths are the EXACT reason the Institute is an example of the fact that they HAVEN’T learned their lesson.

Jamie watched his FATHER play god, he watched his father’s FRIENDS & COWORKERS all play god, and watched as it all came CRUMBLING down around them and resulted in a MASS NUCLEAR war that nearly made mankind extinct. He is disgusted by the fact that not only are the scientists of the Institute, PERHAPS some of the most brilliant humans still alive today, wasting their efforts on technology that may NEVER see the light of day, but they are ALSO defying NATURE and creating passable LIFE in the form of the synths. While Jamie doesn’t hold Synths in contempt for being a creation that has taken on a MIND & LIFE of their own, he does hold the Institute scientists in contempt for NOT stopping to think if THAT was something they SHOULD have done in the first place.

He believes that the Institute COULD be good OR COULD have been good depending on the choices of the Sole Survivor, but what they failed at was the fact that they were SELFISH, and not unlike the Railroad, believed that the innocent people of the Commonwealth DIDN’T deserve a second chance at REBUILDING a stable society. And to Jamie, that’s UNFORGIVABLE. As mentioned in my post about Jamie’s relationship with Science as a whole. He sees the great value of Science, but what he DOES NOT see is the reasoning or JUSTIFICATION behind hiding all the good that could be DONE behind a thin veil of SELFISHNESS.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Out of curiosity, what are your favorite companions out of all of the Fallout games, and why?

Fallout

The Original Dogmeat (After looking into it, it feels like this ornery dog had a lot more personality than the available human companions, enough so that he made a comeback in FO2.)

Fallout 2

Goris (A sentient and intelligent albino deathclaw scholar that wears a robe to hide his appearence from trigger happy assholes. What's not to like? Goris is an interesting character and I hope there will be another deathclaw companion in a future game!)

K-9 the Cyberdog (Cyberdogs are cool. Talking Cyberdogs with good moral compasses? Even better! Super pissed the NCR ended up destroying him to gather Intel on the Enclave. That's something I'd expect from the BoS instead, and it's left a bitter taste in my mouth. Rest in peace you poor pup.)

Fallout 3

Butch Deloria (He was an asshole and a bully during his and the Lone Wanderer's childhood, but you can't deny he isn't loyal to a fault. He's still a bit of an asshole with an unobtainable greaser teen dream, but honestly he's not that bad considering he was neglected as a child thanks to his mother's alcoholism. If you scratch his back he'll definitly scratch yours, even if he pretends he's not a goody-two-shoes like you. Plus he can give you a haircut, who wouldn't want a personal barber out in the Wastes?)

Charon (His situation is an uncomfortable moral conundrum since he's basically a brainwashed slave by anything but name. Oxhorn put it best in his video on Charon's situation, and I agree that the only good thing you can do for him is buying his contract and doing good out in the Capital Wasteland with him as your companion, as a form of atonement for any past shady/cruel actions his former employers have had him perform.)

Fawkes (A super mutant who may or may not have been a man named Shelton Delacroix, Fawkes is unfortunate in the sense that he was alienated by his fellow vault-tec security officers for having a conscience, and then alienated by his super mutant kin for being uniquely intelligent and kind. To add to these tragedies, Shelton was apparently married so Fawkes has a wife he can't recall who is either dead or a mindless super mutant herself.)

Dogmeat the Second (A loyal heterochromatic cattle dog who would fight to the death if just to avenge his fallen master. Dogmeat is a scruffy scavenger and definitly man's best friend. You have to wonder if he might be a descendant of the Original Dogmeat with just how strong his personality comes off. Some dogs in the wasteland are definitely smarter than others.)

Fallout: New Vegas

Arcade Ganoon (A gay mess of a doctor with social anxiety and a lot of personal demons related to his origins. Arcade is an intelligent and interesting character in the sense that he has a deep-seated desire to help everyone, but knows the consequences of one's ideals outgrowing the needs of others. He's grateful to the Enclave Remnants's loyalty to him and his mother, after his father passed away, and he definitly considers them his family. That in itself is an issue because the Enclave's sins will follow and haunt him for the rest of his life, even if he was just born into that life and not one of the people commiting atrocities.)

Craig Boone (His story is the typical wasteland hardened ex-soldier. He committed atrocities that left him mentally scarred and suffering from PTSD, lost his wife who was the only good thing in his life, his need to avenge her has left him dangling between cold-blooded killer and decent human being, and on top of that he's a bit of a cynical asshole. Still a pretty cool companion to have around, and honestly it feels nice to have him around doing some good for the Mojave wasteland instead of stewing in his depression and self-hatred. His sniping skills could help a lot of people with the Courier's encouragement.)

Lily Bowen (She's a super mutant elite spy soldier. She's also a sweet old granny with schizophrenia and a murderous imaginary friend. Lily is another tragic character who's story pulls at your heartstrings, and the three choices regarding her meds are another moral conundrum. Again I'd recommend Oxhorn's video on her story, since I wholly agree with his assessment on what choice is actually the best for her.)

Rex the Cyberdog (His background before he joined the Kings is shrouded in mystery, with the Legion's faded mark painted on his armour platting. Rex is a loyal pup with a hate for rats, hats and people who wear hats. His greatest ire is probably reserved for rats with hats. His recruitment story arc is also pretty interesting and it definitely affects his personality and endings. If you have Old World Blues and construct Roxie the Cyberdog he even becomes a father of a litter of "Boston terrifiers"!)

ED-E (Honestly it's my love for robots that make this little damaged travel companion so appealing. His mission is interesting, and the cashe of Enclave Intel he holds can be benefitial, but most of his endings point to ED-E continuing his journey eventually so there's a sadness with letting this little guy go if you get attached.)

Fallout 4

Preston Garvey (All Preston has ever wanted to do was help make the Commonwealth a better place for people to live in. He's a selfless man who joined a militia at age 17 to do some good, and it honestly breaks my heart that the Minutemen collapsed as hard as it did. Preston had to watch as the ideals of the Minutemen were crushed underfoot by a bunch of selfish assholes, along with an entire settlement of innocent people. He did everything in his power to keep the only four survivors safe and alive, and he's clearly traumatized, depressed and suicidally throwing himself at danger because he'd rather die fighting the good fight than caring for his own safety. He puts everyone else above himself and it infuriates me that people are so hellbent in painting him off as a bland character or a pest. Oxhorn puts it best in his profile of Preston.)

X8-88 (The Institute's top of the line Courser, the closest the Commonwealth will ever get to the Terminator, and livable despite his cynical remarks and persistence that he's incapable of emotions or attachment. It saddens me that X6 is only obtainable if you follow the Institute. It also pains me that if you do manage to befriend him and destroy the Institute, you're destroying this loyal synth's only home. You're basically stripping away everything he knows and believes in, inherently doing what the Institute has done to the Sole Survivor: Taking their life away from them. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth...)

Nick Valentine (Moral conundrums are painful. Ethical conundrums are just as bad. Nick didn't deserve anything that happened to him, and it's obvious he struggles with his identity and purpose but chooses to follow in the Original Nick's footsteps to do some good, rather than hide away and mope. He's a good person overall, even if he's a bit of a smartass sometimes. He's the perfect robodad for anyone in need of a fatherly figure in the Commonwealth.)

John Hancock (This man has a lot of emotional baggage and has made a LOT of bad choices, but if there's anyone you can trust to be loyal and helpful out in the wastes, it's definitly Hancock! His crude humour and liberal use of drugs and knives to deal with his problems can be a bit off-putting, but Hancock will defend you no matter what. Heck, he would even defend Danse from the BoS and the guy's a racist dickbag to him from the very moment they meet. That says a lot about his character.)

Codsworth (He waited for the Sole Survivor to return. For 200 fucking years. Please be kind to him, he's probably one of the nicest companions and also one of the most lovable too! He is the friend you'd wish you had if you ever found yourself in the same situation as the Sole Survivor. Cherish Codsworth, he's all you have left, and he'll protect you to the best of his ability.)

Dogmeat the Third (A brilliant genius dog that is very likely a synth. Dogmeat, like Codsworth, is a lovable guy and should definitely be cherished. I'd recommend getting the "Everyone's Best Friend" Mod so that you can have him travel with you and another companion. It's almost like FO2!)

Deacon (He's intelligent. He's sneaky. He's a pathological liar with good intentions. Deacon is mysterious and charming, and definitly a little fucked in the head. I'd like to meet his plastic surgeon if they can make him flawlessly look like a woman and a ghoul, no questions asked. Oxhorn has a pretty interesting video that explores Deacon's character and intentions, if you're interested!)

Paladin Danse (I'll admit I wasn't all that impressed with Danse when I got my first impression of him. He's rude, he's impatient, he's condescending, and worst of all he is an asshole to anyone just a bit different from him. Still, the plot-twist left space for this racist Buzz Lightyear knockoff to go through some personal growth. The years of militaristic indoctrination will probably take a while to be resolved, but Danse IS redeemable if given time. He's not inherently evil, just in dire need of a tolerance lesson.)

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 229

Last time, Vegeta blew a hole in the Budokai stadium!

What do you have to say for yourself, Vegeta?    “I’m a baaaaaad wittle boy.”

The crowd flees the arena, and even 18 is disturbed by Vegeta’s actions.    She says she’s never sensed a ki like this before, wait, since when could 18 sense ki signatures?     She couldn’t do that before.

Babidi, on the other hand, is thrilled, because 200 people were killed.   Wait, why should that matter to him?  That doesn’t help him reach his goal, unless he just enjoys innocent people dying on sheer principle.   Babidi’s a terrific villain.   He’s kind of underappreciated, really.  The ranking should be 1) Cell, 2) Vegeta, 3) Buu, 4) Babidi, 5) Frieza.

The crowd pleads for Mr. Satan to save them from this tiny golden monster in their midst, so he steels himself and tries to get tough, but then he backs down and asks them nicely to settle down.

Vegeta ignores Mr. Satan completely, and tells Goku to fight him, unless he wants more people to get killed.    At this, Goku suddenly realizes that Vegeta might have let himself get mind-controlled, just so he could make an ultimatum like this.   

Vegeta’s only response is to shoot another part of the stadium.   This isn’t a bluff, and it’s not a negotiation.    If Goku won’t fight, then Vegeta will keep killing people until he does.

And you can tell that this pisses Goku off.    Yeah, he wanted to fight Vegeta too, but not like this.   

Gohan tries to intercede, but Vegeta just shrugs him off.    He’s not listening to anyone except “fighting with Goku.”

So Goku turns Super Saiyan, and it looks like they’re going to throw down right here and now.  

Vegeta basically admits to doing all of this on purpose.    If Goku’s so intent on saving the world from Babidi during his one day back on Earth, then the only way Vegeta can get his undivided attention is to join Babidi’s team.   Right now, the only way to stop Babidi is to go through Vegeta.   Literally.   

Here’s what makes this so awesome.    I feel kind of goofy even explaining this, because it feels self-evident to me, but maybe there’s someone reading this who hasn’t watched DBZ before.   In which case, dude.    This is the stupidest possible way to experience DBZ for the first time.    Just watch the show and come back later.    This liveblog will still be here.    Unless Wordpress shuts this site down.   

Where was I?  Oh, right.   So what makes this work is that the Supreme Kai is absolutely right to call Vegeta’s stunt foolish.... but.   But!  Anyone who’s watched the entire series up to this point gets it.    As horrible as it may sound, on some level, we wanted Vegeta to do something stupid like this, to piss Goku off, to really get him riled up, so that they would finally have their big rematch.

I remember when Goku first turned Super Saiyan.    For a while there, they had all this Super Saiyan Goku merch, and Vegeta looked so ordinary in his regular non-Super Saiyan form.    I thought it made sense for Goku to have this epic ascension, but it seemed like a waste that Vegeta would never be able to match it.   How could their rivalry continue like this?    They could never fight each other again, because Goku was so far ahead of him that it would have been pointless.  

Then Vegeta turned Super Saiyan, and it looked like they could finally settle things, just as soon as they got all those damn dirty androids out of the picture.  Only by the time that finally happened, Goku was out of the picture too.    Now the rivalry was truly impossible, because they would never see each other again.   

Then Goku comes back, for one day only, and it looks like we finally have this narrow window for Goku and Vegeta to fight.  They even got paired off in the tournament bracket.   First round, so there was no chance of Goku getting disqualified against Mr. Satan in some unlikely hijinks.    The fight can finally happen.   Goku vs. Vegeta, they’re both Super Saiyans or Super Saiyan 2′s or whatever, even steven, let’s see who comes out on top.   

But now, here comes Babidi and the Supreme Kai, with all this Majin Buu bullshit, and Vegeta has to wait inside a spaceship for like an hour.   And both sides of this conflict are idiots.   The Supreme Kai has no idea who he’s dealing with.    He didn’t know what Super Saiyans could do, he didn’t know Dabura and Yakon were on Babidi’s team, and his sidekick Kibito was the first one to die.    The whole thing was dumb and quite frankly not nearly as awesome as Goku and Vegeta punching each other.   

And let’s face it, after all these years, Vegeta’s still mad that Goku overpowered him way back in Episode 30 or whatever it was.   Since then, Goku’s saved his life, first from Krillin, then from Recoome.    Why, it’s gotten him so riled up just thinking about it that his face is all twisty.    What the hell...?

Is it stupid?   Yeah, it is.  Like I said, the Supreme Kai is right.    This is absolutely ridiculous.    Vegeta’s risking the fate of the universe so he can settle a petty grudge.   No one thinks this is worth it.    No one gives a shit whether this sawed-off asshole gets his do-over.   Well, I mean, the audience probably does.   I know I always did.  What I’m saying is that no one in-universe ever cared about this guy getting to avenge his pride.   

But Vegeta cares, and the fact that he’s the only one who cares is probably why he’s so desperate and upset about making this happen. 

I think this is what makes the character so appealing to people.    In spite of all the shitty things he does, people can relate to Vegeta’s passion and to the sheer loneliness of that passion.    We all have things we alone care about that other people dismiss as meaningless or unimportant.     What’s the big deal?   It’s just a TV show.   It’s just a drawing.    It’s just a story you wrote.    It’s not that important.   Meaningless, really.    Let’s go back to what’s really important, which is making Gohan feel better about whizzing that fight with Dabura, or congratulating Mr. Satan for his championship victory.   What a kooky character he is!

I think we’ve all been there before.   I’m not saying we’ve killed 200 people to make the point, but we’ve been in situations where everyone laughed it off and dismissed how we felt because “what’s the big deal anyway?”   And that’s one reason Vegeta leaves a lasting impression with people, because he’s powerful enough that he can make people understand why it’s a big deal to him.  

Against all of this, all Goku can say in response is to call out to Babidi.   He demands to be teleported someplace where there’s no bystanders.    Some place, like... I don’t know... Goku Town.

We did do it, Babidi.    This is awesome.   Good job, everyone.

Then the Supreme Kai gets in between these two, and he’s all “No!  This fight is too metal.    I can’t allow it!   If you’re going to fight Vegeta, you’ll have to fight me first!”

And Goku’s like “Sir, that was a very metal thing you just did, but please, get out of the way before I kill you.”

The Kai is stunned.    Goku’s not bluffing here.   He will kill the Supreme Kai right here and now, if that’s what it takes.  

But the most awesome part is Vegeta’s reaction.    He looks just as surprised to see how determined Goku is to settle this.    He’s been so focused on getting this battle that he forgot who he was dealing with.   

Defeated, the Supreme Kai stands down.    He did a brave thing, stepping into Goku Town, but he knows he can’t pay the rent.  

Man, this episode rules.   The Surpeme Kai is just so... despondent.  He’s completely lost control of the situation.  

And Babidi’s convinced that he’s won.   Once Vegeta and Goku start fighting, it’ll only be a matter of time before Vegeta inflicts enough damage to transfer the energy needed to revive Majin Buu.   And nothing can stop that fight from happening.    Everything’s coming up Milhouse Babidi.

So he grants Goku’s request and teleports them away.   Mr. Satan is relieved, because this means he can claim they ran away before he could unleash his righteous fury.

So, I think this is the Giskard Wasteland, but I’m not up on my Dragon World Geography.   This may even be the same setting as the original Goku/Vegeta fight, but I don’t feel like looking it up.  

From here, the Supreme Kai bows to the inevitable, and accepts that Goku and Vegeta will fight.    All he can do now is force open the hatch to Stage 4, so he and Gohan can proceed down Babidi’s ship and stop him before Majin Buu can be revived.   Of course, that means he’ll have to risk jolting Babidi’s ship, which could accidentally break Buu’s seal prematurely, but at this point he has to risk it.   

Note that this is precisely what Vegeta wanted to do at the start of the last episode.  If the Kai had gone along with it then, he would be in the exact same predicament he’s in now, except he’d have three Super Saiyans backing him up instead of just one, and he wouldn’t have the ticking clock to worry about.   

But Babidi has no intention of allowing the Supreme Kai to leave Stage 3 so soon, and he orders Vegeta to kill him and Gohan before they can carry out this plan.   

But Vegeta refuses, insisting that he doesn’t care what Shin and Gohan do, so long as it doesn’t get in the way of his objective, which is to kick Goku’s ass.

Babidi has some sort of leverage here, as it seems to cause Vegeta physical pain to resist him like this, but he remains steadfast.    Babidi might control him body and soul, but Vegeta still has his pride, which must be satisfied before he’d ever consider anything else.   

Babidi is astonished, as this has never happened before.    It begs the question of whether Babidi could ever truly control Vegeta.    Maybe if he defeated Goku in battle, Vegeta might become more pliable.   Or, perhaps beating Goku is the only thing keeping Vegeta and Babidi on the same side.  

But Dabura convinces Babidi that they’re better off letting Geets and the Supreme Kai have their way.    If Vegeta’s so determined to fight Goku, let him, because that’s good for Buu.    And they might as well let the Kai and Gohan out of Stage 3, so they won’t accidentally break Buu’s seal early.    It’s not like they can win on their own, since they’ll have to go through Dabura.

   So Babidi opens the hatch, but before Gohan goes through, Goku gives him a senzu bean, because he remembered he still had some from when he got them for Gohan’s girlfriend.   I like how Goku just casually says that, when the situation is too tense for Gohan to object.    “Hey, son, before we start our epic laser battles, I just remembered that thing I got for that girl you’re in love with!”    

Then he gives him one last piece of advice: Get angry, like he did when he fought Cell.   Goku seems convinced that if Gohan is furious enough, it’ll make up for his ring rust.   

Gohan takes minute to lament that Goku’s one day back in the living world ended up this way.    It is kind of sad.   Gohan just wanted to hang out with his dad, and all of this crap happens.    It’d be kind of funny if Babidi controlled Gohan’s mind, and he blew up the stadium demanding a hug.   

So they leave, and now it’s just Goku and Vegeta.    Goku’s like “Fuck this, I can’t take any damage in this fight, so I’m gonna go balls to the wall, right now.”    Well, that’s not his exact wording, but you get the idea.  

So Goku turns Super Saiyan 2!    Good job, Orange Brick DVDs.    It’s worth cropping Goku’s head so we can see all that stuff on the sides.

Of course, no one calls it Super Saiyan 2, because he term hasn’t been coined yet.    Vegeta just notes that Goku is stronger than Gohan was when he fought Cell, so you get the idea.

So then Vegeta powers up and now he’s a Super Saiyan 2, too!

When I first watched this arc, I honestly didn’t get that “Ascended Super Saiyan” was meant to be a distinct form, because it looks virtually indistinguishable from the original Super Saiyan.   I learned to tell the difference eventually, mostly thanks to the video games, which allow you to compare the models before and after, but in this leg of the anime, it’s just about impossible.   I think the animators had trouble keeping this straight.  

The main feature I picked up on is that Goku’s SSJ2 form has beadier eyes, at least initially, and more of his bangs stick up.    With Vegeta, I don’t even get that much to work with.   His hair looks a little more “knife-y”, but that’s about it.   

Anyway, Goku realizes that this will take a lot longer than he planned.   

And this is it.    Goku-Vegeta II.   The fight we’ve all been waiting for, but at what cost?  

[rambling-at-midnight]

Ten Years

Request: could I request a Five x Reader, where Reader has a child (the same age as Claire?) and Five comes back from the future to see that, and at first Five thinks she’s found someone else and gets jealous and Reader notices because of how he acts, and then he realises that the Reader and her partner have split up plzzz

I sorta messed up the timeline a bit—in this story, Five jumps to the future and gets stuck when he’s sixteen.

Y/D/N: Your daughter’s name

Pairing: Five x Reader

All the mirrors Five has seen have been smashed or even melted. Save for the reflections he occasionally sees in puddles, he has no idea what he looks like. He knows he looks different; he’s gotten a lot taller, his facial hair is scruffier, and his body leaner, muscles more defined, but he doesn’t really remember what color his eyes are. And what color would his skin be if it wasn’t so caked with dirt and burnt by the relentless, pounding sun? Is his hair really that light, or is that just the dust and bleach from constant sun exposure?

It’s been ten years since he jumped to the future and each day feels like torture. No one to talk to, nothing to do except wander around, looking for food and a fellow survivor, no matter how unlikely the prospect of the latter is. Surely whatever killed the entirety of the human race couldn’t have killed them all; he can’t think of anything that could wipe people out like this.

A sickness, yes, but there would have been quarantines and settlements of people not contaminated. Unless there are people in Africa or another continent that are still alive, sickness is out. Besides, sickness wouldn’t be able to destroy everything and everything, unless everyone goes crazy with it. But even if it is a sickness that makes people go crazy, there has to be a few people that are still suffering from it. If Five got here on the day the apocalypse began, he should have seen people dying from the sickness, but nobody is here.

So sickness is out. Next is natural disaster.

That one seems the most likely. Towers and buildings have toppled, some looking almost scorched. That indicates a wildfire.

A crazy thought occurs to him and a wild laugh bubbles out of his mouth, but he doesn’t care; nobody’s here to judge him for it. Maybe everyone’s left and gone to Mars. That would explain the utter lack of people.

To be honest, he doesn’t even really care anymore. He’s almost given up on ever getting back to his time and stopping the apocalypse.

The only thing that keeps him going is you, Y/N Y/L/N.

You weren’t one of the 43 children, but you lived close to the academy and attended the same secondary school as them. You also worked at Griddy’s, which meant the kids saw you often. To be honest, nobody expected you to get along with any of them except maybe Ben and Vanya.

You were aware of their powers and maybe a little intimidated by them, which meant you were always on your guard around Allison. You never talked much to Luther; you two didn’t have similar interests. Klaus you held in slight contempt, as Five did himself, truthfully; he may be silly but you have little patience, and one requires a lot of that in order to deal with Klaus. You and Diego seemed to respect each other but never found a reason to speak.

You and Ben were reading buddies. You both enjoyed fiction tales and would often talk about them at the lunch table. Vanya you always treated with kindness and respect. You felt a little bad for her, especially because she was so nice.

Five was the one you got along with the best, and everyone had actually expected you to get along with him the worst. You can stick up for yourself but you’re generally soft-spoken and non-confrontational. Nobody expected you to actively want to hang out with the confrontational and sometimes downright cruel Five, but you snicker when he dresses someone down in public, and he was protective of you to the point of people being scared to even look at you wrong for fear of Five hurting them.

You’re also brilliant. You’re above average at school (but not as above-average as Five is, because Five is pretty much Albert Einstein reincarnated). Where he excelled at science and math, you countered with your English, foreign language, and, most importantly, street smarts.

Only Five knows about your screaming household. It’s why you’re so quiet; as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself you’re generally left alone. It’s also the reason you’ve got a vindictive streak a mile wide; after so long of being wronged, who wouldn’t? It’s just perfect Five was just the person to actually carry out the dark thoughts.

You’d made him smile. You knew his coffee order and had it ready for him every time he walked into Griddy’s, and he saved you from the asshole customers you couldn’t tell off. You weren’t his first kiss, but you were the first person that made the cliché butterflies flutter in his stomach. Apart from Vanya, you were the only person he ever wanted to defend. He was almost going to tell that he loved you. The thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t gotten around to it before leaving.

Five wasn’t your first crush, but he was your first kiss. He was the first person you ever held hands with. He’s the only person you’ve ever fallen asleep while cuddling with.

Then, almost exactly ten years ago today, Five had been so fed up with Reginald telling him that he couldn’t do this, couldn’t do that, that Five snapped. He jumped to the next winter, and then he jumped to the spring after that.

He tried to jump to the summer after that spring, but he slipped and staggered while jumping, and he ended up fourteen years later in a future no one would have seen coming.

The worst thing wasn’t that he couldn’t get back. The worst thing wasn’t that a lot of people were dead. The worst thing was that Five’s family, and especially you, were dead. He hadn’t recognized his siblings except for the umbrella tattoos on their wrists, but you’d been unmistakable, even fourteen years after the last time Five saw you. Your hair was shorter and your jawline slightly sharper, but your eyes—terrible, open, unseeing eyes that Five still sees when he’s asleep—were the same, and so was the little freckle on your right eyelid that Five loves.

You’d been beautiful, but you’d been dead.

Five had screamed, he’d cried, he’d tried to force himself to jump, but nothing worked. His voice echoed and no birds were startled by it, no one came to check on the screaming, grieving boy, no deer raced for the hills. He was utterly stuck. He is utterly stuck.

The worst thing about his predicament isn’t that he’s wasted ten years of his life in a wasteland. It isn’t that Five might be stuck here forever. It isn’t that he hasn’t heard a single voice apart from his in ten years.

It’s that, even if he gets back, everyone still dies. You still die.

And he can’t even get back, anyway.

Or so he thought.

On the 3,748 day of being stuck in the apocalypse, Five was able to jump. If he was more driven by emotion, he would have stopped, he would have marveled, he would have exclaimed and maybe even missed his chance. He’d been dreaming of this moment for a full decade, so he doesn’t even hesitate; he knows exactly where to go.

2015. Sometime in 2015. That means he’ll be the same age as you and the rest of his siblings.

Sound, glorious sound, assaults his ears the moment he lands, and it’s both terrible and great at the same time. It’s a relief to have something to listen to, after so long of listening to only his voice grow deeper and hoarser from all the dust in the air, and a shock to his ears.

Five lands on the hard stone courtyard of the academy. He’s greeted by Grace, Pogo, and Reginald, all with matching serious looks on their faces. They all look the exact same as they’d looked when he left, all for various reasons (Grace is a robot, Hargreeves is so old Five can’t notice him aging more, and Pogo is a monkey).

“Number Five,” is all Reginald says. He’s not surprised to see him. The old man never lets anything surprise him nowadays, but you’d think being missing for 10 years could dampen someone’s expectations that someone else will return. “How old are you now, exactly?” Down to business already. How does he know that Five could be any age instead of the one he should be? He knew Five was trying to time travel, but he doesn’t know if he actually accomplished it. As far as Hargreeves knew, Five could have simply ran away and joined the circus.

Five doesn’t bother to dignify him with a response. He turns on his heel and jumps. He’d found the book Vanya had written during his time in the apocalypse, and it had mentioned her address.

He goes there.

You’re chatting with Allison happily while Claire and Y/D/N run around on the playground. Thank goodness they get along; you’re thankful for that every day. After Five left, you and Allison became closer, to the point where you don’t know how you’d be able to survive without her. She’s so much more suave than you, and she’s helped you a lot. You’ve helped her, in turn, reconnect a bit with Vanya.

Allison was the first person you went to, still with tear tracks on your face, after learning that Five had disappeared. You’d demanded that she rumor you and say that Five never ran away, and she had, but then you’d only thought Five hadn’t run away. It hadn’t brought him back. Allison un-rumored you, explained to you, and tried not to feel too awkward when your tears began anew. It was the beginning of a close friendship.

Now you’re a screenwriter, a pretty successful one, too, and all but one of your five movies Allison has either starred in or had a large role in. You even add Vanya’s music into the soundtrack. It’s a pretty sweet compromise. After all, in a family filled with boys, don’t the girls have to stick together?

“Patrick’s been trying to get custody of Claire, but his claims that I’ve rumored her are crazy!” Allison exclaims. “Thank god the judge sees that. I mean, god, I’ve been tempted, and that’s when I always call you, you know, but still. I’m just so glad that I haven’t. It would be terrible to be apart from your child, you know?”

“I know,” you say softly, watching Y/D/N run around on the playground. Truth be told, you hadn’t wanted kids. They hadn’t been part of your life’s plan. You’d been worried, too, that you’d turn into your mother. You never want to be anything like that raving lunatic.

You’re grateful for Y/D/N, though. You’ll never tell anyone that Allison had to convince you (thankfully without rumoring you) to keep her. The both of you have agreed to carry the secret to your separate graves. She was an easy baby, thankfully, and a sweet and easygoing child. You don’t want her to feel like she’s unwanted.

God, though, after Five left, you were messed up. You’d really loved him. You just couldn’t understand why he would leave without a word—you still can’t. There’s not a day that goes by where you don’t think of him—is he okay? Where did he go? Why didn’t he say a word to you?

It’s weird. You alternate between worrying about him in a mothering sort of way—you’ll always remember Five as the closed-off teenager that just needed someone to hold his hand and love him unconditionally, and the mother in you comes out—and worrying about him in the way you would your lover. You’ve tried to imagine him as twenty-five years old and you can’t.

At first, life without Five was hell. There was the constant worrying about him, and then your home situation got way worse. There was no one to protect you from bullies at school—Vanya and Ben were too quiet to stand up to anyone, and you were too nervous and ashamed to ask Diego or Luther for help.

You were still messed up when you’d met Y/D/N’s father. He reminded you of Five but he wasn’t smart enough. He didn’t style his hair the same way, and his eyes weren’t the same precise shade of green.

It only lasted a little bit, but that little while was enough. He was long gone before you even knew you were pregnant.

God, you barely even remember his name. What was it… Max? Rick? You’ve no idea.

Your phone rings, cutting Allison off, and you shrug at her. “Sorry, give me a sec.” It’s Vanya that’s calling. “Hey, Vanya,” you say, letting Allison know who it is. “What’s up?”

“There is someone in my apartment,” she whispers. “Where are you?”

“Oh, my God,” you reply, standing up. “I’m—we’re on our way! I’m only about five minutes from you if I run.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and you can hear in her voice that she’s about to cry.

“Hey, call 911,” you instruct. “Allison and I will be right over.” You may not be superpowered, but you do know how to fight. Diego had insisted when you’d become closer to the family over the years. He even gave you a knife for your 18th birthday. You sneakily take said knife out of your pocket and hide it in your palm. You’ll not hesitate to stab someone if it comes to that.

“What’s going on?” Allison asks with concern. “Y/N?”

“There is someone in Vanya’s apartment,” you reply.

“Oh, my God.” Allison looks around frantically. She grabs the arm of an old lady walking past. “I heard a rumor,” she says quickly, “that you brought our children back to the Umbrella Academy safely and then left and forgot all about this conversation.”

“Y/D/N!” You yell, waving her over. “Claire!”

“Come on, girls,” the old lady says kindly.

“She’s going to take you back to Uncle Luther,” you whisper to the girls. “Me and Aunt Allison have to go see Aunt Vanya, all right?”

“Bye, Mommy!” Y/D/N says cheerfully. She takes the old lady’s hand and they walk away.

“Nice thinking,” you mutter to Allison, barely waiting to see them start walking before breaking into a run yourself.

“Well, powers can be useful at times. As long as I’m not hurting anyone. Besides, it’s urgent,” she says back between pants.

You don’t even want to think about what might happen to Vanya if the intruder finds her. Are they violent? Are they looking for money? Together, you and Allison might be able to get them out, but you don’t want to risk them hurting Vanya when you’re not there.

You almost step on Mr. Puddles, who’s escaped again, when you make it to Vanya’s floor of the apartment building. You can’t hear any loud sounds coming from her apartment, which could be good or bad.

Allison holds one finger to her lips and pulls her key out of her pocket. You wince when the lock creaks as she turns it and prepare yourself to get attacked, shot, or worse.

Allison manages to open the door slightly without making a sound. You peer around it. The person in Vanya’s apartment doesn’t seem to be stealing anything. It’s a he, you’re pretty sure, and he just seems to be looking around.

Allison counts down from three on her fingers. You kick the door open and lunge at the intruder, ready to hold your knife to his throat. Allison’s already trying to rumor him, but he does something neither of you would have expected. It makes you drop the knife in your hands and it stops the words in Allison’s mouth.

The man spacial jumps, complete with the blue light and everything.

Vanya peeks out from around the corner, completely bewildered when she sees all three adults just staring at each other.

You take in the man’s appearance. He’s dirty like he hasn’t taken a shower in weeks or maybe even months. His clothes are torn. His jaw is sharp but messily shaven and his eyes have bags under them like he hasn’t slept for days. He has the tattoo of an umbrella on his wrist.

You suck in a choked breath. It can’t be.

“Tell me it again,” Luther demands.

Five rolls his eyes. “I’ve already told you three times, dumbass. I traveled to the future, got stuck for ten years, and traveled back. That’s it.” He’s bouncing his knee so aggressively he’s shaking the entire table. His stomach rumbles, making Diego flinch, but nobody else moves. It’s too much for everyone to take in, so they just stare at Five.

Five’s eyes are glued to the one person he’s been most excited to see.

You won’t meet his gaze.

“Where in the future did you go?” Klaus asks.

“2019.”

Diego whistles. “Wow.”

“Impressive until you remember you couldn’t travel back,” Reginald says from the back of the room, as always sounding like he thinks of himself as a king, and you stand up abruptly. You can’t stand him, but you also can’t pick a fight with him—he is your friends’ father, after all. You try to avoid him as much as possible. You won’t stand for him insulting Five like that, even if you were thinking the same thing.

“I have to go,” you mutter, standing up. Allison squeezes your hand for a brief moment, smiling at you, but you don’t return the gesture.

Five jerks in his chair, but Allison pins him down with a glare. She knows better than anyone how much his disappearance messed you up, and he thinks he can waltz right back in here?

Well, he can. Allison knows that beneath your overwhelmed exterior, you are bursting with excitement. She hates Five a little bit, for that; the way he captured you and abandoned you, the way you could never let him go, and how you’re going to take him back when he very well might leave again.

“Miss Y/D/N is with Grace in the drawing area,” Pogo speaks up.

Five frowns with confusion. Y/D/N? Who’s that?

“Thanks,” you mutter and hightail it out of the room. This is too much. It’s so much.

Five’s stomach rumbles again and Vanya finally turns around. She grabs bread, peanut butter, and marshmallows and starts to make him a sandwich, and Five just might cry. It’s been so long since he’s seen his favorite sister, and it’s been so long since he’s been in a house that’s not even remotely demolished, and it’s been so long since he’s eaten something that isn’t from a can.

He smiles at her without teeth when she hands it to him and mutters “Thanks”.

“Why were you stuck?” Luther asks without prompt.

“If I knew, I would have gotten unstuck a whole lot earlier,” Five hisses, but the effect is slightly ruined when he takes a big bite out of the sandwich.

It’s going to be a long day.

He’s waiting for you when you get home from Y/D/N’s dance lessons. You walk into the house and jump when you see him there, browsing through the family photos like he hadn’t just broke into your house. Your daughter follows you in and screams.

“Mommy, there’s someone in our house!”

“I know, honey,” you say soothingly. “That’s just Five. Do you remember all the stories I told you about Five?”

“You’re Five?” Y/D/N asks, staring at him with undisguised curiosity. “Where have you been?”

“I went to the future,” Five replies, staring at her with a look you can’t quite read on his face. You’re nervous; what will he think about Y/D/N? What will she think about him? “I just got back today.”

In your most secret fantasies, you’ve dreampt about him coming back and being like a father to Y/D/N. You remember, though, his disdain for children when you were younger. You’d shared the disdain, truly, and though you’ve changed, you don’t know how much he’s changed.

“The future?” Y/D/N’s face screws up with confusion. “You can do that?”

“Y/D/N, Five is special just like Aunt Allison and Uncle Luther—”

“And Uncle Diego!” she adds. She really, really loves Diego, and it might have something to do with the way you’ve caught him multiple times trying to teach her how to throw knives. “You know, you should be my daddy,” she continues, and you choke.

“Y/D/N!” you exclaim, coloring. To his credit, Five only blinks at her. You get the feeling he’s more curious about her than he is put-off or annoyed.

When his gaze transfers to you, however, it changes. His eyes narrow and you see the way they zero in on your left hand and the lack of a ring on your finger. “Yeah? And what happened to your daddy?”

“He left, just like you,” Y/D/N says, and Five flinches.

“I think that’s enough, honey,” you say softly. “It’s time for bed, yeah?”

“Mommy, is Five gonna be my daddy?” she asks while you carry her upstairs. It takes her a little bit longer to go to bed than usual because she’s so excited about the newcomer in your house, but when you come down the stairs Five is still milling around the living room, the ultimate missing puzzle piece. Except the puzzle he’s missing from is your past, and now that he’s been forced into the future it all doesn’t look quite right.

“You have a daughter,” he says immediately and unnecessarily.

“Obviously.” You cross your arms and chew on your lip. There’s an unspoken tension between you two that you almost don’t want to confront.

It never used to be awkward to talk to Five.

“And I’ll take it her father is… out of the picture?”

“Why, are you jealous?” you tease. It just slips out. You haven’t been able to tease Five for so long.

Ten goddamn years.

“I mean…” He looks away from you and shrugs. “I guess I don’t really have any right to be, but…”

“What was the future like?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He lets out a long breath. “Goddamn terrible. So lonely.” He hunches his shoulders and stares at the ground. You’ve never seen Five look so defeated. It kills you a little bit.

“I get that you’ve only been back for a little while—”

“Two hours,” he corrects.

“Two hours,” you concede, almost unable to keep yourself from smiling. “I get it if your feelings have changed. But Y/D/N was right. She does need a father figure.”

He looks up at you, a little incredulous that you’d just accept him back like that. “Seriously?”

“I mean, god, I’m going to kill you for leaving,” you say, shaking your head and laughing a little bit. “But I’m just so happy you’re okay, you know? And I missed you. Every day for ten years.”

Five wraps his arms around you, and if he’s crying you don’t ask why. You get the feeling he went through more than he’s letting on in the future, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get it out of him later, but right now you’re content to comfort him. God knows you need a hug. It seems like he needs one too.

Five years later, you and Allison go together to Leonard’s cabin to talk to Vanya. She tries to stop Allison from rumoring her, but you jump in front of her and it’s your throat Vanya slices instead. Allison calls Five, who’d been working out equations in your shared bedroom while watching Y/D/N, and he jumps to you immediately. He doesn’t even take Allison with him when he jumps back to the Academy, where Reginald watches all the processings with a stern eye. He’d never had to drink poison to get all the kids back together; you and Five did that all on your own.

He doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re unconscious. Nobody tells Y/D/N about what’s going on and just say instead that you’ve gone on a vacation and drop her off at the park with a trusted friend.

Luther has to knock Five out at one point when nobody’s sure if he’s going to stick to the plan of trying to talk to Vanya. The way he’s vibrating with energy and won’t put down his favorite gun doesn’t give them a lot of hope.

He’s  the one to greet Vanya when she comes to the Academy just after waking up. Everyone else had left to try to find Vanya and also so Five could cool down so he wouldn’t try to kill Luther on sight.

“Is Y/N… is Y/N okay?” she asks timidly.

“She will be, thanks to Grace,” he says coldly.

“Can I… see her?”

“No!” Five snaps immediately. “God, no. First of all, she’s resting right now. Second of all, you need a good grip on your powers and your emotions before I let you see her.” He glares at Vanya, arms crossed and hackles raised. He doesn’t offer the comfort she so desperately needs, but then again, she knows she doesn’t deserve it.

The truth may hurt, but it’s better than being locked away, like Luther had threatened to do, so Vanya nods, tells Five she’ll be in her room, and leaves to feel guilty in private.

You can’t talk when you wake up.

“Ssh, don’t try to talk,” Five comforts, wiping your hair away from your face. “Do you know what happened?”

You nod, one hand going to your sore neck.

“She’s here but I can make her leave if you want,” Five explains calmly. “She wants to see you, but I told her I wouldn’t let that happen until she’s under control.”

You close your eyes and a tear leaks out from beneath your right eyelid.

“I—here.” Five hands you a pad of paper and a Sharpie. “There you go.”

When you ask if you’ll ever be able to talk again, Five’s at a loss.

April 1, 2019 passes and nothing happens. Reginald and Vanya have an explosive fight, of course, about him hiding her powers, but she does have to admit that her slicing your neck open not two days after learning about her powers don’t exactly help her case. Everyone, even Vanya, can see Reginald’s logic.

Doesn’t mean she likes it, but she understands.

When you first see Vanya, you hold Five’s hand so tightly he loses feeling in his fingers, and he glares at Vanya the whole time, waiting for the moment he needs to jump as far away from her as possible. He’s got mixed feelings about her; on the one hand, she couldn’t control her feelings and threw a temper tantrum so huge she nearly killed you, and on the other hand, it is pretty shitty that Reginald kept her powers a secret from her for so long.

He’s already lost you before. He’s not about to do it again.

I’m fine, you’d written to Vanya. I’m glad everyone’s okay. You’d given her a small smile but made no move to hug her.

It’s going to take a long time before any trust is built back up.

At least the world hasn’t ended.

You and Five don’t have enough children, but that’s okay. He probably would have gotten annoyed if there were too many running around. You and Y/D/N are enough.

Every now and then, he just stares at you. The memory of your dead body has faded, and now the memory of this new, older Y/N is fresh in his memory. Yes, you’ve changed; you have a child and you’re more forgiving now, but he’s also changed. He may not want a huge family, but he’ll fight like hell for the one he has now. His time in the apocalypse changed him in ways you’ll not even begin to understand, mostly because he won’t tell you that the apocalypse had ever been an option, but you do know that he had been lonely.

Thank goodness you somehow changed in the same ways so you could still fit into the puzzle together.

Different puzzle, different pieces, but you still click, and that’s all you need.

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[doublerumnukacola]

I choochoose you to be in the RailRoad

Week 2 1/2 of the Wasteland

The Sole Survivor runs into the RailRoad

----------------

Stop right there! You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting, but before we go any further, answer my questions.

Who the hell are you?

Just a friend that followed the freedom trail.

If that’s true, you have nothing to fear…

The lights were blinding, and the catacomb air felt suffocating. Did there need to be this many people in here? Especially since two of them had their weapons pointed at her. One with a decent minigun, the other with a crappy pipe pistol. At least if things went south, she knew who to take out first.

“Who told you about us?” The woman in the middle demanded, Sole squinted at her through the glaring lights.

“I just heard a rumor about you in Diamond City.” Sole explained honestly. It was the truth, even if it was only part of it.

“I see,” The woman said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “I’m Desdemona, I’m the leader of the RailRoad, and you are-” She looked over someone else entered the fray from behind her. Oh joy, more people to breathe my oxygen. Is it getting hot in here? “Deacon, where have you been?” The new guy put his hands up in defense.

“Hey, you’re the one having a party, where was my invite?” He asked in protest. Desdemona crossed her arm across her chest in annoyance, her other still holding her lit cigarette. Sole’s eyes were starting to adjust now, she could get a better look at the shadowy figures holding her at gunpoint. Except all she was looking at was the new guy, Deacon. He looked as though he’d stepped right out of a pre-war magazine. Greased pompadour, sunglasses, jeans and sneakers? She’d had a pin up just like that taped to her high school locker. Who was this guy?

“I need intel, who’s this?” Desdemona asked impatiently.

“Wow, newsflash boss, this lady is kind of a big deal out there.” Deacon explained, but it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Uh, have we met?” Sole asked, raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t likely, if nothing else she would have remembered that hair. “If you’re a fan, I gotta tell you, I don’t do autographs.”

“Funny, but I didn’t have to meet you to hear about you.” Deacon pointed out, maybe even with an eye roll from behind those sunglasses. He turned to Desdemona. “I mean seriously, Des, you don’t know who she is? This is the leader of the Minutemen. Seems like most of the Commonwealth is flying her flag.”

“Forgive me, but it’s not as though she’s wearing a name tag.” Des spat, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“And seriously, the Minutemen, deeks?” The woman with the minigun sneered, “Don’t you call them the historical reenactors of the Commonwealth?” Oof, tough crowd.

“Well, if that’s not enough for you,” Deacon brushed off the comment, “Nick Valentine was in a jam, but word is that this lady bailed him out and talked her way around Skinny Malone.”

“Right, I forgot.” The woman shot back. “What the RailRoad really needs right now is someone really good at talking. All this time if we’d just thought of talking to the Institute, they would have set all the synths free and it would be all gumdrops and snack cakes-”

“Enough!” Desdemona snapped. She turned to Deacon. “So, you’re vouching for her?”

“Yes,” Deacon affirmed. “She’s someone we want on our side. Trust me.” Suddenly there was a shift, Desdemona’s eyes relaxed, she took a drag on her cigarette.

“That changes things.” She decided. It does?! Sole thought incredulously. Who the hell was this guy?

“So Stranger,” Des asked, more gently than before. “Why did you want to meet with us anyway?”

The long story was: She and her family fled to a vault two hundred years ago and frozen. Then her husband was killed and her son taken. She escaped, found her neighborhood destroyed, her house a wreck, her Mr. Handy tried to kill her, and the first friendly people she ran into made her the leader of their militia. She saved a dozen settlements and took over a castle. She got a tip from a stoned old lady, trekked across the wasteland to Fenway stadium, had to trek again to find an old detective, and then the only lead on her son was some shadowy organisation called the Institute and an asshole named Kellogg. It was only by chance she heard about the RailRoad. They seemed like they might be worth checking out while Valentine figured out a way to track Kellogg.

But it would be easier to give the short version:

“You’re the only one’s fighting the Institute, and I want to take them down.”

----------------------------------

If we’re going to be dealing with you, I need to make sure we’re on the same page. You know what a synth is, right?

Yeah, I know all about them.

What had she gotten into? Saving synths? Before she walked in here, she figured synths were just as much the enemy as the Institute. They weren’t much better than body snatchers, replacing good honest humans with Institute spies. She hadn’t run into one yet that hadn’t tried to kill her at some point.

She remembered when Sanctuary had been infiltrated. Her name was Cass, the settlements only medic. One night the neighborhood gets over run with these wiry nightmare-fuel robots, and Cass is standing over her bed with a pipe-pistol. They lost a lot of good Minutemen that night, especially without a medic to patch them up.

But Sole wasn’t stupid enough to give a wrong answer. So sure, she’d die for a synth. If it gets her a step closer to Shaun, she’d say anything.

“Hope you didn’t mind the reception,” Deacon apologised, breaking her out of her thoughts. “When you tango with the Institute, you gotta be careful when someone knew gets on the dance floor.”

“Well, I was hoping for some balloons and a banner, but not getting shot is nice too.” Sole shrugged with a smile. “I’m more surprised there was a reception at all. I didn’t exactly plan to be here today.”

“RailRoad has a few eyes on the freedom trail at all times, can’t really afford surprises in our line of work.” Deacon explained, running a hand over his pompadour, “Kinda killed our chance at a friendly first impression, though.”

“You’re telling me…” Sole muttered, glancing at the woman with the minigun, who was likely still glaring at her.

“But it’s all good now!” Deacon insisted cheerfully. “I vouched for you and no one lost their head.” Then his tone dropped in tone and he lowered his glasses a smidge to look her in the eyes, “Still, I would consider it a close personal favor if you didn’t sell us out to the Institute.” There was a tense moment.

“Sure thing.” She assured him. He winked and readjusted his glasses, smiling. This guy was something else, it took her a moment to collect her thoughts. “So, why did you vouch for me?”

“In our little outfit, it’s my job to know things, and with everything you’ve done it’s clear you are a dangerous enemy, and I’m betting a capable ally.” Deacon explained, leaning back against the crumbling brick and mortar behind him.

“Really? Even with my background in ‘historical reenactment’?” Sole pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“Ha, right that.” He tried to laugh it off, but Sole crossed her arms and waited for an explanation. “Look, you’re not doing a bad job with the Minutemen,” Deacon started carefully, “But traditionally the Minutemen haven’t been much better than hired guns, and sometimes only when it suits them, if Quincy was anything to go by.” Sole nodded thoughtfully, really looking as if she were keeping an open mind, but that had struck a nerve. Deacon continued, maybe he thought he was getting through to her. “I’ll admit it, I never really cared for the Minutemen. The idea sounds great, but you give small men big power and sometimes you’ll pay for it.” Now she knew he was just trying to set her off, but she couldn’t afford to pick a fight with the only guy on her side. She took a breath and let it out, and in her head she could almost hear Nate helping her count backwards to calm down. She smiled up at Deacon.

“And you still trust me?” Sole asked, changing subjects swiftly.

“I don’t know if we can trust you.” Deacon admitted. Great. I resisted punching this guy for nothing. “But I hope we can. We just survived a hell of a crisis so we maybe a teeny weeny desperate for new members.” It gets better! I only got in because they were desperate! “If everything was sunshine and bottle caps, we might play a longer ‘getting to know you’ game but we don’t have that luxury.” That’s honestly to your benefit, if I’d known how this encounter would go, I would have taken my chances with Nicks crazy plan of finding a dog to track a man across the wasteland.

“I guess that’s lucky for me,” Sole said in relief, “I hate those icebreaker games. ‘Hi i’m blank, my favorite color is blank, and I like long walks along the blank.” That got a chuckle out of him to her surprise. “So what’s next for me?” He blew out a long breath, putting a hand on the back of his neck, which meant she probably wouldn’t like what they had in store for her.

“Well, Des wants me to make you a tourist.” Deacon explained a little half-heartedly, his trademark smile falling away to annoyance. Sole looked around for a moment, the rest of the RailRoad had disappeared back into their hole, it was just the two of them now. “What a waste!”

“Yeah, hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts aren’t a good look on me.” Sole agreed. His smile flashed back at that.

“A tourist is someone who does the odd job for us.” Deacon corrected with a laugh, before putting a hand on her shoulder, and taking a conspiricial tone. “Look, I’m just going to come out and say this: The Rail Road needs you.” She smirked, brushing off his hand.

“Way to play hard to get.” Sole noted, “But my plates a little full, besides, Des seems to think you’re doing just fine without me.”

“She’s just thinking about the time and manpower it would take to train you, and if you were some hick from the ‘burbs who didn’t know their ass from a rocket launcher, she’d be right.” Don’t be so hasty, you’ve never seen me after 20 cans of cram. The aftermath is explosive. “But I’m betting you just need a few pointers and a target.” Sole was quiet for a moment. If this worked out, she could have a real chance of finding Shaun. All she needed to do was keep her head down and play nice for now.

“Alright, you have my attention.”

-----------------------------

Present, Week 11 in the Wasteland

-----------------------------

Sole left Daisy’s store with a sad wave. It had been a difficult few weeks, hell it had been difficult since she left the damn vault… But her mind quickly brushed away the thought, protecting her from dwelling on it.

She was getting tired of the sights and sounds of Goodneighbor. The excursion this morning had been refreshing, she’d almost felt like her old self. There was something cathartic about sniping a Super Mutant suicider and watching it take out five of its closest friends. Perhaps another stroll through the ruins was needed. Maybe she’d stop by the old North Church, there was usually an errand or two to do there.

The ruins were unnaturally quiet. She'd seen to that earlier. She may have been a little overzealous. She missed the familiar sound of gunfire in the distance and the occasionally exploding car or vertibird.

She continued towards the Boston Common. She needed to find a quiet spot to collect her thoughts and count her caps before she went to the church. There were a lot of both.

Just then she heard the shift of gravel behind her. She continued, feigning ignorance, but glancing around using her peripheral vision. It was lucky she’d planned this detour beforehand, Boston Common was ideal for unwanted company.

She continued on, towards Swans pond. She could hear the hesitation in the interlopers footsteps. The white roof of the ancient bandstand was well in view, as well as the infamous sunken swans.

Sole could have launched a fat man into this lake any time she wanted, she’d considered it once or twice as well, but she didn't for this reason in particular. She stood at the fence around the murky pond. She bent down, looking for a suitable stone. Sole smiled to herself, and activated her stealth boy...

Hiding out in the Boylston club, she could still hear the behemoths roars, and the crash of lobbed debris. Who ever had been tailing her would be a million miles away by now if they had any sense. Not many had the reckless sense of adventure that would lead to exploring the area, much less find this place.

She sat on one of the dusty armchairs, amongst the former club members. It was a macabre scene, skeletons in decaying suits, some with cigars still clenched in their jaw. The ruckus outside notwithstanding, it was quite a peaceful scene. There were a few wine bottles dotted around, some still filled, but she knew better than to indulge. After all, she’d snooped around on the terminal behind the counter, and it wasn’t the bomb that finished these gentleman off.

-------------------------------

After a while the roars subsided, the behemoth settling back into the pond, returning to their slumber. She'd have to be extra quiet about leaving, couldn't risk waking them again.

She was starting to drift off in the chair, when the front door creaked open, and shut quietly. Her heart rate shot up instantly. Who would come here? Who would be so stupidly diligent in their surveillance? It didn’t match the M.O. of the institute, and certainly not of any raider group she’d pissed off…

“Honey, I'm hooome!” A familiar voice sang out quietly, poking their head around the corner and into the lounge, sunglasses catching the shafts of light.

“Oh dear, you look so haggard. I’ll bet traffic home was just murder.” Sole joked, her heart rate returning. She should have known it was him.

“Oh you wouldn't believe it! Hey is this seat taken?” Deacon smiled, plopping himself on the couch, careful not to disturb the skeleton beside him. “Some jerk nearly cut me off, literally. A whole car just came at me.” Sole laughed as Deacon mimed the car flying over his head, ducking down for effect.

“Really? Because I had a creep tail me home, had to ask him politely, but firmly, to buzz off.” She countered. He leaned back, running a hand through over his scalp.

“Alright that’s fair.” He admitted with a grin. “It’s just been difficult to get ahold of you lately.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been in the same place for a week. Not too hard to track someone in Goodneighbor.” Sole snorted.

“Really?” Deacon asked, forcing the surprise in his voice. “All I’ve seen around Goodneighbor is some mopey Vault dweller in your clothes. This morning was the first time I’ve seen you in awhile.” There was silence. He had a point, but he could have made it without being a dick. He took a breath. “Soooo wanna talk about it?” He sat forward, resting his chin in one hand like an attentive therapist. Sole wondered how many times he’d gotten intel that way. Finally she sighed.

“Well, you probably know how the whole thing started.” Sole started, leaning back on the dusty armchair. “I was doing pretty rough after… Kellogg.” Deacon glanced away, he had been there for that part. “I was shaken up after the memory den, needed some time to just… Process everything.”

“You mean get drunk?” Deacon put in, but a quick glare shut him up.

“That was the plan, but I didn't have enough caps. So Charlie gave me that job to clear out the warehouses, and he tagged along for the caps.” Sole muttered bitterly. “After that was a few jobs, squaring him with the Gunners, and finding a cure for his sick son.” She looked down, this was the hard part. “When we got the cure, I knew he’d go back and see his son, but I’d hoped we could do it together… And that we’d do it after we found Shaun...” She paused. “When he left, I kept expecting a letter… A message in a bottle… Even a fucking smoke signal would be nice…” She gave a small bitter smile. “I forgot how good it felt to swear, at least sober anyway.”

“I’d heard about that,” Deacon noted. “Always struck me as strange that a guy willing to run with ruthless mercenaries would avoid swearing.” Sole shot him a look, he held up his hands in surrender and made a motion of zipping his lips.

“Anyways…. Nothing came. After a week I moved on, did a bit of soul searching...” Deacon made a motion to unzip his lips.

“You went soul searching in the Glowing Sea?” Deacon asked, more than a hint of suspicion mixed with his sarcasm.

“Sure did.” Sole replied evenly, she didn’t feel like discussing the trip in detail just then. Especially not with Deacon.

“And after that?” He pressed.

“What? No intel on that?” She asked in surprise. He was silent, watching her. She’d made a point of dropping off the map after meeting Virgil. After the Glowing sea, killing a Courser would be a piece of cake. “Anyway, after some sightseeing, I headed back to Good Neighbor for that drink I’d been meaning to get around to.”

“This sounds familiar…” Deacon said knowingly. She ignored him.

“That’s when Hancock picked me up and gave me a job. I sobered up, and I'm not looking back.” She concluded.

“Except this afternoon when you came crying to Daisy again.” Deacon added, receiving another sharp look from Sole.

“A moment of weakness.” She admitted. “But hope’s not an easy thing to let go of.” She looked forlorn at the dirty window beside them that once overlooked the common. Deacon stood up slowly, hesitating over his next words, but he decided to come out with it anyway. She needed to snap out of this funk she’d fallen into.

“Look, Charmer, the prick used you to save his son.” Deacon said bluntly. His jovial demeanor falling for a moment as he looked down at Sole. “I mean, he gets a gold star for motive, a dying kid is pretty good justification, but he still played you.”

“No…” She denied softly, pulling herself off the armchair. She hated people looking down on her, and he knew it.

“Going out to kill Winlock and Barnes was a test to see how far you’d go for him. Killing a few ferals and grabbing a cure were nothing compared to taking on a fleet of gunners.” Deacon continued, a bitter edge to his voice now. She clenched her fist, she tried to focus on her breathing rather than his bullshit. “But don't worry, the sick kid part was true. I checked up on that through quite a few channels. Couldn't believe he wasn't just selling it-” Deacon was cut off by Sole’s fist striking him across the face, breathless and shaking with anger.

“You’re wrong…” She countered sharply, eyes welling up. “Sure, he left. And I don't expect him to come back, or understand why he left, but he loved me. And I… I loved him…” She glared down at Deacon, who was rubbing the red mark on his face. He felt lucky she hadn't just shot him.

“...That was real. Not a manipulation… Not a lie…” She spat at the floor beside him. “ But I know that's something of an alien concept to you.”

“An alien concept, huh?” He said thoughtfully, rubbing out the last of the soreness in his jaw, even in her rage he could feel that she’d held back. “Maybe. But a liar knows a liar.” He started towards the front door. “And you can't lie to me, Charms.” He continued softly. “You didn't really love him. No matter what you tell yourself.” He dodged another swing, letting her knuckles connect with the doorway, she winced in pain, clutching her damaged fist.

“You can be a real bastard sometimes…” She hissed. “What makes you such an authority on the subject of my love life? Last I checked you wanted nothing to do with it.” A smirk flashed across his face, sunglasses glinting.

“We both know that was just a crush for you. Fresh out of the Vault, you’re bound to fall for the first handsome man that doesn't try to disembowel you.” He said knowingly.

“What about Preston?” Sole countered, trying to suppress a smile.

“OK you were bound to fall for the second handsome-” He tried again.

“Sturges.” She added, allowing a small smile now.

“He is a very pretty man…” Deacon agreed.

“Arturo Rodriguez-”

“OK I get it, you resisted many a handsome man before you fell for me.” He admitted. “But it was still just a crush. Happens to the best of us. Working long hours in high pressure situations is bound to cause a few sparks to fly.”

“You could have said that a month ago, saved me a little heartbreak.” She replied, trying to force her smile.

“And look at you now!” He said enthusiastically. “All grown up and moving on to bigger and better heartbreaks!” Sole's smile became more genuine. “You’ll find someone, Sole, but in the meantime just refocus on the Railroad, refocus on Shaun. It takes a lot to keep our little family going, but we’re so close to bringing down the institute and finding him. We can't afford anymore delays.” Sole was quiet. “Clearing out around Goodneighbor was a big help, helped us send out a few packages that had been sitting around. Keep up like that and You’ll get Agent of the month in no time.” He leaned in and smirked. “It's been Carington 6 months in a row, so you got a lot of competition.”

[nukagalreacts]

For the Anonymous who requested a follow-up react for the dragons. Fallout 4 Companions reacting to being thrown off/falling from a deadly height and being saved by a grown up pet dragon!

Here it it my lovely readers, I hope you enjoy this follow-up react to the baby dragons now being all grown up! I had fun writing it up! and thank you Anonymous for the request. 

Cait: She knew she was dead soon as the raider she was fighting slammed into her hard enough to have her tumbling backwards, and she felt her feet fall on air. There was no surviving a 50ft drop, and Cait couldn’t even find the will to scream she was just pissed that this was the way it would end for her, fucking stupid she thought. Suddenly a huge roar sounded out of nowhere and she saw a blur of something fly underneath her.The wind got knocked out of her as she landed on the creatures back but recovered quickly as she realized it was Sole’s dragon just…. Bigger than a house now. Cait laughed at her excellent luck and was ready to show those raider bastards what a real firefight was like. After the dragon was done turning all the raiders into pieces of charcoal bones and getting a meal out of few, Cait scratched the dragon's neck for a job well done and was glad Sole had kept them around all those years ago.

Codsworth: He couldn’t fall thanks to how he had been created but he had witnessed Sole almost fall off a skyscraper to their death. Sole had lost their balance during a shootout with some gunners when they slipped and unfortunately fell right out of a broken window, Codsworth sliced a gunner out of the way before going over and looking out the window. He expected to see a dead Sole at the bottom but instead he was greeted by Sole on the back of their loyal dragon pet, hovering in the air. Codsworth felt an overwhelming amount of relief, and Sole just laughed teasing him saying something about aren’t they glad they kept the baby dragons around even if they did destroy everything, and that was something the Mr. Handy couldn’t agree more on.

Curie(synth): Had been out doing research on some plants that mainly grew along cliff sides, and the area she had been in today was particular deadly if you happened to take a tumble. Curie was leaning over trying to pick one of the flowers when some of the rocks began to crumble beneath her, she tried to crawl back but it was too late and she tumbled forward into the air. Curie let out a high pitched scream as she fell but suddenly felt a strong grip squeeze around her and the breeze of the wind against her face. Daring to open her eyes she realized some rather large claws where around her and at first she thought her luck had gotten worse and she was now a large creatures meal, looking up though and seeing huge leathery wings she realized it was Sole’s dragon they had raised so long ago. It made her so happy that even though the dragon now roamed free it still remembered her and had come to save her without hesitation.

Danse: His power armour protected him from a lot in the Commonwealth, but he knew he wasn't going to survive a fall this high up from a vertibird. He braced himself for what he hoped to be a quick death that would snap his spine and neck instantly. But instead felt a huge rush of wind and something grab him in midair, great now he was going to be rip to shreds by some mutated creature he thought. He looked up to inspect who’s dinner he was going to become and was pleasantly surprised to see it was one of Sole’s pet dragons, he literally couldn’t believe how big it had gotten and was rather fascinated by it’s large wings and shiny red scales coating it from head to claw. He felt thankful now that Sole had convinced him to let them keep all the baby dragons around, if they hadn’t he would be a pile of broken power armour and bones left to rot in the wasteland. He was surprised though that Sole had managed to train all the dragons so well, and this one had gone out of it’s way to rescue him, he wasn’t going to complain though.

Deacon: The man had fallen from quite a few high places before resulting in broken bones and what not, this time though he knew he was utterly fucked to put it nicely. He knew it was a dumb idea to do this mission alone without Sole, but he hadn’t had time to go get them and now he was paying the price. Before he could even blink he saw what he thought was Sole’s dragon flying towards him, but wasn’t sure if he was just hallucinating it, as his mind's way of trying to find hope in this situation. He knew it wasn’t though when he felt a pair of strong talons grab hold of him and lift him higher into the air away from death. Even though the dragon couldn’t understand him, he kept shouting up at them how much loved them and what an awesome pet dragon they where and how he was going to give them so many yummy dragon type treats once they got back to the agency.

Dogmeat: The poor pup was terrified as a raider he had been biting kicked him off the roof him and Sole had been fighting on, he yelped at the force of it and howled out as he started to fall. Sole screamed out furious at the raider and quickly shot them in the head before whistling loudly for their secret weapon. The rest of the raiders scattered as the monstrous dragon came flying in, breathing fire as it went, effectively turning a few into ash before they could even scream. He quickly spotted his friend Dogmeat falling, swooping in he caught the poor pooch gently between his large claws carrying them back to safety. Once he was placed back on the roof next to Sole he barked and wagged his tail happily, he loved his giant, scaly friend and was so happy they came to save him!

Hancock: He knew he shouldn’t have taken so many hits of jet before coming out here and dealing with the super mutants lurking around too close to GoodNeighbor. Now he knew he was fucked as the raging mutant picked him up in a death grip and launched him out the nearest window. Being a ghoul allowed him to heal faster and take less damage from things that would kill most people, but this was not one of those moments he was truly fucked this time around. His heart about came out of his chest though when he felt himself being grabbed in midair by what felt like claws. Within his hazy, drug fueled mind he looked up and registered that he was being carried by one of Sole’s pet dragons, and he just laughed thanking his lucky stars that him and Sole raised these little devils to be so well trained and loyal. With the dragons help they took out the rest of the mutants plaguing the area and Hancock let the dragon snack on one of them for a job well done.

MacCready: He was used to sniping from high buildings, what he wasn’t prepared for was someone sneaking up behind him while he was on the roof waiting for his target and kicking him off the side. He tried to stop himself from falling off by catching the ledge, it was to late though as he continued to tumble off, screaming out with fear in his eyes. As he fell, from the corner of his eye he spotted what looked like Sole’s dragon flying towards him at top speed, and he could vaguely hear the person who pushed him off the roof screaming in sheer terror. The dragon quickly scooped Mac up into its claws and flew back up towards the roof where Mac got a front view of the dragon swallowing his assailant whole. Once he was back on the ground he gave the dragon a good head scratch and let it know that he was thankful they always kept an eye on him and Sole.

Nick: Not many things took him by surprise anymore but being purposely thrown off a roof  by a few jerks who hated synths apparently was the icing on the cake. He was a synth though and he just hoped there was enough left of him once he busted apart on the ground for Sole to put back together. As he fell he could hear panicked screams and then silence and then bits and pieces of bloody body parts raining down from above. Sole’s dragon made quick work of Nick’s tormentors before swiftly flying down and collecting Nick in his claws before he became scrap pieces. Nick had found the dragons as babies a bit of a handful, but he was damn happy they were out here keeping tails on him and helping out when he needed it, couldn’t be to mad at Sole for allowing them to grow up into giant beast who worked in their favor.

Preston: Was cursing himself right now because usually he brought one of Sole’s dragons with him when he went on missions because now that they where grown up no one dared to mess with them and it made traveling faster. He felt bad for always relying on them though so he opted to go out and help a settlement without one this time, and figured he could handle a few raiders on his own. He was wrong though it had turned out to be an ambush, he was quickly attacked and tied up and the raiders dragged him over to a cliff edge talking about they didn’t want to waste a bullet on him and they could just push him off to his death. As he fell he recognized Sole’s dragon flying up towards him and he smiled as it caught him in his claws, effectively cutting his binds. Carrying Preston the Dragon began biting into the raiders, their bullets useless as they bounced off it’s scales. Preston was beyond relieved the dragon had followed him this time even when he ordered it to stay put back near Sanctuary.

Piper: She was always getting herself into some knee deep shit wherever she went, so getting pushed off a tall building was something she figured should have happened already by now. And it sure as Hell was happening right now as she flailed trying to grab onto something unsuccessfully, screaming she began to plummet to her death. Luckily for her Sole’s dragon and it’s keen sense of hearing had heard her cry of distress and made a beeline in her direction taking flight with it’s mighty wings. Piper was halfway down to the pavement when a pair of claws wrapped around her, breathing a sigh of relief she scolded the dragon saying it took him long enough to come save her sorry ass. As she was being carried off she was sure to twist around a flip off the person who had pushed her, shouting out that the next time they tried that around here they would be screwed. They just stood there in utter disbelief at what they were seeing as Piper cackled in the distance.    

Strong: Obviously huge so if he falls he falls hard! Another super mutant he was fighting with body slammed him off a building and he wasn’t mad about it, least he died in a good fight with a brother. Luckily for him though his fighting days aren't over yet as Sole’s dragon came flying in grabbed him by his huge arms. He was practically gleeful as the dragon flew him back up to the fight and Strong roared about how him and the dragon would smash everyone in their way. And that’s what they did, and by the end of it the dragon had accidently brought down the whole building and melted places of it, which just made Strong laugh saying the dragon was always a good fighting partner to have at his side.

X6-88: He felt pretty pathetic right now that a superior fighter like himself had been taken by surprise by a rogue synth. It had been his mission to bring it back in and now here he was falling to his death because he had underestimated the synths strength and abilities. Much to his delight and surprise though one of the dragons him and Sole had trained and raised came flying in to his rescue. It easily scooped him up in it’s large talons and took him back up to where he had fallen, where he was able to successfully subdue the synth by threatening to have them melted down by the dragon if they didn’t come with him back to the Institute. It gave him a sick kind of glee to use the dragons to threaten people to do his wishes, he had always done that before the dragons, but with them it made it 40 times easier.   

[chainslaughter]

STREAM of consciousness/notes on my wasteland OCs

I feel like Vax would mainly deal in procuring drugs compared to say, scrapped parts or whatever. That'd be one of his big interests. Also im not sure if i should insert him into say, Dahlias gang because that's someone else's ideas, and while its a collaborative project, i dont really wanna force anything into it without talking about it more with the original creator. BUT we've also said that it doesnt matter who does up with what because we can do what we want, its sort of just throwing ideas at the wall and seeing what sticks anyway.

so he can be a part of the gang or something more akin to where Bhixl stands with Dahlia (Vax and Dahlia dont have to be as close as she and Bhixl are though, if at all. They could hate each other) Basically that hes more an affiliate or something through the services he provides (whether its drug trade or whatever, i haven't fleshed him out that much) I feel like he'd also get around a lot and have a lot of info on other people/places too. (he'd be invaluable for getting info on plots against Dahlias reign and other rival activity)  Otherwise He's just a stinky obnoxious greasy goblin man.

But basically we've said that Dahlia and Bhixl have been friends since childhood basically, i like to think their really close and both respect each other help each other out. Obv Bhixl has his bootleg business( alcohol but other things too-he probably has a sort of general wasteland goods sort thing going on) and Dahlia brings him a lot of business as well as helping make sure he stays in a good position(ex she can take out any rival businesses). Of course, they work together to get supplies. Beyond their business relationship, as i said they're both close friends who respect each other, they like to hang out a lot, so its not strictly business.

And then there's Sam, im really not sure what i wanna do with her yet despite that she's basically one of my older OCs. I said i might just make her a loner for the most part. She probably likes robots and vehicles more than people. She likes tinkering. But she's also somewhat of a one woman army, she doesnt belong to a wasteland gang at the moment. She does build robots which i assume are her main protection, but she's also super strong herself with hand to hand and spiked bats/sledgehammers/ whatever modified junk weapons she can find/build. So she traverses the wasteland mainly for parts to recylce for her own projects. Shes honestly kind of angsty, but shed never admit that on her stone cold stoic exterior.

She tends to wander a lot, mainly likes to reside in the outskirts of the city slums that have mostly been abandoned(besides other homeless and wanderers, but most of these people dont last long here because they are ill equipped to do so) The livable areas of the city have been shrinking over time due to them being closer to the borders of the wasteland- which means all sorts of nasty things form the wastes can get in(monsters, unbearable weather conditions, pollution/polluted air, etc). Basically the habitable areas have been shrinking over time and the wasteland has been "swallowing the city areas" so theres basically a number of livable city spots dotted throughout the wastes. Of course any rich and priviliged people make sure they still manage to live in luxury in their own bubbles and just abandon places once their no longer livable because they have the  means and resources, leaving the poor to die in the squalor they've left behind.

Basically theres these old abandoned city hubs that havent been touched in who knows long. Inside you could find untold riches, or maybe nothing but a few incriminating notes on businesses long gone, or maybe you won't come out at all. (who knows whats taken over these places?) Most people and other gangs figure the risk is not worth the reward. But Dahlia and her gang have the resources, power and confidence. Shes not called Queen of the Eastern Slums for no reason after all. At one point they discover some old government facilities, including a government lab. They figure that no one else is going to do it, despite the dangers Dahlias certain they can do it, and that they will find great loot inside. However, one of the gang tries to pull a fast one and ends up killed by a monster.(Jones the hacker)

The monster (ill call him Toby for now) was the son of a scientist who was used in experiments. He has been abandoned and locked in the facility for about 15ish years. Jones breaks into his cell while the rest of the gang moves ahead looking for loot he can keep to himself(that he doesnt have to split with the rest of the gang) He freaks out and loses his cool at seeing the mutilated human -but- not- quite- human -frankenstein- monster- esque thing and starts attacking, which is what gets him killed. Toby is obviously traumatized from his experiences but he doesnt really have an innate urge for violence or to kill, mostly acting in fear and self defense.

[atomiccocktailhangover]

Interview OC Meme!

tagged in a roud-about sorta way by @thecosmicsleep ! Tagging @memailikesnukacola @nuclear-darling and anyone else who wants to do this too! Feel free to tag me so I can see!!

1. What is your name?

Well hello there, sugar! My name’s Daffodil Marceline Polly-Anna Marie LeMieux - Daffodil to my friends.

2. Do you know why are you named that?

That’s just the funniest story. It was in the script! I was an actress years ago, played a part in my troupe’s matinee about some pre-War debutante, when I had a little….mishap, out in the desert. Ended up more scrambled than a mirelurk omelette. Couldn’t remember a thing, besides bits and pieces of that silly old script. Ran around the Mojave for a spell, telling everybody my name was Miss Daffodil. Later on I found some folks who knew me from before, told me my name had been Aggie. Aggie! Could you imagine?

3. Are you single or taken?

The two are hardly mutually exclusive, wouldn’t you say?

4. Have any abilities or powers?

I’m awful persuasive. People skills are what keeps you alive out in the Wastes, really. Any old brute can pick up a gun and pull the trigger, but talking a big bad raider into putting down his gun? Now that’s a skill.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

I’d like to see you try to stop me.

6. What’s your eye color?

A pale sort of green. More of a gray, really - it takes a lot of makeup to bring the color out.

7. How about your hair color?

It’ll be bright, golden blonde for as long as I can afford the dyes.

8. Have any family members?

None that I can recall. I asked my old theater company about that, all those years ago, and they told me they’d never heard to speak of anyone. No parents, no spouses, no children, nothing. In my - that is, Aggie’s - personal effects, there were no letters from any relations. There was an old photograph of an NCR Officer, hidden away in a suitcase, but who he was or how he knew me, I doubt I’ll never know.

9. Oh? How about pets?

Oh, he’s just the most darling thing! A little rowdy, a little messy, but oh so loyal! He hardly ever leaves my side. I found him in Goodneighbor, all alone, and I knew I couldn’t just leave him there! The locals call him Maccready, but he let’s me call him Mac.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

I can’t stand secrecy. Being lied to just sets my blood boiling! It just isn’t fair, folks knowing things that I don’t. Completely unfair!

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

Music has always been my one true love. Singing, dancing, anything. Old World instruments are harder to come by the further East I travel, but put one in front of me and I’ll spend a whole evening trying to figure it out. There’s just something about making something beautiful, intangible, completely out of nothing… it’s magical, isn’t it?

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

Oh, well of course I have. That’s just part of being human, isn’t it?

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

Not often. And nobody innocent, I can assure you!

14. What kind of animal are you?

I’ve seen old pictures of these birds who used to just strut around, looking so strange and so beautiful that people would wear their feathers. Peacocks, I think they were called.

15. Name your worst habits?

So a girl likes to have a little drink every now and then, fall in love with someone new for an evening. I don’t see what the big deal is.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Goodness no, of course not. There are plenty of swell folks out and about in the Wasteland, don’t get me wrong, but I’m my own role model.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

In a world of robots and mutants and all kinds of things, who can really say for sure? But I’m weak for a man who can do as he’s told.

18. Do you go to school?

Who needs book-learnin’ when you’ve got a face like mine?

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

[She laughs. Hard.]

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

That’s an awful silly question. Of course I do! I’ve loved and been loved in every city from here to the NCR. I’m sure there’s plenty of folks out there still holding candles for me.

21. What are you most afraid of?

Feels a little silly to say, but in all honesty, loneliness. People are spread out so far out here, living out in pairs, or even just all on their lonesome. I couldn’t live that way. For all their faults, I just adore people. I’ve been on my own before, and I don’t much care for it.

22. What do you usually wear?

I’ve tried keeping it practical as of late. Mac thinks it’s easier when we’re on the road. I like to wear light clothes - pinks and blues and suchlike - and I make sure I’ve always got my lipstick and a couple of bobby pins on me. You never know who you’ll meet out in the Commonwealth, so I make sure to never cover up too much of my...assets.

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

A nice, hot, steaming bowl of stew. Something that takes extra time and effort into making.

24. Am I annoying to you?

Heavens no! I could talk about myself all day long, if you’d like.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Wonderful! How about some wine?

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Listen, sugar, it’s not about class. It’s all about how you carry yourself. I know I’m a lady whether I’ve got two caps or two thousand.

27. How many friends do you have?

An awful lot, and the list keeps on growing. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but I am a very agreeable person.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

I’d love some!

29. Favorite drink?

Vodka tarberry with just a splash of Nuka Dark.

30. What’s your favorite place?

In the arms of someone warm and sweet as melted chocolate.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

I’m interested in all sorts of people!

32. That was a stupid question…

You’re the one who said it, not me.

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Swimming’s not my forte, what with all the radiation and all. But there’s something special about paddling a boat out onto a lake on a clear day, with someone special and a couple of drinks.

34. What’s your type?

A man who’s none too bright, but with the sunniest disposition you ever did see.

35. Any fetishes?

36. Camping or outdoors?

I certainly don’t prefer it, but I’ve been making it work for years. The trick is travelling with somebody with a strong back, so they can carry all your comforts for you. I’ve got Mac carrying some goosefeather pillows, this lovely old tea kettle, and a little portable radio in our travel pack. He bellyaches about it until we’ve set up camp for the night. It’s those little touches that can make any place feel like home.