#writing4nuclearwinter

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

[WIP TITLE GAME] for: Like a Magpie?

[wip title game]

Like a Magpie

That’s a one shot I started recently for Agustín’s Marvel/Daredevil AU. @theratmessiah and I had been joking about how Matt constantly throws his canes behind random garbage cans and other questionable places in the Daredevil show, and how it would be funny if Agustín just. went around collecting and hoarding them. His coat closet has become a graveyard of Matt’s poor abandoned canes. So that’s the fic premise lol

The title comes from Catharsis by AlicebanD (though the actual song isn’t really related to the fic, I just liked the lyric ‘like a magpie stealing shiny things’)

Snippet:

The man gasps through bloody teeth as he hits the concrete. He struggles, scrambling, winded, his lungs rattling the cage of his bruised ribs with every inhale. His heart lives in his throat. He lifts his head to the creature prowling down the alley. It fills the space, something fluid and vast that makes the buildings blocking it in breathe with its mass. It’s impossible to grasp the what of it.

The man whimpers. The Devil grins.

He drops heavy from the fire escape above, one foot landing so close to crushing his throat that the toe of his boot nicks the fragile skin. It’s replaced with a club against his windpipe as the Devil lowers to a knee. A single cracked lightbulb buzzes behind him at the mouth of the alley, glow likely blotted out by the creature, and he knows the silhouette he casts. He’s nothing but horns and the glint of ruby red eyes.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

hm here’s a bit of a wip i started forever ago that i have no intentions of finishing skdkskf

Show me the draft you have that you just have no reason to publish

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

wip [insert day here]

Got tagged by @bardic-inspo @deacons-wig and @paintpaw for some variation of wip sharing (thank y'all!) so I'm just throwing down a bit of what I've been working on

Tagging @bokatan @bluepriestess @bleumanouche @kemendin and anyone else who wants to say I tagged them for art or writing wip sharing

Unfortunately I am at the mercy of my brain's hyperfixations and don't actually have any new Fallout stuff to share so uh. Here is some Daredevil content featuring Agustín

Adding a bit of context for those unfamiliar: Matt (Daredevil) is blind and uses super senses to read his surroundings

“Hi, I’m Foggy Nelson and this is my partner Matt Murdock. We hear you asked for us to represent you?” Foggy’s suit rustled as he extended a hand over the table only to awkwardly retract it after several moments.  The chair across from him was empty. “I don’t get it.” Matt hovered in the doorway. “Is this a joke?” Foggy only stared at him, heartbeat ticking up. “Uhh… chair’s at your ten o’clock, buddy.” Matt worked his jaw, teeth grinding in his ears while his fists clenched around his cane. He tapped it against the floor once, twice, following the sound bouncing through the room. There was distortion where the opposite chair sat, so slight he’d have missed it were he not searching for it. He quite literally jumped when a second, muffled voice greeted him. “Hello.” Any doubt he had that this was the same person from the rooftop was washed away with that familiar resonance, so dizzyingly normal.  He smoothed a hand down his suit jacket and in a single fluid movement, took a seat across from the not-quite-there stranger. Not a stranger now, he supposed. A client, potentially.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

Gimme the deets on Luna in Sanguinem!

[wip title game]

Luna in Sanguinem

That’s Agustín’s main Fallout fic, which also serves as the prequel to Spreading Out Our Ashes! I’ve been working on it off and on for years, but I swear I’ll finish it one of these days [head in hands]

The title comes from the latin version of Joel 2:13:

The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and the terrible day of the Lord come.

Snippet from the most recent chapter I worked on:

Cres did not flinch when the hot wax began to creep down their fingers, and nor did the dead man beneath them as it dripped from their hand to his cold skin.

They carefully placed the candle back into its holder with the dozens lining the table and wiped the back of their hand on their robe. Somewhere outside their tent Agrippina quietly sang to herself, the words muffled by the canvas between them. Cres recognized it from the radio one of the younger legionaries had smuggled into base several weeks back. He and his friends had dragged the two of them and a handful of other priestesses out in the middle of the night to gather around the tinny device in the same cavern that hosted most illicit activities in the Canyon.

The possibility of being caught set Cres on edge now as Agrippina vocalized evidence of their guilt, but they never had it in them to deny her those small pleasures— nor to deny themself the pleasure of hearing her sing.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

For the WIP ask game, how about 'run'?

[Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in]

Agustín was small and rawboned, as Matt had guessed. Short cropped curly hair— dark like his eyes— rich mid brown skin, and a ‘resting bitch face that would give Marci a run for her money’. Reaching for further details reportedly only left Foggy with a throbbing headache.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

'Cover' for the WIP game?

[Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in]

“Suspicious?” It took everything in [Foggy] not to groan and bang his head against the table. What did that even mean? “Are you casing the bar? Please don’t tell me you’re using us as some kind of cover.”

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

Not really an official WIP Sharing Day but I wanted to drop a lil bit of what I've been working on for Agustin. Going to tag @adventuresofmeghatron @kemendin @just-another-wasteland-merc and anyone else who wants to say I tagged them (and if you wanna be tagged in future wip things lemme know!)

“And why have you come before me today?” Agustin floundered, failing to get anything out of his mouth before the legionary to Caesar’s right answered for him, “He is the courier we discussed. From Prescott.” The man was a tower of lean muscle, more scar tissue than skin covering the expanse of his exposed flesh. A helm similar to those the vexillarius wore hung loose around his neck, tinted goggles pushed up onto his forehead over pitch black hair.  Caesar stared at him blankly for several beats and the legionary tilted his head. Whatever silent communication they shared was met with a nod from Caesar as he turned his attention back onto Agustin. His face held no more recognition than it had a moment earlier. Still, he pushed on, “So you’re a courier, then.” “I…” he hesitated, carefully choosing his words. “Yes, I worked as an independent courier prior to my recruitment. But I recently finished my marksman training and had been assigned guard duty. My Lord.” “I don’t need more marksman.” The legionary to his right scowled and even that small shift in his expression was mean, animalistic as his scars pulled taut and his dark eyes narrowed. Agustin almost expected him to bare his teeth, but whatever protests he had he did not voice.  Caesar continued without acknowledgment, “However, I do have a better use for you. I have a letter I need delivered— discreetly. I would normally entrust this to one of my frumentarii,” he gestured to the legionary, “but they are indisposed and time is of the essence.” His response came so fast the words melded into one. “Yes, I’ll do it.”  “Of course you will. I wasn’t asking.” Amusement colored Caesar’s tone despite the attempt to remind him of his place.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

Spreading Out Our Ashes in the Sun  [Fallout: New Vegas]

Summary: The Mojave bears witness to things that might be born of dirt or blood— a specter might rise from the grave, but Courier Six wakes with little more than a delivery note and the reflection of a stranger lingering in shadowed corners of his mind.

But the desert knows his sins, for the desert knows all things. When an achingly familiar face draws truth's tide, a bull’s horns sprouting from his very bones, Arcade refuses to silently watch him drown.

Warnings: Blood and violence, implied past abuse, implied/mentioned homophobic violence, minor character death(s), off-screen canon suicide (minor Legion character), brief emetophobia

Total Word Count: 65k

IT’S HERE!

The first 4 chapters of Sol’s fic are live! Special shout out to @atomitron​ for beta reading and editing, I appreciate it more than I can say. And thank you so much to everyone who has been cheering me on and helping me while I wrote this.

I will be releasing the another 4 chapters next week then will go down to 2 chapters per week until it is fully published. Hope y’all enjoy!

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

Nereids [Fallout Lore Overview]

Finally doing a lose lore write up for the mutations Varmint has. They developed due to radioactive waste running into the ocean that Varmint’s fishing village is on in northern NCR and can only be found there and in Far Harbor. They are, in essence, maritime predators.

Traits of Nereids:

Generally tall in stature with an extremely wide wing span and large hands and feet for propulsion in the water. They sport dense muscle partially hidden beneath a permanent layer of “baby fat” that acts as insulation in freezing waters. Their body temperature adapts to their environment and they can easily withstand the cold, but are particularly vulnerable to dry heat with an increased risk of heat stroke or exhaustion.

Natural endurant, they have lower oxygen needs, slower resting heart rate, and can withstand higher pressures.

Gills run down either side of their torso and allow full water breathing. While they are protected by flaps of cartilage and skin, they remain somewhat fragile and highly sensitive.

They also have a set of third, clear eyelids that are used to help them see more clearly underwater and protect their eyes. Night vision is enhanced to a certain degree.

Their body hair is very sparse and thin, similar to peach fuzz. The tips of their fingers are equipped with additional grippers for catching slippery prey. The texture is similar to that of a cat’s tongue. Some Nereids are born with webbed hands and/or feet, but not all.

They have a slightly echoing quality to their voices which is especially noticeable when singing or yelling and are able to throw their voices much further than standard humans. These adaptions help them to communicate underwater

Radiation resistance comes with the territory but, though it is unlikely to kill them, they may experience the effects of radiation sickness at high doses. It remains unclear whether a Nereid can undergo ghoulification or not.

Notes on culture:

Nereids only account for about a fourth of the village's population and as a result, they mutations are highly coveted within the community. They are appointed as hunters to bring in fish for both food and trade and are considered the backbone of their economy.

Breeding with other nereids is preferred to keep the mutations strong. For a nereid to move away from the village is highly frowned upon for fear of the mutations dying out and will be met with attempts to force them back. If they do not concede to these efforts, they are cut off fully from all contact with friends and family.

As a result, seeing one away from the village is extremely rare.

Notes on Far Harbor Nereids:

Sport very similar mutations with a few editions and developments placing them further from humans. They have never been in contact or known about their west coast counterparts and their mutations are more convergent evolution than anything.

They are not directly related to Mirelurk Kings either but underwent some similar changes. As a result most have pink or red skin tones. In the same vein they can use sonic attacks by projecting their voices. The echoing of their voices on land is more pronounced and noticeable than in their west coast counterparts.

They have random sections of scales scattered over parts of their bodies and all of them have webbed hands/feet, often with claws.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

I'd love to see what you do with "You Freed a monster with a monster?" from the prompts

Thank you for the prompt! Ok so I may have entered a fugue state while writing this and it ended up really long (2k). But I really wanted to get the out in time for Halloween and depending on what time zone you’re in, I succeeded.

Thus, I offer you some Werewolf Arcade/Vampire Sol content~

[warnings: blood, death, self harm in the context of supernatural abilities]

You freed a monster with a monster?

The last pin clicked into place and Sol stilled. They couldn’t hear anything stir on the other side of the door, but the ringing in their ears sang too loud to trust that sense. There was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard, and nothing to be smelled save for days old blood and sweat.

They retracted their lockpick and felt for the door handle. Where there should have been cold metal they were met with searing heat, a freshly fired brand pressed into their palm as they closed their fist around it.

A moment passed before they fully registered it and yanked away hard enough to have them stumble backwards several steps, hissing through teeth and shaking their arm violently. It was too dark to accurately assess the damage, but the hanging scent of melted flesh painted a broad enough image.

They pulled in several measured breaths; an old habit that, while unnecessary, did help draw their attention away from the pain. Approaching the door once more, they carefully inspected the offending handle without touching it. The barely perceptible vermilion glow reflected from their eyes and the metallic smell confirmed it was indeed metal. Cold metal.

Silver they suddenly realized. It wasn’t even a trap meant for them, but the end result remained.

Their shoulders tensed as muffled wind whistled along the side of the building. A sharp reminder that they didn’t have time for this.

Before affording themself the chance to overthink it, Sol pulled the sleeve of their denim jacket over their hand and quickly turned the knob. Their raw skin howled even through the fabric, but in a blink they were inside with the door cracked behind them.

Sharp green eyes stared back from the dark. There was nothing inside the cell apart from cold concrete and the towering mass of fur and teeth growling at them from the furthest corner.

“Cade.” Sol huffed a sigh somewhere between relief and concern. “Y-y-you’re alright, it’s j-just me.”

If Arcade recognized them, he didn’t show it. His ears were pinned back flat against his head, his teeth bared.

They reached a hand out and continued towards him without heed for the threat. Arcade snapped in warning before his nose twitched intently and he went still. He didn’t relax, but warily allowed Sol to approach, subtly tilting his head to the side to reveal the large metal collar around it.

Thick dread lodged in Sol’s throat as they reached for it.

“May I?”

Arcade’s silence was as close as they would get to affirmation in that state.

Studying it with gentle fingers, it became clear that the device was too thin to be an explosive collar despite appearances. Deep claw marks scarred the surface without seeming to have made any real progress. Sol had half a mind to simply pry it apart with their hands, but trying to jam their fingers between the metal and Arcade’s flesh was a nonstarter.

The outer plating gave way to the thin edge of their lockpick easily enough as it slid beneath to reveal tangled wires and circuitry. None of it was overly complex, a simple loop connected to a tiny speaker.

With it fully revealed, Sol’s head throbbed and they realized the ringing in their ears wasn’t pure tinnitus, but rather an unbelievably high pitched tone coming from the collar.

They tore the speaker out wordlessly.

Several beats passed and suddenly Arcade was sagging against them, once again more skin than fur. Sol wrapped an arm around his chest and effortlessly shifted his weight to sit back against the wall, though they didn’t let go.

“I’ve got ya,” they murmured.

Arcade groaned in the back of his throat, carrying a decidedly human quality to it.

After a moment he breathed, “Sorry, I couldn’t think through all that noise,” then added, “Thank you.”

If Sol had been able to hear that tone through the solid walls, they could only imagine the assault that it had waged against Arcade’s keenly tuned ears from inches away. Guilt settled heavy in their gut. It had taken them nearly three whole days to track his location— three days imprisoned in a dark, dank tomb with that thing around his neck.

But groveling would be worthless until he was home safe.

Sol reluctantly peeled away from him and shucked off their pack, dropping between them.

“Brought some f-fr-fresh clothes for you, if you need them.” As if they hadn’t already found his last pair of cargo pants in shreds near Sloan. “And uh, here,” they held out their canteen to him expectantly.

It was drained before they got the words out. As Arcade redressed, they peaked through the crack in the door at the undisturbed shadows.

Turning back to him, they fought the urge to gnaw on the inside of their lip. “Are y-you okay?”

He paused a beat too long before sighing, “Okay isn’t the first word that comes to mind, but I’ll survive given that my brain stops trying to burrow its way through my skull.”

They couldn’t make out his expression and it was hard to say if they were frustrated or grateful for it.

Sol coaxed the door ajar with the toe of the boot and Arcade’s voice dropped into a whisper.

“I don’t suppose you found my glasses anywhere?”

They matched his tone. “Not yet.”

They could feel him making a face behind them, the thin line of his lips and barely furrowed brow. It was the look he wore when his dissatisfaction had nowhere to go and no responsible party to narrow his eyes at.

For as bad as his sight was, Sol wasn’t concerned about it leaving him clueless to his surroundings. They were convinced some days that Arcade could have easily led them through the desert blindfolded by ears and nose alone. Though neither sense would do him much good trying to aim his plasma defender— not that Sol had managed to locate that either.

They crept silently as they retraced their path through the surprisingly empty pre-war factory, Arcade a ghost behind them. Everything not nailed down had either been looted or tossed to the point that it was hard to say what had even been originally manufactured there. It became a hollowed corpse in its own right.

They stepped into the fluorescent grey of the front office only moments before the door swung open.

Sol recognized the worn face that greeted them from watching it through their binoculars. He was an older man with a bitter air that hung from him so thickly one could see it from a mile off.

“Who the hell—” he swung his shotgun off his back and into his hands in one fluid motion, but stopped when he met Sol’s eye. He blinked, expression just short of surprise.

“You freed a monster with another breed of monster?” The low chuckle he let out had a hint of unease weaved into it. “That’s new.”

Sol said nothing. The hunter angled his shotgun towards them and in an instant Arcade was upon him.

Mostly human then, but the scene was all claws and teeth and blood. The fight was a blur, even to Sol. They darted behind their hunter and grabbed him by the neck as his skin tore open.

Arcade sent his shotgun skittering across the linoleum floor. The hunter slammed his silver bracer into his chest in retaliation and Arcade cried out, stumbling backwards. A familiar scent of burning wafted over them. Then, in less than a second, Sol was across the room and back, cocking the shotgun and emptying both rounds into the hunter.

He didn’t even have time to look up before he was splattered over grey tile.

Sol let out a breath as they loosened their grip on the weapon and slowly turned their eyes toward Arcade’s hunched form some feet away.

His chest heaved and crimson stained his fresh dress shirt, but he returned Sol’s gaze and offered them a tiny reassuring nod. “Well. That could have gone better.”

Sol grinned despite themself and looked away. They’d resolved not to track the hunter down when it was all said and done; Arcade never appreciated vengeance in his name. But here they both were, corpse at their feet.

Sol would have been lying if they said there was no satisfaction in it.

Up close, they could see the worn dog tags hanging around the hunter’s neck. Another NCR veteran stomping on a fire that had gone out forty years ago. They wondered if he’d known just how many of the wolves roaming the west were not Enclave, but rather the Enclave’s victims and their descendants. How many innocents he’d captured and carried to the slaughter.

They wondered if he would have cared.

They bent down to rummage through his pockets, coming back up with a handful of loose bottle caps and… Arcade’s glasses, to their surprise. He must have been attempting to pawn them.

“Found ‘em.” Arcade turned as they held them out, though he didn’t seem to recognize what Sol was offering him until they were in his hand.

With his glasses perched back atop his nose, he let out a breath. “Ah, that’s better.”

Sol had to agree. He looked far more himself then despite the grime and blood littering his face. Thin patches of dirty blonde fur still ran down either cheek, eyes glowing a muddled green through his smudged glasses as if he was struggling to hold his form.

“Where—” Arcade began before glancing down at Sol’s empty palm lingering between them. “What happened to your hand?”

They quickly retracted it. A fraction of the pain had faded, though it was too blistered and raw for them to fully block out. In stark contrast, the burn across Arcade’s chest from moments earlier had already healed to a light pink blotch.

“Nothing— d-don’t— just a bit of silver. It-it’ll be fine in the morning.”

Arcade pursed his lips briefly then sighed. “I know it will, that isn’t what I’m concerned about. Let me see.”

When Sol didn’t budge he raised an eyebrow. They both knew this was a battle they’d lose to their own devotion.

They waved the white flag and lifted their arm, allowing Arcade to inspect the wound thoroughly. The back of their hand was warm cradled in his, a beacon calling them to bury the rest of their ever chilled bones against him.

He pulled them out of their thoughts before they could embarrass themself. “Does it hurt at all?”

They shrugged. “Barely.”

It wasn’t a lie per se, just an understatement— one Arcade surely saw through. He lifted his free hand above Sol’s and drove the sharp claw of his thumb into his pointer without hesitation, blood welling in thick droplets. It stung as he smeared it over their palm in practiced strokes, but in seconds it was gone. All that was left behind was smooth skin and a faint pink tinge.

“Good as new.”

Sol swallowed the urge to respond with forced indignation. “You didn’t have to— th-thank you.”

Arcade squeezed their hand and let go. Of course his own self-inflicted wound had already knitted itself back together. “Well I don’t have to treat any of my patients, so by your logic I suppose I should leave the medical profession altogether. But, yes, you’re welcome.”

His smile was genuine but weak, the dark crescents beneath his eyes dampening what could have been a softer moment. He had no business insisting on tending to Sol while he was so poorly, but that was the cycle they found themselves in. When they made camp for the night he would push away Sol’s help and they would trade scripts.

God willing, they had an abundance of lifetimes left to learn how to accept that tenderness; how to look it in the eye without flinching.

Sol cocked their head towards the door. “We- we should get out of here.”

“You don’t want to, uh… eat first?” Arcade’s gaze moved to the body at their feet and he failed to fully hide his grimace.

They could smell the pooling blood well enough to know that if they lingered much longer the answer would become yes and they didn’t relish the idea of kneeling on the cold, filthy linoleum to feast on the damned. Nor were they eager to wait for someone else to stumble upon them here.

Sol shook their head and moved to the front door. “No, no, I’m alright. C-come on, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

"I am going to ruin you." for the most appropriate barbies :3c

[warning: nsfw themes but nothing explicit]

They were so close. The front door to the tower of apartments was in Varmint’s sight, sickly fluorescent peering through rust eaten cracks. Wilful and impatient as ever, she caught Ringo by his overall belt loops, pulling him backwards mid stride. He teetered a moment before landing flush against her chest. 

“This is takin’ too long.” 

Her breath burned hot over his cheek, head canted down, long fingers snaking around his hips. 

“I didn’t realize we were in a hurry.” She could hear the unimpressed glare from his voice alone, but she could feel the goosebumps prickling on his skin much clearer.

A muffled shout and the echo of shattering glass near the Atomic Wrangler carried through the alleyway right as Ringo began to pry one of her hands off. “Whatdya want from me, Mint? We aren’t gettin’ home anytime soon at this speed.” 

Varmint didn’t reply. The moment he dropped her hand, it went back to work, ghosting over his bare arm and up to the cuff of his flannel where she could trace her way to his collar to pop the top button. They hadn’t known each other long enough to claim uncanny familiarity, but he hadn’t been a hard nut to crack. A languid touch there, a harsh nip there, and he was at her mercy. 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hid his hunger beneath well-mannered restraint; the perfect man to bring home to Mom and Pop if Varmint considered herself to have any. She wanted that brashness that had greeted her with a gun to the head back in Goodsprings and spit on Joe Cobbs’ cooling corpse. 

She huffed a somewhat pathetic sigh and let her grasp fall away. “Ringo.”

He turned at the waist to look up at her. “What?”

“You’re no fun.”

His eyes narrowed challengingly as she gave him an over-exaggerated pout, though she wasn’t sure whether it was an encouraging sign or not. “I’m no fun? Really? Because that’s not what you were saying this mornin’.” 

Varmint shrugged, gaze sliding back to her apartment building as if she was eyeing her escape route. The moment she stepped around him, he was grabbing her by the wrist, fingers lightly digging into flesh. 

“Maybe you just need a little reminder.” 

Something sparked in Varmint’s gut, but for as self-assured as his tone was, he seemed to be searching her face for encouragement, afraid of misstepping. She parted her lips just a hair and allowed her shoulders to fall loose. 

“Oh?” It was a safe tease, one that said she didn’t quite believe him, but that carried enough intrigue to egg him on. “Then remind me.”

Barely a moment later her back was colliding with a brick wall. 

It couldn’t be that easy— could it?

Lips and hands answered that question for her and she was practically giddy, going all but limp in his grasp. She let out a hushed, encouraging moan as he pinned her wrists against rough brick before forcing her thighs apart with a knee. 

His hesitation was so brief she almost missed it. 

“I’m going to ruin you.” 

Her eyes went wide, though she barely wrestled down the grin that threatened to curl on her lips. 

“Prove it.”

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

Unspecified WIP Day

Several people have tagged me in wip memes over the couple of months and I keep forgetting to do them (but thank you to everyone! I do appreciate it). Most recently tagged by @thespiral and @twosides--samecoin

No pressure tagging: @adventuresofmeghatron @just-another-wasteland-merc @kemendin @totally-not-deacon @majortomiscominghome and anyone who wants to say I tagged them

Here’s the most recent thing from my wip:

Although he had never dared to follow the route to Flagstaff before, he was in his element out here. His feet knew the crunch of ruined asphalt beneath them, his body knew just how to conserve itself when the walking never seemed to cease, and his mind knew every tendril of road that stretched across the ancient state map he’d committed to memory.

What he didn’t know was real winter. Prescott saw snow a few times a year, but it was always a shallow film over the settlement that sloshed away in the mild afternoon sun.

The closer they drew to Flagstaff the more steadily the elevation climbed and the weather bit. The final day of their journey announced itself with snow, dense sticky snow, the kind that left the pine trees sagging for weeks and rendered every step an effort. Agustin’s worn boots soaked through by late morning and icy water continued to seep into the doubled up socks he replaced the first pair with.

Discovering that Ma had folded a pair of gloves into the outer pocket of his bag was an overwhelming relief. Of course she had.

Bundled in two hoodies and a long sleeve shirt while his lower extremities numbed had him almost miserable enough to forget his dread and the destination that they approached. The other two didn’t seem the least bothered, throwing expectedly ratty, torn cloaks around their shoulders without comment.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

You Won’t See Me in the Harbor Lights

Whumptober 19: Enough is Enough (ft. Varmint)

[warnings: implied child abuse]

ao3 link

The wind and waves lap as one, breaking against towers of jagged stone that mark the shoreline. Heidi’s thrumming heart drowns in the sea’s violent cacophony, but fifteen wasted years on this beach have rendered it white noise.

They press the toe of their worn out sneaker against the heel of the other and unceremoniously peel each off in turn. Dirt and wet gravel immediately cling to the soles of their feet as they step closer to the cliff’s edge. 

The once blue ocean is rendered black under dark rolling clouds and memories of rain. Unsafe waters for ships; deadly for swimmers.

But Heidi is neither.

Poseidon’s children belong to the sea as much as any finned creature. Heidi carefully pulls their shirt over their head only to blindly toss it to the side as a crumpled ball. Someone will find their abandoned clothes eventually, but will they know? Heidi has carried out this routine for years. It’s not just expected— it’s obligatory. Their duty to their people to hunt and provide them with the sea’s bounty.

But they know better than to treat their threadbare belongings with such carelessness as to leave them in a dirty heap outside. It’s a message that will doubtlessly be lost in translation. 

Their jeans join their shirt, frigid wind gnawing at their exposed skin like it means to meticulously strip them down to bone. Generations of radiation-induced adaptations have them shaking off the sensation readily, but they can’t soothe the dull pulsing ache beneath their right eye with the same ease. 

Good for nothing varmint. 

Heidi grinds their teeth as they brush a thumb across their father’s parting gift. Of course, he won’t get to stew in his short lived guilt when it bruises and stains muddled shades of purples and sickly greens. Not this time at least. 

No, they’ll wash up on some southern shore soon and they’ll scrape themself together with their own two hands; they’ll make something of themself. 

And if they don’t? If they bleed out in a dank back alley of a foreign town as their parents always warned? Well, Heidi can only hope they’ll be able to hear the laughter six feet below.

Despite everything, they wield the unyielding hubris of any young teen ready to spit in God’s eye. They cannot see the other side of this blade pointed at their own soft belly.

From behind them, a raspy meow calls out, closer to the screech of some abomination than a house cat’s kindly greeting.

Guppy headbutts their calf affectionately before wrapping her slim frame around it, tail flicking curiously. Her patchy fur is damp, though Heidi is unsure if it’s from rain or sea water.

They offer her a thin smile. 

“I’m leaving.” The words feel strange on their tongue. “You’ll follow me, won’t you?”

Guppy’s enormous black eyes stare up at them and the inky void is unreadable, but the third yellow, recognizably feline, eye scours their face before blinking slowly. The vestigial fourth remains unseeing. 

A sliver of tension slides from Heidi’s shoulders. They won’t be alone. Guppy is not a creature of water despite her best efforts— she could never make that swim— but she’ll find them by land. She always does. 

As they reach down to pet her, Guppy wraps a prehensile tail around their wrist and squeezes briefly like a person might grab their hand in reassurance. They scritch behind her ear in like. 

“I’ll see you soon, Admiral.”

Guppy puffs up as she pads to the edge of the cliff as if vindicated by that silly title Heidi gave her so many years ago. She stretches languidly and settles to see them off. 

They return their attention to their task and the choppy waves below. 

With one hand, they untuck the end of the stolen bandage from under their armpit and allow it to unravel. It spills like ribbon around their feet, a puddle of beige attesting to the sheer grief of inhabiting the figure it hid. Swiping a new roll will be priority one when they crawl back on land, but with any luck— and a packful of caps they don’t yet have— they won’t need them much longer. 

They suck in a breath and it feels like the first one they’ve ever taken. Their ribs ache with the fullness of it, though they so often do these days. Even on dry land the gills running down their torso sing praises of relief, no longer smothered and suffocated.

Stripped down to only ratty underwear, they step up to the ledge until the uneven ends of the stone dig into their feet.

Finally, finally, they are here. They roll their shoulders back, crack their neck, uncurl long fingers. They tell themself the buzzing in their limbs is giddiness and not terror. Glancing back one last time at the dreary village that has caged them for so long, Heidi can’t help themself. 

They raise a middle finger and jump.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

Last Line

Thank you for the tag @just-another-wasteland-merc ! No pressure tagging @vault-heck, @kemendin, and anyone who wants to say I tagged them

A peak at Agustin’s fic (which. I technically was working on a different project for main more recently, but this is the last proper line I have relating to fallout)

Agustin once more found himself wanting for the promised grace of Rome.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

WIP Sentences SunWedThursday

Thank you for tagging me in Some Sentences Sunday @just-another-wasteland-merc ! No pressure tagging @adventuresofmeghatron @fanthings and @vault-heck for a WIP sharing day of your choice

I’ve been riding the migraine coma train to hell for the past few days but now that i’m halfway human again i’ll share a bit of Agustin’s fic~

Two days before they came, Pa’s caravan returned. By then summer had turned to fall had turned to winter, but the weekly routes rarely slowed and nor did he. The air nipped something fierce that evening, low heavy clouds a cage overhead.

Henry unloaded their cargo with the help of his hired guards, led the brahmin to her stable, hung the reins just outside— familiar motions carried out with unfamiliar burden.

He did not kiss Ma and he did not shoot Agustin that weary, road worn smile. Instead he stared towards the darkening horizon, features hard set in a grief Agustin didn’t know. Not yet.

His hesitant questions were met with a demand for him to return to the house while his parents retreated into the rickety shed out back. He waited perched on the couch by the front door, but minutes became hours and soon his head lulled and his body won out, even as nausea rolled in his stomach.

The groaning creak of the door was what finally roused him to half-consciousness, finding himself tucked beneath the cover of his bed. In the dark, Ma stared back at him. Her cheeks were stained with tears that continued to run rivets. A slight hand slid between him and the pillow and with his head cradled in her palm, Agustin dozed off once more.

He did not remember it come morning.

[wishing4nuclearwinter]

wip wednesday or thursday or something

Thank you @atomitron @adventuresofmeghatron @radioactive-synth @kemendin @vault-heck and @just-another-wasteland-merc for the wip tags over the past few months! I’m tagging all of y’all back for wip whenever as well as anyone else who would like to say I tagged them

Finally got past the Set Up for Agustin’s fic and am excited to pull in a new character

A single bead of sweat rolled down his spine as he stood in formation. He fought not to squirm.

How quickly an unheated concrete room became thick and humid with too many overworked bodies and little ventilation.

Their instructor once more grasped his spear and shifted it to the other side of his body in a slow, overly emphasized motion.

“Turn on your left foot, do not shuffle around. I will not be repeating myself again.”

His gaze leveled on a recruit somewhere behind Agustin. An uncomfortable beat passed before he turned away and barked to the opposite end of the training hall.

“Evander! Get your ass over here!”

The man that appeared beside him was familiar to Agustin, though he’d only ever seen him from a distance. He was younger than he’d expected.

Defined by lean muscle and towering over even their instructor, it was easy to mistake him for one of the older legionaries, but the subtle boyish quality to his features gave him away.