#when they try to take back quincy from the gunners

[softlyapocalytpic]

Fallout 4 Companion Backstory Headcanons

A list of headcanons just for context of my writing later on, and cuz it’s fun to share! This won’t be exhaustive by any means, but more just a fun something with some of my thoughts ✨. I’ll do the other games some other time after thinking on them, but mostly my thoughts are about Fallout 2 which no one ever talks about lmao

Preston

Somewhere between 24 - 27. He feels young still, but not young enough to FEEL young… y’know what I mean.

Can’t explain it, but for years he’s always lived by train tracks in my mind. Walking down them with a radio in a rucksack on his shoulder or something like that.

Grew up (at least until he was seventeen) with his Mom & Dad. Quiet life by a forest. (I’m just imagining Oberland Station aren’t I lmao). They die either when he’s around 13, 17, or shortly after he joins up with the Minutemen. Raiders. Whatever settlement/farm he grew up in is gone now in part because of death, and the other reason is people moving on to somewhere safer.

I kept trying to make him the eldest brother, but honestly I think he might just be an only child?? Definitely big brother’d the younger kids in the settlement, but had an older kid or family member who he looked up to at least for a little while.

I can just imagine that older sibling person becoming a Minuteman and Preston hears back from them sporadically in his childhood, or a squad coming through when he’s somewhere between 7 - 10 years old and having that typical hero worship moment when he looks up at them with those big ol’ eyes and gets his hat from them. Made up his mind then and there to join one day.

While his education wasn’t the most robust in the world, I think he was always looking out for brochures, books, pamphlets, anything with a little bit of history in it. He got most of it cheap because it was junk that wasn’t going to get sold otherwise, and he keeps all these different papers/clippings in old banged up cookie tin that takes with him everywhere. Lost it in Quincy, but eventually gets it back when the Minutemen reclaim it from the Gunners.

Piper

Not any older than 25, but she feels more like a 23 or 24 to me. Let’s go with 24. Feels like that if she lived in modern NYC she’d fit right in with the hustle culture and rooftop bars where you can see all the lights of the city.

She grew up on the Northern outskirts of the Commonwealth closer (but not right next) to a huge forest up there.

Her settlement had rickety ass walls that technically had walkways to patrol the entire perimeter, but like… holes everywhere. Animals get into all the time as well as attacks just generally messing it up.

She’d go on the walkways sometimes and stare off towards the horizon thinking about making it big and living in ✨Diamond City✨. It was always her dream to live there.

Mom died shortly after she gave birth to Nat, but her dad never made her feel his grief about it. Definitely got this mentality of putting on airs to seem more put together than you are from him, which she now does for Nat. Or tries to anyhow

Moved to Diamond at least five years ago. I could see the argument for like 2 or 3, but I like the idea of her coming to Diamond City as a very young adult after saving up a lot of caps to move with Nat.

Can be classified as a bisexual disaster, but I like to imagine her with a heavy preference towards women and femmes. I just want some sapphics alright.

I don’t remember her attitude on the Silver Shroud at the moment, but fuck if she seems like she ADORED the Mistress of Mystery and desperately want her to find out about the whole academy and everything. It sounds so up her alley!!!

Danse

Idk if it’s contentious or not, but Cutler was a real living person that Danse knew. Broadly speaking none of his memories are false because broadly speaking he lived them!!! Like, everything before living in Rivet City is implanted, but I love Danse the scrappy youngin with little meat on his bones alongside Cutler, and the two them joining the BoS together

But you may say, Astra! Synths body weight doesn’t change and they don’t age. I call bullshit!!! I tried to play in the framework as much as possible but it doesn’t make any sense to me that they wouldn’t age/change form & weight at least a little!!! Synths… aren’t machines. They’re fleshy computers with an extra piece installed to interface with them. If they eat a stupid amount of fancy lad snack cakes, or go through intense physical training, their body will change! Okay rant over.

Also, I could see why people might want him to have more false memories considering that him questioning his identity and the entire basis of it is… a pretty big deal to his character, but with the story he tells… why make that up? I don’t think he’s an Institute plant, and why would the RR do that to him? It doesn’t make sense. And like the idea that what he’s been through is real even if he doesn’t realize it for a while. He’s a real person with a real life- it just started a little differently.

I can’t decide on him being formerly a courser or not… I think I’ll go with no, but maybe he was considered for it. I think it’d be too much like Harkness if he was, but regardless two synths… right under Zimmerman’s nose. Yikes.

I think he was a fresh recruit during the time of the LW, and at least for my story he will be. Doesn’t think about the LW too much except when he sees the propaganda posters everywhere. Doesn’t get the hero worship everyone else has.

As for his physical age, I think most people would clock him at very late twenties or early thirties. (I think other Danse’s could be a little older, but for my purposes I like him hear.) He doesn’t know how old he is actually but has a round-a-bout idea of what he thinks he is. For BoS documentation reasons they list him as 29, but he feels older than that.

I like to imagine Danse looking up to Harkness a little bit when he was younger, modeling after him in some fashions.

Deacon

He’s somewhere in his mid to late 40’s, but at this point he doesn’t even know how old he actually is, though he has a good idea of the ballpark.

He did actually grow up at University Point, or at least near it, and he spent ages combing through the library and all the rotten wood so he could learn about the world. Was a real nerdy kid.

He grew up eating Mirelurk pretty regularly as a consequence of living near a nest of them. They would have to regularly hunt there in order to keep everyone safe, which meant getting creative with it!

After what Kellogg did to UP there’s almost no one left who can remember who he was before the Railroad. There might be some people who moved away before it was razed to the ground, or who might have gotten away with just their life, but Deacon hasn’t seen or met them around the wastes, so he’s them as dead.

This is kind of to my point with him: Deacon is liar, but he doesn’t intentionally lie about the big stuff. If any of this isn’t true it’s because he’s buried it deep in himself, or lord so many times, and so much time has passed that he’s reforged new details.

Yes, he’s never been to Greenland or been all the way over to the Mojave, but he had traveled a lot and heard countless stories! Always an element of truth to what he’s saying (but sometimes it takes a journey to get there).

Ah, and in case it’s not clear, Johnny D & Deacon are the same person! Deacon started as a Runner and then took the entire weight of the world on his shoulders, but he does genuinely kind’ve see Johnny D and those early versions of himself as a separate entity. He was different back then, and while he knows it was him it’s hard to internalize that it’s all the same story.

I’ve struggled a lot with my iteration of who I think Deacon is and what his backstory is! There’s a lot of different cool takes on his character, but I found that this is the iteration that feels most true to him for me. I love different versions of him! But this is my him.

MacCready

Same Lucy from his childhood. I know it’s not technically canon, but I think it’s better if they’re one and the same.

His parents are absolute no bodies. People who are either dead or ad good as dead. Never meets them again nor does he want to, but he did runaway to get away from them when he was six or five years old.

Caravan so a dying child on the ground and dropped him off at Little Lamplight. Would’ve died of dehydration if they hadn’t found him.

LW was his hero growing up and they were actually really close! As a byproduct of that he got to know some of the people around her, mainly Butch & Charon.

The BoS, a couple years after he left, cleared out Little Lamplight and took in most of them to become apart of the army. It was pretty brutal. There’s a lot of reasons he’s not a fan of them, but this ranks pretty high up there.

I think by the time we see him in Goodneighbor he’s been in the Commonwealth for at least a year if not a little more, and he’s been out of work for three of those months. Dropped off when he figured out they did shit like what they did to Quincy.

I forgot who, but someone said something about there being a bunch of different bounties on Deacon’s head and MacCready being the only one to realize it’s all the same guy. I feeeeeel like that’s probably true, but I also like the idea that they’ve run into each other a lot for a variety of reasons, and now Mac has started to put together an idea of how to spot him. Mac’s seen him in the Capitol Wasteland and all over the Commonwealth. Mac thinks he’s annoying and creepy, but the rapport (especially as time goes on) only gets better generally speaking.

Like I said this list isn’t exhaustive, and I might even add onto it with time, but it felt like something fun to publish while I work on other stuff! I don’t really feel as tho any of these are particularly groundbreaking or super original, but I think it’s usually about the execution than just the idea of what it could be.

#fallout 4 #piper wright #preston garvey #my writing #fallout 4 headcanons #paladin danse #robert maccready #fallout 4 deacon

[druidgroves]

Chapter 10: So Much to Do and So Little Time

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 7,556 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), RJ MacCready, Preston Garvey, Original Characters Notes: finally in the double digits of chapters ! also say hello to even More minutemen ocs <3 pls enjoy ! read on ao3 ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5 / ch. 6 / ch. 7 / ch. 8 / ch. 9

The next three days had gone by in a blur.

Mac had spent most of his time hanging around Curtis after the impromptu meeting with Georgia, despite the man’s somewhat unsettling personality. He also had quick, passing introductions to the friends Curtis had mentioned, as well as a few other Minutemen he was amiable with, but they kept quiet about their plans around them. A lot of them did seem like the “see something, say something” types Curtis had described to him, but they proved to be good people just trying to do right. Even if Mac couldn’t quite put his heart into it the way Georgia did, he could see the organization for what it was trying to be: change.

For all his newly established friendship with her, Georgia’s goal with the Minutemen—the whole Commonwealth, working together to protect itself in some semblance of unity—was ambitious any way you split it. Ranks appeared to be growing like weeds only when compared to the waning numbers before the betrayal at Quincy, but they were still so much smaller than they were in their heyday, or so he heard Ronnie say. For the members the Minutemen did have, most were recruited by Preston and Georgia during their early days giving aid to settlements, who in turn spread their involvement by word of mouth and so on. They must’ve been doing something right, Mac thought, if the life teaming and walking around the once abandoned fort was anything to go by.

During one of the mealtimes Mac and Curtis had with his friends, they got to offer them the opportunity to join them at the interchange. As promised, the four of them—Collins, Hollow, Gonzalez, and Buckley—were very receptive to the idea. Like Curtis, they all seemed to have some sort of beef with them, so that only made greasing the wheels of their operation easier.

Collins didn’t have much to say other than she was happy to wipe out another stain on the Commonwealth, while Gonzalez and Hollow had quickly started chatting between themselves before the conversation was even over. Buckley had listened to the proposal intently and had appeared to seriously consider his options before finally agreeing.

That very day, they all put in various leave requests, staggering the dates as they did.

While grateful and a little bit surprised by their willingness to help and not wanting to look a gift brahmin in the mouth, Mac did have his own reservations about the militia’s fighting prowess.

“I thought the Minutemen were just a bunch of backwoods farmers and stuff?” he asked Curtis afterwards.

“Well, yeah, some of us are. Actually, a lot of us are, but not everyone on board is from an allied settlement, or anywhere, really. The General likes to pick up strays, it seems,” he said, giving Mac a pointed look. “Besides Colonel Garvey and Ronnie, we’re basically taking two thirds of the Castle’s trained soldiers for this stunt, but we’ll make it work.”

While hanging around Curtis over the intervening days, Mac got to know him a little better as well. He talked about as much as Georgia did, which given their back and forth the other day, he could see how the two could get along. Even if Curtis was possibly the most unhinged man he’d ever met.

They talked a lot about the Gunners and their time with them whenever there weren’t many people around. Mac told him he only joined because he was new to the Commonwealth and hard up for caps (didn’t have to explain himself further than that, and Curtis didn’t ask). Curtis had told him he followed a friend in, but the friend didn’t get to follow him out. Mac knew not to broach that subject.

“Since you’re trailing behind General T these days, how’d you leave?” Curtis asked him during breakfast the next day, in between bites of his mirelurk stew. Unfortunately for Mac, with the Castle’s proximity to the sea, mirelurk seemed to be an ever-present menu option.

“Told them I wanted out and negotiated the rest of my contract down to three more jobs before they let me leave. I did my part, then they cut me loose. It was a clean break, but obviously they’re still not happy about it. You?” Mac explained with a lazy shrug, pushing around the bits of mirelurk in his bowl.

“Faked my death,” Curtis replied with an equally lazy shrug, like it was a normal thing to say.

“What.”

“Yeah, real easy to dress up any random corpse those fuckers made in your old clothes and then drop a molotov on it,” he said, then pointed his fork towards Mac’s bowl. “You gonna eat that?”

As for Georgia, the two didn’t get to see much of her in those few days. Ronnie and Preston had kept her busy in spite of her foot with updates on the armory, the rebuilding progress of the Castle, and trying to make heads or tails of the artillery schematics they’d found. In the brief moments Mac had caught her without something to do, she’d told him she honestly didn’t think there’d be so much paperwork involved in being General. Despite it, she seemed to be putting her nose to the grindstone with everything she did.

She had started by alphabetizing the armory write ups Ronnie had given her, typing up everything on an old typewriter that first day after her injury (“If no one organizes it now, it’s never gettin’ done, and then where would we be?”). She identified a group of Minutemen with advanced technical skills and temporarily pulled them from the fort’s repair crew to assist herself and Ronnie with the artillery. When she got too “stir crazy” as she called it, sitting in her quarters hunched over papers full of lists and diagrams, she sat in a chair and helped Preston run training drills in the courtyard. They held them in the early morning, the two working as a team in their efforts to fashion the newer recruits into model Minutemen. At some point early on, someone had even put together a crutch for her when they noticed she’d been hopping along on one foot around the Castle, using its crumbling walls as support in pursuit of her next task. If Georgia was one thing, it was stubborn.

At one point, Curtis and Mac had managed to find her as she was making her way in the direction of the bathrooms, crutch under one arm with her pack hanging off the other. They had wanted to keep her apprised of any updates to their personal mission, but ran into the issue of her free time getting taken up by Being the General of the Minutemen. As such, they’d found her in the one spare moment she could steal for a shower.

She looked between the currently vacant bathrooms and the two of them before saying, “I don’t have a lot of time right now, so either it can wait or we’re about to get real comfortable with each other.”

Which was how they ended up holding council in the bathroom, Curtis and Mac sitting outside her shower stall to “maximize time efficiency”, as she put it. Curtis was posted up in front of the door to make sure no one walked in on their scheming, while Mac had pulled up a chair, the both of them pointedly facing away from Georgia’s stall at her request. Something about “still having manners” and something called “decorum.”

On their way to the bathrooms, she’d made a point to tell them that once they’d found the showers, her first priority had been getting the pipes fixed. They had a whole pump system and everything, plus a few old water heaters pulled from apartment buildings further inland. It meant the bathrooms were buzzing with the sound of a generator and steaming pipes whenever it was in use, but it aided them in their need for privacy.

The shower stalls had rickety patchwork doors and rose up above Georgia’s shoulders, and if Mac turned his head even the slightest amount, he could see her soapy head peeking over the walls as they conversed. He made a concentrated effort to keep from reflexively turning back whenever she talked. They’d only just defined themselves as friends, so Mac was in no rush to get that personal with her, even with the stall between them.

Meanwhile, Curtis had been relaying information about his friends to Georgia, talking up their talents and specialities.

“Lieutenant Collins has a fondness for explosives, she can make things go boom if necessary. She’s on your little artillery team, so whether or not that’s done by the time we head out, she’s coming with,” Curtis said. He was completely unbothered by their choice in location, in contrast to Mac who had been anxiously tapping his foot on the ground the moment they got there. “She’s also useful in a pinch if we find ourselves in a tight spot.”

“And Corporal Hollow?”

Mac stopped himself from looking back at Georgia as Curtis replied, “Crackshot specializing in mid-range combat. Used to be a merc like your guy MacCready here. He’s not afraid to get in there, but he’s good for covering fire, too.”

“Sounds like he’ll be with me,” Georgia said as she rinsed her hair, the smell of homemade hubflower-scented soap wafting over the shower stall. “Since you and Mac have long range covered, I mean. Who else?”

“That leaves us with Privates Gonzalez and Buckley. They’re new, but show a lot of promise. Gonzalez’s got light feet and her own silencer, so I figure she could be our scout. Buckley is a big, versatile son of a bitch, so if we run into any problems we can usually throw him at ‘em,” Curtis finished. “How’s that sound?”

“Conveniently well-rounded,” Georgia supplied with a laugh. “What about you, Mac? What’re your thoughts? …Mac? Hellooo?”

“Huh? Oh,” Mac started, turning his head automatically to see Georgia peeking at him over the shower stall, wet hair plastered to her forehead. Water dripped down her freckled nose, and he could better make out the scar running through her left eyebrow, and the other, smaller one marring her chin. She squinted at him a little bit, waiting for him to respond.

“Uh, yeah. Well-rounded,” he agreed hastily, turning back around only to meet Curtis’ shit-eating grin.

He’d been distracted, and not only because he was trying hard not to focus on the physical space of the conversation at hand. He had started having trouble believing that this was actually happening—the whole operation, that was. Things never fell into place like this for Mac, that was just a general rule he’d learned in life. With not one, but two willing hands and a squad of volunteers, the winds seemed to be favoring him for once. It felt…strange. Like taking a shot and not hearing the bullet casing hit the ground, waiting for it to fall.

“Great listenin’ skills,” Georgia laughed, flicking water at him. “I’ll take a look at those leave requests on my desk later. In the meantime, Mac, d’you think you could find somewhere nearby for them to hole up in for a day or two while they wait? And take Dogmeat with you, he’ll help you scout a place out.”

He ended up finding an abandoned house outside of the Minutemen patrols by that afternoon, stashing a bag of food Curtis had pilfered from the kitchens for the rest of the now formed squad. Hollow and Buckley would be there that night, followed by Collins the next morning, and Gonzalez and Curtis the day after. Once the squad was out, Mac and Georgia would follow—she just had to come up with a good cover.

From what Georgia had told him as he was sticking her with another stimpak for her foot, she had been trying to stagger the leave requests quickly, but still have them spread out enough for people not to notice much out of the ordinary. She mentioned something about Preston and Ronnie and “plausible deniability.” Even so, Mac had caught the Minuteman’s eye more than once around the Castle, like he knew something was afoot. Every time Mac would just duck his head and make to avoid him.

Mac had waved off Curtis and Gonzalez when they left, Curtis dragging out the entire affair by going around and shaking the hands of everyone in the courtyard. Georgia and himself would follow suit the next morning after testing the newly constructed artillery she, Ronnie, and their little team had been busy with. Even with her still-healing foot, Georgia insisted on following Ronnie around like a student following their teacher, looking for the older woman’s approval wherever she could.

Once Curtis had finally left, Mac turned to go find Georgia to let her know, only to be met with Preston himself walking up. The man carried himself with purpose, taking long strides in his direction, indicating he was heading for absolutely no one else. Mac couldn’t even pretend he didn’t notice the Minuteman before he was standing in front of him.

“MacCready,” he said, nodding his head in greeting and Mac froze. Preston took notice, because his next words came out softer, “Can we talk for a minute? It won’t take long.”

“Uh…sure, Garvey. What do you need?” he replied with no small amount of hesitation.

“Just follow me,” Preston said, gesturing over his shoulder where his laser rifle was strapped. Curious and the tiniest bit suspicious, Mac followed.

Preston led him through the Castle’s halls and up a set of stairs to one of the bastions. An artillery piece sat completed before them as they came up, ready for testing the next morning. A Minuteman tipped their hair to Preston, walking past them to go down the stairs, and Preston mirrored the gesture. Once they were alone, he turned to Mac.

“Now,” he started, voice quiet and even enough that it calmed Mac’s nerves somewhat, “I don’t claim to know whatever it is you, the General, and Captain Campbell seem to be doing, and I don’t want to know. I trust the General’s judgment, and Campbell is a good captain. You, on the other hand, are an unknown.”

Preston already knew too much for him to try lying his way out of it, but he didn’t seem angry, so that was a win. Mac arched an eyebrow at him, unsure of where this was going.

“But the General said she trusts you, and I want to believe her trust isn’t misplaced. She told me you saved her life,” Preston continued, and met him with a speaking look. “Is that correct?”

Images of Georgia falling flashed through Mac’s mind for a moment, making a chill run up his spine. He nodded.

“So, once this secret operation of yours is complete, the Minutemen will still have their General afterwards, right?” Preston pressed, and Mac could see what he was getting at.

After spending a few days within the Minuteman HQ, he’d picked up a bit of their history, and they didn’t have the best luck when it came to the longevity of their leaders. He couldn’t blame Preston for getting worried, especially considering how familiar he and Georgia seemed to be with one another.

“Don’t worry so much, Garvey. She watches my back as much as I watch hers,” Mac conceded. “Plus, she’s able to take care of herself. You wouldn’t have made her General otherwise, right?”

“You got me there,” Preston agreed, but he didn’t seem quite finished. “But I’m also worried about how this will affect more than just the General. I saw the leave requests. She’s not the only one we want back safe.”

“The goal is to get everyone back in one piece,” Mac said, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what would happen if their little mission went sideways. He didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of more innocent people.

“Good. I’m glad to see she’s been traveling with someone like you that’s able to watch her back in my place. Someone with a good head,” Preston nodded, and Mac had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be saying that if he really knew anything about him.

“She told me she used to run around with you before she hired me,” he said, then suddenly remembered something. “Wait, question: has she always been bad at using stimpaks?”

A smile cracked through Preston’s serious expression, obvious fondness coming through as he nodded, “Ever since I’ve known her. When it comes to that, she’s not as gentle as you’d expect her to be.”

“I’ve learned not to make many assumptions about her,” Mac told him with a slight laugh. “She’s too full of surprises.”

“More than either of us knows for sure,” Preston agreed, smile faltering somewhat, then sighed. “For whatever it is you’re doing, good luck. I hope it’s worth it.”

With that, he reached out to pat Mac on the shoulder, giving a firm nod before going back the way they came. Mac let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He hoped it would be worth it, too.

-----

Later that night, after palling around with a few of the other Minutemen that Curtis had introduced him to over the last few days, Mac had gone in search of Georgia. He debated over whether or not to tell her about his conversation with Preston as he walked around trying to find her, and couldn’t help but speculate on the relationship between the two.

Despite Preston’s worries fixating around the Minutemen, Mac picked up the vibe that even if that weren’t the case, if Georgia were just some regular person and not the General, he’d still be upset if something happened to her. Mac had to remember that by helping him, Georgia was being pulled into danger, and that she had friends that would hold him responsible if that danger proved fatal.

After checking her quarters, the common area, and then finally the kitchens, a Minuteman with a pair of dark shades that he had passed by several times figured he must have been looking for the General, and pointed him up the stairs to the bastion. Mac nodded his thanks and walked up, greeted by the smell of salty air and a wind strong enough to make him pull his scarf tighter around him. Along with the sea, a minty, smoky scent blew over him.

Sitting near the edge of the bastion was Georgia and a pack of cigarettes, staring out onto the water. Her hair was loose, blowing freely in the wind around her head, and she had the thick blanket from her quarters wrapped around her. She hadn’t noticed him coming up the stairs, and Mac hesitated in the stairwell for a moment, wondering if she had purposefully wanted to be left alone. Then, he wondered why he’d even come to find her in the first place. He hadn’t even had a reason, he realized, just followed the urge.

In his hesitation, a stiff breeze blew over the bastion, knocking over the crutch Georgia had left leaning against the stairs.

She whipped back when it clattered to the ground, cursing into the wind as she jumped with a start. When she saw him standing there, however, she visibly relaxed.

“Jesus, you about gave me a heart attack,” she called out, putting the hand that wasn’t holding her cigarette to her chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mac replied as he righted her crutch, then crossed the length of the bastion to meet her.

As he got closer, he could see several other cigarette butts and matching ash stains on the stone next to her, her open cigarette carton half gone. She patted the space to her left for him to sit upwind from her smoke. He leaned back to rest on his palms, looking at her from an odd angle. As he got comfortable, Georgia picked up the carton beside her, offering him a single cigarette poking out amongst the rest. He took it with a nod and she flicked open her lighter, attempting to light it before the wind put out the flame. She leaned in close to him to block the breeze, her blanketed shoulder bumping gently against his. When it finally caught, she took her lighter away and didn’t make to move back.

Mac brought the cigarette up to his mouth and inhaled, mint coating the inside of his throat and making him cough.

“Didn’t take you for a chain smoker,” he said as he cleared his throat, leaning back to let his smoke be carried away on the wind behind her.

“Neither did I, at first,” she shrugged after a long drag. “I didn’t start smokin’ until I was a teacher, actually. I got real good at findin’ the right time to sneak off and light up.”

Mac was caught off guard with how freely the fact of her past left her mouth. He didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering if she was going to keep talking. When she didn’t, he realized she was waiting for him to respond, almost like asking for permission to keep going. He shifted next to her, putting his cigarette back to his lips and inhaling.

“You were a teacher?” he asked, gently trying to prompt more out of her.

“In another life, yeah. Twenty-eight seven to eight year olds versus me,” Georgia nodded, and he could feel the tenderness in her voice. “They could’ve eaten me alive and ran that classroom if they wanted. Surprisingly, they didn’t.”

Mac nearly balked. The tunnels in Little Lamplight were expansive, but they’d never had more than fifteen to twenty kids at a time, at least when he was there. There had been about seventeen when he left. Even when he was young, he knew adding any number of kids to an already sizable group of children became even harder to manage, much less twenty-eight of them. He knew from experience.

“I do not pity you there. Back in Little Lamplight, I kept up with about twenty, more or less,” Mac said, shaking his head. Sure, it was a revolving door of children within that range, but with the way he ran things, it never flew too far off the handle.

“Twenty? Oh, that’s child’s play. Beginner shit,” she teased with a breath of a laugh. “I would have loved to have a classroom that small when I started. But those extra eight were always sweet.” She paused, taking another drag and letting it out with a heavy sigh. “I remember each of their names and faces. I think about them a lot.”

Mac had to wonder where she had taught. Where had she been that she had a classroom of twenty-eight children, all of whom survived the first few years of life in the wasteland with no accidents of birth or disease preventing them from attending altogether. There had been plenty of epidemics that swept through their little cave system, leaving most Lamplighters with the side effects. Lucy and the others had done their best to keep everyone healthy, but there was only so much they could do by themselves.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is this,” Georgia said, turning to face him, “in case it isn’t obvious, I have a soft spot for kids. Always have. When you told me about Little Lamplight, I guess I got a little upset imaginin’ you and all those kids livin’ like that. I mean, underground? By yourselves? Really?”

Mac breathed a sharp laugh through his nose, “I didn’t pick it, I just grew up there.”

“And I guess you turned out alright,” she said, and he saw a grin ease its way back onto her face, “for the most part.”

“Hey, watch it, now,” he warned, wagging a finger at her, “you’re talking to the former mayor.”

Georgia’s eyes went wide and a startled expression came over her. “Mayor? So not only were you in charge, you were the mayor?”

“Crazy, I know, but can’t say it didn’t do me some good,” Mac shrugged, putting his cigarette between his teeth to mimic looking down the scope of an imaginary rifle. “I’m completely self-taught, y’know. Picked up a sniper rifle at age ten and never looked back. Impressed yet?”

“Impressed and maybe just the tiniest bit concerned about your childhood development,” she laughed. “So did the other kids just…vote for you?”

At that, Mac felt the back of his neck flush with heat. He let his eyes dart out over the sea as he took another drag.

“Well, it didn’t go exactly like that…”

“Oh god, Mac, what did you do?”

“Listen,” he started, holding his hands up in defense, “if Angela hadn’t appointed herself mayor and insisted everyone call her ‘Princess’, I…wouldn’thavehadtopunchher.”

Georgia pushed a few pieces of hair behind her ear, cupping her hand around it, “Come again?”

“I wouldn’t have had to punch her in her stupid nose!” Mac relented, throwing his hands up as she descended into a fit of laughter. “Seriously, I mean, she would have run that place into the ground. Everyone should’ve been grateful I took over when I did–there was an issue with rickets again not long after, and I don’t think—”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on, rickets?!” Georgia balked, eyebrows quickly furrowing in disbelief.

“Not a lot of fresh food in a cave,” he pointed out and she seemed to collapse under her blanket, burying her head into her hands. “If I hadn’t been in charge and put Lu—” He choked on her name, then cleared his throat. “If I hadn’t put our best doctor on rickets research, that could’ve been it for Lamplight.”

“Jesus, Mac,” came her muffled reply. “You can’t tell me stuff like this–you’re takin’ years off my life with the stress. Pullin’ at my heartstrings like a guitar.”

He couldn’t help but shrug, “It was tough, but we pulled through. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Georgia turned to look at him, taking in the entirety of him in one quick glance before nodding, “You certainly have. I’m glad you did.”

Mac wasn’t sure how to respond to that, her habit of being far too earnest during moments like these. Where he was quick to laugh off a serious moment, she seemed to cherish them, make them last longer than they should’ve with a bigger impact than expected. It made his insides feel like a molerat was burrowing inside his chest.

Quiet fell between them for a moment, save for the waves washing against the shore and the faint sounds of Radio Freedom carried over by the wind. They smoked in silent tandem until the ends of their cigarettes flickered out into ash.

“So, you ready to head out tomorrow?” Georgia asked after a while, putting her cigarette butt with the rest of them while he flicked his off the side of the bastion. She tutted at him as he did, “Litterbug.”

“Don’t think littering has mattered in about two hundred years,” he shrugged to her pursed expression. “But yeah, all my stuff’s ready. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Ronnie wants me to stay long enough to test the artillery, so that’s gotta happen first. After that, we’ll head out and meet Curtis and the others, then go on down to the interchange,” she explained. “If we stick to the main roads, we can make it there in about a day and a half, I think. I suppose we’ll come up with a plan of attack when we’re closer.”

“You know, when you lay it all out like that, it almost seems reasonable, and not the craziest idea in the fu—freaking world,” Mac said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this. I didn’t think one person would agree to help, let alone six. We might actually stand a chance.”

“Hey, if you need my help, I’m there,” she said, reassuring in a way that came easy to her. “You can ask for help, you know. We’re friends now. That’s what friends do.”

“And I still don’t know what to say to that,” he replied, unable to hide his exasperation. “Truth is, I haven’t been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone has either tried to rip me off or plant a knife in my back. But you…you’re different. We see eye-to-eye on almost everything.”

“Except you still won’t admit that the Silver Shroud could beat Grognak in a fight.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s why I said almost, and second, I can’t believe how dedicated you are to being wrong.”

“On the contrary, your argument makes it so easy to be right—”

They went on until they covered every feasible argument they could manage on the subject. When Mac helped her limp back to her quarters later, he still wasn’t sure who won, or if one of them even did. The discussion was tabled until they could gather more evidence for their respective sides. He’d have to find more issues of Grognak soon.

-----

The next morning, after helping Georgia administer one last stimpak, Mac opted to hit the showers before they had to leave, finally able to take advantage of the Castle’s facilities. He cleaned and sharpened his boot knife as well, finding a quiet corner and a cracked mirror to clean up the scruff that had begun to get a little out of control in the past few weeks. It had started coming in patchy on the sides and made him look younger than he was, so it had to go. His hair would have to wait—he didn’t have the scissors nor the skill to fix it up just then.

As he was shaving around the curve of his jaw, however, a second, less muffled explosion than the one from a few days before sounded from the other side of the Castle.

“Shit.” Mac let a string of curses out under his breath as his knife slipped across his jawline, a small cut now bleeding freely.

He sighed, wiping away the blood with the cuff of his sleeve before finishing the rest of the job. At least the artillery seemed to be working. He held his sleeve to the cut until it stopped bleeding, then picked up his knife again. After he was done, he cleaned and slid his knife back into the holster on his boot and made his way to the courtyard. Over by the entrance to the armory, he saw Georgia talking with Preston, all geared up with Dogmeat sitting patiently beside her.

“—back to the city for…personal business. With Mr. Valentine,” he heard her say as he quietly approached. “I don’t know when we’ll be back this way, but you know how to get in contact if you need me. I’ll try to keep you updated on how it goes.”

“Please do,” Preston said with a serious nod.

So that’s the cover we’re using, Mac thought, stopping just short of the two of them as they talked. Considering she had let the detective know when she’d be back in town, he figured she had some sort of business with him. Mac just wasn’t sure exactly what kind of business. Still, he’d always heard the best lies had a little bit of truth in them.

“And would you mind keepin’ Dogmeat for a few more days? I think he deserves a little bit of a rest since he’s been with me for a few weeks straight,” Georgia said, and Dogmeat whimpered, looking up at her with the closest thing to a pout Mac had ever seen come from a dog. It was more likely she didn’t want to risk him getting hurt or in the way with a plan as delicate as theirs was. “Oh, c’mon, boy, don’t be like that. Put those puppy-dog eyes away!”

Preston laughed and grinned down at the hound, “I’ll watch over him. He can help train the recruits with me in your absence.”

“Thanks, hun. At the very least he can chase ‘em around while they’re runnin’ laps,” Georgia laughed, crouching down to give the dog a good scratch before looking back up at Preston. “I’ll try to swing around when I can. Might make a trip back to the old neighborhood soon, see how things are holdin’ up there, but I gotta head out in a bit. I’ll see you later, Preston.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there. Until next time,” Preston nodded. “Good luck, General, and stay safe out there.”

The Minuteman caught Mac’s eye over Georgia’s shoulder as she pulled him in for a hug, giving him a speaking look that said all he needed to know before they pulled apart. If it came down to it, Mac would make sure Georgia made it back at least, as harsh as it sounded. He knew how to spot the big players, and as General, she was the biggest piece on the board.

Preston tipped his hat to the two of them before leaving with Dogmeat at his side, and Georgia turned around, only to be surprised to see him standing behind her.

“Jesus, Mac, I’m gonna have to put a bell on you,” she said, startled, then she paused, eyes darting around his face. “Oh. You shaved.”

He reflexively reached up to itch at his remaining facial hair, arching an eyebrow at her, “What, did I miss a spot?”

“...No, just noticin’,” she said, shaking her head quickly and letting her fingers drum against the straps of her pack. “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah, but how’s your foot feeling after that last stimpak?” Mac asked, gesturing to her feet. It had been an hour or two since he’d administered the stim, but she’d been so eager to test the artillery that he didn’t get to completely check her over.

“Feels good as new thanks to you,” she said, sticking out her boot and rolling her ankle around. “Let’s go.”

“Now hold on a minute.” Mac moved to stand in front of her, stopping her from walking off. “No aches or pains? Sharp stabbing feelings?”

She rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, “I’m fine, Mac. I’ve been able to walk on it alright, I promise.”

Mac bit the inside of his cheek, “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to take one more day if you need it—”

She reached out, her hand falling to squeeze his arm through the sleeve of his duster, cold as every other time she’d done it despite the warmth of her words, “We’ve got people waitin’ on us, Mac. People that wanna help, so it’s probably best not to keep them waitin’.”

He sighed as she took her hand away, “Fine. But if you start slowing down, I’m not carrying you.”

She smirked, leading them out of the Castle, “You would if there were enough caps in it.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, but that’d be a stupid waste of caps on your part.”

She laughed as the Minutemen on gate duty closed it behind them, waving their goodbyes to their General. She waved back and threw him a smile before turning to the road ahead of them.

They got to the house Mac had scouted out about an hour later, the sun high in the sky above them.

“This one here,” he said as they came close. Its faded yellow siding and once vibrant red door had been an easy identifying feature when relaying directions to the rest of the group.

“How quaint,” Georgia said as she walked up the steps.

She held up her hand to knock on the door, only for it to swing open to Curtis’ wide grin before she could.

“Nice of you to join us,” he greeted them as Georgia jumped back with a small yelp. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

“That’s not how you greet people at the door,” Georgia muttered as Curtis moved back to let them both through the door.

Inside, the rest of the team were sprawled about the remains of the house’s living room. Collins sat on a sagging couch and was bent over something in her lap, while Hollow and Gonzalez were playing cards in the middle of the floor, Buckley sat in a chair across from them just watching them play. When Georgia entered the room, Mac watched all of them scramble to present themselves for their General.

“Oh, please, you don’t have to do all that,” Georgia said, holding her hands up and going a bit pink in the cheeks. “Technically we’re all off duty, anyways.”

“Oh, thank god you’re cool,” Gonzalez said, relaxing back into the slouched posture she’d had before. She had short, shaggy black hair and seemed to positively ooze cool from every pore.

Collins, a tall, gangly woman with dark red hair and freckles, snorted but didn’t look up from whatever she was tinkering with, “Told you.”

From behind them, Curtis clapped his hands together, “So, General T, what’s our first move?”

Georgia slung her pack off her shoulders, sitting it on a nearby chair to fish out her Pip-Boy.

“I’ve mapped out a route for us to take, and we could be there sometime tomorrow afternoon if we keep pace,” she started, tapping her nails against the screen. “We can follow the Turnpike for a while, but I was thinkin’ about turnin’ off once we’re closer so we can come at the Interchange sideways. From what I know about ‘em, the Gunners probably have the roads covered, right? When we get there, we can scope the place out before we decide how we wanna play it. How’s that sound?”

“Good thing I put on my walking boots today,” Hollow muttered, gathering the deck of cards off the floor. He was a stocky man with dark, tawny skin and broad shoulders, and wore his Minuteman hat tilted back on his head. Mac half wished he had nabbed one of the ridiculous hats before they left the Castle.

“Sounds like a plan,” Buckley said, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the house. Curtis hadn’t been lying when he said the man was big—he had to duck his shaved head to avoid bumping it on the low ceiling. “Hopefully one that means we come back alive.”

Georgia smiled, a hint of uncertainty in the slight waver of her voice, “Well, that’s the goal.”

“It’s a good plan,” Mac nodded, catching her eye and watching her smile grow more confident. “For now at least. The rest can come later. Now, are we ready to head out?”

-----

They made camp when the last rays of sunlight faded over the horizon, the first leg of their journey done. Georgia showed Mac whereabouts they were on her Pip-Boy map, somewhere near where the railroad tracks crossed with the Turnpike’s main road. With her skill in sneaking through the city by way of old shops and side alleys, they were apparently right on time with whatever schedule she had come up with in her head. The Interchange wasn’t too far down the way.

After a collective vote proposed by Georgia, the group took to settling down for the night in a house near the river. It was a suitable shelter after clearing out a small host of rad roaches that Georgia hadn’t been too pleased to encounter. Most of the living room was largely intact save for a wall of broken windows facing the water and a few pieces of barely damaged furniture scattered about the room. Once inside and settled, everyone began to claim their spots. With seven people, they decided to do the night watch in groups.

Before everyone else turned in—Georgia had offered to be part of the first watch group and Mac had volunteered right after—Mac made an attempt to get their attention by standing up from the chair he’d claimed and clearing his throat. He felt nervous, and not from having everyone’s eyes on him. When you grew up trying to wrangle a colony of kids your age who knew exactly how to bust your balls, public speaking wasn’t something Mac had issue with. It was what the group before him was going to help him do that he was anxious about.

“I’ll try to make this quick,” he started, clasping his hands together to stop them from fidgeting. He spared a glance at Georgia, who had been studying the map on her Pip-Boy but was now listening with rapt attention. “This is anyone’s last chance to back out. If you’re having second thoughts or feel like this isn’t something you wanna risk your life for, I get it. Won’t hold it against you. You’re, uh, free to go, I guess.”

The first person to react was Collins, who snorted, “Like hell I’m missing out on giving those Gunner bastards their due. You’ve got your reasons for going after them, and so do we.”

“Plus, it’s one hell of a hike back to the Castle,” Curtis chuckled, pulling snatches of laughter from the room.

Gonzalez huffed out a breath from where she’d been cleaning her gun, the silencer next to her kit. “The Gunners don’t care about finding a reason for half the shit they do. What’s a better reason than just wanting to knock a group of assholes down a few pegs?”

“Having your brother caught in their crossfire might be a better one,” Collins said with a shrug that belied hidden bitterness. “Not to one up you or anything.”

Gonzalez made a face while Hollow gave a shaky laugh and pointed toward her, “I don’t have a much better reason than this one does. When I was still a merc, I had more than a few contracts taken from me in favor of the Gunners. Maybe it counts for something when you need the money, I dunno.”

Mac agreed with the man there; he knew that feeling all too well. He had remained quiet, however, not wanting any of them to start further prodding him for his own justification—no need to get into the nitty gritty of it, of why the Gunners were after him. They had simply told them that the Gunners wanted Mac, who was now apparently a “good friend” of Curtis’, gone. Curtis had almost made it sound like an unjust bounty the way he’d explained it, Mac letting him take the lead and half hoping the man’s mystifying charisma would be enough to carry them through the rest. It had worked well enough to get the group to agree to help, and for that Mac was grateful.

“I’m with you, Cath,” Buckley spoke up, staring at Collins across the room. He took up the whole door frame he’d been leaning on, a wall of muscle between the wood. “Lost some friends in Quincy. I’m here because of them.”

All eyes then turned to Georgia, who had remained quiet in a room full of people for the longest amount of time Mac had noticed since he’d met her.

“What about you, General?” Gonzalez asked, hands still working over her weapon. “Can’t say I wasn’t a little surprised that you signed off on this whole thing.”

Georgia looked up at Mac from where she had been sitting on her sleeping bag and Mac had to fight himself from looking away from the sincerity in her expression.

“My friend Mac here saved my life,” she said simply and he swallowed thickly, “least I could do is help him out, y’know? Only coincidence we found others with a similar goal.”

“Pays to be a friend of the General then, huh?” Collins piped up with a pointed look towards Mac. “Good to have someone like that at your back.”

“It has its perks,” he shrugged, and held Georgia in his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“What can I say? I’m useful like that,” she laughed, then stood up from her sleeping bag and stretched. “We should start turnin’ in soon, get an early start tomorrow so we have some time to scope the Interchange out.”

The rest of the group called out their various agreements. As they began to get settled for the night, she picked up her shotgun and slung it over her shoulder. Attached to it was the leather strip that had previously been on the rifle that now stayed strapped to the side of her pack. Her new weapon was covered in scuffs and dings from the various altercations they’d been in since Mac had given it to her.

Once she was ready, she came to stand next to Mac, and put a hand on his arm, cold as ever despite the fabric between them. “You and I have a hot date with first watch, can’t keep her waitin’.”

Mac breathed a laugh through his nose as she led them out to the porch, their only plan for the rest of the night to keep an eye out for any perceived threat that would come to harm them. Compared to what they had hoped to do the next day, he could manage as much. They had numbers and strategy on their side and for a moment, he dared to hope it was enough.

#fallout #fallout fic #fallout 4 #fo4 #rj maccready #fic: best laid plans #eeeep i'm finally glad this is Out #it always takes me a long time to force myself to edit bc i need most of the words to Leave my brain & forget them so i don't get bored rer #*rereading #bc i often reread it every time i open it to write if the chapter isn't finished #so i can Maintain the Vibe #but it does make it harder to edit without being like 'ugh i've read this part 102394 times already' a;dflkj #but it's out & im happy i hope u all enjoy ilu

[colonelmade]

The Tower Protocol; is a secret back up contingency put into place in the Minutemen by Preston & Jamie. The plan states that if the General of the Minutemen were to ever stray from what the Minutemen stand for and begin negatively effecting the health of the Minutemen as a whole, that Jamie and Preston will have the authority ( as long as it's unanimous between them ) to formally strip the acting general of their title and the two of them take over the Minutemen until a new General is selected.

So why does this exist, and how & why did Jamie and Preston agree to create this protocol?

Let's break it down piece by piece:

Why does it exist?: The simple answer is essentially that the biggest problem with 3/4 of the factions in the Commonwealth is their leaders are radical and charismatic, basically meaning that whatever sort of wild beliefs they have garner support on account of their leaders being charismatic enough to gain the support of their people. No matter how noble or questionable their beliefs may be. Considering that the Minutemen is an organization BUILT on a foundation of protecting the People of the Commonwealth, it is a slippery slope if the General ( their leader ) has absolute control over the organization. So it's very much a contingency plan because Jamie and Preston don't WANT to use it ( and I'd even venture to say Preston would actively fight until there were no other options left before agreeing to using it, Jamie...is less patient in this matter ). It's designed to ensure that the Minutemen don't ever stray away from their most important purpose for being, which is protecting the Commonwealth citizens and trying their best to rebuild civilization in the process.

How & Why did Jamie & Preston agree to creating this protocol?: ON PRESTON'S SIDE: For Preston I think his experiences from past Minutemen iterations, and the changing of Generals has shown that Minutemen are just as capable of succumbing to the personal driven goals of their leader as any other faction. If you look at the Minutemen's history, the ONLY General that's ever mentioned to have been a HEALTHY leader of the Commonwealth is Joe Becker. And after he died, the Minutemen wound up being fracture by the emergence of the Gunner Mercenary Organization. I think Preston, having LIVED through The Quincy Massacre and seen what happens to a well meaning organization that suffers from a weak or selfish leader would be willing to have some sort of plan in place if for no other reason than to make sure it doesn't happen again. Make no mistake, I sincerely doubt Preston likes the fact that they have to have, but it's the fact that it's a preventative measure to protect the overall goal of the Minutemen, and by extension, the people who benefit from it that is the determining factor.

ON JAMIE'S SIDE: The truth of the matter is that Jamie and Preston are of like mind in this case, only from Jamie's side, he's already WATCHED an organization with good intentions be poisoned by a maniacal warmongering leader in the form of the Brotherhood. It's important to remember that the Brotherhood WAS NOT always the way it appears in the Commonwealth. When he joined, the Brotherhood was in the Lyons Chapter, who were more discernibly well meaning and slated to be so for a long while. They had a more humanitarian goal of wanting to restart project purity and bring clean water to the Capital Wasteland. That is a NOBLE goal, alongside trying to exterminate the Enclave who as proven time & time again that they are only concerned about power and their own well being. As such, Jamie was proud to be part of their organization, and then it all fell apart after Owyn Lyons passed, and Sarah Lyons was killed in action. The Brotherhood suffered a series of disastrous leaders before Maxson took charge, and from there it just got worse as their intolerance worsened and their militaristic streak heightened. Jamie watched a once well meaning organization revert to something that was almost as bad as the enemy they were fighting. It disgusted him, and while he has faith in the Minutemen's mission, he won't allow himself to watch it happen again.

#𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯; 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯* ( study )

[bulgeun-wihyeob]

carrington backstory hc's

friends, romans, countrymen, we were robbed of all the potential this man had. forgive me but there are a few oc's sprinkled in here since all we really have canonically is... carrington himself. i also take heavy inspiration from a few other hc posts like this one and this one, ty guys so much for the food

he grew up in some settlement he doesn't bother to remember the name of, remembering makes it hurt

when he was about 17, it was taken over by gunners (i have no idea how long they've existed but i figure it's probably been a decent while)

he watched as his parents and sister were murdered trying to escape, they had hardly made it out of their house

he ran for his life, not stopping to think or look back or breathe. he ran until his legs couldn't carry him anymore and eventually dragged himself to diamond city

he scraped by helping people with household chores and managing their storefronts, sleeping wherever people would let him in until he could afford to live on his own

somewhere along the lines he fell in love (more platonically and aesthetically than anything) with a girl named calypso, who had grown to be his best friend in the time he spent in diamond city

she was found to be a synth eventually and was murdered in the streets for it. carrington watched the entire thing happen, frozen in place as she screamed and reached out for him, begging him to save her

he left diamond city soon after that and joined the minutemen, first as a soldier and then a medic when he realized how much he hated being on the "right" end of a gun

he fell in love with another militiaman before he became a healer, a man from quincy named sawyer. they were happily married and lived right on the outskirts for a while

one night, they got in a fight about how carrington dwelled on his past (specifically things he considered his own mistakes or shortcomings) too much and carrington ran off to cool down

quincy fell while he was gone (i did change the timeline for this one but shush), his husband dying along with many civilians and other minutemen. carrington came back to complete ruin, finding his home to be one of the only ones far enough away to be spared

after swearing to never step foot in diamond city again, he ran back. he didn't know what else to do, but he knew nick valentine (whom he had once been taken in and cared for by) was still around. nick was really the only family he had left

once nick got carrington back on his feet, he clued him in to the railroad (because there is no fuckin' way nick didn't know about them)

carrington had changed a lot from the terrified, shellshocked teenager nick first met, but he was still a good man (now with even more grief and a vengeance to put to use)

and while i don't believe in good damage, if anyone's got it it's carrington. he had learned a good amount about medicine in diamond city and during his time as a minutemen medic, so he used that knowledge to make himself useful to the railroad

when he initially joined and was asked why he wanted in, calypso's terrified screams rang in his ears and he felt his chest tighten like they were being ripped from his own throat. he simply said he'd like to see a day where people aren't torn from their loved ones just because they were made

he definitely got way too attached to people before reality had to come and kick him in the stomach again. every single death he tried to prevent brought him back to his parents, his sister, calypso, and sawyer

he already felt like his loved ones' blood was on his hands, that guilt only grew heavier over the years as more and more deaths weighed on his conscience

he eventually trained himself to completely separate his own emotions from his work, but that wasn't until after many, many nightmares and seemingly endless days spent grieving people he couldn't have done anything more for

deacon and desdemona are the only members of the railroad that remember a carrington who openly loved people and cried for the lives he couldn't save. everybody else sees him as a cold, bitter asshole who definitely doesn't sleep enough and doesn't even seem to want to help them

it hurts to overhear the things people tend to say about him, but he just swallows down his regret and tells himself it's for the best

in and out of his grief, he spent many months of his life in a state of total dissociation. he learned how to flip a switch in his brain that completely disconnects him from his figurative heart. when treating people, he runs on autopilot. it's for the best

#slushposting #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout #the railroad #doctor carrington fo4 #doctor carrington #headcanons #tw death #tw dissociation

[minuteminx]

Revolutionary

[NEW FIC ALERT!!]

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

[AO3 Link]

Chapter One: Paul Revere

“You cannot buy the revolution. You cannot make the revolution. You can only be the revolution. It is in your spirit, or it is nowhere.” ― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed

Qunicy Ruins, June 2288

When Preston was a kid, he’d sit with his dad on their tattered rug as the man picked lackadaisically at the strings of an ancient guitar.  He’d wax all sorts of poetic about the past, the times before the war, before the bombs fell, before everything was rads and raiders and running from bands of ferals.  It was that Great Commonwealth Myth of a pre-war paradise, of big ideals, and boundless opportunity.  A myth that one would hear refuted if they listened closely enough to grumbles from ghouls who’d managed to keep their sanity over the two centuries since the end of the world.

The myth was a lie, for sure, one Preston had clung to for most of his life.  But he couldn’t anymore, not as he stood staring at the massive pile of ashes that used to be his comrades and the settlers they attempted to protect.  The bastards who murdered all of those people were direct descendents from the monsters who made weapons with enough power to wipe entire regions off the map.  There was no paradise; it was just a prettier picture.

The Quincy settlement, if he could still call it that, looked a lot different since the last time he’d seen it, surrounded by junk fences and lined with barbed wire at the top.  Buildings were tagged with Gunner graffiti, and the streets were quiet as the mass grave that the settlement had turned out to be. It really didn’t make much sense.  Shouldn’t it have been some sort of bustling Gunner stronghold after Clint and his buddies went to all that trouble to claim it?

“I don’t like this,” Charlie remarked suddenly, her raspy voice a quick reminder that he wasn’t alone, hadn’t been alone for over eight months now.  He turned to face her, eyes flicking around the ruins to the seven other Minutemen who’d come along.  Millie was the only one who noticed him, and she gave him the least reassuring smile he’d ever seen.

“Neither do I,” he agreed as he returned his gaze to Charlie.  “Not one bit.”

“It wasn’t like this when I got away,” Millie added, glancing around the square, “I know that there had been mention of disagreements between Clint and the other bosses, probably because he has the leadership ability of a bloatfly.”

Preston smirked. “Now, Millie, I think that’s giving him too much credit.”

She laughed and opened her mouth to reply to him, but an explosion rang out instead as a launched projectile crashed into one of the buildings just ahead of them.  She eyed the area frantically before locking onto the rooftop of the church. “Shit. It’s Baker.”

“Baker?” He snapped his gaze up to the walkway, catching a glimpse of a figure clad in power armor and wielding a goddamned fat man.

“He’s one of the other bosses… and it looks like he found himself a new toy.”

Preston sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, running through the list of possible strategies in his head.  “We need to fall back,” he muttered under his breath decisively, then looked up to make the suggestion to Charlie, to the general, “We need to fall b--”

She’d already taken off toward the church, a pistol in either hand, without giving a single order to him or the others.  He wanted to drop everything and chase after her, to stop her from running directly into danger, just once. But someone had to give some kind of instruction before Baker launched a nuke directly on top of them.   He waved his hand over his head and back toward the gates, motioning for the others to head back out of the middle of town. “Fall back.  Head up to the walkways if you can.  We can’t win this from the ground.”

Millie remained where she stood as the others fled to safety.  “I’ll get these guys into position,” she stated, then nodded in the direction Charlie had run, “You go fetch your general.”

“But--” Another mini nuke exploded, in the distance this time, and his stomach lurched.  

“Go.”  She flicked her wrist in a shooing motion. “You’re not gonna be any use back here worried about her out there trying to pistol whip Baker to death.”

He snorted out a laugh despite the gravity of the situation, the image of the rail thin red-head successfully tackling him down, power armor and all, and smacking the butt of her favorite 10mm into his nose.  Honestly, he’d seen her get away with wilder things.  He tipped his hat at his long time friend, gave his musket a quick crank, and ran off after his wildcard general.

He faced little resistance on his way to the church, only a couple of Gunner conscripts crossed his path, and he was able to take them out easily.  It looked like a lot of their efforts were focused on Millie and the others at the gates and climbing up the walkways. It was for the best, but it didn’t make him worry any less for their safety.

When he finally reached the church, it was too quiet, especially for somewhere Charlie was supposed to be.  There was no gunfire, no talking, nothing.  Just silence.  Preston scanned the area, heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest.  After everything Charlie had been through, all she’d survived, she couldn’t be dead now, not while doing a favor for him, not with all that unfinished business between them. She couldn’t.

Several moments passed, and there were still no signs of life in the area.  He decided to head inside the church, figure out how to get up to the roof for a better view.  Just as he moved toward the door, a loud clank of metal sounded behind him and he spun on his heels, weapon readied.  

It was the traitor himself that he turned to face, Clint, in his hulking suit of stolen power armor, a militia hat perched disrespectfully atop his buzz cut head.  He still wore sunglasses that were so reflective that Preston could see his own furious face in the lenses. Clint let out an arrogant chuckle, and stomped up closer.

“Well, well, well,” he mocked, “What do we have here? Paul Revere himself?”

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”  He didn’t know why he felt the need to correct a man he intended to kill, but the words slipped out.

“I know who you are.  Read all about you in Ol’ Ezra’s holotapes.” Clint laughed again. “And the Minutemen don’t exist anymore.  I got rid of the last of ‘em, myself.

“You missed one,” Preston remarked, dryly.

“What? You? Ha!.” Clint shook his head. “And that merry band of farmers you marched in through the front gate with?  Kind of a rookie move, there, son.”

“ Don’t call me son,” Preston spat, venom filling his mouth.  

Before he could react, Clint’s armored fist slammed into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him flying back against the rusty skeleton of an old car.  Preston’s head crashed against the metal, and pain pulsed out from the point of impact throughout his whole head.  His vision spun around him, creating a double of the man who towered over him.  He felt sick to his stomach, and couldn’t quite figure out how to get back to his feet or where his weapon went.  Darkness crept in at the corners of his vision.

“I hate mouthy punks,” Clint growled.

Preston attempted to speak, but couldn’t find words in the chaos of his head.  He mumbled something even he couldn’t interpret.

“Oh man,” Clint exclaimed, smirk twisting on his face, “You’re really making this easy, Garvey.  Can’t say you live up to Ezra’s praise. What in the goddamned wasteland made you think you could rebuild the Minutemen?  You can’t even take a punch.  Pathetic.”

As Clint spoke, Preston noticed a blur of movement behind the other man.  He knew his eyes must have been playing tricks on him because it looked as if the air vibrated like it sometimes did in highly irradiated areas.  Quincy wasn’t one of those places.  The only other thing it could be was a--

Just as he thought the word stealth boy , the wobble in the air dissipated, and Charlie stood no more than ten feet behind Clint.  She slowly raised a finger to her lips in a shushing motion, and readied her weapon to aim.  Preston couldn’t keep the relief washing over his face, mouth twitching at the corners. She was alive, and not only that, she’d come to save him once again. Mama Murphy really did hit the nail on the head all those months ago.

“Why are you smiling,” Clint asked abruptly, lifting his laser rifle, locking it straight in the direction of Preston’s chest.  “What’s so fucking funny, huh?”

“Nothing, man,” Preston managed, words slurring, “Nothing at all.”

At that moment, Charlie unleashed a terrifying barrage of shots into Clint’s armor, damaging the legs so severely that they locked in place, and Clint had to jump out.  “What the--” he began, and turned around, to face his attacker.  “You little bitch .”

He attempted to raise his weapon and aim at her, but before he could get there, she’d pulled her trigger.  Preston couldn’t make out where she’d shot Clint, but the man dropped his gun and fell to his knees, before falling to his face.  Charlie holstered her pistols, and stared down at the man she’d just killed, expression as flat as he’d ever seen it.

“I’m not a bitch,” she muttered, shaking her head before setting her gaze on Preston, worry knitting her brows as soon as their eyes met.  She rushed over to where he sat, up against the car he’d been thrown into, and knelt down, cupping his face with a gloved hand on either side and turning his head to the left and then the right, clearly examining him for injury.  She flipped a switch on her PipBoy, flashing a bright beam of light into each of his eyes.  He squinted and shook his head, causing her to giggle, but he could hear the tears and sniffling between laughs.  

“You’re okay,” she assured him, pressing an unexpected kiss to his forehead, “Looks like you might have a concussion, but you’re safe.  I’m here.”

“You’re really scary sometimes, you know that,” he stated, words still stumbling out of his mouth clumsily.  

She laughed nervously and glanced away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  “I’m sorry, I just… I’d just watched Clint knock you into this car, and he was about to kill you and I just--.”

“No,”  he corrected her, grin spreading across his face, “It’s kinda hot.”

She snorted and a tear rolled down her cheek, dripping off her chin.  “Jesus, you hit your head harder than I thought.”

“It’s still the truth,” he admitted weakly, vision closing in entirely.  The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness entirely, was her voice calling his name.  

“Preston?”

#fallout 4 #preston garvey #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #female sole survivor #fanfiction #my writing #long post

[returnn-of-the-mac]

Companions react to Sole getting bored making a plan with them, remembering an old pre-war meme, and running in yelling "LEEROOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYY JENKIIIIINNNNNNSSSSS"

Usually I do my inbox reacts in order (unless I’m stuck on one), but last night I had a dream about this one, so I decided to do it now lmao. This made me ugly laugh when I first saw it, so I’m not surprised I dreamt about it. Please enjoy!

FO4 Companions React: Sole Pulling a Leeroy Jenkins

Sole and their companion were crouched behind a rock just outside of Quincy. The city was swarming with aggressive Gunners, and the pair decided they were going to make a plan before storming the checkpoint.

After about 3 minutes of drafting a battle plan, however, Sole found themself losing interest. In their boredom, they remembered a classic meme from their time: Leeroy Jenkins: the fearless World of Warcraft player who ran headlong into combat.

Sole, suddenly inspired, decided they were going to do the same.

To the shock and horror of their companion, Sole stood up, hollered “LEEEROOOYYY JENKINS!!” at the top of their lungs, and ran into the city.

...

Cait: Ah, who am I kidden? I was never much of a planner meself [wielding bat] I’m right behind ya!

Danse: [infuriated] What do you think you’re doing, soldier!? [charging after them; laser rifle in hand] Are you trying to get us killed!?

Deacon: [playing along] Goddammit, Leeroy!

Strong: Good human! Less talk, more smash!

Longfellow: Or, you can handle it yourself. That’s fine with me [kicks back and casually takes a swing of whisky]

MacCready: [calling after Sole] H-hey! Wait! We weren’t done planning! [equipping sniper rifle] [sarcastic] Yeah, run right in there. That’ll show em. [muttering in under breath] Talk about impatient.

Codsworth: [sighs] Still has the attention span of an ant, I see. Very well. [charges in after Sole; flamethrowers equipped]

Curie: [runs after Sole waving paper around] [Madam/Monsieur]! Please! We weren’t vinished discussing! Ze plan! [furiously waving paper] Ze plan!

Piper: [still hiding] Dammit Blue! Get back here! [scrambling after Sole with pistol equipped] [annoyed] So help me, Blue! If these synths don’t kill you, I will!

Ada: Who is this Leeroy, [sir/ma’am]?

Gage: [charging after Sole] That’s the spirit, boss! Get ‘em, Leeroy!

Preston: [equips musket; follows Sole] This wasn’t part of the plan!

Hancock: Spontaneous [loads shotgun] I like it!

Nick: Oh, for the love of— [runs in after Sole]— your impatience is going to be your downfall, bucko!

X6-88: [annoyed; rubbing temples] [to self] Darwinism, X6. This is just Darwinism running its course.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #react #danse #paladin danse #hancock #deacon #maccready #curie #cait #ada #piper #strong #codsworth #longfellow #preston garvey #x6 #x6 88 #gage

[scorpio-skies]

OC as a Companion Meme!

NAME: Nora Hart

FOUND: Near Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, fighting raiders at the church. 

COMPANION PERK: The Bear Necessities - Acquire Honey the yao guai as an extra companion.  

ROMANCEABLE:  Yes 

(I was tagged for this a very long time ago, but always wanted to do it! Tagging: @eluvisen​ @mrninjapineapple​ @ariejul​ @sociallyacceptablemadness​ @lothrilzul​ @slothssassin​ @mars-colony​ @lookbluesoup​ @tarberrymentats​ @leporidaefluff​ @charomiami​ @beckiboos​ and anybody who’d like to do it! If you’ve done it before feel free to rb your original unless you wanna make another for a diff OC >:3c but no pressure at all!)

 WEAPON OF CHOICE: 

Lucky (.357 magnum revolver from FNV ;p)

Combat rifle

 I THINK WE SHOULD TRAVEL TOGETHER:

“Then let’s hit the road!” 

“Time for another adventure? Count me in!”

“You can count on me, boss!” 

“Let’s get going, then!”

“The road’s a-calling.” 

“Sounds like fun!” 

(Romanced) “Good! I was hoping for some quality time with you.”

(Romanced) “I’d follow you anywhere, love. Lead on.”

 USE MELEE:

“This is too close for comfort!” 

“Let’s hit ‘em hard and fast!” 

“Just go down already!” 

“It’s about to get messy!”

 USE RANGED:

“I’ve got your back!” 

“They won’t get past me.” 

“Nothing like a long-distance relationship!” 

“Got it!”

 OPEN INVENTORY:

“That’ll be twenty-caps. Just kidding!” 

“What do you need?” 

“Here’s what I’ve got!” 

“Sure thing -- just don’t mess up my pack.”

(Romanced) “Oh? Did you get me something nice?”

 IF OVERENCUMBERED:

“See, this is why caravans have carts and brahmin.” 

“Shame Honey isn’t here to carry that for us… / Why don’t you see if Honey’ll carry it for ya?” 

“I mean, I love junk as much as the next gal but... don’t you think you’re overdoing it?” 

“Let me carry some of that for you.” 

“You’re gonna hurt your back like that!” 

“Your pack’s gonna pop…”

 STAY CLOSE:

“I’m with you.” 

“Right beside you.” 

“I’m here.”

 KEEP DISTANCE:

“Gotcha.” 

“You got it.”

"Sure."

STEALTH:

"The sneaky way, huh?" 

"Like shadows." 

"Alright, let's go quietly." 

"They won't know what hit em." 

 BACKUP:

“Oh! Sorry."

"I'll give you some space." 

“Sorry -- don’t mean to be stepping on your toes!”

BE PASSIVE:

“Always worth negotiating!” 

“I definitely prefer talking to violence.” 

“Sounds good to me, boss. I’d prefer not to shoot if I don’t have to.” 

“Turn on the charm!” 

“You’re quite the people person.” 

“You’re a real charmer, ain’t ya?” 

(Romanced) “That’s my hero!”

 BE AGGRESSIVE:

“Just say the word, boss.” 

“I’m ready.” 

“Guess it’s too late to ask them nicely?” 

“Alright. Let’s bring the mayhem.”

“Well, if we can’t talk them down…”

 USE STIMPAK:

“Ow… thanks, boss.” 

“Ugh, needles… remind me not to get shot again.” 

“Phew that’s better.” 

“Thanks -- I’m good.”

“Back to it!”

WAIT HERE:

“Don’t go too far, okay?” 

“Alright. Hurry back before I get too bored though, yeah?” 

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

FOLLOW ME:

“Welcome back, boss!” 

“Alright, let’s get back to it!” 

“Lead on, boss. I’m with you.” 

“Glad to have you back.”

LOVER’S EMBRACE: 

“That was a good roll in the hay…” 

“Jackpot!” 

“Now that’s what I call a rodeo...”

“Morning beautiful/handsome!” 

“Could stay all day in bed with you…” 

“I love you. I want you to know that.” 

 DISMISSED:

“Well, you know where I’ll be.” 

“Alright then. Take care of yourself, boss. You know where to find me.” 

“Okay then. I’ll tell Kammie and Honey you said hi.” 

“Alright -- you be careful, though. You hear me?” 

“Time to head home then -- come and see us soon, yeah?” 

(Romanced) “If that’s what you want, just… come home safe to me, alright? I’ll be waiting for you.”

 ENEMIES (LONG RANGE)

“Today is not your lucky day!”

“You’re gonna regret this!” 

“Shouldn’t pick fights ya can’t finish!”

“Hope you’ve made your peace!”

(Raiders) “You’re not gotta loot us!”

(Raiders) “You’re not hurting anybody else!” 

(Raiders) “Time to answer for your crimes!” 

(Gunners) “Let’s teach these thugs how to shoot!” 

(Gunners) “I ain’t losing to the likes of you!” 

(Gunners) “Hope those caps were worth your life!”

(Insects) “Ugh. These things creep me out!”

(Insects) “Buzz off!” 

(Synths/Robots) “I’m gonna sell you for scrap!”

(Synths/Robots) “Time to shut you down permanently!”

(Super mutants) “Why are they always so big and angry?”

(Super mutants) “We’re not on the menu!” 

(Super mutants) “I’m not going in some meat bag!”

(Behemoth/Mirelurk Queen) “Holy shit!” 

(Behemoth/Mirelurk Queen) “The bigger they are, the harder they’ll fall!”

(Feral ghouls) “These things creep me out.”

(Feral ghouls) “Boss! Ferals!” 

(Deathclaw) “Deathclaw! Run!” 

(Deathclaw) “Deathclaw! Look out!” 

(Yao Guai) “Don’t tell Honey!” 

(Yao Guai) “I’m sorry bear!” 

(Dogs/Radstags/Brahmiluff) “God I hate having to do that.” 

(Dogs/Radstags/Brahmiluff/mole rats) “I’m sorry -- you left me no choice.”

(Critical Kill) “WOO! Nice shot!”

(Critical Kill) “Lucky hit!”

ENEMIES (CLOSE RANGE)

“Bring it!” 

“Let’s dance!” 

“Look out!” 

“They’re on us!”

(Insects) “Ugh -- I hate these things!”

(Insects) “Disgusting!” 

(Insects) “You’re really starting to bug me!”

(Synths/Robots) “Where’s the off switch?”

(Children of Atom) “Hope you said your prayers!”

(Super mutants) “Wow, you’re a big fella.” 

(Super mutants) “What do these guys eat? No -- don’t answer that.”

(Super mutants) “I am not a snack!”

(Feral ghouls) “Get away from me!” 

(Feral ghouls) “Shit!”

(Feral ghouls) “Way too close!”

(Mirelurks) “These guys sure are crabby!”

 WHEN ENTERING:

GOODNEIGHBOR

“Well, this looks like a good place to get mugged.” 

“Ah, Goodneighbor. Crime capital of the Commonwealth -- watch your back here, boss.” 

“Yeah, Goodneighbor has walls but it’s got plenty of cut-throats within them. We’ll need to watch our backs. Also our caps.” 

“Oh, boss. You always take me to the ‘nicest’ places.” 

“Is everyone’s staring at us, or is that just me?”

 DIAMOND CITY

“So, this is the great green jewel of the Commonwealth… I’ll have to get Kammie a souvenir.”

“Hey -- mind if we stop by the market? I wanna see if I can wrangle us some deals.”

“Noodles? Served by a robot? Kammie is not gonna believe this...”

“Do you think these people ever get tired of looking at the walls?” 

“So this is the infamous Dugout… You hear a lot about this place in the caravans. Home of Bobrov’s Best! Fancy getting a bottle?”

 BUNKER HILL

“These guys are miserly, even by trader standards. If you need anything, let me do the haggling, yeah?” 

“Bunker Hill’s a popular stop for caravans. Me and Kammie were planning on stopping here, but I’m not sure they’d let Honey through the gate…”

“I’ve been here before, you know. But it was a long time ago.”

 BOSTON AIRPORT

“Do you really think those wrecks could fly? I can’t even imagine what that’d be like…” 

“If we could still fly like that… think of all of the places we could see.”

(After Reveille has triggered) “Wow… Just look at that airship!”

(After Reveille has triggered) “Looks like the Brotherhood mean business. Maybe we should move on?”

(After Reveille has triggered) “I don’t really wanna tangle with the Brotherhood, boss. They’re bad for business.”

 THE PRYDWEN

“Wow -- just look at that view!”

“This ship is amazing -- and look at all the power armour!”

“Hey, do you think they’ll sell me a suit if I ask nicely?”

 THE CASTLE

“The Castle must have been a sight to see when the Minutemen were in charge. Shame about the current tenants...”

(After Castle is restored) “It’s great to see the Castle back in Minutemen hands!”

(After Castle is restored) “The Minutemen have done a great job fixing the Castle up again!.”

(After Castle is restored) “I bet the sunrise is something to see from those walls...” 

(After Castle is restored) “Me and Kammie were talking about whether we should join the Minutemen or not… do you think they accept bears?”

 QUINCY

(Before clearing Quincy) “I heard about what the Gunners did to Quincy… nothing but a bunch of murderers.” 

(Before clearing Quincy) “Look at what they did here… The Gunners are no better than raiders.”

(After clearing Quincy) “I really hope Quincy can rebuild and recover someday.” 

 THE GLOWING SEA

“So… which of us will turn ghoul first?” 

“Is there a way to turn the Geiger counter off? It keeps reminding me we’re dying and I don’t like it.” 

“This place… it’s like we’re in a nightmare.” 

“I keep seeing things moving in the fog…” 

“Do you think they really knew what they were doing when they dropped the bombs?”

“We’ll have to drink a few pints of radaway after this…”

 CONCORD

“That vertibird makes an interesting installation...”

 LEXINGTON

“I heard Lexington is overrun with ferals… are you sure we can’t go around?” 

“I feel like there’s something around every corner...”

“Why can’t the ferals just eat the raiders?”

 SALEM

“This place belongs in a horror comic.”

(Devil’s Due) “I don’t like the sound of that...” 

(Return egg to the deathclaw) “I’m proud of you, boss. Those deathclaws deserved better… now, let’s back away nice and slow and leave them to it, yeah?”

 LYNN WOODS

“Those claw marks on the rock… Deathclaw territory. Stay alert.”

“Try not to make too much noise. If a deathclaw comes after us, I don’t know if we can stop it.”

 NAHANT

“Keep an eye out. There’s a floating raider fortress nearby.”

“Caravans have disappeared around here, and the survivor stories...? They’re not good.” 

“I don’t think we’ll find anything other than crabs and scrap around here.”

“I hope there’s no big mirelurks around…” 

“What kind of maniac wants to live out by the sea, anyway? You don’t know what’s out there!”

 CAMBRIDGE

“That police station’s well fortified -- here’s hoping they’re friendly.” 

“Why is this place so quiet…? I don’t like it.” 

“I thought raiders had taken over the place… not that I’m complaining.” 

“Oh. Ghouls. God I wish it was raiders.”

 SANCTUARY

“So this is your old home, huh?” 

“We should set up a supply line between here and Sunshine! We can help each other out.” 

“This is quite a nice place!” 

 SUNSHINE TIDING’S CO-OP 

“Home sweet home!” 

“You think we can stop by for some of Kamal’s lasagne?” 

“I’ll check in on the animals while we’re here.” 

(when greeted by Honey) “Hey there, Honey bear! How’re you today?” 

“I’m gonna go check on Kammie.”

“Home is where you keep your bear!”

 AGGRESSION: not aggressive/aggressive/very aggressive/frenzied

CONFIDENCE: cowardly/cautious/average/brave/foolhardy

ASSISTANCE: helps nobody/helps allies/helps friends and allies

 LOSE AS COMPANION PERMANENTLY:

Too many dislikes

Siding with the Institute 

Choosing Institute option in personal quest 

Destroying the Railroad

Selling Billy to slavers in Kid in a Fridge

Killing Kent Connolly in The Silver Shroud

Siding with Covenant

Destroying Acadia 

Destroying Far Harbor 

Siding with the Nuka-World raiders

Raiding the Commonwealth for Nuka-World 

Bringing X6-88 near (will turn Nora, Honey and Kamal hostile) 

Attacking Honey or Kamal 

Killing Phyllis Daily 

Killing Paladin Danse in Blind Betrayal

Killing Jules in the random synth encounter

 PERSONAL MISSION: Override 

Nora can be found fighting raiders at the church near Sunshine Tidings Co-op with Kamal and Honey. After the player helps them dispatch the raiders, they introduce themselves as traders seeking a safe place to set up their business. If the player has unlocked Sunshine as a settlement, they can send them there. This unlocks Nora as a companion, and Kamal as a trader. Honey operates as a guard-bear. 

After the player unlocks the Institute for the first time, they return to Sunshine to find the settlement under attack by coursers. 

Once the coursers are dispatched, Nora and Kamal have a panicked discussion where Nora worries that the Institute is on to her. Nora and Kamal lead the player to a quiet area of Sunshine and Nora tells Kamal that she trusts the player. 

She then confesses that she’s an escaped synth, and that the coursers were after her. She doesn’t know much about her past other than her time with the caravans, but over the years has been the victim of attempted reclamation by coursers. She and Kamal returned to the Commonwealth to try and learn how to stop it. 

If the player has not taken Nora to the Railroad or discovered them, Nora and Kamal mention that they’ve heard of the Railroad and were hoping they could help them. The player can then offer to find out more. 

If the player has taken Nora to the Railroad before, she will ask the player if they can convince the Railroad to help her. 

If the player goes to the Railroad, Tinker Tom provides a holotape. If the player uses it in the Synth Retention Bureau, it wipes Nora’s record from the system as well as some other escaped synths. 

After the player wipes Nora from the Institute’s records they can assure her that she’s safe and doesn’t have to run anymore. Nora and Kamal are overjoyed that they don’t have to keep running, and they agree that they want to set up a ranch at Sunshine. 

Nora will mention that Honey’s overjoyed too and has taken a liking to the player. The player has then unlocked Nora’s perk, The Bear Necessities, and Honey shall accompany Nora when the player character recruits her. 

Honey can be ordered much the same as Dogmeat, but she has a greater carry capacity, health and damage. She can be told to stay at Sunshine. 

The player can, however, choose to instead inform Ayo of Nora’s location. 

When the player next returns to Sunshine, they’ll find Kamal waiting for them with Honey. He’s injured and frantic, informing the player that coursers took Nora. If the player admits they handed Nora over, both Kamal and Honey will turn hostile.

 If the player feigns innocence, Kamal will insist he knows something’s not right. 

If the player tries to convince Kamal Nora’s gone forever, he’ll swear to keep looking for her no matter what it takes. 

When the player returns to the Institute, Nora can be found but renamed with her synth designation, C9-42. She reacts to the player character with the same deference as other synths, but knows them only as Father’s parent. Although she has the same bland smile as other synths when talking to the player, outside of conversation she will have a sad expression.

#fallout 4 #nora hart #fallout oc #kamal #honey

[lobselvith8]

Regarding mods that make Preston a traitor of Quincy

I’ve noticed that certain mods attempt to address some of the problems with the Commonwealth Minutemen by turning Preston into a traitor, and similar to the mods try to ‘fix’ the Minutemen by turning them into a version of the Brotherhood of Steel, I feel that these miss the mark. While Preston does have an unfortunate mechanic of constantly giving you quests (a flaw with the game design and not the personality of the character), making him one of the traitors of Quincy (along with having the option to execute him for being a traitor in at least one of the mods) does not resolve this.

The Minutemen are an interesting concept - regular people banding together to look out for each other, with the potential to do some good (such as stopping the Super Mutant threat that endangered Diamond City), but also capable of completely imploding due to human nature (as we see with the Minutemen turned raiders of Libertalia).

While the vanilla aesthetics aren’t really my cup of tea (and a lot of mods do much better with their aesthetics without turning farmers and settlers into another version of the Brotherhood, so I’m clearly not alone in that regard), their role as regular people going up against the odds has a lot of potential. It’s a nice concept that is, unfortunately, not fleshed out in vanilla.

Putting the acquisition of settlements aside, you get about three or four original quests when you do the Minutemen questline, Sturges is re-used in a capability that contradicts his initial appearance (and ends up feeling like they didn’t want to introduce another character who would’ve made more sense into the mix), the method you use to infiltrate the Institute isn’t as creative or interesting as the Railroad or the Brotherhood (and comes across as a bit lazy), and you aren’t given any opportunity to shape this organization even though you are supposed to be the new General. You aren’t given the chance to take actions to prevent the new Minutemen from falling apart like the original iteration of the organization did, you aren’t given any ‘moral’ choices to deal with issues (as the Slog could have been an interesting one given the rampant anti-ghoul sentiment, with consequences for whether or not you choose to help ghouls given how almost all of the Commonwealth hates and despises them), and you can’t even take back Quincy from the Gunners.

Clearly, there are issues, but those problems aren’t magically fixed by making Preston into a villain by changing history to make him into a traitor who sold out the people of Quincy. The Minutemen could have been fleshed out more while keeping true to the core of what they are (regular people standing up for each other), and giving the role of quest-giver to another character would have also solved the problem of the endless loop of quests that end up causing some people to (unfortunately) never give Preston a real chance (to the point where he’s basically a meme for some people even after all these years).

Just my two cents about Preston Garvey and what I think is the mistake some make in trying to rectify the issues with the Minutemen.

#preston garvey #commonwealth minutemen #fallout 4 #fallout thoughts

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

Fallout Themed “Get to Know me”

tagged by @emiratexaaron. Blast, I didn’t even realize I got tagged!

FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH FALLOUT:

Ye gods, I was maybe... We’re gonna go early teens. I remember watching Fallout 3 on my father’s computer, and having been someone who had played Oblivion to death, the graphics were amazing.

And then I got a hold of it, and didn’t immediately put God Mode on, and actually learned how to play a Bethseda game for once.

NAME OF FIRST CHARACTER To be honest, I don’t honestly remember. I was a kid who tended to blunder into games like nobody’s business. So I really can’t remember my first.

... I can remember that I tried to create the Fonz at one point in FO3. So High Charisma, wears the Tunnel Snakes Jacket, good Repair and Speech skill.

DUMB WAYS TO DIE, SO MANY DUMB WAYS TO DIE: I. Hate. Reaver Ghouls.

Falling off Bridges

How bout opening up a can of AcciDeathclaw in Fallout New Vegas?

Pissing off Legion at the wrong time.

NEW VEGAS. LEGENDARY. BLOATFLY.

Trying to make a run North of Goodsprings.

Trying to run away from North of Good Springs...

Geckos in Fallout 2.

Talking Pig Rats in Fallout 2.

Rats in Fallout 1.

Really, the list could go on.

WHAT WOULD I IMPROVE IN FALLOUT 4: *cracks knuckles*

Where do I start.

For one thing, Bring back the Dark Comedy that Fallout is known for. Fallout 4 is too damn bleak, made bleaker by its poorly executed message of “Never give up Hope”.

Cut out half them settlements. A few of them you can’t even build anything on (LOOKIN AT YOU COSTAL COTTAGE).

How about fix those Character plot-holes? Like what was Nick’s take on the Ghoul Removal from Diamond City. He’s been there for nearly 60 years.

Where are the Fallout ZAX?

Add Centaurs. Yes, from the Concept art. Fallout 4 wants Bleak? We’ll make it bloody horrific.

How about more lore-backing to the cap system, hm? Original Fallout, it had been the water traders and their show of force. Here is... cos they want to? You can dig a thing anywhere for clean water, so maybe the trade off could be food. Or maybe make it more mafia theme’d, like its Triggerman enforced or something.

Speaking of Which, can we have more revelance to the Triggermen? We have a Detective with all the Perks for the gods’ sake. Make something of ‘em. Fallout 4 is clearly Fallout Noir to New Vegas’s Fallout Western, let’s go all out.

I want to build a Synth.

How about the Minutemen? What they could’ve done is expanded it more than just from the Castle. Look, all other Factions have bases and set missions from bases that apply to their respective storylines. The Minutemen’s stops at getting a base. Why is that? Why not bring in that Minutemen-Gunner war? How about having the end of the Minutemen Quest be “Taking Quincy Back!”.

Speaking of which, let’s redo that Minutemen Intro a bit. How about... Billy the Ghoul’s Family! Yes, I mean the Ghoul kid. Remove that stupid Fridge quest, and add them to the original roster of Settlers that Preston Garvey is protecting. It’d introduce your character to Ghouls right off the bat without issue (Since there wasn’t a bloody introduction to ghouls).

How about where the Hell the rest of the Minutemen groups were when Qunicy was attacked. The only two you run into were recently Gunners, or turned Raider years ago.

WHAT ABOUT THOSE TIMED MISSIONS BETHSEDA.

How about a bit more interaction with the world from the Companion’s side? If you take a look at Outer Worlds, made by the creators of the original Fallout, the Companions do have an impact when they’re around and it affects and changes the world around them. When you have a Companion in Fallout 4, they’re more like Ghosts with tiny but ultimately meaningless interactions here and there. - I want to be able to call out Piper on her Yellow Journalism, and actually see an increase in News papers around the Commonwealth if I help her. Plus, not just earn her perk, but also gain the ability to create News Paperstands / Printing Presses in Settlements in order to help build the infrastructure of News. You can even add missions about gathering Paper or Printing Parts. - I want to be able to have trading interactions with Goodneighbor, thus giving a reason to have Hancock as a successful companion outside of him being a real cool ghoul. - If you let Danse survive, how about not just letting him grow out of his bigotted views, but let him train Minutemen in weapons, in armor, and in tactics and having a command. - If you help Curie, imagine the improvement of Health for your settlements. Imagine who she could teach for Doctors and Medics, and actually give the Commonwealth a Healthcare system again. - PRESTON IS YOUR BATMAN (I mean the military term, but its funnier if you don’t know the alternative meaning). - Y’know, I would’ve liked to have seen Duncan.

For Companions: -

And the Fucking Institute. An attempt to be the Big MT, and failing that. They could’ve done wacky mad science and still been 50s B-Movie levels of seriousness, y’know? We got so many hints on what they’re like, and they failed to live up to it! We have the visual evidence and dialogue that Gen1 and Gen2 tend to literally dissect / pull things apart by their bare hands. We could’ve seen more of that. What do they do to all those people they kidnap? ... Where did they get the Super Mutants from. How about the Synth v1 Gen3s? Y’know, the one’s that Look like Gen 3s, but have machine parts inside. There could’ve been more mad science, more B-Movie levels of sholy hit. Grossly mutated animals, brains in jars, unique robots, the works!

How about we have something akin to the Master directing the Super Mutants. This was a problem / thing I had with FO3 too. The original Super Mutants had a Psychic Master entity, so why not the East Coast mutants?

How about an explanation as to why the Assaultron is only in Boston.

Where the hell is the Rest of Boston.

How about being capable of directing Minutemen groups to weed out or scavange an area? I don’t have time for all this Missions Present, we have a Castle Now, SEND SOMEONE ELSE.

How about instead of going after Kellogg, Kellogg comes after you. The Director is dying, and you’re the Backup. This would associate you with the Institute just as early as the Minutemen, Maybe. And then, you can take the game into whatever direction you want. - Explore the Glowing Sea by yourself, we’re busy.

Mix Pickman’s Gallery and Cabot House... As one mini-storyline.

Add more cases for Valentine, such as Diamond City Blues and Mystery Meat... Possibly even Cabot House.

Where on Earth is the Brotherhood getting all those Vertibirds... Do they have a factory? Those things blow up if you look at them wrong--- WHERE ARE THEY GETTING THEM.

Replace most of the Generic Raiders with named Raiders, not unlike Fallout 1. Have more Gunners, Rust Devils, the Nuka World Parties; more development at Libertalia.

How about more branching options to deal with Kellogg.

Add a bit of a reputation system for Cities you can’t make a settlement from. Boosting faction or trade routes or really, anything other than sitting there.

... So to sum it up.

I’d do practically a rewrite of Fallout 4.

... ye Gods.

Not tagging anyone cos, well, I don’t know that many people who play fallout that weren’t already tagged...

#fallout #fallout 4 #ask me meme #art memes

[antiquechampagne]

Silver Linings - Chapter 2

Dust watched as she sat on the ground, the pain in her arm slowly melting away. Her eye had even started to open a little, the throbbing ignorable with a little effort. The ghoul, while coolly leaning against a rotted wooden post, effortlessly held his shotgun at the ready. The woman shuffled things in and out of her pack, shifting through the junk laying around and seeing what would fit. Nora grumbled to herself before picking out several rolls of duct tape, replacing it with a pristine looking camera.

“You sure you want to leave those?” the ghoul asked. “You normally hoard those things.”

“Yeah, I know.” Nora answered. “But the new Jamaica Plain settlement needs a settlement beacon. I’m missing crystals for the emitter.” She glared down at the rolls, frowning. “It’s not exactly like I was planning on hauling more crap after everything we scavenged back in Quincy.”

Dust’s jaw dropped. It took her a second to process what the vault dweller was saying. “Wait a minute… Quincy?” Her dark hazel eyes glanced between the woman and her companion. “What did you do in Quincy?” Dust’s mind raced. Everyone with more than a couple of brain cells knew to stay away from that place. The Gunners who camped there were basically their own army, easily raining death on anyone and anything that stepped close.

“Oh, the General here decided it was time to clean that place up. Gunner green was so last season.” The ghoul smirked as he shrugged. “So we did.”

“No fucking way!” Dust blustered, thinking. “Just the two of you made it out?”

His smirk grew into a wide grin. “Just the two of us went in, too. We had one hell of a blast, didn’t we, Sunshine?”

Nora laughed at their inside joke. “We sure did.”

Dust mulled over the implications of their words. It didn’t seem like they were lying to her. “If you guys are so tough you can take out a fucking Gunner camp without breaking a sweat, why the fuck did you attack us?” Dust motioned to the handful of raider corpses that had been moved to one end of the trench they had called home.

“We were trying to sneak around, to be honest,” Nora shook her head. “but I guess someone spotted someone with a huge red target on his back.”

The ghoul just rolled his eyes and shrugged again. “What can I say? No one can get enough of my threads. Either way, you guys shot first.”

That seemed true enough. Most of the time you didn’t live long unless you adopted a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ attitude in the wastes. But… if these two really offed all those Gunners…

“Hey,” Dust pushed herself up on her knees slowly. She didn’t need to give anyone another reason to start shooting. “If you really need all that stuff, just load me up. I can truck it wherever you need it to go.” In the corner, Dust could see the ghoul step forward. “To pay you back… for not killing me and shit.”

Hancock nodded to Nora, his eyes never leaving Dust. “Your call.”

Nora’s eyes studied her for a moment.

“How much can you carry?”

Dust stood up. She knew her short frame could be deceiving. She barely came to the vault dweller’s shoulder. Over the years, quite a few people learned the hard way that every square inch of her was packed full of rock hard muscle. Walking over to a weathered table, she pulled out a large military rucksack tucked underneath it.

Confident in her abilities, she simply stated: “Fill’er up.”

Twenty minutes later, Dust was trudging across the wasteland, the stuffed rucksack slung between her shoulder blades. Hard points from the objects inside pushed against her ribs like a sack full of elbows, but she shrugged it off. She thought better than to complain that she was not given a weapon. The woman took up point in front of her, the ghoul a few steps away taking up the rear.

After a while of walking in silence, Nora piped up.

“So, how long had you known those guys?”

“Um,” Dust tried to shove her shoulder against the most offending corner, trying to force something to shift into a more comfortable position. “I think about a week or so.”

“A week?” Nora shot a look back at her before turning back to scan along their path. “What made you join them, then?”

“I needed something to eat.” Dust replied flatly. She didn’t understand what was so confusing about the concept. “Plus, they had a good supply of chems.”

Hancock nodded. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

“What were you doing before that?”

“I ran with a different crew before that. Good bunch of guys. Hard as fucking steel.”

“What happened to them?”

Damn, this bitch is chatty. Dust thought. “We made a pretty good living hitting caravans. Sneaking up on them at night, that kinda thing. One night, we were stalking a real juicy mark when we ran up on a pair of sleeping yao guais. I barely made it out after one of those fuckers took a chunk out of my leg.” She frowned at the memory. “But at least I made it out. No one else did.”

“What about before them?”

Dust was getting frustrated with all these questions. “Why the fuck does it matter?”

“I’m just trying to figure something out,” She answered. “Like, what makes a person turn to raiding.”

“You do realize ‘raiders’ fuck and pop out brats, right? Those little fuckers learn real quick what it takes to survive out here… and it ain’t playing nice with soft townies. Not if you want to get your share of something to eat.”

That shut her up. They walked in silence for a few more hours. The light in the sky started to dim. Even though they were close to wherever they were going, it was decided to find a secure place to hole up for the night and continue in the morning. They found some kind of old shop and boarded up the door. Dust took off her heavy load, sitting in a corner. After starting a fire in an old metal trashcan, Nora began to prepare a few cans she pulled from her pack. Mayor Hancock took off his coat and began to clean his gun in the fire light. Once the food was warm, the vault dweller brought a can and spoon to Dust. She took it with a cautious nod, sniffing what looked like beans before shoveling them into her mouth. The other two chatted as they ate, occasionally glancing over at her.

Dust ignored them. She kept to herself, trying calm the sneaking itch in her brain. She couldn’t help focusing on how long it had been since her last hit of jet. It took all her concentration to keep her leg from bouncing. Instead, she repeatedly twisted the ends of her bandana in between her fingers,a nervous habit she had picked up as a child.

After a while, Hancock walked over to her. “I’m taking first watch, Nora’s taking second. You should get some sleep while you can.”

Even though that made sense, Dust knew her feet and back ached something fierce, she was far from exhausted enough to sleep. Not when she was like this.

“I’m good,” was all she answered.

The ghoul seemed to study her. “Since we are almost to Jamaica, you might want to rethink that make up job of yours.” He pointed to her face.

“What’d’ya mean?”

“The locals know us… but you?” His mouth tightened into bit of a grimace. “Well, they tend to shoot raiders on sight… and right now your face screams ‘I’m here’ ta fuck you up’.”

It had been a while since Dust had smeared broad swaths of black kohl across her face, but come to think about it… not a lot of townies she’d run across marked themselves like that. She supposed the ghoul was right.

“Fine.” she asked. Dust untied her bandana.

Hancock pulled out an open carton of water and handed it to her. With a good dash of water, she rubbed most of the paint from her face, pinpricks of pain reminding her of the tender new scars forming over a good portion of her face. When she thought she was done, Dust turned to the ghoul.

“Good?”

“You still look you’ve got two black eyes, but close enough.”

Dust nodded. She thought the ghoul would return to the other side of the room, but he stayed by her. Her pointed to her hands.

“Are you sure you’re good?”

Looking down, Dust realized that she was continuing to violently twisting her soiled bandana in her hands.

“Yeah, well ya know… the Jet will make you jittery.”

This time it was Hancock who nodded as he reached into a pocket.

“There ain’t much left in this one, but here...” He handed her a red inhaler. “I don’t need you jonesing all night.” He got up and returned to fire.

Dust turned over the canister in her hand. Food and chems… well, she could have done worse. She had in the past, and for less… but then again, you don’t get anything for free. She’d just have to wait and see what that price was going to be.

She put the plastic mouthpiece between her lips and inhaled. She felt a small burst of chems coat the inside of her mouth and throat, it’s burning kiss burrowed into her blood through her lungs. The flickering flames across the room slowed to a languid pulsing. A wash of heat traveled like lightning through her body, soothing her frazzled nerves.

Any exhaustion from the stress of trekking across the wasteland she might have been feeling evaporated. The only problem with all this added energy was she had no outlet to use it up. The only thing at hand was her dirty bandanna. Quickly, she ripped the flimsy fabric into a handful of thin strips. Nora stirred at the noise but turned over after Hancock put a hand on her shoulder. Dust ignored his scowl, focusing on weaving the red strips into thick braid she could fit around her head. After a few attempts, she had something that would keep the sweat and hair out of her face. It took long enough to burn of the remainder of her Jet-fuel energy binge. Soon, she scooted herself into a corner, propping herself up in a sitting position to doze the rest of the night.

Early the next morning, after a quick breakfast, the group headed out again. It was just before lunch when they reached the new settlement. It wasn’t much more than a half-collapsed building with a patch of dirt on the side. Two thin figures poked their heads out from behind a crumbling corner, gun barrels trained on them, but they waved a hearty welcome once they saw the vault dweller in the distance. She waved back. Soon Dust’s bag was off her shoulders, the contents spread across the dusty floorboards.

Dust parked herself in the corner on a stool, studying the scene playing out in front of her. The pair of settlers eyed her suspiciously, but begrudgingly ignored her as Nora pulled out random bits of armor and weapons for them to try. Soon, the two were outfitted with a ragtag collection of gear marginally better than the rags they wore underneath it all. After that, Nora got to work explaining what she needed to make them this tower beacon thing. Soon, everything was collected and piled together on the sidewalk, ready for assembly. Before work could begin, they sat down to eat.

“Here you go.” One of the settlers held out a bit of scrambled Cram and eggs. When Dust didn’t move, she put it down on the broken windowsill next to her with a shrug. It smelled good, but Dust did not touch it. She felt strange. Out of place. An imposter.

“Don’t be rude, now.” Hancock nudged her.

Dust sheepishly gulped down the food as fast as she could. The settler who had handed her the bowl came back to collect it.

“Guess it wasn’t too bad, eh?”

Dust shrugged.

“Not much of a talker? That’s alright.” She flashed a small smile at the silent Dust before shuffling away.

Dust felt like every eye was burning on her, even though she could clearly see that their attention had turned to construction of the tower. She skulked away to the other side of the building, away from the imaginary stares. She scanned around the perimeter of the ‘settlement’. There was a giant blind corner and holes in the perimeter everywhere she looked. This place was an easy mark, just ripe for an attack from nearly any direction. She’d burned plenty of settlements just like this to ground for less than the lunch she had just been given. Hearing gravel grind into the pavement, she turned around to see Hancock stepping around the corner.

“You okay back here?” Dust shrugged again. “You thinking about taking off?” he asked.

Dust shook her head. “I’m just no good at building shit. That’s all.” That part of was true, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. Before the ghoul could say anything else, she pointed to the blind corner across from them. “This corner is a death trap, if no one is watching it.”

“And you should know…” Even though it wasn’t an accusation, his words stung. “I’ll see if we can rig up a trap or something. Nora’s a damn genius when it comes to that kind of thing.” He looked at her, like he was trying to read something on her face.

“They would want me over there… if they knew me.”

“They know you helped us make their life easier. Hell, you’re even going to make their home safer for them.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one.

She took it and mulled over his words. They stood and smoked in silence. Eventually, Hancock dropped his spent cigarette, grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

“We need to haul that scrap over to Hangman’s Alley. Think you can make the trip?” he asked.

Dust had no idea where the fuck that was.

“Sure,” she replied.

#silver linings #ao3 #fallout #fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #hancock

[thevaultturtle]

Fallout Greatest Fears

Fallout 4 Human and Synth Companions + Maxson

Just a little something that I got inspiration for a few weeks ago. As the title says, it’s about each character’s greatest fear, and I tried to tie most of them into each character’s lore, so if the character has some pretty sad or dark lore, then their fear will probably be sad and dark, too. 

Warnings: Some of these might be a bit sad and dark, as described above.

Cait

Cait is terrified of becoming her parents. Even while they rot in the graves that she put them in herself, Cait's parents still manage to haunt her every day; the memories of abuse and betrayal that they left her with aren't easily forgotten, no matter how hard she tries, and no matter how many chems she takes to try to purge them from her mind. Those memories have also left her with a deep-seated fear of being left behind, betrayed all over again while those who took advantage of her move forward without her. She has a lot of trust issues because of these fears, and the thought of being anything like her parents, of doing to someone else what they did to her, makes Cait more nauseous than any hangover or withdrawals ever could.

Curie

Being useless. Curie put everything on the line, down to her very life, just so she could be more useful to others. Becoming a synth, gaining the capacity for inspiration and a greater ability to learn- all of it was in the hope that she would be of greater use to mankind, and the thought of all of that being in vain never fails to throw her into a panic, and a feeling of aimless hopelessness never fails to wash hover her whenever she goes for any extended period of time without making a new discover that will be beneficial to others or at least making some progress towards one.

Danse

Danse is haunted by the fear of losing himself, which makes the truth of what he really is all the more heartbreaking. Maybe at some subconscious level, he always knew what he really was, because this fear has been with him since his earliest memories. Maybe those memories are what birthed this great fear of his in the first place, those fake memories of a fictitious life that he never really lived; he already lost himself once for one reason or another, whether he can remember it happening or not, and maybe this fear was just his mind’s way of trying to tell him not to let it happen again. Whatever the case may be, the more conviction that he felt towards the Brotherhood's ideals and the more he felt like he belonged with them, the stronger his fear grew, and now that it came to fruition all over again…he's not sure that he can handle it happening again.

Deacon

It's almost hard to even think of what Deacon's greatest fear might be, given that we hardly know anything about Deacon.  He may have told us the truth about his past, but given that he is a known pathological liar, that could have all been a lie as well, but in those lies, you can find the fear that Deacon tries to hide so desperately: the fear of himself. Whether he really was a bigot towards synths, whether his past really did lead to the murder of his wife, or if none of that was true at all, for some reason, Deacon fears himself, what he has done, what he will do, what he wants to do. Even if he has never revealed the whole truth of his past or of who he really is, he obviously did something egregious enough to instill this fear in himself, and he will go to his grave ensuring that no one else sees the entirety of that truth.

Hancock

Hancock is terrified of repeating the past, namely as it relates to what happened to the ghouls in Diamond City. It's a past that he simultaneously tries his damnedest to forget every day yet also refuses to let himself forget. He's haunted by the guilt of this past, but he also tries to use that guilt as motivation to do better. It's a guilt that he's reminded of every time that he looks into a mirror, and he refuses to let that guilt grow any stronger. Because of this past, he will never stand by idly while good, innocent people suffer, and he will do everything in his power to ensure that bad things only happen to those who deserve it.

MacCready

There are two fears that occupy MacCready’s mind, and those are failing his son and becoming a monster, and the two are intertwined in a way. Duncan means everything to Mac; that's his baby, his progeny, and he's one of the last few pieces of Lucy that Mac still has. Mac wants to be a good father more than anything, to do right by his son, and he would die for Duncan in a heartbeat if the need arose, and no matter how hard things get, he lives and keeps going to ensure that his son stays safe. He can't stand the thought of failing his son, and that thought would be an imminent reality if he became a monster, which he was on the verge of doing while he was with the Gunners. The caps were great, and they all went towards saving Duncan, but the actions that he took to get those caps and what he saw the Gunners doing were things that he knew his son would be ashamed of him for.

Nick Valentine

Pre-Far Harbor, Nick feared the possibility of not doing the right thing. The Wasteland is an awful, merciless place, and with memories of what the world used to be like, Nick is even more aware of and impacted by this than most. Even in such a desolate world, though, Nick still hasn't lost hope, and he believes that doing the right thing, that giving people a helping hand when they need it the most, is the only way to make the world better for everyone. After Far Harbor, though, he's more afraid of forgetting himself, and in good reason, too. Not only is it highly probable to happen, but if he can't even remember who he is and why he's doing what he's doing, how can he even remember what the right thing is?

Old Longfellow

Stagnation. Even in his old age, Old Longfellow isn't one to sit around while the world passes him by. Stagnation means death to Old Longfellow, and like most people, he tends to try to avoid that. A life of stagnation means a life with nothing to do, nothing to work for, and that is a meaningless life in his opinion, one that’s hardly even worth calling a life at all. Old Longfellow, even in such a harsh world and even though he may seem so bitter, is still fascinated by life, especially with all of the adventures and twists and turns that it entails, and stagnation would mean that he's lost all of that. It's not necessarily death that he's afraid of since he knows that’s unavoidable, but it's the thought of not having truly lived in the first place that terrifies him.

Piper

Piper fears the unknown, of not knowing when being out of the loop means certain death in this unforgiving world. She will seek out the truth no matter what the cost, although that tenacity has led to a few more fears for her. People turned their backs on her when she became Diamond City’s 'nosy reporter'; everybody has something to hide, and they don't exactly like the thought of her airing out their dirty laundry for everyone to see. She's constantly looking behind her, afraid that someone will betray her in her quest for the truth, and that she'll leave Nat behind in a world full of lies.

Porter Gage

Losing. Gage doesn't like the thought of losing in general, but the lost that terrifies him the most is the possibility of losing to the world and to the life that it put him in. He was born into a pretty rough situation, as most people are in the Wasteland, but unlike many others, Gage refuses to be a victim of those circumstances, and he's going to live his life to the fullest even if it kills him. He wants to conquer the world that wants nothing more than to bring him to his knees, to survive and thrive so he can laugh at the 'fate’ that the world tried to fuck him over with. The thought of failing in that goal terrifies him, and he will avoid that fear at all costs, no matter who else might suffer in the process.

Preston

Preston fears failure. Preston has dedicated his life to the Minutemen, to helping the people of the Commonwealth and trying to rebuild the world. Because of this dedication, failure to him means the failure of the Minutemen, and the failure of the Minutemen would mean the death of the Commonwealth in his mind. This fear has already come to fruition once with the Quincy Massacre, and that nearly broke him. If his saving grace hadn’t wandered out of the Vault shortly after that horrific event, he wouldn't have survived much longer, and he can’t even begin to imagine what a repeat of something like that would do to him.

X6-88

X6-88 also fears failure, although the specifics of his fear are a bit different from everyone else's. X6 specifically fears failing his mission, whatever that may be at the time, because as agent of the Institute, even as a highly trained Courser, failing his mission would mean death, whether that death happens because of the mission itself or because the Institute chose to discard him because his failure made him obsolete. As cold and calculated as he is, X6 still fears death and he truly despises that about himself because there's nothing efficient about fear and he feels like it makes him weak just like the pathetic Wastelanders that he despises so much.

Maxson

Maxson's greatest fear is losing control, whether that be of the Brotherhood or of his own life, but more so the first option, mainly because he feels like he never really had control over the second one. From the day he was born, he never really had control over his own destiny; the Brotherhood always believed that he was destined for greatness because of his lineage, so greatness is what he was pushed towards whether he wanted it or not. Failure was not an option, no matter how much he craved it so he could pursue some sort of normalcy instead of what had been laid before him. Failure was not an option so when he eventually achieved the greatness that he had supposedly been destined for, he feared losing control again, this time over the Brotherhood that was put under his command. Even with that lack of control over his early life, Arthur still loves the Brotherhood, and he fears that losing control again will mean the death of everything that he loves.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #fallout 4 companions #fo4 companions #cait #curie #paladin danse #deacon #hancock #robert joseph maccready #nick valentine #old longfellow #piper wright #porter gage #preston garvey #x6-88 #arthur maxson #elder maxson #fallout 4 headcanons #fallout headcanons #greatest fears #headcanons #sfw

[potatocrab]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (18/18)

Chapter 18/Epilogue: We Could Go Places

Madelyn finally earns her happy ending.

“With my brains and your looks, we could go places.” - Frank Chambers as played by John Garfield (The Postman Always Rings Twice, 1946)

That’s all she wrote! Thank you to anyone to joined me on this wonderful journey! 😭

[read on Ao3] | [series masterpost]

June 22nd, 1958

“You’re late.”

Madelyn laughed at the sound of Nick’s voice, calling out to her the moment she arrived at the agency that morning, the bell above the front door indicating her presence. Her amusement persisted as she walked through the lobby, observing the care packages that filled the space. Even Ellie’s desk was covered with boxes and flower bouquets—more than what had been present the previous evening, or the day before that. There were more gifts scattered throughout the room, all sent in congratulations after news of Valentine Detective Agency’s success spread across Boston. Taking down Eddie Winter was one thing but solving a decade-old missing persons case and exposing a government conspiracy was another. Nobody expected the ragtag detective and his lawyer broad to take expose the Institute—not that anybody knew the university were hiding such abhorrent secrets in the first place.

She leaned against the doorway of Nick’s office, surprised by the lack of clutter that typically covered his desk. The stacks of case files and reports had been boxed away, leaving the room the cleanest she’d seen in years. Well, except for the small sprinkling of cigarette ash on the oak wood that he’d failed to hide—hell would freeze over before Nick Valentine gave up that habit. All that remained on his desk, aside from the usual decorations, was a single newspaper and a bottle of Irish whiskey, two perfectly poured glasses on standby. A Sunday tradition. 

Madelyn grinned. “I think I’m right on time.”

“I wonder if Grace Kelly received this many flowers when she won best actress,” she joked, walking over to take her usual seat in the armchair to the left.

Nick chuckled, rounding the desk to join her with the two glasses in hand, the bottle and newspaper tucked under his arm. “I’ll let you know when I start feeling like a Princess.”

“You should see Piper’s office,” he added, passing her one whiskey-filled glass and the weekend edition of Publick Occurrences before sitting down. “Gal’s been flooded with offers from all over the state, including the Bugle, to run their editorial departments.”

“She’ll never take them,” Madelyn contended. “She has enough resources and connections to finally fund a full staff. Maybe finally move into a bigger office and give us the space back so we can do the same.”

Even though Nick smiled at the idea, he reeled in his excitement. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Madelyn feigned innocence, shrugging as she hid her grin behind a generous gulp of whiskey.

He glanced at her curiously, smiling against the rim of his cup as he also took a drink. He expertly diverted the conversation. “So, where were you this morning?”

She considered lying just for the fun of it, but decided the truth was just as shocking. “Church.”

“Madelyn Hardy, once again attending Sunday mass,” Nick replied, shaking his head in humorous disbelief. “I thought I’d never see the day.”

Neither did she. Madelyn was sure she had lost her faith the day her husband died, buried it along with Nate to be forgotten. His death, and her survival was more than guilt—it was sin. And then, one New Year’s Eve party later, everything changed. She’d been tested over the last several months, and despite the grief and the loss, she was also at peace. Nate was at peace. Somewhere along the way, she’d found salvation.

“You could say I’m a changed woman.”

Nick considered her words in comfortable silence, the two slowly drinking their whiskey while exchanging soft, lingering smiles. It was reminiscent of the ‘good-ol-days’, but calmer. He said what she was already thinking. “I’ve changed too. We all have.”

Madelyn contemplated asking if he had any regrets, or if everything they had done was for the best when he silently gestured towards the newspaper draped across her lap. She glanced down, smirking at Piper’s headline. Reunited!

“She’s finally learned to reel it in,” she jested, looking over the picture of Shaun Pearlman—now eleven years old—standing with his parents, Nathan and Nora.

“After such headlines as The Boogeyman Banished, and The Synthetic Truth,” Nick’s laughter was at the expense of their dearest reporter friend. “The article speaks for itself. It’ll take some adjusting, but the kid will be alright.”

Madelyn studied the family portrait again, focusing on their smiling, overjoyed faces. “It isn’t everyday that somebody gets a happy ending.”

“They’ve earned it,” Nick remarked, just the slightest hint of sorrow passing through his light green eyes. Jenny—the heartache would never go away. He remained silent, but his smirk slowly returned, encouraging her to continue reading through the newspaper.

Inside, there was a picture of Hancock—John McDonough—formally announcing his plans to run for mayor in the 1959 election. He had already been working with the interim mayor after his brother’s death, ensuring that any lingering Institute corruption was snuffed out. His platform hadn’t changed much—of the people, for the people—and judging by the large outpouring of support, a lot of Bostonians dug what he was offering.

“Are you going to vote for him?” Madelyn teased, chuckling when Nick grumbled a sigh and rolled his eyes without an answer.

There was another article about Preston Garvey and his Minutemen, reclaiming their post in Quincy now that the Gunners had been successfully chased out of town. MacCready had found a place in their ranks, grinning like the sun was shining out of his ass in the group picture that accompanied the article. It was a good fit for the former mercenary, even if Preston was a little weary about accepting him at first. The network of neighborhood watchmen were supported by the newly reformed Boston Police, Sergeant Danny Sullivan himself promising to oversee their continued partnership.

Correction—Deputy Chief Danny Sullivan—earning quite the promotion after the fall of the Institute exposed and removed more corrupted individuals from power. He was running his own campaign, recruiting the best and brightest minds to fill the ranks throughout Boston’s precincts with the promise that integrity and stability were there to stay.

“Still have a long way to go,” Nick commented, his distrust of the system would linger too. “But it’s a start.”

Madelyn nodded in agreement, flicking her eyes to another one of Piper’s headlines—Mr. Danse Goes to Washington.

“He’s not going to be happy when he finds out about this,” she laughed.

“The Lieutenant will get over being compared to Jimmy Stewart,” Nick replied. “The man’s a war hero, isn’t he?”

Her laughter continued as she read over the article, trying not to imagine Lieutenant Danse in a comedic movie from the past, and instead as the dignified officer he was. The headline was tongue in cheek but accurate—he’d gone to Washington, D.C. to testify on capitol hill about what occurred at Fort Hagen between the Institute and the United States military. He’d also promised Nick and Madelyn that he’d watch over the federal investigation closely, ensuring another cover-up didn’t take place.

“Here,” Nick spoke, standing to snag a second, unseen Publick Occurrences from his desk. “Special edition. Hot off the presses, as Piper would say.”

Madelyn exchanged copies with him, setting down her glass so she could examine the front headline closely. Valentine and Hardy—The Unstoppables.

“So are you the Silver Shroud or The Inspector?” she giggled, covering her mouth.

“Ha, ha, Mistress of Mystery,” he retorted sarcastically, sitting back down across from her.

There was a picture of them standing in front of the office building, the neon light of the agency sign burning brilliantly behind them. The longer she stared at it, the larger her smile became, warmth radiating through her body. She’d never felt more proud or honored to be a part of something important. She felt at home.  

“This is going to give you more exposure than you’ve ever had,” she remarked, tapping the paper with her fingers. “There’s going to be people lining out the door asking for your help!”

“Our help,” Nick corrected with a small smile, leaning forward in his chair. “That is, if you’re still up to the task of being my partner.”

“Of course Nick,” Madelyn answered immediately, unable to stop from grinning. “You’d be hard pressed to find a woman as willing as I am to put up with your brand of bullshit.”

He laughed, louder and heartier than she’d heard him sound in a long time. “Has anyone ever told you how charming you are?”

Madelyn tilted her head to the side. “Funny you should mention that.”

The laughter settled into quiet mirth as Nick looked into his empty glass with a sigh. “I need a vacation first.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he echoed. “Starting with a proper meal. Care to join me?”

Any other time and Madelyn would’ve said yes. She frowned as she shook her head. “I have a date.”

“That’s nothing to pout about,” Nick smirked. The detective—her partner—regarded her with a warm smile. “I can forgive you this one time.”

The warmth had settled in her heart, and she wondered if she was glowing as she smiled at him, the happiest she’d felt in years. Nick reached over to gently clasp her hand, squeezing her fingers as he spoke. “It’s a good look, Madelyn.”

She stood up, leaning over the small distance to place a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Nick.”

“Sure, sure,” he watched her as she left, lingering only for a moment in the doorway. “See you later, doll.”  

Madelyn sat in the vinyl blue booth of the Slocum’s Joe, gazing out the window and watching as people passed by on the sidewalk. Cambridge wasn’t nearly as busy since the Institute’s downfall, but hundreds of people still called considered the Boston neighborhood their home—including her. She’d made occasional trips to her apartment in the last few weeks but had only recently started living in D7 again now that she was sure it was safe. Codsworth and Dogmeat were more than pleased to have her home, the Mister Handy unit suffering a bout of anxiety after being separated from his mistress—even if it shouldn’t have been possible with his programing. Even now, the robot had difficulty letting her out of his sight, and she laughed when she noticed Codsworth across the street, hovering about as he walked Dogmeat, a leash tied to one of his metal arms.

“What’s so funny?”

She glanced up to find Deacon setting down two cups of coffee before sliding into the booth across from her. Two sugars and a little bit of cream for her, straight black for him. He wasn’t in his usual suit, swapped out for something far more casual and befitting for summer, black wig left forgotten on her bedside table. Of course, he’d never leave without securing his sunglasses—his eyes were only for her to see.

Madelyn titled her head, gesturing out the window as she took a slow sip. “It seems I’m always destined to have somebody stalking me.”

“I take offense to that,” he held a hand over his chest, feigning attack from her teasing words. “To imply that I stalked you.”

Madelyn struggled to contain her giggling behind her cup. “Hmm, and what would you call it?”

“Careful observation from afar,” he said, brows furrowing for a moment as he inspected the contents of his coffee before taking a careful taste—always with the suspicion. You can’t trust everyone, even the barista at their regular coffeehouse, it seemed.  

“What would you call it now?”

Deacon smirked at her flirtatious question. “An up-close and personal liaison.”

Madelyn smiled, her heart racing in excitement as it usually did when they danced around this subject. There still hadn’t been much of a discussion—or a confession—since their infiltration of the Institute. No clear conversation about what their relationship meant. It didn’t stop them from acting like lovers, a constant stop-and-go ever since the evening she got shot, pausing when they needed to focus on the case instead of romance. Now that there were no more distractions, what she desperately yearned for was full steam ahead. She darted her eyes back out the window, forcing her mind to stop before she spiraled into anxiety and doubt. She was happy—right?

Deacon’s hand reached over the table to cover hers. “Do you want to go to D.C.?”

She glanced back to his face, momentarily surprised by his question. Any joke she thought about making—that everybody was going south—fell away. “With you?”

His expression faltered. “No, with Drummer Boy,” he said sarcastically.  

“I dunno,” she nervously laughed, humor the only defense mechanism she could rely on. “Robby makes for a pretty good date when you aren’t—”

“Charmer,” he groaned, fingers tightening around hers, even though a smile dared to pull at his lips.

“Is this one of your business trips?” she persisted. “Or would this be for pleasure?”

“Why can’t it be both?” he responded, and it sounded witty enough, except all traces of humor had disappeared. “Can’t you tell when a guy is trying to be serious?”

Madelyn swallowed, and released a shaky breath. “What is it?”

Deacon didn’t say anything, and she was afraid she’d scared him off with her teasing. Minutes passed before he finally reached up and removed the darkened shades from his face, placing them on the table next to their forgotten coffee cups. Blue eyes locked on blue, but still, he remained silent.

“What do you want?” she prompted, slowly turning her hand over to lace their fingers. “Deacon?”

She’d seen that emotion in his eyes before—just last week—when he tried to tell her something important, and she denied him the opportunity. This time, she wasn’t afraid.

“I want…”

“Je t’aime,” she answered, filling the silence when he trailed off. His eyes widened, the shock quickly subsiding as a bright smile pulled at his lips. Madelyn knew it was a simple saying, but still translated. “I love you.”

“I—”

Not everyday that Deacon was at a loss for words. He suddenly moved, slipping out from his side of the booth and swiftly sliding in to join her. Madelyn turned to meet him, laughing as the butterflies swarmed her stomach like she was experiencing this—love—again, all for the first time. He leaned in close so only she could hear.

“Je t’aime,” he repeated with an ever-growing smile. “I love you too.”

There was nothing left to say, so he kissed her instead. Madelyn smiled against his lips, sighing when his arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace. Deacon was still grinning when they parted, eyes shining with an emotion she wanted to keep there forever. He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his shoulder, switching her gaze back outside.

The sun was shining, and she was happy.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #deacon #madelyn hardy #nick valentine #oh god it's over ;_____; #I'm going to go cry now #masterpost to follow

[gold-and-rubies]

In It For The Long Haul - Chapter 2

I’m going to be posting these twice a day until I catch up. This is in MacCready’s POV. Warnings for violence and language.

MacCready sighed inwardly. Winlock and Barnes had tracked him down in an attempt to harass him out of the Commonwealth… again. He would not give in to them; he had too much on the line. He was just getting really tired of this.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready,” Winlock said far too smugly for MacCready’s liking. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a girl slip into the room behind them. Great, he thought, I’m gonna lose another fucking job to these assholes.

“I was wonderin’ how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock. It’s been almost three months… don’t tell me you're getting rusty,” MacCready said nonchalantly, “Should we take this outside?”

“It ain’t like that I’m just here to deliver a message,” Winlock said. MacCready narrowed his eyes at that.

“In case you forgot I left the Gunners for good.”

“Yeah, I heard, but you’re still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn’t going to work for us.”

MacCready was quickly losing his patience. They were getting on his last nerves, so he tried to get on theirs, “In case you forgot, I don’t take orders from you… not anymore. So why don’t you take your girlfriend, and walk out of here while you still can.”

That managed to rile Barnes up, who had otherwise been silent the whole time. “What?! Winlock, tell me we don’t have to listen to this shit,” he said angrily.

Winlock’s attitude changed from smug to pissed. “Listen up, MacCready,” he said threateningly, “the only reason we haven’t filled your body full of bullets is that we don’t want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect other people’s boundaries… we know how to play the game. It’s something you never learned.”

“Glad to have disappointed you,” MacCready said sarcastically.

Winlock scoffed, “You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you’re still operating in Gunner territory all bets are off.”

“You finished?”

“Yeah… we’re finished. Come on, Barnes.”

As they left the room the girl, who MacCready had almost forgotten about, watched them warily. MacCready eyed her. Although she was not wearing the trademark jumpsuit, everything about her screamed vault dweller. From the nervous look on her face to the pip-boy strapped to her arm. From what he could see she lacked any real scars, and the damage she had was recent. She was also paler than almost anyone he had ever seen showing a lack of sun exposure. Her chin length red hair was neater than the average wastelander. Although her short height did not help her look older, she had to be somewhere around his own age, making her lack of scars all the more telling. He wondered what could drive her from her vault to look for help in a bar. The only one he heard of in the Commonwealth that still had people in it was 81. The vault that apparently had no experiment.

“Look lady,” he said, bringing her attention to him, “if you’re preachin’ about the Atom, or lookin’ for a friend, you’ve got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun… then maybe we can talk.”

“It’s a good thing I do then… but who were they?”

Her voice caught him off guard. It was far lower and slightly raspier than he had been expecting, and even more shocking to him, it practically oozed confidence.

“Just some moron Gunners. Idiots couldn’t hit a squirrel with a rocket launcher. Nothin’ you need to worry about. What about you? How do I know takin’ your offer won’t come back to bite me?”

She did not answer his question. Instead she asked, “Do you take long term jobs?”

The longer she stood there the more intrigued he became. What the hell is she planning? He replied, “Depends. How long the job is, compensation, and what the job is all matter.” He tried to not be too picky about jobs, but some were not worth it. Especially the longer ones.

She nodded, “I… I lead a rather dangerous life. I need someone who can watch my back, and is willing to go take down raiders, Gunners, and anything else I’m sent to take care of. I’m also… I guess you could say new to the area, so I don’t really know my way around.”

Although it was nice to know what he was going to have to do, her description of the job just raised more questions. Was she also a mercenary? Who was sending her to do this stuff? Who was she?

She continued, “As for compensation… I’ll pay for all your ammo, food, water, alcohol when clean water isn’t available, and medical supplies. Any loot we find and payment we receive will be split equally. Along with any initial payment you request.”

The more she talked the more confused he became. So far it was a hell of an offer, but he wanted to know why she wanted his help so badly. The way she spoke also confused him. The way she worded things made her sound like some pre-war holotapes he had found once.

“As for time… I don’t know how long the job will last, just that it will be a long time. You can leave whenever you want though,” she finished.

This was probably the best offer he had ever gotten. He normally did not try to care about the boss’s personal life or who they were, as long as they were not a raider boss. He had some standards. This girl though was just so damn enigmatic, too much for his liking.

“That’s a heck of an offer, but I’ve gotta make sure it’s not too good to be true, so I’ve gotta ask. Who are you exactly?”

Her back straightened, shoulders went back, and she held her a head a little higher. A pose of confidence. “Claudia Flynn. General of the Minutemen… and survivor of Vault 111.”

He had assumed she was a vault dweller from the get go, so that did not surprise him. He did not recognize the number, though, which concerned him a little if he was being honest. Dwellers could be down right insane at times. He decided not to ask about it. Instead he focused on the fact that she claimed to be the general of the Minutemen.

“Minutemen? I thought you guys were destroyed in Quincy.”

“We’re rebuilding,” she said simply.

“But what’s the general doin’ hiring a merc?”

“There aren’t very many of us right now, and I want to help as much as possible, but I’m sure you know it isn’t exactly safe to travel alone. I will also have to… deal with more… personal matters. I don’t want to use Minutemen resources where they aren’t needed. Especially now,” she explained.

That was the first time she had said something that actually answered more questions than created them, although the "personal matters" were cause for some. He mulled over all the information or a moment. He'd taken far, far worse jobs. He’d be crazy to not act on the offer, even if it meant being more altruistic than he was used to. If she wanted to spend all her caps on him, who was he to say no? Besides if she really was the general of the Minutemen it would be a great way to get back at the Gunners for harassing him so damn much. And maybe, just maybe he could get her to…. He cleared the thought from his head before it gave him too much hope.

“Alright, hotshot. Sounds like a good deal, so if you pay the hiring price, you’ve got a new gun on your side.”

“How much?”

“Two-hundred fifty caps. No room for bargainin’.”

“Fair enough,” she said before setting her pack down on one of the ratty couches. She produced three leather pouches, two larger and one smaller. As she handed them over she said, “One hundred each in the bigger ones. Fifty in the smaller one.”

He held the bags in his hands for a moment, and looked at her before saying, “You just bought yourself an extra gun. Where to first boss?”

She started fiddling with her pip-boy before she said anything. He had always wondered just how useful those things were. She held out her arm when she was done, so he could see the map depicted on the small screen.

“We need to get to here,” she said, indicating the marker on the coast, “Can you get us there?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Alright,” she said. A look of determination and confidence took over her face. “Is there a hotel or something here? We should rest before we head out.”

He was taken aback by her liberal uses of "we" and "us." Usually there was a strict dichotomy of "you" and "me." Maybe it was just the Minuteman in her.

“There’s the Hotel Rexford. Not great, but it beats sleeping on the street by a long shot.”

“Then we’ll stay there for the night, and head out in the morning.”

“Whatever you say boss,” he said. He tried to hide his excitement, but it had been a while since he had slept somewhere other than the back room of the Third Rail for a while. He was eager to see his new boss act on her promise of free boarding.

***

The next morning he met his boss in the lobby of the hotel. She had paid for two separate rooms, allowing him to have more privacy than he had had in a while. He used it to sleep as peacefully as one could in Goodneighbor.

He walked up to her as she messed with her pip-boy. Now that he could see her in proper lighting, instead of the neon red at the bar, it was even more apparent she was not some random wastelander. Her face, neck and hands had minimal grime on them. She had a few blemishes here and there, but they were hardly noticeable. She lacked the gauntness and weariness that everyone seemed to have. She was so focused on what she was doing that she did not seem to notice him until he said something.

“Boss,” he greeted.

“Hm? Oh MacCready!” she said, finally looking up from her arm.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about me,” he joked. Well, he hoped it came across a joke. When it came down to it he did not care whether his bosses liked him or not, but it certainly did not hurt if they did.

Luckily for him, she smiled. He tried not to stare, but he could not help it. They were not perfect by any means, but she had the straightest, whitest teeth he had ever seen.

He knew that vaults could be some of the most terrifying places in the world. Having grown up just outside of Vault 87 solidified that knowledge. But he wondered what could have driven her away from her own. She looked healthier than anyone he had seen, so there must have been some sort of luxury there.

Her voice shook him from his thoughts, “Ready to go?”

“Whenever you are, boss.”

As they made their way through Goodneighbor she asked, “Do you want to stock up on anything before we leave?”

He did not hesitate to take her up on her offer. "Could always use more ammo."

"Anything else?" she asked, friendlier than he was used to and that he liked.

Must be the first time she's ever hired a merc, he thought to himself. Her friendliness was better than the way he has been treated by other people, but he had found that when people you did not know well were this nice to you they were up to no good. Then again who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Nothing else that I can get here," he said.

"What kind of ammo do you use?"

".308."

He watched her as she walked up to trade with KL-E-0. The boss had a funny look on her face when she introduced herself. When she was done with the trade she handed him one of the boxes of ammo. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"How many caps do you have?" he half whispered. Bullets were not cheap.

"Doesn't matter. Besides I didn't just pay with caps. Threw some .38s in there too."

He decided not to press the matter further. If she was loaded and knew how to barter, he was not going to complain.

When they finally left Goodneighbor he took point, remembering part of his job was guiding her through the ruins. It felt odd taking point, since he was a sniper. He was used to hanging back, not leading the charge.

It was not long before they encountered a small pack of mongrels. Normally he would just try to skirt around them, not wanting to waste his ammunition on them, but that was not the case this time. His strong suit was long range, but he was still decent in close quarters. The boss on the other hand seemed to have no issue fighting so close. She took them down quickly and easily, despite the frown she wore as she did so. MacCready was not an easy person to impress, but she got pretty damn close.

He led them to the docks. He hated the ocean, but it was safer to travel along the water than to try to navigate the city.

They were quiet as they walked. Realization struck him. He had no idea what they were up to.

“So, why exactly are we heading to South Boston?” he asked. It was common knowledge that there was nothing but trouble there. It did not help that the only settlement that was there had been rumored to be wiped out by institute synths. When it came to threats, he took them very seriously, no matter how far fetched it seemed. He had learned that the hard way.

“I… I didn’t tell you, did I?” She sighed in frustration, seemingly towards herself, “We’re heading to what… my second in command called The Castle. Apparently it used to be the old headquarters. We’re going to take it back.”

He simply nodded. He noticed how her voice kept trailing off, like she was unsure or lost in thought. He tried to not put too much thought into it. It was best to not to get too invested in who the boss was. No matter how interesting a person they seemed to be. All he needed was the basic information to make sure he was not risking too much.

When they got to the end of the dock she stopped, and stared into the distance. She checked her pip-boy, then turned to MacCready, and asked, “Can I borrow your binoculars?”

“Sure, boss,” he said, handing them over.

When she was done she handed them back and pointed towards a squat, grey building, barely visible in the mist. She said, “You see that, in the distance?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding the binoculars up to his own eyes.

“Pretty sure that’s where we need to go,” she said.

They weaved their way through the buildings. Here following the water line would take too much time, and he had heard rumors of ferals infesting the factories in the area. They managed to avoid the raider camps. Their spotlights acted more like beacons, signaling to stay away.

He stopped in his tracks when a horrendous smell hit his nose. It was the smell of decaying flesh that had been sitting in the sun. He signaled to the boss to stop. She gave him a quizzical look as he brought up his rifle. He looked through the scope, and found the source of the smell. Super mutants, and their disgusting bags of meat.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a low voice.

“Super mutants.”

“What’s a super mutant?”

He turned to look at her like she had just insisted the sky was neon pink. “What the fu- what do you mean, ‘what’s a super mutant?’” he asked. He knew vault dwellers were sheltered, literally, but surely they knew a super mutant was.

“I mean that I don’t know what it is,” she explained.

“How do you not know what they are?”

"No one's told me," she shrugged.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Her friendliness had been one thing, not knowing basic knowledge was another. He began to wonder just how naive she was. He reminded himself of all the benefits of the job before he said anything else.

“They’re big, green, dumb, and ugly. And very dangerous,” he explained he sounded harsher than he had intended, but he did not care at the moment.

“That’s what they’re called?” she gasped.

Ok, so she isn’t totally fucking clueless, he thought. MacCready could be surprisingly patient, he was a sniper after all. The majority of his time spent sniping was waiting. But he had very little patience when it came to a lack of basic knowledge. For adults anyhow. He could understand a five-year-old not knowing everything about the wastes, children required patience, but an adult? Even if she was a vault dweller he felt like she should know the very basics. Fuck, am I in for a long ride, he thought.

He looked around them for a route that would not bring them too close to the mutants. He spotted a path that strayed away from them, but would wind up bringing them awfully close to a raider camp. He would rather deal with raiders than mutants any day.

“Follow me,” he whispered, “we’re gonna have to deal with some raiders, but it’ll be an easier fight.”

“Don’t need to convince me,” she said.

Together they quietly made their way closer and closer to the raider camp. It was still early in the day, but the raiders were already drunk and high off their asses. Better for them.

Just as he had suspected they noticed them, but before they could do anything the boss reacted like lightning.

“Cover me!” she ordered over her shoulder. She shot down one raider before she slammed the butt of her gun into the next one’s face. She ducked and dodged the one with a switchblade. The two of them took down the camp in no time. The fight against the mongrels had been one thing, the way she handled the raiders was something else.

He watched her as she patted down their bodies looking for loot. She handed him exactly half of the caps, stimpaks, and radiation medications she found.

“You weren’t fu-kidding about splitting everything equally,” he laughed.

“I mean what I say,” she shrugged, “let’s get going if there’s nothing you want.”

“Let’s get goin’ then, boss,” he said, leading the way.

When they got to the road that led right up to The Castle a man standing outside an old diner on the side called to the boss.

“General Flynn! Over here!” he called.

“Hey, Garvey!” she called back as she walked toward the diner.

Inside they were greeted by three more people. The man who had greeted the boss, Garvey, said, “Everyone’s here, General.”

He fought himself to keep his mouth shut. They were only going to attack this place with six people? Were they joking?

”This is Scott McNiall, Serena Martinelli, and Leon Whittle,” Garvey said introducing them, “Everyone this is General Claudia Flynn, and…”

“This is MacCready, he’s a mercenary I hired along the way. I don’t want to spread resources too thin,” she said.

“I see,” he responded, clearly not particularly happy about the decision, but he did not say anything more about it. Instead he turned around towards the stone building.

“Impressive isn’t it? It’s real name is Fort Independence, but the Minutemen always just called it the Castle. Now you can see why I wanted to take it back.”

“Definitely. For a six hundred year old, Revolutionary era fort, it’s in pretty good shape.”

How does she know what this place is? MacCready thought. He tuned back into the conversation just in time for him to hear the boss decide on a plan.

“Let’s split up and flank them.”

“Alright then. Let’s go. Try not to draw their attention until we’re in position.”

As they took their positions the boss turned to him. She asked, “So, what do you think?”

MacCready raised an eyebrow at her. A boss had never asked what his thoughts were on the job. He usually had to interject if he wanted them to know what he thought. The most anyone ever really asked was if he could do the job.

“Why do you care?”

“Uhh… because you’re a person? A person I’m asking to fight with me?” she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You aren’t asking me to fight, you’re paying me to fight,” he corrected.

“Still a person. And given that we’re going to be traveling together, I need to make sure you’re doing alright. Can’t do your job if you aren’t focused.”

He sighed, “Fine. Even though this place could use some work, it’s a pretty good lookin’ stronghold. Better in the hands of the Minutemen, than raiders or Gunners. Anything else you wanted?”

He winced internally. He had not meant to sound that harsh.

She rolled her eyes, and shook her head with an incredulous smile. He was surprised that she took it so well.

They settled into their positions. MacCready, the boss, and Garvey took the main gate, while the other three waited for a signal. Once the fighting began, it did not take very long. Mirelurks had tough shells, but with good enough aim and some distance they were ridiculously easy to take care of. When all that was left in the courtyard was their eggs, the group headed in.

“Ya know, it would have been nice to know how big those things are,” the boss said.

“Crabs weren’t that big?” Garvey asked, a little shocked.

She shook her head no.

Before he could ask what that meant, he changed the subject, “Damn. Looks like they’ve been nesting.”

McNiall chimed in, “‘Lurks like to hide in old buildings. Walls are probably full of ‘em.”

The boss nodded thoughtfully. She looked at the group before turning to MacCready, and asking, “You any good with a pistol?”

“Better with my rifle, but yeah. Why?”

“MacCready, Major Garvey, and I will clear out the walls. The rest of you take care of the nests and any remaining Mirelurks,” she said handing him her pistol. Her orders were met with a chorus of ‘yes ma'ams’.

She took her shotgun from it’s handmade holster on her back, and headed towards the building. The two men followed closely behind. Lucky for them it was mostly softshells and hatchlings inside the walls. They were easier to take down than the average mirelurk. When they reached the old general’s quarters they were not only met with what ended up being a face full of mirelurk slime, but also a missile launcher.

MacCready let out a low wolf whistle as she picked it up.

“Now look at this beauty,” he said.

She looked at Garvey with confusion. “How did they lose this place when they had this thing, and all these missiles?”

“Beats me. Like I said. They lost this place before my time.”

Just then the ground shook with a loud rumbling. The Minutemen outside started yelling.

“The hell…” she wondered out loud.

One of the Minutemen yelled for them to come see whatever was causing the chaos, and the boss took off like a rocket, missile launcher in hand. He and Garvey quickly followed suit. MacCready grabbed some extra missiles before leaving, just to be safe.

Outside they were met by what could only be a mirelurk queen rising out of the water and over the rubble. He had never seen one before, but he had heard about them. It was one of the most terrifying things he had ever seen, and that was saying something. It was only slightly shorter than the intact walls of the fort. It made a god awful clicking noise as acid spewed from its mouth. He was almost completely paralyzed with fear, though he would never admit it.

The boss on the other hand had more resolve. She shouted at everyone to get out of the way as she took aim with the launcher. The first missile did decent damage, it only caused the monster of a creature to recoil. The second missile caused it to go careening back into the water where it came from.

He looked at her in amazement as the others whooped and hollered around them. She stood there with a fire in her eyes as she spoke to them. It took a lot to impress him, but this certainly did the trick. After a show like that he was more willing to put up with her lack of knowledge of the world. Not many people could hold their own in a fight like that, and traveling with someone like that was worth most downsides, even if that downside meant there was a long road ahead.

Chapter 1 Read it on ao3

#violence warning #language warning #fallout #fanfiction #fanfic #fallout 4 #maccready #fo4 #sole survivor #minutemen #claudia flynn

[randomwordsandstormydays]

WIP Wednesday

No one tagged me, lmao, I’m just happy I have something new to post.

Tagging @valkyriejack @adventuresofmeghatron @benny-gecko-official @its-sixxers @cramsicle @crenarei and anyone else who has something to share! Don’t feel like you have to!

This ties into my post from two weeks ago which can be found here.

///

Tanner’s eyes are furious as he looks over at him. “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

Tanner storms right in front of him, slams the orders against James’ chest, and pushes hard, sending him back a few steps. “Did you know that the Gunners we’re planning on attacking Quincy?”

“What?” James pulls the paperwork away and scans it quickly, confirming what Tanner has just said. He shakes his head sharply, steps forward, and tries not to feel hurt when the young man flinches back. “You have to believe me. I had no idea.”

“I want to,” Tanner says softly, anger morphing into hurt and worry, “I really do.”

The ‘but I can’t’ goes unsaid, and the admission causes white hot anger to strike out across James’ chest, but it fades quicker than it would have in the past. Replaced by something hotter, a feeling that burns him from the outside in: shame, hurt. “What now?” He expects the younger man to leave him then. Right there in the middle of the forest with nothing but his megear supplies and a few harsh words. Instead Tanner looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“We go warn them.”

“What?”

Tanner steps closer to him, and James is grateful that the hatred seems to have dissipated between them, there’s still tension, but he can work with that. “We go to Quincy and warn them.”

“We’ll never make it in time.” And it’s true, these orders are old, the Gunner squad they just took out had fallen behind to deal with some super mutants, the actual force could be days ahead of them. As much as it’ll break Tanner’s heart, James knows they’ll never be quick enough to get ahead of the march.

“We have to try, James. Please, they’re family to me.”

“They won’t trust me with this information. I’m a Gunner, too, in case you forgot.”

“Former Gunner,” Tanner presses, “besides, you already agreed to come with me to a settlement and join up, why not skip all that and go straight to fighting for the Minutemen. Who cares about proper enlistment anyways?”

There’s hope and fear and all sorts of other emotions streaked across Tanner’s face and James knows he stands no chance in telling him ‘no’.

“Okay, but we have to move fast. No unnecessary stops or detours.”

The smile his agreement plasters on Tanner’s face has his heart stuttering for a second. When was the last time he made someone happy? Not from a dirty or off-color joke, not from a good ribbing about kill counts, but a genuine, honest kind of happy? Not in a very long time.

He wonders just how long it’s going to take him to fuck this all up.

#wip wednesday #randomwordsandstormydays #random writes #oc: james fenton #oc: tanner winston

[minuteminx]

Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Two: Quincy

Chapter Summary:  History is different when it plays out before one's eyes.

[First Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“What is to give light must endure burning.” ― Victor Frankl

Quincy, September 2287

An early autumn sunset fell over the splintered buildings and raised walkways that surrounded the tattered homes and market stalls known as the Quincy Settlement.  Preston wondered if the sky had always looked like that, or whether the hazy pinks and oranges were yet another lingering effect of the nuclear fallout that had destroyed the Commonwealth some two-hundred years earlier.  Even if that was the case,  it was comforting to think that the end of the world hadn’t been quite enough to darken the Sun.

To call Quincy “the most prosperous settlement in the southeast” was doing it a big favor.  That its settlers had managed to survive in the harsh, swampy land rife with ‘lurks and ferals long enough to establish sound supply lines with Diamond City and Bunker hill was impressive, but Quincy itself was no thriving center of life.  It was just the only place where humanity had managed to establish itself in the region, and as such, it was a big target for raiders and mercs of all sorts, who sought to claim it for themselves.

Preston traveled to the settlement with Colonel Hollis and a small contingent of Minutemen in response to a distress call from the mayor.   Apparently a batty, old jet-head had some sort of vision that Gunners, a ruthless pack of cult-like murderers, were plotting to seize Quincy.  It was a stretch, in his honest opinion.  He’d never been the religious type, and he definitely didn’t believe in psychic visions.  It was just a coincidence that the militia had to drive back a small band of the mercenaries less than a day after their arrival. Many of the attackers fled when they were met with resistance; however, a young boy had been shot in the leg.  Last Preston heard, he still hadn’t recovered.

He finished driving a nail into the latest of many wooden boards he’d been using to fortify the settlement walls and stepped back to examine his work, dropping the hammer to the ground by his feet.  It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing at all.  Besides, there wasn’t much else he was qualified to do.  He’d never been any good with technology, so wasn’t any help to that mechanic, Sturges, nor was he important enough to sit and strategize with Colonel Hollis, Lieutenant Colonel Richards, and Mayor Jackson.

As far as Preston and anyone else was concerned, the only job he really had left was to walk around with a gun in his hand and wait for reinforcements. Not that he believed reinforcements would actually arrive.  Ever since General Becker died, the Minutemen hadn’t been known for being reliable, timely, or helpful.  It almost seemed hypocritical to use the name of an historical group named for being ready to help at a minute’s notice.

“Hey Preston,” chimed a familiar voice, snapping him out of the gloom and doom.  He looked up in time to watch Millie jump down from the walkway just above his head.  She frowned when she saw his face. “Oof.”

“You really need to be more careful,” he remarked as she put her hands on her hips.

“And you need to stop sulking,” she retorted, and handed him a container of purified water “You know, I had no idea when my dad recruited you all those years ago that you’d grow up to be my mother. ”

Preston offered her a shrug as he took a long swig of the water.  Amelia Hollis was the daughter, and only child of Colonel Ezra Hollis.  A handful of years older than Preston, Millie’d been his unofficial mentor since he’d joined up with the Minutemen at seventeen, lost, alone, and hoping to turn his tragedies into something meaningful.  Over the years, she had become his closest friend and constant shoulder to lean on, even after she and Richards coupled up. Part of him had always wondered if his feelings for her were mutual.  Turned out they were just friends after all.

“The walls are looking good,” said Millie, tilting her head and looking at his work.

“I did my best,” he replied, laughing and shaking his head, “Not sure what a bunch of old wood’ll do against laser rifles besides catch fire.”

“Better for it to catch fire than us.”

“That’s true.” Preston frowned and surveyed his surroundings as if reinforcements and an armory full of ammunition would miraculously pop up from the rubble.  He flinched when Millie grabbed his shoulders and squared him up to face her, eyebrows stern.

“We have done everything we can, Preston,” she insisted, grip tightening, “You’ve done everything you can.”

“It’s not enough.”  He shook his head and pulled away from her, attempting to walk past her.  “These people are counting on us, and all we’ve managed to do so far is get a kid shot.”

Millie blocked his path and crossed her arms.  “At least we showed up!  Listen, I know you’ve got these big ideas about what the Minutemen are supposed to be about.  You always have.  But it’s not the reality.  Sometimes all the good guys can do is show up.”

“And that’s just… okay with you?  Just showing up?”  His voice shook, but he refused to raise it.

“No.  ‘Course not,” she huffed and shifted her weight from one leg to another, “Look, the old man said he got a radio message from some guy.  Clint, he said.  Apparently they ran together when Becker was still alive.  Anyway, he’s coming with some of his people to help us out.”

“Didn’t Clint leave the Minutemen after Joe Becker died?”  Preston narrowed his eyes.  He’d heard rumors about Clint, none of them good.

“Dad thought so, too, but he’s offering help and we’re not exactly in a place to turn him down.”

“Fair enough,” he sighed, “Look, I’m sorry for being so pessimistic, it’s just…”

“I know you’re taking what happened to that Long boy personally,” Millie stated matter-of-factly, “But that ain’t your fault and you know it.”

Preston had a hard time convincing himself that he wasn’t responsible for Kyle Long’s injuries.  He had been so caught up with fortifications, he hadn’t noticed the boy following him around toting an old broom handle like it was a laser musket.  Gunners attacked before he could even tell him to run to safety.  Damned snipers had gotten up onto the walkway.  Several other members of the militia dealt with them while Preston Carried Kyle to safety, but the boy had already lost consciousness and a lot of blood.  Marcy’s desperate screams and curses still rang in his ears.  He deserved them all, no matter how many times Millie told him he didn’t.

“I failed to protect him,” he snapped, “And unlike you, I don’t think that showing up is good enough.  So, yeah.  It’s my fault.”

“Christ.”  She threw her hands up in surrender.  “I was just trying to help.”

“I know,” he said, and then paused, a brief, heavy silence hanging in the air between them before he pointed to the pharmacy with his thumb, “I’m going to go check on him.”

Millie nodded, and he turned to walk away, but she called after him.  “Hey… Preston?”

“Hmm?”  He looked back at her over his shoulder.

“Are we… good?”

He softened at the question and smiled.  After all, it wasn’t her he was mad at.  “Yeah.  We’re good.”

The Longs’ home was situated just above the pharmacy, which they owned and operated.  Preston could already hear shuffling footsteps and Marcy’s muffled, angry voice as he stepped inside, stomach twisted to hell  at the thought of facing her again.  He knew he needed to, that it was the right thing to do, but damn it if he didn’t want to avoid the painful conversation at all costs.  Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the back of the store and up the rickety wooden stairs and knocked on the locked door to their room.

“Who is it,” snapped Marcy.

Preston flinched.  He wasn’t used to people taking that kind of tone with him.  People usually liked him, and he didn’t immediately know how to react.  “It’s Preston, ma’am,” he said, sticking to his M.O.

“Great,” she replied emphatically, and with sarcasm that wasn’t lost on him, “Just who we wanted to see.  What do you want?”

“I came to check on Kyle.  I can come back later if—” He was interrupted by the door swinging open, nearly smacking him in the face.

Marcy stared him down, scowling from head to toe. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Well, come in.”

He nodded and walked inside, taking his hat off as he did so.  When he was just a boy, his dad taught him that it was disrespectful to enter someone’s home with a hat on; however, the gesture was wasted on Mrs. Long, who had not even seemed to notice.  She directed him around the corner of a divider that separated Kyle’s room from his parents’. The boy lay in bed, pale and breathing shallowly.  Jun sat beside his son’s bed, elbows on his knees and face in his hands, hair dirty and disheveled.  Preston cleared his throat, hoping to not startle the man.

Jun snapped his head up at the noise, a sad smile twitching on his lips.  “I’m glad you stopped by.”

“Really?”  The disbelief slipped out before he could stop it. “I just, well, I figured—”

“He’s been asking to see you,” Marcy explained, tone softening as she moved to sit on the edge of Kyle’s bed, nudging him gently.  “Sweetheart, wake up.  There’s someone here to see you.”

Kyle stirred, grunting as his eyes flickered open, first glancing between his parents then up at Preston.  A wide grin stretched across his face and he rose up to his elbows as best he could.  “Mr. Garvey!”

“Hey buddy,” Preston said, smiling back at him and kneeling beside the bed, “How are you feeling?”

The boy pointed to his injured leg and whimpered, “It hurts.”

Guilt and rage churned in Preston’s chest.  From the stain of blood that seeped through Kyle’s sheets, and his lack of color, he was far from being out of the woods.  It was not a good state to be in with an expected Gunner ambush.  Even if he survived an evacuation from the settlement, it wasn’t clear he’d be able to keep his leg.

“I know,” Preston managed, “I’m sorry.”

“Daddy says you’re gonna keep us safe from the bad guys if they come back!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he answered, ignoring Marcy’s unimpressed scoff in the background.

Before the conversation could continue, commotion had stirred outside, first the loud metallic creaking of a gate being opened, frantic shouting, then a gunshot.  Marcy and Jun jumped at the noise, looked at each other, then to Kyle, then to Preston, eyes searching for directions.

“Stay here,” he directed them as calmly as he could, returning his hat to his head before rushing downstairs and out into the street.

At the gate, several Minutemen had gathered, weapons ready and aimed at a line of Gunners.  In the center stood a tall, burly man with an ugly mustache and hyper-reflective sunglasses.  A body lay on the ground at his feet—Mayor Jackson’s body, from the looks of it— and he held the colonel at gunpoint, laser pistol to the temple.  Millie fought against Richards’ arms, screaming as he held her back and out of harm's way.  Snipers once again lined the roofs and walkways as more Gunners poured in from all directions.  How in the hell had the Gunners managed to catch everyone off guard with such a huge contingent?

“Clint,” Hollis shouted, “You dirty, backstabbing son-of-a-bitch.  I should have known better than to think you’d actually help us.”

Clint, once an esteemed militia veteran, now a murderer. A traitor.  Preston’s blood boiled, sweaty palms tightening around his musket.  No one had seen him yet.  He could shoot, he thought,  just once before the mercs lining the walls would fire on the other Minutemen and innocent settlers alike.  Even if Preston managed to kill Clint with that one shot, it would be a bloodbath.

“You never were too bright Ezra, always letting that bleeding heart of yours get in the way,” he said,  finger moving up just slightly to hover over the trigger, “Should have put you out of your misery a long time ago”

“Dad,” Millie cried, breaking away from Richards, and rushing forward. “ Clint, you don’t have to do this.”

“No, sweetheart,” the man replied, despicable lilt in his voice, “I don’t, but where’s the fun in that?”

A gunshot rang out, a loud, searing blast of energy that caused Preston to flinch away, and he allowed himself to hope it had just been a warning.   But Clint didn’t exactly seem like the generous, warning shot-offering type of guy.  No, he and his whole crew were cruel and bloodthirsty, and Preston had just heard someone die.  He hadn’t been prepared for it to be Millie, who he saw fall to the ground just as he forced his eyes open.  The Lieutenant-Colonel cried out and attempted to rush to her, to catch her, but was met with a laser blast directly to the chest instead, collapsing in the dirt.  Panic pounded in his ears so loudly he didn’t even hear the shot that killed Hollis, and time stood still.  The settlement fell completely silent, no noise at all but the crunch of Clint’s boasting footsteps as he and his men advanced further into town.  

“Any more of you pathetic maggots want to take your chances?”  It was less of a question and more of false promise that anyone could survive.  If the people stood their ground, they’d be shot in the chest.  If they ran, they’d be shot in the back.  Some kind of options those were.  

Without anyone to give orders, without a prayer, the remainder of the militia and settlers scrambled, caged animals trying to escape the slaughter, Gunners stalking after them.  Preston stood numbly, watching the chaos from the pharmacy doorway.  He wanted to charge into the fray and take out every Gunner bastard he could before the snipers got him, go down with the sinking ship that was the Commonwealth Minutemen.  As useless as he was to anyone alive, he figured he’d be even more useless if he died.  After all, he’d given Kyle his word that he’d protect him and his family, and that’s what he intended to do.

As he turned to re-enter the pharmacy, he caught a glimpse of two crouching forms clinging to the shadows of the building next door. Sturges, rusty pipe pistol in hand, used his body to shield Mama Murphy  from any potential gunfire aimed at them.  Preston shouted at the mechanic, just loud enough to get his attention, and motioned for him and the old woman to get inside.  Relief washed over Sturges’ face, and he nodded, looked around to make sure they could make a clean break, and rushed past Preston and through the door.

“Shit fire,” Sturges exclaimed, more to himself than anyone else..  

“I told you he’d save us, Sturg,” Mama remarked wistfully, high as a goddamn kite, “I saw it.”

“I know.  I heard you all twenty times you said it before, Mama,” he answered, words clipped but not unkind.  He glanced up at Preston.  “Doped up prophecy or not, I’m sure glad we ran into you, man.  Got a plan?”

A plan.  Were things not so dire, Preston might have laughed.  He couldn’t even put together a single thought, let alone a plan that wasn’t “run” or “don’t die.” He shook his head. Stay here.  I’m going to head upstairs, get the Longs, and then we’re all going to get the heck out of Dodge.”

“What about the others,” Sturges asked, “Everyone’s trying to hightail it.”

“We’ll grab whoever we find on the way,” he answered somberly, “That’s all we can do right now.”

“Sounds good, boss.”

Preston shook off Sturges’ suggestion that he had any sort of authority or leadership over anyone.  He was trained and better equipped to fight than the others, sure, but he was no more in control of the situation than anyone else, no less scared.  He rushed upstairs to where he’d left the Longs just minutes before.  They’d left the door open, and Marcy and Jun jumped up from their seats at Kyle’s bedside as they heard him enter.

“What’s going on,” Marcy asked, desperation in her voice, “It sounds bad out there?”

“There’s no time to explain,” Preston insisted, keeping his voice as low and calm as possible, “I’m really sorry, but we have to go.  Now.”

“But—” Jun said looking back at Kyle who’d lost consciousness again, “It won’t be safe to move him.”  

“Safer than staying here and getting killed by those bastards outside,” Marcy argued, lifting her son up into her arms and then turning to face Preston. “Thank you for coming back to get us.”

Preston smiled, eyes lingering on Kyle’s face, peaceful despite all of the chaos around them. “It’s what I’m here for.”

#fallout 4 #preston garvey #preston garvey x sole survivor #preson garvey x f!sole survivor #fallout #my writing #YEP we're retelling the Quincy Massacre

[siribear]

somehow, their mattress survived the bombs. the bed frame? not so much. with codsworth’s help, she drags the splintered wood out of the house. other than that, she can’t bring herself to remove anything else from the house. not the ruined stereo, the blasted television, the broken kitchen chairs. codsworth had two hundred years to clean up the glass and wood and dust, but other than that, her home remains untouched.

two centuries ago, she stood in shaun’s room with her husband. played with the mobile above shaun’s crib that’s only shattered bits of plastic and string, now. she doesn’t move that, either. just moves the dusty old books back to their ruined shelves.

she changes into the leather armor in her old bathroom. doesn’t look in the mirror for fear of what she might see.

back in her room, she lays out her new guns and ammo. codsworth hovers nearby, reminding her how to clean them when she misses a step. she replaces her supplies in her pack, hides nate’s wedding ring in a pocket near the bottom, and shoves it in a corner.

claire lies back on her old mattress. she expects to sleep, but doesn’t. every time she closes her eyes, she sees the dead raiders. the ones she tore apart.

instead, she spends the remaining daylight finding beds for the others. it feels strange, looting her neighbors’ houses, but she ignores the feeling the best she can. in the ruins, she finds enough beds for the longs, for mama murphy, and sturges. at the back of one of the houses is a basement, and there she finds a sleeping bag and a store of food that can last them a few days.

she unloads a duffel bag in the house across from hers, and the group divvies up the food. when preston pokes his head in, she unrolls the sleeping bag and apologizes.

he shrugs. ‘i’ve slept on worse. thank you, though.’

she does find a broken water pump behind another house, as well as a small garden plot with the remains of two fruit plants. when she shows sturges, he assures her he can fix it.

preston catches her still wandering the neighborhood long after the sun goes down.

‘can’t sleep?’ he asks softly.

‘just trying to pull this place back together.’

he nods. ‘i can’t either. i keep thinking more raiders will come in the middle of the night.’

‘you can’t defend the others if you’re dead on your feet, you know.’

a chuckle. ‘i could say the same to you.’

‘that’s - okay. that’s fair.’

the smile he gives her is genuine, understanding. ‘look, i know i kind of forced you to help us - ’ she gestures in the negative, but he continues. ‘ - but i didn’t really expect you to stay and help us... rebuild. so, thank you. again.’

it’s her turn to shrug. ‘i wanted to help.’

‘that’s the thing. we’re not - i’m not used to that. not anymore.’ he sits on the curb of the worn down road. she sits cross legged next to him. ‘at the museum, i mentioned the quincy massacre.’ he takes a steadying breath. ‘we were betrayed. first, a minuteman, clint, joined the gunners. they attacked quincy, and would have taken over that night if not for colonel hollis. we fortified the town, held our own for the days that the gunners attacked, but clint returned. he wanted us to surrender.

‘colonel hollis called for reinforcements, but no one came. too many politics over the line of succession after the former general died, i guess. we didn’t last another night. twenty of us made it out of quincy. thirteen of us made it to concord. now it’s just us.’

‘and you’re the last minuteman,’ she concludes.

‘but it doesn’t have to be that way!’ his change in tone startles her. ‘the commonwealth - i think it still needs the minutemen. we can do better. defend the people we actually swore to protect. but i - i don’t know if i can - ’ his previous enthusiasm dies just as quickly as it came.

claire mulls it over, tapping her chin. ‘you’d have to rebuild that trust as well. i can’t imagine quincy endeared the minutemen to anyone.’

his shoulders sag.

‘so, preston.’ she stands, grinning. ‘where do we start?’

‘wait, really?’ he jumps to his feet. ‘you’re going to do this?’

‘i haven’t been here long, but i can see having more people like you in the commonwealth can’t hurt,’ she reasons.

‘haven’t been here... where did you come from, anyway?’ he looks to the pip-boy on her wrist. ‘a vault?’

she blanks. no one would really believe she’s two hundred years old, right? she wouldn’t believe it if anyone tried to tell her that. so she lies. ‘oh, no. i’m from out west. i’m looking for someone.’

‘mama murphy mentioned that. and you think they came to the commonwealth?’

claire kicks a rock on the road. ‘it’s the only lead i’ve got, so far.’

preston hums, thinking. ‘well, i can’t help but be grateful for your timing.’ he looks over at the house across from hers, where she had shown him the sleeping bag. ‘i think i might actually sleep easy tonight.’ when claire doesn’t move to leave, he says, ‘if you still can’t sleep, there’s a settlement over the hill. it’s a farm, run by the abernathy family. i.. remember they requested help from the minutemen, before we fell apart. maybe you can talk to them?’

‘a farm? we could definitely use some food,’ she says, mostly to herself. ‘yeah, i think i’ll do that. thanks, preston.’

‘no problem, uh - ’

again, a name. she makes a decision, in the moment. ‘alice. just - call me alice.’

preston smiles. ‘no problem, alice. and i can’t thank you enough, honestly.’

‘thank me by getting some sleep, preston. i’ll be back soon.’

-

codsworth joins her on her way out of sanctuary. dogmeat, surprisingly, follows her across the bridge as well. alice scratches behind his ears as the trio stands on the edge of the bridge.

‘mum?’

‘yes, codsworth?’

‘i heard you speaking to mr. garvey. i think helping the minutemen is an honorable cause.’ she hums in agreement. ‘and i heard you say - your name is alice, mum?’

she doesn’t respond.

‘would you like me to adjust my settings?’

‘that would be best, codsworth.’

‘of course, miss alice.’

dogmeat whines. they continue toward the red rocket gas station, veering west as night settles around them.

-

post-war commonwealth is quieter, alice notes. no sound of cars in the distance, no sounds of the city. just the wind, the crunch of leaves under her feet, and the putter of codsworth hovering alongside her. a pair of - and she shouldn’t be surprised - giant flies attacks them as they pass by concord’s water tower, but they’re taken care of quickly. codsworth calls them bloatflies, alice calls them dead, and dogmeat calls them forward.

ahead, a wooden building appears over the hill.

‘that’ll be abernathy farm, then.’ she breaks into a jog.

dogmeat runs up to a small pen and begins sniffing around the fence. alice slows and whispers to codsworth, ‘what is that thing?’

‘that is a brahmin, mum. mutated after the war.’

brahmin. she stares at what should be a cow. or, it would be, if it only had one head.

‘you’ll step away from her, if you know what’s good for you,’ threatens a man from the porch of the towering house. he approaches slowly, a shotgun pointed at her chest.

alice takes two, slow steps away, hands up to show she means no harm. ‘i’m just here to trade for food.’

‘right,’ he draws the word out, eyeing the trio: a curious dog, a mr. handy, and a woman in bloodied leather armor. alice imagines they make quite a sight, even for the commonwealth.

‘it’s late, i know. i’m sorry.’ earlier, her pipboy read just before midnight. ‘i’m new to the commonwealth - killed a group of raiders this morning and helped a group of refugees settle in sanctuary over the hill.’

‘that was you?’ he lowers the shotgun an inch. ‘we heard the gunfire, but couldn’t get involved, not after - ’ he seems to catch himself. ‘anyway, fine. i was just wrapping up for the night. what are you looking for?’

‘any extra food would be great. some seeds would help us be more self sufficient, too.’

‘ever been a farmer?’

‘ah - no, but i’m willing to learn.’

the man, blake abernathy, he says, gives her tips on farming. she types in the notes on her pipboy. after, he disappears into the house. inside, alice can see a small light flicker on, and when he returns its with a younger woman in tow.

‘my daughter, lucy.’

‘nice to meet you!’ she holds out a hand, and alice shakes it. ‘you’re not one of the usual traders.’

‘i’m not from the area.’ she shrugs. ‘i’m actually with the minutemen. we’re trying to establish ourselves up in sanctuary.’

in the pipboy light, blake frowns. ‘you didn’t say you were with the minutemen.’

‘is that a problem?’

‘some people don’t take kindly to the minutemen. not after what happened at quincy.’

alice lets out a small, ah. ‘i’m sorry to hear that. oh,’ she takes the handful of seeds and produce from lucy and stuffs them in a pocket of her backpack, ‘what do i owe you?’

lucy must see the blank look on her face when blake tells her some amount of ‘caps.’ ‘do you not use bottle caps where you’re from?’ before alice can respond, lucy, thankfully, barrels on and helps her count out the caps from the pouch preston gave her. ‘it’s easy. just one-for-one.’

‘thank you,’ alice says, earnestly. the new currency will take some getting used to. cap-italism enters her mind, unbidden, and has to wave off blake and lucy’s confused looks when she begins to laugh. ‘just different is all. sorry.’

‘right. anyway, just watch out for raiders.’ blake’s voice shifts to a low growl. ‘they only know how to take what isn’t theirs. no matter who tries to stop them.’

‘daddy - ’

‘mind telling me what happened?’ alice ventures.

he does, pain evident in his voice. parents burying their child. he must hear some echoed understanding in her own voice when she asks what she can do to help. ‘mary had a locket, it’s been in connie’s family for generations. if you could get that back...’ a thought crosses his mind. ‘well, maybe we’ll reconsider our thoughts on the minutemen.’

alice nods. ‘it would be my pleasure.’

lucy grabs her arm when she turns to leave. ‘daddy, honestly, she looks dead on her feet. we have a spare bed upstairs. the locket can wait until the morning.’

blake seems to agree, because he doesn’t stop them when lucy hauls alice into the house.

‘i will guard the area, mum!’ codsworth calls as she crosses the doorway, and dogmeat follows in after her, tail wagging.

#oc: alice ward #having to stop myself from going 'milla jovovich voice: my name. is alice.' #siri drabbles #series: we will all go together when we go