#Deep Blue the Synth Claw

[lucilleandherrobots]

General Masterlist (links lead to more lists) of the Blog

Seriously This is Lore

Character Lore (Link list to link lists...)

Just Some Thoughts

Nick as The Shroud

Valentine Detective Agency Branches

List of Lucille Shenanigans

Tom Foolery but Original Tom Foolery, Nonetheless...

Incorrect Quotes

Power Armor Punch

[trashcanalienist]

The water, the water, the ferry's whistle like a ghastly scream, the town like Crystal Lake and every other small forest town, lonely gusts of wind and gentle spirit of a guitar, narration so lost, introspective...such a beautiful movie, such a beautiful film.

A beautiful redhead with eyes and lips of ice and a sly foxmouth, Jessica's brown big eyes like the earth and the intelligent badger who knows it, her face like the grave, she's beautiful, like a rabbit, like the moon. Rare music and only ever that guitar, real or imagined it accompanies them. Old Gothic farmhouse, tall tiled walls in the kitchen, "stay forever my love, my love" old loving folk songs, new loving hippie songs

New York is "a mad city". Out here the blue water sways on and on for miles, blue lake, blue fog, blue clouds, blue land. Blue eyes, chips of ice, mourning herself. Thick green forestry, the brown reflection of water, and occasional red blaze as one and another tree succumbs to the fiery phoenix death that allows for their vernal rebirth. Blue turquoise teal water ripples, ripples, rips the sanity from her bones as the blonde vampire with pretty pouty lips and a child's white nightdress (a wedding dress) claws towards Jess through the deep waters of her grave like every ancient wraith, a whisp'ring banshee.

Whistling wind through the brown attic, a deer's head mounted, Jessica's eyes but lifeless, and the vampire ghost's dress and dagger closed but not locked in a warm brown wooden trunk. Piano, and some unburied percussion joins for a moment in the light from green window. Eggshells hippies, and only two, three years later.

"Flowers of evil. How can anything this pretty be evil? It's just old, that's all."

A sudden pounding synth and the whistling wind as the now redheaded, now blonde vampire rises from the depths again - Jess at her grave sees her too, the blonde drowned ghost in white beckoning her, and chases her through the woods and finds in the harried girl's place only water, water. A great blue spirit-soaked waterfall and the body of Abigail Bishop's victim, victim of her curse, then just earth. Beautiful running legs of this pouty fawn-eyed silent mute woman, cloth ribbon around her neck, she at least is real. Tangible. The redheaded velvet fox, sharp-jawed, sharp-nosed, sharp-eyed, always in red and often in green camo, the fox appears and the fawn runs.

The fear and the paranoia, the gentle instability of a beautiful happy mole-like woman, nosing blindly through the warm earth, vulnerable to all attack. The moment she's thought unreliable she cannot trust her own husband and another woman to be faithful, to be decent. She's had a nervous breakdown, but the mad rushing apathy of the city gives way only to the slow malicious hatred in these old rural places, foxes stalking fawns in forests and digging moles out of their cozy burrows. The cruelty of foxes and the mean piggish stupidity of men. I know a girl with eyes like this fox, but I can't recall her right now. Clear, perfect eyes, like the steel shutters on old spotlights, thin and sharp and cold but so hot with knowing. The ghost redheaded after all, like drowned silk in cold marble flesh and clothing, the whispered plea, "Stay. Stay." "I want you. What do you have - I need you. What do you have to live for?"

The justified fear and paranoia, and the instability, and the desperate search for comfort, and the dangers of foxes. Being Mary Lou is not as venerable a career when your place and time is the 1880s. The whole town is in sort of a Mangler cult. Fresh open wounds and old scars from her lips, from her knife. Wind, piano, water. A vampire, white mockery of purity, with her fangs in every man, with no women left who might challenge her and now even the mute blonde slaughtered. A true vampire. I want to see La Morte Vivante again, and Vampyr.

[lucilleandherrobots]

A robo brain in power armor?? Why have I never thought of that??? That's so cool! What kind of armor type do they wear?

Deep Blue is a gen 2 synth claw- as in they are made out of the same parts as a gen 2. Synthclaws are like the precursors to Coursers in whatever world of Fallout 4 I put them in cause they were initially built to wipe out surface life. They never got out of the Institute... At least until they escaped in some form or another- Deep Blue being the first of 3 that survived.

Geneveve's usually pretty sweet. But she's also had to kill people in self defense- being a gen 2 synth in Goodneighbor isn't always easy. Being one that markets her voice- and sometimes her body- is even worse. She'd rather not kill people, tho. If she can find a way around it, she'll avoid it.

Geneveve also makes candy on the side using chemistry to break down chems and old sugary prewar sweets. (Think Nile Red making grape soda from gloves. That kinda crazy chemistry.)

Yren also has an adopted mirelurk king hybrid kid named Clancy. They look like if you glued mirelurk king fins and their antenna on a kid with light red hair. Or a shiny Vaporeon in human form- which was not my intention but honestly that makes them cuter.

Clancy was found by Yren at the age of two while exploring an abandoned raider base. They were in a cage, being kept like some sort of dog. Luckily their new papa wanted to be a chef so the baby got to eat good.

Oh yeah. I forgot- Yren's German Italian. He can speak fluent German and English. Both him and Clancy mix up German words with English words all the time in their speech, especially if they're cognates or close to it. I did this so I'd force myself to learn more German.

Alphie sells most of her weapons and armor to people actually! She also made a nuka cola vending machine armor set for one of her two super mutant "kids". They're technically adults but... To me, Fallout 4 supermutants act like giant angry children that want to do nothing but fight and eat people. She lives in that tower you go to rescue Rex. Her kids are survivors from that mission she nursed back to health. Another reason she hasn't been eaten yet, aside from her shear stubbornness the two being loyal to her, is that she knows Yren. Yren knows about the Vim! cure for Super Mutants' aggressive behaviors and synthesized some for her.

Nobody including me posts about their ocs enough so please please please reblog reply or whatever with some oc tidbits!

[dickgrayson80sremixmp3]

jason_the_midnight.mp3

(baby wrote a songfic like it’s 2012)

writing tag/ ao3

People never look up in Gotham.

First of all, it's practically always raining. Heavy, slanting sheets of rain which more often than not sting the eyes in a way that pure water really shouldn't do. Secondly, you're likely to look up and see some supervillain cackle as they ready their death ray and then what? Better not to look at all.

All this means that a vigilante not long returned from the dead can observe the city go by beneath him in relative peace. Jason Todd, at twenty two, finally finds a sense of quiet he hasn't felt in a long time when he's perched up high on one of Gotham City's ubiquitous gargoyles, rain soaking his hair and the white streak the Pit gave him (that still surprises him in the mirror), watching cars drive past and Gothamites go about their business. The whole event makes him calm enough to finally give some thought to you (as if he hadn't thought of you every day since he'd come back, even when he was too raving with Pit madness to know who the girl in his mind was.)

                                                            ~

After some digging, he'd discovered that you were studying at Gotham University, just like the two of you had planned at age fourteen, perched on the roof of the manor and staring at the stars, revelling in the moment before Alfred inevitably found you and made you get down where it was safe. Jason had always planned to major in English literature and minor in creative writing, and even today he feels the tug of need unfurl deep in his heart whenever he thinks of hurrying between lectures, scribbling lines into his notebooks, losing himself in the university library. Your plans had always been more hazy, swinging wildly between dreams of ancient philosophy, or sustainable development, or Asian cinema,  or climate science. He wonders what you've settled on. He could easily find your transcript and know for certain but he still harbours a dream of making up with you, having you tell him your major and your plans and your dreams like a friend again.

Three nights a week, he discovers, you sing and occasionally play bass in a four piece band, performing in bars across South Gotham. You've been together since junior year of high school (after him, after he'd left you alone and gone and got himself blown up, a poisonous voice whispers in Jason's head as he hunches over his phone, reading your Spotify bio) - you the beautiful front woman with three other men on guitar, drums, and keyboards. Looks like she forgot you quickly enough, the voice suggests slyly and Jason can't find any way to argue. The few songs posted on your page reveal a dedication to the 80s retrowave, synth heavy music you'd loved back when he first knew you, a love shared by Dick. Jason remembers sitting in roiling jealousy as you and Dick excitedly swapped recommendations, as you sat up in the front seat of Dick's car while the two of you blasted your favourite tracks, Jason forgotten in the backseat. Just one more thing Dick had that he didn't.

 The videos he finds under your tagged mentions show you in smoky, dingy bars, tall in platform sandals and wide, high waisted jeans, casually stunning in tiny strappy tank tops and dark eyeliner. His breath catches high in his chest as he watches these videos, heart hammering in his ears as he sees how you've grown up, hears your sultry, magnetic voice wind through his thoughts. The secret crush he'd always harboured rears itself with a vengeance at these moments, torturing him with images of what could've been, with the reminder that he really never had got over you.

 Eventually Jason leans into the inevitable and turns up to some of your regular spots, nursing a surprisingly cheap drink and lurking towards the back of the room, where he can watch you but you can't spot him. Not that you would, even if you thought he looked familiar - your Jason was dead, wasn't he?

 You look like a dream, hair loose, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of the bar. The pink and blue neon lights flicker across the lines of your face, catching on the gold of your jewellery and dazzling him. Not just him, he quickly realises, as he hears the man to his left order a drink 'for the gorgeous singer' and he can't help but look. Blonde, well dressed in suit and tie even though his top buttons are undone and his hair is askew. He just screams 'financial district' and there's a smug surety in the way he stares at you, like he's confident you won't be able to resist him. Jason grits his teeth as he watches the barman catch your attention. You lean down to hear what he says into your ear as he hands you the glass, hair falling over your shoulder. As you straighten, your eyes scan the bar and Jason instinctively sinks lower into his collar. Your eyes slide right over him. The banker asshole raises his glass at you and you smile sweetly.

 "Thanks for the drink Darren" you say, eyes crinkling at the edges, and "Darren" visibly puffs his chest, eyes trailing over your body shamelessly. Jason notices however that you only take one sip of the drink before setting it aside and not touching it again, and his shoulders release a little of their tension.

The bar closes at around 2am, and the band packs up just before this. You hop down off the stage, retrieving your bag from behind the bar, your platforms already swinging in your hand as you jam your feet into sneakers. You drag a huge grey hoodie over your tiny, spaghetti strap top, an old red jacket following quickly after. It's not until Jason's fifth or sixth time watching that he recognises the jacket as the one he used to wear everywhere as a fifteen year old, and his heart clenches a little at the realisation. A Styrofoam box of leftover bar food is pushed into your hands as you swing your bass over your shoulder, and you grin at the old barman as you wave to your bandmates, pausing at the door only to pull the hood up over your head as you run to catch the last night bus heading north towards 24th and Fairway. From the rooftops, Jason observes as you drop into a window seat, leaning your head against your bass and watching the raindrops slide down the glass for the forty five minutes it takes to get to your apartment building. He knows it’s weird to watch you like this, but panic claws its way up his throat every time he even imagines telling you he's still alive. Better that you never know, better you remember him as he was than be confronted with how he's changed, better that Jason never has to see Bruce's look of disappointment as it manifests on your face.

 Far, far too early the next morning you emerge again, this time with sweats replacing your jeans and a backpack replacing your bass. Earphones jammed in your ears, you nod your head absently as you walk to class. There are dark circles under your eyes, and your hair is still wet from the shower and pulled into a hasty braid, and Jason can never bring himself to look away.

                                                            ~

 Some days he indulges himself, tucks one of the battered paperbacks he's swiped from the library at the manor into his back pocket, walks around the campus like he's a student. It's stupid, really, and the shame he can't shake makes him a little awkward, but none of the other students look twice at him, even on the hot days when he's still in long sleeves and jeans, keeping his hands tucked into his pockets to hide the thick bands of scar tissue across his knuckles. He's not even the biggest guy on campus, considering GU's mediocre football team, and generally Jason finds that an old ballcap to cover the white tuft in his hair and keeping his head bowed prevents anyone's gaze ever resting on him longer than a second.

 It's useful, being so invisible, but lonely, and inevitably Jason gets too used to it.

 He gets a fright, one day, when he's reading alone under a maple tree in the middle of the quad (Ray Bradbury, an old favourite) and suddenly hears your voice, loud and laughing, only a few feet away. He jumps, eyes flicking to you in panic, before he remembers himself and tucks his chin, lifting his book slightly to cover the bottom half of his face. His caution is ingrained but unwarranted; you never even glance at him. Safely unnoticed, he watches with an ache in his chest as you hurry across the grass, kicking your flipflops off as you go until you're barefoot, casual in a big white t shirt and cycle shorts. The man walking besides you carries your backpack, and hands it to you once you flop down besides a group of people just over from Jason (unlike him, they bask in the sun). He recognises your bandmates, young, handsome, confident, as well as some girls he's never seen before. They heckle through their laughter as you hug your companion goodbye, and the two of you grin good-naturedly as he says his goodbyes and continues across the quad. The chapter heading squiggles and winds across the page, and Jason can't keep his eyes off you now, however pathetic he feels. He notices everything, from the way you giggle wildly and whisper to your girlfriends to the way the boys grab at your bare legs and pinch your sides trying to find out what you're saying. You look comfortable and relaxed and so, so happy, as you pull your ponytail loose and flick the hair tie at the dark skinned boy besides you, that he almost can't stand it. He breathes through it, slowly, like Alfred showed him so long ago, and the lump in his throat lessens, and he's able to return to his book, even if the appeal has worn off slightly and he can still feel your presence burning in his peripheral vision.

That day, when he returns to his bare, empty apartment he resolves to at least try to stop torturing himself. It doesn't stop him dropping in to your shows at least once a week, but he's working on not wanting to cry every time he sees you. He cuts down on campus visits too, and squashes the disappointment when he doesn't see you in the quad again. Mostly. It's hard being dead.

                                                           ~

"This is a new old song" you say one night, just before closing. "I wrote it a while back but I've never felt comfortable to sing it before now."

 You pause for a moment, eyes casting down, and the blonde man in the denim jacket, the guitarist on your right, pats your arm gently. Jason recognises the longing look in his eyes as he looks at you as an expression he himself had worn most of his teen years. Hell, he's probably wearing it right now.

 "It's about loving someone you can't have" you say, looking back out at the crowd again determinedly, "and it's called Jason"

 Jason starts at this, his drink sloshing over the edge of his glass and onto the bar in front of him. Distracted by the heat curling up over his cheekbones, he almost misses the next words out of your mouth:

 "Jason in this song is a bit of an asshole" you say, your lips quirking on one side, "which is a little unfair to the real Jason, who was wonderful."

 Your eyes are soft as the band counts in and Jason stares unabashedly as you start to sing.

 You were right, this Jason is an asshole, and it stings a bit to hear you sing  'he'll only let you down', but it's nothing compared to the ache he gets when you reach the chorus -

 oh, Jason, tell me what you're chasing,

because the night will never give you what you want,

oh, Jason, and if you can't escape it,

I hope you find whatever you've been looking for'

- because even though there were never any other girls, not for him, it was true that he'd left you, ran out of your life calling something about finding his real mother and never came back...

Lost in his memories, his blood is rushing in his ears and he's rooted to the spot. Normally he's long gone by the time you're heading out but this time he's still sitting at the bar and you hurry past close enough to touch, close enough for him to briefly feel the warmth of your skin on his back. Luckily for him your attention is focussed on your phone screen, cursing as you see the time, and you pass by without noticing him. His breathing is unsteady as he grapples with the realisation that all that time he'd spent silently loving you, you'd been loving him right back.

Go after her! Something whispers to him, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Dick.

Yeah. Yeah, maybe, Jason finally thinks, breathless.

 Maybe.

                                                           ~

(is the music based on my favourite music? yes. are the outfits based on my outfits? also yes. are the fuckin classes based on classes i’ve taken? i’ll give you three guesses)

tagging a couple of my favourite dc writers bc i am stupid and now can’t remember anyone else i like to read lmao anyways <3 @prettylittlebrownskingyal  + @ereawrites + @angelz-dust <3

[spymeister]

The training room is empty at this hour- the soft steps as he makes his way in impossibly loud. One wave of his hand brings the lights up to full brightness. It sears against his sensitive optics- but the glass soon tempers until it’s negligible. Though, in a moment- it won’t matter anyway. Another wave of his hand marks the occupancy of the room from Vacant- to Occupied, as he steps into the middle of the room. 

His helm faces downwards as he comes to a stop- kibble beginning to shift and micro-transform around him. The armor sinks and becomes sleek, conforming closer to his protoform than it is sticking out. He becomes a thing full of curves and close seams, his hovers compressing close to his frame to avoid being grabbed. 

The blue visor goes dark, shutting down and going opaque over those gold optics. His claws creak as he tightens those servos into fists, inventing in deep- and then slowly relaxing every ligament and line of him. His HUD pops up with only the basic commands- and he goes through the pop-ups and alerts. His music system comes online- and the silence of the room is soon replaced with the soft, downtempo beat of something electronic and synth. 

The training drones suddenly come online- their weapons systems beginning to power up—

and he explodes into motion. 

The Polyhexian is a blur of activity, never pausing as he extends a retractable training staff from subspace and uses it to vault over one drone into another. Blind, and reasonably deaf- he uses his field and environmental factors to navigate around the room. It allows him to concentrate more easily on the other senses, tasting the air and feeling the eddies and drafts as the drones move. 

It’s easy, if one has traveled far enough- to see some of the Terran influences on his forms. The subtle defensive motions of metallicato, combined with the grace of capoeira. The strength of Judo, with the ease and flexiblity of circuit-su as he goes after drone after drone. When his staff is taken from him, claws are used- and even his dancing hoops to loop around a throat or waist to gain momentum.

His momentum doesn't slow as he goes through each form, each offensive and defensive motion with a single-measured intensity. He blends organic with metallic, turning the martial arts from rigorous and formal into more of a literal dance. Even when he’s standing, he’s swaying or moving to the next form- and his claws and pedes are constantly shifting. 

By the time he’s finished, his vents are heaving- energon levels registering in the low thirties, and the cleaning drones are coming out to deal with the mess he’s left behind. His visor comes online with a soft, periwinkle blue as condensation drips off his frame onto the mat below. And still, in the back of his mind- as he starts to come back to himself. No matter how hard he trains, how good he is- and how deadly he becomes. It’s still there, lingering in the back of his processor.

He still can’t get out of the tunnels that had almost killed him. 

[synthsizedproductions]

Descending Into Power Chapter Eight: Bloody Sundown

Hey hey, guys, gals, and in between pals! Glad I could finally get this chapter written in a way that I felt good showing to others. Combat isn’t my forte, so I’m never very confident in what I’m writing. This chapter is rather combat-heavy, but it’s necessary for the story. This chapter officially marks the end of the first act of our novel. Hope you’re ready for next week when we dive right into the second act. I expect the next one to be a bit slower and more character-driven than this one which is more event-based.

Hope you enjoy the show!

~ Chance/Synth

PS: Please note that I have changed “Kobold” into “Zalyk”. They are similar creatures, but not the same. I have also changed the Zalyk character from blue and black scales to red and black scales.

CW: Violence, excessive blood, strong language, burn wounds, fire, death, highly graphic description of an off-screen death, death threats, abandonment

I stalked up the hill toward the people who had stolen my kill, my broken body fueled by rage alone. My body was dangerously hot, my steps leaving burned earth in my wake. Everything was agony and anger. 

The red and black Zalyk hopped off the creature’s back, daggers drawn and teeth bared. “I’d stop there, pal. Come any closer and you’re in a world of hurt.”

A tall, slender Ursan in metal and leather armor with Sigil of Life on her chest stepped in front of the Zalyk, giving him a warning look. “Forgive my friend. He speaks rashly. I would like to discuss your grievances before anyone but this creature loses their heads.” The pads of her handset off a gentle white glow. Their friendly, confident smile faded when I continued forward with just as much rage in my glowing, bright green eyes. 

A short, stocky Gueldon with long pointed ears and copper-toned skin crossed their muscular arms over their bare chest. “Thought those new Social Powers were supposed to work, Wy. Seems like I’ll have to handle this with my fists. As usual.” They hopped on top of MY kill and shook out their shoulders, grinning down at me as their eyes burned crimson. “You shoulda listened when my friends said stop.” 

Fire engulfed their hands and the fact that their skin wasn’t burned somehow made me more furious. Why could they wield their Powers without damaging themself? Why was I cursed? What made them so special?

Nothing.

The squat Gueldon leaped at me, crimson slashes glowing on their flesh. I stopped my forward motion and tilted my head at my descending opponent, time seeming to slow down as they got closer. My eyes were drawn to two sigils burning above their head, one the Sigil of Fire, the other the Sigil of Destruction. 

Gueldon Barbarian. Dodge and strike fast.

I rolled out of the way and back onto my feet just before the Gueldon slammed into the ground, leaving a crater around them. When they turned to glare at me, teeth bared, I struck them in the mouth with my boot heel. 

Behind you.

I whipped around and landed an uppercut to a pink and purple scaled Drakyn wearing simple white and brown robes as they attempted to sneak up on me. My hit lifted them off their feet and sent them flying several feet.

Look up.

I raised my eyes to the sky and rolled away from a missile of silver light. Just like the one that had taken my killing blow. Though I had begun to feel worn, my anger was stoked again by this perceived insult.

“Fuck.” A rather slight Lupine with silver and brown fur and panicked magenta eyes attempted to hide beyond the crest of the hill, but it was too late for them.

I sprinted up the hill and tackled the cowardly wolfman, holding him by his throat and slowly increasing my pressure. He clawed at my burned skin, tearing it apart like paper and covering us both in my blood. I didn’t care though. I had resigned myself to dying by the end of this fight. There was no way I was going to win.

Not with that attitude.

I was thrown from my place when an arrow buried itself in my shoulder. I snapped the end from it so the part within my body would act as a stopper for even more blood loss. I was growing dizzy from expending so much Magic and losing such a large quantity of blood. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and only barely held myself upright. I watched the blurred image of a black and silver furred Heikin approach with her bow held by their side.

She shook her head and slung their bow over their shoulder, pulling a hunting knife from her belt. “It’s really a shame things have to end this way, kid. You seem like you have a lot of potential. May Palec be kind in your passage.”

The Lupine let out a choked warning and pointed skyward. “Timurow, look out!”

Timurow only had time to look up before being lifted off her feet and hurled at the Ursan who had tried to reason with me, Samriel landing near me with his wings, arms, and chest engulfed in flames. His veins were black from the Corruption running through the Demon. 

He looked down at me, his eyes burning embers in a sea of darkness.  “Stay awake for me, okay? I have some trash to take care of.” He stalked toward the three party members who stood on the hill with us, spreading his wings as molten amber rained down from them.

The Ursan was first to her feet and grabbed a mace from her belt, standing in front of her friends with white glowing paws. “This has all been a massive misunderstanding. We can talk about this like civilized beings, right?” The waver in her voice made her attempts useless.

Sam growled at the group with bared fangs. “Things have progressed far past being civilized, Cleric. You have damn near killed my ward and you expect me to be civilized? And I wouldn’t waste your Magic on those Social Powers. I’m delighted to tell you that you cannot use your low-level Power on me. How sad for you, though.”

The Ursan stared at the enraged Demon for half a second before scooping up the Lupine and the Heikin and dashing down the hill toward the other party members. “Time for running!” There was hesitation from the other two, but as soon as Samriel lifted from the ground, they realized the danger they were in and scrambled toward the forest. A wall of flames exploded from the ground in front of the fleeing party.

Samriel quickly descended upon the party and I could hear a vicious fight ensuing below me. I laid down in the burned grass and stared at the nearly dark sky, the only real light coming from Samriel’s flames. There was nothing I could do to help. I could barely keep my eyes open, much less hold my own in further fighting. I lost the fight with my eyelids and desperately tried to cling to consciousness.

My eyes shot open again when I heard a footstep in the singed grass. The black and red Zalyk stood over me with glowing crimson eyes. He glanced over his shoulder as he pulled one of his daggers. “Your friend might destroy us, but you don’t get to live either.” I let out a weak cry of pain, tears running down my burned, bloody face. The Zalyk frowned as he wiped off his dagger and placed it into its sheath. “Don’t do that. It makes me fe-” 

He was cut short by a disc of white light when it hit the Zalyk’s back, which knocked him off of me and left a burning gash where he’d been hit. He scrambled to get to his feet, but Samriel snagged his opponent by his shoulders, flew so high I could barely make out his burning wings, and dropped the screaming Zalyk. He hovered in the air until the red and black scaled man was dangerously close to the ground, and Samriel grabbed his foot just as his short snout touched the earth. 

Sam flipped the much smaller man to hold him by his neck and stare him in the eyes. “You have doomed your entire party. I might have let some of you live, but not now. You’ve condemned them all.”

“S-sam…” I looked up at him with my eyes barely open. “Please. Don’t. Kill them. I started it.”

He stared down at me, analyzing my condition. “It doesn’t matter who started it. Normally, I would be the one finishing this, but you are close enough to Death’s door and I don’t have time for trash mobs.”

The Zalyk clawed at Sam’s hand with little effect. “You’re screwed if you let us go. We’ll just get stronger and find you later. Because we’re the heroes and you’re the villains. We win. You lose. We live. You die. That’s how the world works.”

Sam shook his head with a disgusted look. “That is how they’ve taught you the world works in your little Guilds and Alliances. The whole world has fallen for the biggest lie ever told. Heroes. Villains. It’s about perspective. Swing first, ask questions later seems to be the way of you Adventurers.” His pupils flared white and he tsked. “You have so much potential in you. What a waste it will be to kill you and the others. But I won’t just kill you and them. I will break your necks to paralyze you. I will break your arms. And then your legs. I will tear open your torsos, show you your own entrails, and then wrap them around your throats until your eyes start bulging. I’ll end your suffering by crushing your skulls with my bare hands.”

The terrified scaled man tried to put on a confident grin. “If you’re done monologuing at me, I’d let me go before my friends come back.”

A wicked smile crept across Samriel’s features. “You mean the friends that left as soon as I began describing what your deaths would look like?” Sam turned so my would-be assassin could see the quickly retreating backs of the other party members.

The abandoned Zalyk let out an enraged scream, doubling his effort to escape Samriel’s clutches. “You cowards! A pox on your Fates! I’ll see you in the Pits, traitors!” He glared at Samriel in defiance. “Well. Get on with it. You have laid your Death deal out quite plainly, Dealer.”

Sam looked down at me. “Close your eyes. You don’t need to see this.” I heard him let out a deep sigh when my eyes were shut. “You will have to excuse the sounds.” The next several minutes were filled with the sounds of screaming and breaking bones, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood. I knew it was over when there was a final, gut-wrenching sound of Sam crushing the Zalyk’s head. Sam brought the body down to the crater left by the Barbarian, dug the hole deeper with his claws, and buried the remains. 

He returned to me and picked me up with as much care as possible, all the fire and rage gone. “I can’t help with injuries this bad. We need to get you to an actual Healer.” He took off and held me tight to his chest as he sped through the air. “Just stay with me, Kindred. You’re gonna make it. I promise.”

[bryankemp]

This is the first of a series of Mix Tapes. I am actually putting these on cassette, but its easier to try to explain them. Keep reading if you want to know why each track was included or something a little deeper on each track.

This particular Mix Tape was the first one I created since restarting this old fun habit. I recently had my tape deck serviced so I thought the first tape should be something technically challenging to see how well cassettes hold up as a recording medium. Overall, they did really well.

1. O Superman is a very interesting song. There are lots of moments of silence so the dynamics are really good. I don’t completely understand the song, but I like how vulnerable it is. There is nothing hidden behind a big bass line or drum piece.

2. Rodrigo y Gabriela is one of my favorite bands. I have seen them in concert maybe 8 times. They make so much sound for only being two people. Most of it is Gabriela who does most of the rhythm parts. Take 5 by Dave Brubeck is a jazz standard. the 5/4 time gives it a unique feel. One is my favorite Metallica song. Its such a sad song, but so beautifully written.

3. CLOCK is a fantastic exercise in timing. The naming is perfect for this song, because the movement of the song is primarily clock division driven.

4. Dublin Blues is such a beautiful sad country song. It mentions one of my favorite spots in Austin, the Texas Chili Parlor. Yes, the mad dog margaritas are quite good. This is a recording of this song from later in Guy Clark’s career. Its very subtle.

5. Digital Animal is also an Austin song. Honey Claws are from the ATX and there is a line in the song about going to Kerbey Lane which is one of the best breakfast spots. I like the deep bass lines in the song.

6. In Spite of Ourselves is my favorite John Prine song. This is a very different and darker cover. The original makes me smile because the duet sounds like two people are in love and have been that way a long time. Someday, I hope to get back to that type of relationship.

7. Tainted Love / Where Did Our Love Go is such a classic 80′s tune. The transition between the two songs has always been one of my favorite dance beats.

8. What a great cover of one of the most iconic dance songs ever recorded. Yes this is from the Wonder Woman 84 sound track, it almost made me interested enough to watch it. Then I read the reviews....

9. Turtles All the Way Down was my introduction to Sturgill Simpson. The title is a reference to an old idea that the world is resting on the back of a Elephant which is on the back of a turtle, then its Turtles all the Way Down. Here is an article on wikipedia. So hearing that in a country song certainly piqued my ears. I’ve been a huge fan ever since.

10. Hasabe (My Worries) was a neat treasure. One of the record subscriptions I use, Vinyl Me Please, sends curated music. This particular album is 1970s Ethiopian Funk. Needless to say, not something I would have picked out on my own. I have no idea what the song is about, but it sounds super happy to me.

11. Lisa Bella Donna is an inspirational synthesist. She cranks out something like an album per month. Her collaboration with Moog Music has been helpful as I learn to wrestle and bend my own synth setup. This is a really good example of her works.

12. Enola Gay is the second most famous OMD song behind “If You Leave”. Classic 80s New Wave titled for the airplane that dropped the first nuclear weapon used in war. “It didn’t have to end that way.” The drum machine and synth hooks on this song are super catchy.

13. Sail - I have been around sailboats for many years of my life. So the title of this song resonates with me. As someone who also deals with ADD this song hits close to home. I like that the attack and decay for most of the sounds in the song are very short which gives it a nice punchy sound, very close to dubstep in this remix.

14. Golden Brown is fun because of the 2/3 or 4/6 time. Very waltzy. I also like the harpsichord-esque sound with the the organ underneath. In the early days of this song, fans postulated that “Golden Brown” is actually a reference to heroin, which at first The Stranglers denied. But eventually Hugh Cornwell, who sings and co-wrote the track, did fess up that “golden brown” is indeed heroin. He further stated that it was also a shout out to his girlfriend back then, who happened to be of Mediterranean descent. So “golden brown” actually refers to a substance and a human being. Both of these things apparently brought Cornwell so much contentment.   Read more at: https://www.songmeaningsandfacts.com/golden-brown-by-the-stranglers/

15. The artist Working Men’s Club is one of couple contemporary artist who have really gone back to the 80s hard core drum machine sounds. The opening to this song is pure 808 mixed in with some of that Madchester sound from the late 80s - early 90s. Then there is a very housey 303 bassline that ties it together.

[siribear]

the minutemen’s elite strike force consists of only this: whisper, deacon, maccready, preston, and a handful of settlers that make up the local militia. whisper and preston lead the way, with the militia right behind them and the snipers taking up the rear. in the two days it takes them to travel to the outskirts of the castle, on a peninsula to the southeast, whisper informs preston of her “deal” with the brotherhood.

for the first time, preston looks at her with disapproval. ‘you really think that’s a wise idea?’

‘we’re still getting our feet off the ground. you saw that airship, preston. with that, the vertibirds, the the power armor - we don’t stand a chance if we make them our enemies now.’ preston sighs heavily. ‘i don’t like it any more than you do, okay? it’s a means to an end.’

‘promise me you aren’t actually joining up with them.’

whisper looks up at him and the worry worn plainly on his face. ‘i don’t agree with their ideals. synths and ghouls aren’t that different from us.’

it isn’t long before he’s smiling at her again. and she still remembers deacon’s remark about preston back in sanctuary. she hides her blush to look out at the ocean, clear and blue and dangerous. the threat of mirelurks brings her back to the task at hand.

‘if we can move our headquarters from sanctuary to the castle, we keep sturges and the others safe, as well.’

preston nods. ‘mama murphy asks about you, sometimes. she says you never visit her.’

‘i - ’ she doesn’t. she’s always gone, for one, but more than that, she doesn’t like how mama murphy seem to know more than she should. ‘no, i don’t.’

preston fidgets with his rifle. ‘she wanted to know if you’d found your son yet. i didn’t know you had a son.’

whisper laughs mirthlessly. ‘and that’s why i never visit her.’

-

 the group wades through flooded streets, quickly dispatching mirelurks that burst from the ground, their hard shells the only thing keeping the group from picking them off from afar. one particularly well hidden mirelurk manages a good swipe at her leg before fully coming out of its hiding spot, claw and water coming away red. one of the minutemen disintegrates it, ash spreading on the water.

whisper waves one hand in thanks while the other inspects the cut. it’s mostly superficial, not deep enough to do any real damage. the worst part is the potential for infection if she doesn’t get out of the water. thankfully, the castle is close, and the water recedes back into the ocean. the minutemen scout a building ahead, the last one in a line of shops just before the castle. preston, deacon, and maccready stay behind while she quickly tends to her wound, sitting on the back of an abandoned car. a can of purified water to clean it, a quick stimpak for healing - there’s no saving her pant leg, however, sliced up the calf.

she holds one flap between her fingers and looks up to deacon. she raises an eyebrow.

he laughs. ‘oh, no. you’ve taken enough of my clothes.’ which is not an unfair statement. she returned the shirt, at least.

whisper gives him her best smile. ‘how else am i supposed to get into your pants?’

deacon huffs, absolutely not bothering to hide his proud grin; maccready actually bursts into laughter; preston just looks strained, though she can tell he’s fighting back a grin. in the end, she does get a pair of deacon’s spare jeans, which go right into her pack. she can change after they take the castle. celebratory wardrobe change.

‘didn’t think we’d ever make it back here,’ preston says, gazing out at the castle. at the high, fortified walls, the nearby lake with waves rippling in the wind. the broken walls are ominous, not blown apart by the bombs or eroded by time. something definitely attacked the fortress. something huge. their sea monster.

and yet, if she looks hard enough, she can see the stars in his eyes. ‘this is all thanks to you.’

whisper laughs awkwardly. ‘thank me after we take this thing. there’s still the chance that we fail horribly.’

‘if you die, i get your laser rifle.’ deacon jostles the weapon on her back.

‘only if i get her pistol. that thing is pretty nice.’

hands on her hips, she glares at the snipers. ‘you two are so supportive, thank you. let’s go, preston. the others are waiting.’

-

their plan is simple: preston takes the minutemen through the north end of the castle while whisper, deacon, and maccready take the south. preston will make the first shot, signalling the others to move in. and as they pass along the western side, there’s another collapsed wall at the edge of the lake. instead of circling around to the entrance, they climb up the mountain of debris onto the outer wall of the castle.

whisper looks down upon the pentagonal courtyard of fort independence, littered with mirelurk nests and mirelurk shells poking through the dirt. by her count, there are at least 6 hiding within the courtyard. open doorways lead to halls and more rooms and presumably more mirelurks. dead grass crunches underfoot as the three of them kneel in position. maccready watches one patch near them she knows is a mirelurk lying in wait.

two minutemen flank either side of the opposite wall. preston creeps further than that, pressing himself flat against the exposed wall. he spots them easily, gesturing quickly before taking aim. his first shot fries a single mirelurk egg, not bothering to waste it by hitting a shell. it’s enough. the ground rumbles and comes alive, the waiting mirelurks bursting from the ground. while they shake the dirt off their shells, the others open fire.

horrible, high-pitched, crab-like squeals fill the courtyard. the ground rumbles again; the mirelurk hiding next to whisper’s group finally awakens, charging blinding toward maccready. he pivots on his knee to take it out, one shot going straight into the mirelurk’s head. a smaller, paler baby breaks open an egg, chittering as it runs at them. he smashes it with the butt of his rifle, its body caving in from the impact.

‘that’s disgusting,’ she says, frowning.

‘these are your neighbors, boss.’ he wipes the ichor onto the grass under his feet.

it doesn’t take long for them to clear out the remaining mirelurks. the minutemen begin burning the nests, lobbing molotov cocktails before any more mirelurks can hatch. one minuteman walks over to the hole near the lake, favoring one arm; preston walks up behind him, checking on him before climbing the debris up to whisper’s group.

‘is he okay?’

preston looks over his shoulder, then to her. ‘a mirelurk got his arm before we could stop it. it’s been treated already.’

she nods. ‘good to hear. no injuries on our end.’ along the top walls of the castle, there are still undisturbed nests and discolored patches on the ground. more mirelurks, undisturbed by the noise. she does note the broken piles of artillery in certain corners of the pentagon. they could make use of it if any of it is salvageable.

‘there are still wings that haven’t been cleared, general. what are your orders?’

‘you take the uninjured members of your group, clear out the inner wings.  we’ll clean up out here. regroup near that radio tower.’

preston salutes her and returns to the lower level to inform his team. whisper and hers continue along the walls, destroying another set of nests and more mirelurks along the way. below them, the muffled sounds of more fighting and breaking glass. they finish on the far end of the castle, in one of the lakeside corners. preston emerges from the castle, mirelurk blood and gore splattered across his coat. she waves, amused when he waves back slowly.

the ground shudders again, strong enough to send her forward, close to the edge. she catches herself and follows the gazes of her companions to the lake. the center begins to bubble, waves rush to shore and crash heavily against the rocks.

‘boss, i don’t like this - ’

maccready’s complaint is cut short by a loud, low roar emanating from the lake. she covers her ears when the roar grows louder and a large, black shape breaks the surface. it stands higher than the castle walls, waving pincers as long as her entire body. water sloughs off its shell, covered in algae and lined with spikes. and then it sets its sights on the castle once more. as it walks slowly forward, whisper realizes this is their sea monster.

the minuteman standing near the breach in the wall fumbles for his weapon, clumsily aiming as his shots either go wide or catch the edge of the large shell. he draws its ire; it spits large globules of liquid in his direction. some land on the rocks, on the ground, but one is large enough to catch him directly in his face. and then he screams.

acid hisses, burning away at the rocks, at the man’s flesh. whisper stands, frozen, listening to the gurgling screams until he stops. she doesn’t hear deacon yelling at her to get down until he’s pulling him along with her to jump to the courtyard. they outrun more acid, some splashing against her heels.

she catches her breath against one of the inner walls of the castle, hand against her mouth to keep from vomiting.

‘whisper, hey.’ deacon’s rough hand on her shoulder brings her back. ‘we need you. come on.’

‘yeah,’ she says, voice rough. ‘i’m - okay.’ she closes her eyes for just a moment. ‘that-that acid was coming from those spouts near her head, right? damage those enough - ’

‘i’m on it.’ maccready ducks down and around a small crack in the wall. it’s enough for the barrel of his rifle to fit through and for him to see. ‘cover me?’

whisper and deacon nod in unison, watching as the giant mirelurk scans the castle walls for its prey. maccready’s first shots go high into its shell until it turns to face him. it roars louder when one shot damages a spout enough to break it, but acid still shoots out of the other. the wall saves him from most of the spray, but some makes it through the small crack. he pulls away in time to save his gun from the damage.

she and deacon take their shots. her low, him high; deliverer punching through the chinks in its legs. it stumbles and turns enough to face them, taking the pressure off maccready. with his angle, he hits the other spout with a shout of, ‘yes!’

and whisper would laugh with relief, if the giant wasn’t ramming itself against the wall of their cover. dust and rock rain upon them with every hit. they run further down the halls of the castle, the mirelurk limping behind them. something explodes off its back, and the three of them stumble to a stop. through another small window, they notice someone peeking out from a far doorway, a lowered rocket launcher in hand.

‘good to see the minutemen are good for something,’ deacon quips. ‘guess it’s our turn to cover them.’

whisper ignores the insult. she’ll definitely get him back later for it if they survive this.

between the two groups, they come up with a rhythm: preston’s group fires laser shots to have the giant mirelurk face them, then fire a missile; whisper’s group moves in close to draw the monster away before ducking back into the castle. it works, for a time, until the creature weakens. dislodged chunks of flesh hang off its body, blood seeps into the ground where it paces.

whisper moves in, getting its attention by focusing on its legs. one snaps off entirely, and it careens off to one side before righting itself. she backpedals, avoiding swipes from the large claws. someone from preston’s group attacks the creature, but it doesn’t turn like it had been. instead, she hears familiar squealing as mirelurk hatchlings fall from under the large shell. two nests worth of hatchlings swarm the other minutemen.

‘shit.’ she turns and runs, but too slowly. the hulking creature might be limping, but with the reach on those claws -

deacon grabs her arm, almost throwing her back inside, but when she turns, he’s gone. she yells for maccready, who starts shooting immediately. between him and her, they reduce the mirelurk’s head to a crater at the base of its shell. it falls heavily against the wall, but the castle holds firm.

‘i’ll check on the others.’ maccready pushes her. ‘go.’

she goes. crawling under the sagging body is stupid and dangerous, but it’s the fastest way outside, so she takes it. when she makes it on the other side, mirelurk blood sticky against her back, she spots him. deacon lies crumbled on the ground, halfway across the courtyard, a red gash across his chest visible even from where she stands. she runs to him with a stimpak at the ready.

deacon’s pale - paler - his sunglasses somehow still on, but askew. she lifts his head gently with one hand, and with the other she presses her fingers against his throat, his pulse soft and fluttering under her fingertips. whisper brushes her thumb against his cheek, and he groans when she administers the stimpak.

‘ugh. did i die?’ he shifts slightly and looks up at her. ‘am i in heaven?’

she almost sobs with relief, resting her forehead lightly against his instead. ‘don’t ever do that again.’

‘no promises, partner.’

‘you two need a moment?’ whisper straightens at the sound of maccready’s voice, but doesn’t rise.

deacon groans again. ‘never mind. this is definitely hell.’

[o-rusted-heart]

“Nick? Are you with us, Nick?”

It took time, coming to. Rebooting wasn’t like waking from a slumber; it was like slogging through mud to get to where he was before. It was more like unconsciousness, as it took time and effort to claw himself back from his hibernation. It was disorienting, too, his memories again mangled and out of place until he could make sense of the glass skylight above him looking into the foggy Maine skyline.

There was Farday, and there was DiMA, two sets of eyes that couldn’t be more different but both looking at him with concern and pride. It had gone well, Nick could tell from only their expression fairly immediately.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I’m here.”

His next question was answered before he opened up his mouth. Nick was glancing around, searching for wheat-blonde hair and blue eyes, pink lips and a beautiful scarred face. But still, his voice came out vulnerable and wanting, ready for disappointment. “...Six?”

“She said she wanted a break,” DiMA answered softly, his own kind way of expressing failure. “But she has been gone for quite some time.”

Nick was happy to lie in silence while Faraday went to alert some of the synth guards, ready to go look for her, but he knew the answer before they were even dispersed. He knew it deep in his gut, the same instinct that no matter how much he loved her told him not to trust the sneaky broad from New Vegas. 

Still he lied in silence for a good long while, although Nick didn’t wait for the confirmation that Six had vanished. Instead he eventually found his way to his feet and silently dressed as he got used to a newfound sense of coordination. 

It took him time. To those around him it was clear something was about to blow, and they steered clear.

All it took was heading to their room; their room where they had shared intimate moments, where he’d trusted her. Nick found it hard to keep his temper in check when he found her pack of essentials gone.

She’d left. She’d gone to the Commonwealth without him, no matter what he’d said, no matter what he’d wanted. There was nothing that could stop Courier Six when she felt she was right; not even the man she supposedly loved. 

At least it was mostly his things that flew across the room to crash into the wall; Nick wasn’t even entirely conscious that he’d thrown it, or that he threw the next table across the room. He wasn’t an angry person-- not in this life or the last-- but there was something this time around, something broken in the way he’d so implicitly trusted her with all the vulnerable parts about him. All the parts she’d so quickly betrayed the moment it came to her personal beef with Benny Fucking Gecko. 

It didn’t take long to get his things together, though it took longer than anticipated to cool off and make sure he wasn’t going to act regrettably. Nick Valentine was trying his damndest not to take it personally, but there couldn’t be anything more personal than the only woman he’d decided to love in this godforsaken lifetime entirely abandoning him. 

Nick got his things together, and spoke to his brother only long enough to tell him where he was going and what he was doing. Thanks for the hospitality, and I hope to see you again soon. It felt hollow, with a boiling rage in his gut trying desperately to cover up the sheer hurt of it all. Because damn it, did it hurt. It felt like his heart had been ripped out, and it was about to get so much worse. 

As he made his way to the dock, Nick did his best not to think about how much time had passed and how utterly screwed Six was. He tried not to think about how he was going to be too late, just like he’d been too late in the past. Instead he thought about how terribly she’d betrayed his trust, how she’d manipulated his fears to get what she wanted. 

He could’ve killed her. But instead, Nick set sail with anything he had in his repertoire to try and find her, and try to save her. 

@cheatdeaths

[lucilleandherrobots]

Perfect Blue

Race: SynthClaw (Or rather a synthetic robot deathclaw made of gen 2 synth parts and materials)

Condition: Functional. Would be dead if it weren't for repairs. Still missing parts like their lower jaw, arm, some plating, and pieces of their horns.

Back story:

To start, they were part of a prototype experiment by Institute. The goal was that by replicating the strength, ferocity and pack mentality of death claws in machine form, they could mass produce large groups of semi independent killing machines to make wiping out the surface much faster. More than likely they'd start by taking out isolated settlements before taking on the larger ones.

The pack mentality is key here. Synthclaws are usually assembled and assigned pairs in their code. This was thought to help strengthen that pack mentality. During these experiments, the Institute would vary the balance of certain aspects each Synth claw pair had between each other. In Deep and Perfect's Blue's case, it was emotional intelligence (Perfect) and rational intelligence (Deep).

One day, Deep Blue witnessed another SynthClaw get decommissioned for the first time. This is what prompted Deep Blue to escape- only they left Perfect Blue behind.

Problem was that the way the pairs were set up, they required the each other to be stable, causing their AI to be co dependent on one another. When the stability of Deep Blue was removed, Perfect started to act... erratically. Most of their sense of rational was removed in a way. They retained some but with the pain and betrayal they felt and the loss of stability, they started to go a bit insane. (Deep Blue only began to think in absolutes until they met Geneveve.)

When the Institute noticed the behavioral change along with the missing Synthclaw, they attempted to decommission Perfect, as well. This only enraged Perfect and in a fit of defiance, they went on a rampage through the section housing the project, freeing themselves... then falling inactive somewhere in the ruins swearing to kill their twin.

Deep Blue's name in universe is a reference to how deeply they can analyze a situation- as deep as the Deep Blue sea.

Perfect Blue's name, while being a blatant reference to the psychological horror anime movie, refers to them possibly being the perfect killer by being very attuned to other's emotions and manipulating them into a false sense of security. The Blue in their name is inherent to Deep- they were named first.

[talesfromthetabletop]

Astara’s Tale Part One: The Iron Wind

“It looks like a dust storm might be coming”, Cara called up to Nex, who rode on top of the aneen ahead. The great beast swatted at the stinging flies around its face with its diminutive arms as it plodded onwards. Nex looked to the horizon, shielding the eye sockets of his mask from the midday glare.

He stared for a moment, the caravan lulling to a holt. He shot up suddenly, startling the aneen and the rest of the group following. “That's no Dust storm!”, he yelled jumping down from the creature. “That’s Iron wind!” 

He pointed to a small cave opening a short distance away, his voice loud and authoritative. “Get to shelter! Move!” 

Astara froze for only a second, her mind processing the danger that had sprung upon them. She turned and sprinted towards the hole in the rock face, her feet digging deep into the soft ground. The air around her became thick with drit and took on a coppery taste. The flavour in her mouth brought with it a memory from her past. A memory of burst lips and spitting blood. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to force the memory back when her foot hit a loose rock and her ankle gave way. She slammed into the ground with force, the air in her lungs knocked out of her violently. 

She lay on the ground for a second, dazed, the pain in her ankle shooting up her leg. It took a few moments before her mind kicked back into gear. 

I've got to move. Move or die. It's that simple.

She tried to scramble to her feet but the instant she put any weight on her ankle it gave way causing her to fall again and cry out in pain. She pulled herself across the ground, digging her nails into the earth and heaving herself towards shelter.

I'm not going to make it. The words screamed in her mind. I'm too slow. At this rate that storm is going to rip me to pieces. 

She twisted around and stared in horror as the large dark cloud on the horizon drew rapidly closer. 

Is this how I’m going to die? Here? Some dusty trail in the middle of nowhere? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. How could I die when I still had so much unfinished business? Maybe it was for the best. At least here I could see it coming, face it head on and be brave for once. 

She closed her eyes and prayed to any god or power watching.

Please don't let this hurt. Please let me die quick

She drew her hand up, the blade she kept sheathed to her wrist flicked out. If I’m going to die then it would be by my own hand.

She closed her eyes and took in a breath. She placed the cool edge of the knife to her throat but just before she could rake it across her flesh, arms tucked under hers, wrapping around her and dragging her to her feet.

She let out a startled gasp, the sudden stay of execution stunning her enough to allow herself to be hauled backwards. Dumbfounded she looked up into the pale mask of Nex as he rushed her toward the shelter. 

Once inside with the rest of the group, Nex let her drop against the cold stone walls. Spinning and reaching into his pocket, he threw out a small silver ball. It bounced across the ground before shimmering, a blue wall of light erupting from its center. It covered the entrance to the cave, sealing and protecting all those inside.

For a second they were still, quietly panting in the dim glow of the shield. The respite was short lived however, when a blood-curdling scream erupted from the other side of the blue light. All heads turned to see a silhouette still outside. Cara scrawled across the ground, desperately trying to crawl towards the cave fighting against the dark swarm that was slowly surrounding her. Her face was afire with pain and panic. 

The youngest of the group, Anya sprinted forward, moving to scoop up the silver ball but Nex caught her sharply, pulling her to face him. 

“We have to go save her!”, she screamed, trying desperately to pull her arm free from his gloved grip. “Nex please!”

“Anya”, he said softly, his voice low and gentle. “It's too late”. 

“No it's not! How can you say that? You can see her! You can hear her, for Calaval’s sake!” 

“Anya”.

“Nex, please! She my sister! She's all I have!” 

Nex’s grip did not lessen.

Cara’s screams were becoming more guttural, the pained cries slowly giving way to loud gurgled howls. 

Anya turned towards the barrier, her eyes wide and tormented. She pulled and clawed in vain against Nex who only pulled her closer, whispering soothing words as the young girl slowly crumpled to the ground. 

Astara looked away, closing her eyes to hold back the tears she was fighting. Each pathetic wail from Anya tore right through her chest despite her efforts to keep her distance from the group. Quietly, she moved away, using the wall to help her limp over to a large bolder before sitting down. Once settled, she stared at her companions, each of which just sat quietly on the ground staring at the dirt with harrowed eyes. 

It felt like a lifetime until Cara’s cries died away. the only sound left the rhythmic clicks of Vox’s mechanics and the muffled sobs that erupted from Anya every few minutes or so.

Deciding it was best to give her some space, Nex moved back, wrapping her in his long outer robe. Without speaking, he stood up and seemed to collect himself, running a hand over the dark blue fabric that wrapped around his head. After a second or two he straightened up and made his way over to where Astara sat. 

“Can you stand?”

Astara looked up at him. “Sorry?” 

“Your ankle. Can you stand on it?” There was something to his voice now, a soft strain. It was hard to tell but he seemed tired. Though after what they all had just gone through Astara guessed that was to be expected.

Astara bit her lip and tested her ankle out. Placing her foot on the floor, she tried to bare weight with it but sharp pain shot up the leg, causing her to wince. 

“I'm going to take that as a no”. Nex signed, kneeling down in front of her. He reached out slowly, taking her ankle into his gloved hand. “Can you move it?” 

She stretched out her foot and nodded. 

He slowly pressed the muscles around her joint, stopping occasionally when she hissed in pain.

“Hmmm. Well it's not broken”. He reached into a small satchel on his belt and pulled out a wad of bandages. “Probably just a nasty sprain. Try to rest it if you can and if any of my belongings survived this storm, I’ll see if I can put something on it later that might help relieve any pain”.  

He began to methodically bandage up her ankle and Astara couldn't help but notice how soft and gentle his touch was. She shook herself and took stock of what happened. 

He had saved her life. Her. a complete stranger to him yet he had saved her life, risking his own life in the process. How was she supposed to handle that? No one had ever done something so selfless for her before. Growing up it was very much a battle to even survive. If you wanted to see tomorrow then you looked out for yourself and no one else. 

Blushing, she turned away from Nex. Maybe he had an ulterior motive, keeping her in his debt until he can trade it in for his own gain. That was the style she was more accustomed to. “No one does anything out of the goodness of their hearts”  her father would say. “Everyone wants something at the end of the day” 

Did Nex have other intentions? If so she had no shins to give nor anything else of value. She had her body but she wasn't about to sell that again without good cause. Besides, he didn't seem the type so far to seek female company - or any company for that matter.  She was already obligated to work for him so that couldn't be the reason. 

She chewed on her lip as she thought.

She wanted to say something to him, to thank him for risking his life. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated it and how grateful she was to him, how much she would be in his debt. She wanted to say so many things but the words stuck to her teeth, refusing to budge off her tongue. Instead she looked away, a crimson glow working its way across her cheeks

“There”, Nex said, pulling the bandaging tightly. “That should at least get you back on your feet”. 

He got up in one fluid motion and Astara could feel the words ‘thank you’ form on her lips but by the time she was ready to push them out he was striding away, off to check up on the rest of them.

Well done, Astara. First kind act someone has shown you in years and you can't even manage to say thank you. Aren't you just going to be little miss popular. 

She dug her nails into her palm and cursed her own cowardice. 

She didn't need friends. Not with the path that lay in front of her. They would only get in the way or get hurt.

She looked back over at Nex who was trying to inspect Taran for wounds. 

These people had been hurt enough.

Hi!, Thank You for joining me on my first part in what i hope will be an on going story. please feel free to message me with any feedback or tip! 

Glossary

Drit - Sand, ground up synth, metals etc. that make up the majority of the ground

The Ninth World - The world. As it after after eight other incredibly advanced civilisations have risen and moved away, abandoned the planet or died out.

Synth - Synthetic materials, primarily plastics. Not created by ninth-worlders.

The Iron Wind - A cloud of nanites which randomly change or destroy anything that comes in contact with it

Navarene - The country you are in, the Northern-most kingdom of the Steadfast

The Steadfast - The ‘enlightened lands’. Nine kingdoms in a fragile alliance who mostly pay fealty to the Order of Truth. Think of it as a subcontinent.

The Order of Truth - A quasi-religious organisation obsessed with the Numenera, maintaining order and control

Numenera - Artifacts left behind or forgotten from previous civilisations

Aeon Priest - Members of The Order of Truth, who oversee things in many smaller communities.

Abhuman - Mutants and sub-races. They are all bad-natured, the distinguishing characteristic from ‘normal’ mutants.

The Truth - The primary language of The Steadfast. Taught by aeon priests.

Cypher - One-use pieces of the Numenera, ranging from pills to grenades, ray-emitters to teleporters.

Shins - coins, shiny baubles, dials, buttons etc. that are used as currency. Minted coins are less common, but some places use them exclusively.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

2Doc Week 2019, 6/6: Birthday

Really wanted to contribute something before the week was over and scrambled to put this together! This is a little day 5, but mostly day 6. Apologies for being a bit short and probably shaky quality! And apologies for… not breaking canon exactly, but bending it. (This assumes that the car from Saturnz Barz was transported back to London before Murdoc’s incarceration, which seems like more effort than they’d probably make.)

Warnings: Smokes ‘n swears, and one UK-specific traveller slur. Moderate angst, but by my standards I’d say this is actually pretty tender.

AO3 Link

Everybody cool down, ev—

Pause. Select channel 3, playback 80%.

—rybody see yourself. Everybody on time, on t—

Pause. 78%.

Murdoc’s sat at the near-buckling desk in his bedroom, overloaded with sound equipment and empty cans, papers and postage cluttered under his laptop. The corkboard hanging in front is stuffed to capacity, with the overflow beginning to pour from the walls to the desk to the floor. It’s not a proper studio, not even close, but it’s got what he needs for now: a mixer open with the recent touring tracklist queued up. He slows the bass track, clips notes, tries to match Ace’s recording more to his own pacing and it just doesn’t work. Accounting for his style throws everyone else’s rhythm off; he’d heard it in every city for that last leg and he hears it now. His mouth sinks at the edges as he bumps it down and plays it again.

There’s an unsubtle shuffling behind him, has been for a minute or two, but he doesn’t bother turning to greet Stuart. He can feel him idling in the doorway and reckons that’s on purpose. It’s gone on past seven now with no “best wishes” or formalities, and Murdoc thinks he’d do well to keep skirting it ‘til midnight. He doesn’t exactly want a conversation, not about them, not today. He doesn’t want a pardon for the day’s sake, doesn’t want an obligation to it from Stu.

He doesn’t really want a birthday.

Stu’s hands fall on his shoulders, almost big enough for the tips of his outstretched fingers to meet over Murdoc’s sternum. His breath is hot and foul against the side of his face.

“Hey.” The stink of sweat is practically steaming off him, and Murdoc’s throat tightens. “Got you something.”

He smirks as he leans his head further on his shoulder, reveling in that awful balmy feeling of skin on sweat-slick skin. “You can leave it in the back.”

Stu huffs a nasally laugh right in his ear and pushes off him, muttering something under his breath. Turning to face him properly, Murdoc notes his reddish face and neck, his unwashed hair, his white tank gone yellow around the edges and stained, overwide jeans.

“Look at you. Is your prezzy coming in my room at night good an' dirty?” He lets his mouth hang open just enough to see him tongue at the back of his teeth in consideration. “S’not the worst you could do.”

Stu cranes his neck and juts his jaw forward, clearly fancying himself a real stud. “I’ve been working on your caddy.”

Murdoc’s brow tics as he pulls a cigarette from the pack on his desk and lights it, his eyes still stuck on the discolored spots beneath Stu’s bony collar.

“Pikey drove up in a brand new Cadillac?”

“Yeah, balls to you,” he quotes back. “Can’t really leave it to sit pretty this long without some engine problems. I cleared out the coolants and the oil, checked the spark plugs, swapped out the coils for smoother suspension in the rear.”

“Mm, now say you stuck your fingers in the tailpipe,” Murdoc mutters around his cigarette.

Stu grins. “You’ve got a little corrosion on one of the belts. I’ll have to fetch another in the morning, I haven’t got a replacement.”

He doesn’t entirely understand the point of this, hasn’t got much need for the car to run in London, but telling his bandmates to fuck off for making efforts is something he’s made efforts himself not to do recently. It’s good that it’s something small and familiar; he’d rather this than something heavier hanging over his head.

“Awful rugged of you. Tell me we’re on the part where I say I’m strapped and ask if there’s any other way I can repay you.”

Stu ignores him and nicks the cigarette from his mouth, then presses it to his own and burns it down, down, down. He stares indiscreetly at his laptop screen and ashes into an old cider can. Murdoc wordlessly minimizes the mixer.

“I’ll fetch a belt in the city tomorrow, was heading out anyway. I rang in an appointment at Snippers ‘round eleven.”

Murdoc pauses his crafty maneuver to grab his fag back and sizes him up. Stu’s shaggy hair hangs nearly to his nape, thinning and unflatteringly wet, the one-time shock of blue faded with sparse silver strands throughout. He’s always been a man who cared for his appearance, but he typically favored looking like he didn’t; either Russ or Stu himself have cut his hair as long as he’s been living outside his mum’s house. He frowns in suspicion.

“Just decided you’d pop in for a trim?”

Stu toes off his trainers, shrugging distractedly. “Yeah.”

“Are you going somewhere?” He hesitates. “Am I going somewhere?”

Stu starts to strip off his jeans, the seams worn to nothing and the waist at least a full size too big, nearly falling to his thighs as soon as the belt’s off. The denim pools on top of his flat socked feet and he keeps silent as he kicks them off, then digs through the wash pile and rummages out a bright red pair of joggers to replace them. Murdoc watches without comment, dread pooling in him. Stuart sits on the bed to keep from toppling as he stretches back past his shoulders and pulls his shirt up over his head, inelegant, the cigarette still dangling between his lips.

He thumbs the damp fabric in his lap, then tosses it aside and sits up a bit taller.

“I don’t know, figured I’d ask first. Maybe somewhere quiet for a bit, somewhere in the countryside. Maybe…” He works his jaw, eyes hooded and downcast, looking at the space between Murdoc’s out-turned ankles more than Murdoc himself. “Maybe someplace in the Cotswolds or somethin’. Or a girlie bar in Soho, topless one. I’d like to look sharp either way.”

Murdoc sits stock-still. He watches Stu smoke and swears he can hear ticking from the space between them.

“…You don’t have to do that.”

“Funny thing about me, I don’t have to do much of anything. ‘Hafta’ wasn’t really the point.”

Murdoc brings a thumb to his lip, tries for indifference as he prods a cracking spot with his nail and makes the split worse. “Can’t imagine there’s much to the synth scene in Gloucestershire.”

“Think I can pull through. It’s not forever, s’just a holiday.”

He fights the urge to look behind him at the corkboard, pinned from corner to corner with tickets and magazine clippings and a single seaside postcard. If he tries he can still remember the shadow of flat palm leaves against a blinding afternoon sky, the taste of rum and seabreeze, the lap of easy waves over soft, warm sand. He remembers the way Stuart laughed, dizzy and near-drowning and too drunk to know it.

But when he looks at it now, that’s not what comes to mind. He thinks of the beach and he hears crashing, and then gunshots, and then nothing. He smells dissolving cellophane and rot, the biting ocean air acrid and chemical and clawing up his nostrils into his brain. He sees pink.

He sees a sprawling, melding, mile-deep labyrinth of pink.

Stu eyes him and takes another pull of smoke.

“You could stand a cut yourself. Your flop’s starting to flip.” He makes a swooping gesture with the cigarette down his forehead.

Murdoc palms his fringe down while he studies Stuart.

“I’m about 20 years past my sell by date, s’not gonna make a difference—”

“Well I’m not,” Stu interrupts. “I’m not, alright? Halfway isn’t the ‘too late’ mark for me.”

For all his supposed cool, Murdoc can’t help but see the exhausted folds above and below his eyes and the red lines lingering across his forehead.

“The fuck’s that even mean, why’m I counting your marks?”

“It means it’s not about you.”

“On my birthday, my present’s not about me? It’s about you?” He almost laughs despite himself. “Now that sounds more like you, Stuart.”

“Your present was me fixing the bloody car you left rusting while you were banged up. The holiday’d be for me.” He’s as near to a hiss as the smoke will let him go.

Murdoc tries to keep straight-faced as he swallows, feeling his tongue and all his excuses too acutely. “Why?”

“Because it’s not staring at another pissing wall in another pissing studio in another pissing country, it’s… you know, it’s quaint. It’s just picturesque bollocks and I really shouldn’t have to explain why regular people might enjoy that.”

“Fuck’re you even saying, Stu? Had a poor time out in Cali, so we should just… what? Run off in a sodding lobby painting? I don’t—” his stomach twists, and he tilts his head nearer to the board. “C’mon. I don’t get that.”

“And I don’t get that,” Stu replies, eyeing the postcard without pretense. “If it makes it easier, I don’t bloody well care whether you’re up at night; point is that I didn’t get to keep it. You owe me that much.”

He sounds harsh, but he doesn’t look it. He just looks tired. Stu leans over and stubs the already burnt-out cigarette on the rug. He rubs his hands over his face, scrubs his dirty fingers against his eyelids and the bridge of his nose.

“M’sorry. It’s—it’s been a long year for me too, Murdoc.”

“Thought you said Hollywood was alright,” he says, knowing it doesn’t help.

Stuart runs his knobby fingers through his hair. Murdoc knows he tries to hide it by keeping his bangs long and scattered, but pushed back like this, it’s clear to see how far his hairline’s receded. Slick with sweat and with grime, it looks like his hair’s being weighted down, just slipping further back on his skull so the ends can pool at his nape. He’s still handsome, of course—still something half-divine in Murdoc’s eyes—but he’s looking his age now.

“A trim would do you good,” Murdoc offers quietly.

“Yeah. I think it would.” He hasn’t got the energy to pull a face, to look like anything but what he is. “I think it might do you good too.”

Murdoc drops his head forward and swipes at his upper lip, back throbbing from his confinement at this desk. He wants to do better this time, but it’s clearer to him than anyone how wrongly the better Murdoc fits with what Stu’s made.

He feels how Stu’s worn eyes stay on him.

“Look, this doesn’t have to mean anythin’ with bells and whistles. It just means I’d like to take a drive and I’d like to stand on a hill and drink whatever shite they peddle, fucking toffee ale or summin'. I’d like to have a different sort of day.”

“It means you want to go inland,” he murmurs like he’s got a right to think it.

Stuart exhales loudly, his already sunken chest deflating further.

“It means I know that you…” Murdoc glances up to catch how he looks at him with a muddled sorriness, an acknowledgment without a reward. “It means I know. And it means the knowing’s fine, alright? I’d just like to see something different. Or at the very least I’d like to see some tits.”

“Go back to the mechanic talk and you can see some right now.” They share a small smile. Murdoc wets his lips, tries to stay present. “Y’really think she’s up for a drive? Car’s older than I am.”

“You doubting these hands?” He spreads them wide and gives his knuckles a cheeky crack, then jokingly winces.

“Only entirely.”

Stu braces against his knees and lumbers to his feet, gaze never wavering as he crosses the distance to Murdoc. He stands in front of him, all peaks and angles and towering shapes, sweat dried to his skin. He just watches him, no posing and no pleading, just stays there with his bare torso level to the other’s face.

After a moment Murdoc reaches out to twist his fingers in his waistband, bunching the red between his wrists and pulling him close. Stu lifts a hand to the back of his head to grab a handful of thick, choppy hair and crane his neck back. He stares at Murdoc’s chin against his navel for another beat before bending, kissing Murdoc hard and brief.

Their hands keep their place after they separate.

Every word that occurs to him to say feels like running, or wallowing, or something devaluing to what Stu’s willing to let them be. It all just feels too big—feels like more than it needs to be, like it makes it matter less.

“Yeah,” is the best he can manage.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[radioactive-synth]

no one tagged me, just ‘borrowed’ this from posts i seen around. taggin: @radioactiveblight @aphelioo @ladyinquisitor @inholywater @rogue-lavellan @shinycosmog @lavellane @gaaaayshepard

Rules:

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer them as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same.

1. What is your name?

“Name’s Vaughn Zander. Nice to meet you.”

2. How old are you?

“35 years old. That, if you don’t add another 210 years.”

3. What do you look like?

“It’s not obvious? *sighs and rolls his eyes* Tall and muscular, light brown hair and beard, steel eyes, I wear glasses, my old vault suit with a blue long coat with the Minutemen symbol on back. ”

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now?

“Born in the same land I live now.”

5. What was your childhood like?

“It was good, especially that i spent time with my mom, my uncle and my cousin. Not so nice whenever my father was at home. *he sighs and runs one of his hands on the other arm* Anyway, I have good memories and mom and I remember these dearly.”

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions?

“I’m the General of Minutemen, and we are allied with Atom Cats, Far Harbor and Acadia. We have a peace treat with the BOS, but I can’t trust Maxson ever again. The Railroad will always have my support, even that Desdemona don’t wanna see me ever again.”

7. Tell me about your best friend.

“Besides my lovers? *smirks* I can talk about Debbie. *his smile getting wider* She is a total sweetheart. Very kind, caring, always there to help anyone, has a good heart, but sometimes she can be stubborn. Smart and funny, and her laugh is one of the best sounds I can hear daily. She is like a sister for me. More words cannot describe how much she means to me. *stops to rub one of his eye*”

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them!

“Yes! My lovers, Nick and Hancock, our son, Oliver, Codsworth, our pet chicken Hera, Dogmeat, my mom Olivia, Debbie, and the rest of Sanctuary family: *starts counting on fingers* Danse, Preston, Charlie, Rosaline, Sturges, Piper, Nat, MacCready, Duncan, Ellie, Curie, Deacon, Cait, Rose, Tamir... *stops for a few seconds, letting a sigh* then it’s Hera’s pack: Fluffy, a deathclaw, Claws, Rose’s radscorpion, Rex, Tamir’s dog, Nix, mom’s dog, Silver, Ellie’s dog, Gracie, Nat’s mutant hound. ”

9. What about a partner or partners?

“I already mentioned my lovers, Nick and Hancock.”

10. Who are your enemies, and why?

“The fuckin’ raiders *sighs and runs his hand through his hair* And the Gunners. Some of these days they will get it that it’s our land now.”

11. Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them?

“If I heard? Debbie and I been trained by them for a while. They could help out so many people, but guess that Maxson is the worst leader ever and never thinks of other humans, not even of those under his leadership. I can’t trust him anymore since he wanted to kill Danse. We ended a peace treat, but I can’t rest too easy, knowing that his troops still roam in Commonwealth.”

12. What about The Enclave?

“Not much of them, except from what I heard from Rose and Tamir. According to Rose, they were responsible for creating the intelligent deathclaws, just like she is, but they took her human mother away, and she escaped from them. Tamir mentioned that her friend Arcade was part of Enclave and helped her take the Hoover Dam. So I can’t really say what i think about them now.”

13. How do you feel about Super Mutants?

“They are so bad, but I understand that they went through terrible experiments. I only met a few good Super Mutants, so I hope there are others there. I would welcome them if they are willing to change and help.”

14. What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in?

“I don’t know, does the one with the BOS and Railroad fighting while I was sneaking in Bunker Hill with a courser to get the synths back to Institute counts? Desdemona never forgave me for this.”

15. Have you ever fought a Deathclaw?

“So many times.”

16. Do you like fighting?

“I can’t say it’s what I love. But it’s something I must do to protect other people.”

17. What’s your weapon of choice?

“It’s ‘Ares’, my furious power fist. Also the shield that Oliver done for me.”

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?)

“I like to believe that my strength, my intelligence and my charisma is what keeps me alive out there. But of course I would wish to be more agile and avoid the hits. My family keeps telling me I should use guns, but I can’t see well from long distance.”

S - 16 P - 5 E - 6 C - 12 I - 16 A - 4 L - 3

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them?

"I’ve been frozen for 210 years in a vault, you expect me to like them anymore? Vault 81 seems a good vault, but I can’t stay there for long without feeling claustrophobic.”

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you?

“It sometimes affect me, but I take rad-x, and when I’m feeling more sick, a radaway is what I need. At first it affected my stomach, given that I ate radiated pre war food, but with cooked food, I feel better.”

21. What’s your favorite wasteland critter?

“Chickens! Especially my chicken Hera.”

22. What’s your least favorite wasteland critter?

“Bugs!”

23. How do you feel about robots?

“They are totally fine, as long as they won’t kill me on spot.”

24. How many caps do you have on you right now?

“Probably 30 caps? I have more in my bag.”

25. Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla?

“Nuka Cherry.”

26. Do you do chems?

“No!”

27. Do you ever think about the Pre-War world?

“Yea *looks other way, seemed deep in thoughts*. There are a lot of things that I miss, but I don’t miss the politics and the constant fear we lived in.”

28. What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently?

“I... wished that I would took the Institute under my hand. All the resources there, lost now just cause of my blind anger. *puts a hand over his face* I don’t want to think about this again.”

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve?

“Maybe it’s the fact that my family and I rebuilt the Minutemen and a lot of people trusts us now? But also the fact that I made a new family, and I will always protect them, no matter what. Our plans is to clear the Commonwealth of dangers, get rid of raiders and gunners and people will have better lives.”

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world?

“I mentioned that I want to make the Commonwealth a safer place for everyone. For me personally? All I want is to enjoy my time with my family, and to heal. For my family I want them safe and happy.”

[flourhurricane]

A Fallout OC Interview

I snagged this from @life-is-no-sugarlicking because it looked like fun. Tagging: if you want to be tagged, thus you shall be.

Onward to the Q&A!

What is your name? “My full name is Osa Claire Lockhart. Everybody calls me Claire. Sometimes General, or Bullseye. But usually, it’s just Claire.”

How old are you? “Oh, um, do you want my literal age? I don’t like counting the 210 years I spent frozen inside a cryopod, so let’s just say I’m 33.”

What do you look like? “I’m a short gal with long -- longish? yeah, longish -- red hair, blue eyes, and some freckles around my nose and cheeks. And I guess I’m brawny for a woman. Working out helps me keep a clear head. And, you know, alive. But let me tell you: you can have as many muscles as my hubby and you can still end up with a Deathclaw’s claw marks on your cheek. Which... I did. In my defense, the power armor I wore was fitted for some tall dude and it was the first time I’d ever seen one of them beasts.” 

Where are you from? Where do you live now? “I’m from a very small town in Texas called Blue Fields, named after all the bluebonnets that used to grow there. When I turned 18, I joined the army. I was stationed in the Yukon for a while, then Anchorage, Alaska... and then, when I was discharged, I moved back home. Graduated from Texas A&M, then moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts when I was accepted into Harvard Law School. When I got married, I moved to Sanctuary Hills. Nowadays, I live in Diamond City in the Commonwealth... Wow, I’ve lived in a lot of places.” 

What was your childhood like? “It... wasn’t that great, but Mom tried to give me and my brothers as many good memories as she could.”

What groups are your friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? “I’m the General of the Minutemen. I can be friendly with any group that wants to help the people of the Commonwealth. And ‘people’ includes humans, synths, and ghouls.”

Tell me about your best friend. “My best friend? Well... I assume you mean my best friend outside of any family members. That would be Preston. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t asked me to join the Minutemen. Because I, um, don’t do well alone, and I was in a dark... very dark place when I left the vault. Helping Preston and the Quincy survivors gave me a purpose. One other than revenge. And I... don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay him.”

Do you have a family? Tell me about them! “Growing up, my family was my mom and dad, my older brother, my younger brother, and our abuela. I got married after graduating law school, and Nate and I had a baby boy we named Sean. Almost all of them are gone now, obviously.”

What about a partner or partners? “Danse and I got married a few months ago. He used to be a Brotherhood of Steel paladin but that’s a whole other can of worms. He’s still my hero in power armor, though.”

Who are your enemies and why? “Um... There are groups in the Commonwealth that I dislike and the Institute has been destroyed for months now. But enemies? Not at the moment. Some people see me as the enemy. Lot of Institute refugees won’t accept any help from me or the Minutemen. Can’t really blame them.”

Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? “Oh, I’ve heard of them. I’m still grateful for their help. I’m still good friends with Scribe Haylen, and I guess Knight Rhys, too. But let me just say Elder Maxson and I are currently not on speaking terms.” 

What about the Enclave? “Everything I know about the Enclave are things Danse and Deacon have told me. Apparently, they’re the remnants of the United States’ government. I bet they were all the cowards who sent us soldiers to fight the wars they made.”

How do you feel about Super Mutants? “I listened to some of the holotapes I found in the old Robotics lab...” Claire physically shivers. “All the people they kidnapped, they turned them into super mutants and released them into the Commonwealth. It’s awful. But when one of ‘em attacks you, you don’t have the luxury to feel guilty.”

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? “Oh God, you’d think it’d be the time I met Cait and fought her in the Combat Zone. But no. It’s got to be that ‘fake’ fight that was meant to give Travis some confidence. I might have broken one of them goon’s nose, and then Vadim refused to pay him and his partner. Don’t tell Vadim I said this but he kinda deserved to be kidnapped.”

Have you ever fought Deathclaw? “Yeah, that’s how I got the pretty scars on my cheek.”

Do you like fighting? “I don’t like fighting but it’s unavoidable in the wasteland.”

What’s your weapon of choice? “A tried and true 10mm pistol and the laser rifle Danse gave me. But if I need something with a bit of oomph, I’ll use a gauss rifle. That thing saved my ass when the Institute attacked the Castle.”

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, or some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?) “I’m a medal-winning sharpshooter -- not that I’m bragging -- I can ran faster than most raiders, and... I listen to people. You might not think being a good listener will help you survive the Commonwealth but people want to be heard. That hasn’t changed in over 200 years.”

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? “... Yes. I’ve been in a vault. I’m alive because of a vault. I’d rather stay away from most of them, though.”

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? “Well, I haven’t turned into a ghoul, so that’s something. I take a Rad-X every morning and seek shelter whenever a radstorm rolls through. That’s about all anyone can do.”

What’s your favorite wasteland critter? “Probably the radchickens and the brahmin.”

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? “Mole rats. I don’t care if Deacon thinks they’re so ugly they’re cute, they JUMP out from the underGROUND.”

How do you feel about robots? “Codsworth waited for over 200 years for someone -- anyone -- from my family to leave the vault and find him. Most robots are built to perform one task and they do it well, but Codsworth? He’s irreplaceable.”

How many caps do you have on you right now? “Answering that question is a great way to get robbed.”

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? “Both drinks were widely available in Texas but I’ve always been a Nuka Cola girl. My favorite flavor Nuka Victory but stores in the northeast only ever sold it during the summer. Unless you went to Nuka World.”

Do you do chems? “No. I remember when in Anchorage our superior officers would overlook any psycho and jet use, but I never touched it. Too worried I’d end up like my dad and my older brother.”

Do you ever think about the pre-war world? “Not as much as I did when I left the vault. I still miss it sometimes.”

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? “... I don’t think I can talk about that right now.”

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? “I used to think my biggest achievement was becoming a lawyer but everything paled in comparison to becoming a mom. Wow, that sounds really cliche, doesn’t it?” Claire takes a deep breath to keep from crying. “I guess my deepest regret and my biggest achievement will always have Sean in common.”

What do you want for your future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? Claire takes a moment to answer. “I want to see the Commonwealth thrive. I want it to be a land for the people. I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but if the West has the NCR, I don’t see why the East can’t have the Commonwealth.”

[actualsunflower]

Nick watched, trying to catch his breath as he hid behind the rusted out car. Clutching his revolver, he glanced over the car to find the deathclaw. A loud scream sent chills through his spine. Time seemed to stop as he caught sight of the horror before him.

 The deathclaw had Jay by the leg, and it swung its massive head from side to side. Jay flailed and shouted for help, trying hard to reach for something, anything.

 “Nick! Niiicck! Help!!” His companion's voice jolted him into action.

 Leaping over the car, Nick steadied his revolver and aimed for the deathclaw’s torso. Adrenaline made his hands shake, but he tried his hardest to keep steady. The huge reptile swung himself upwards, standing on two legs, and it shook Jay violently. Breathing in deep, he held steady and pulled the trigger.

 A guttural roar sounded as the bullet struck the deathclaw in the chest. It stumbled, but held its grip on Jay's right leg. The reptile hunched over, slamming Jay into the ground. The silver-haired man coughed as he had the wind knocked from his chest. After a moment trying to catch his breath, Jay scratched at the dirt, trying to pull himself away.

 Valentine readied another shot. Aiming at it’s side, he held his breath. The deathclaw’s massive hand slammed down on his companion's back. Nick froze. The deathclaw jerked its head up, while keeping its claws clamped down on the other's back. The horrid scream that followed filled Nick with dread.

 Jay screamed, screamed Nick's name, begging for help as the deathclaw pulled harder. Shaking his head, Nick fired, pulling the trigger again. He shot as many times as he could, but each shot only seemed to anger the reptile more. The deathclaw moved its hand and lifted Jay off the ground. It swung him over its head, and with a horrible crack, threw him across the clearing.

 Nick watched in fear as his companion slammed into the ground and tumbled into the dead brush. Reloading as fast as possible, he turned back toward the deathclaw. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened. The huge reptile growled, blood dripping down it's chin. Jay's right leg hung from it's vicious jaws. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Closing his eyes tight, Nick fired at the deathclaw six more times. Finally, over the sound of the gunshots, he heard the beast fall to the ground.

 Taking a moment to catch his breath, Nick lowered his gun. He stared at the deathclaw, panting as reality slowly came back to him. Gasping, Nick turned and ran to where Jay was thrown. Pools of blood led the way into the brush. Pushing the brush aside, he found Jay, dazed and still, pressed against a tree.

 Kneeling beside the silver-haired man, Nick carefully pulled him away from the trunk of the tree. His crossed blue eyes were wide and glazed, and his skin was pale. Valentine pulled him farther from the brush and into the open.

 He laid his companion down gently, and turned to assess his wounds. Dread creeped down his spine as he caught a glimpse of torn muscle and shattered bone. His leg was really gone. He looked up to the sky as sickening fear clouded his mind. It was lightening, the sun would rise shortly. His attention went back to his companion.

 “Jay..?” Was he even still alive?

 Reaching down, Nick felt the other's wrist. He felt nothing. Cursing his plastic hand, he bent over, pressed his ear to Jay's chest. Though faint, he heard a heartbeat. He couldn't feel relief yet though.

 Pulling off his coat, he pulled jay onto his left side. He folded the old, worn fabric and pressed it firmly against the gaping wound, using the sleeves to tie it securely around his waist and left leg. Unsure of what else to do, Nick looked around. There would be no one around to help for miles, and Jay was too heavy for him to carry.

 Morning broke, casting golden rays into the clearing. It was easier to see how pale his companion was in the dawn light, he could barely tell the difference between it and the pale marks that covered most his face. It terrified Nick how he laid there, motionless, his eyes wide open, his expression still showed the pain and fear. There seemed to be nothing more he could do, aside from start dragging Jay to the closest settlement.

 His head hung. There had to have been another way, he should've been able to save his companion's leg. Instead he angered the deathclaw, and Jay suffered for it. He lost his leg, and could still lose his life. Nick buried his face in his hands. This was all his fault, and he'd never be able to forgive himself for it.

 Suddenly Jay gasped and shot upright, shoving Nick aside. He fell over in a small cloud of dust, confused and startled. Jay somehow managed to stand for a split second before toppling over and falling face first into the dirt. Trying again, he gasped and flailed, obviously still in shock and unaware of what had happened.

 Nick pulled himself up as Jay continued to panic, trying as hard as he could to stand. Valentine lunged forward as his companion started falling again, wrapping his arms around Jay's torso. He struggled in Nick's grasp, but he held on tight.

 “Jay stop, calm down! You're going to hurt yourself more!” Jay stopped struggling, falling limp against the old synth’s chest.

 He took the opportunity to lower himself back to the ground, carefully laying Jay down with him. As Nick tried to pull away, Jay fumbled for something to hold onto, ultimately coming to Nick's arm, and he held on tight. Shock still caused his body to shake, and his chest heaved as he tried to breathe.

 “You're alright, but don't try to stand up again,” Valentine pulled him a little closer.

 “Nick, I can't move my leg,” Jay's voice shook, and he gasped between each word.

 Valentine cringed. He really didn't know, did he.

 “Don't try, just try to relax.” He brushed loose strands of silvery-white hair from the other's face as he spoke.

 Worry continued to prickle his spine. Through half closed eyes, he watched Jay as he felt his chest. His deft hand moved down his body until it reached his hip. Nick stopped him, placing his metal hand over Jay's.

 “It's-it’s gone, isn't it?” Jay asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

 “I’m so sorry…”

@saibugs ITS CANON NOW

[ber-bonfamille-lyons]

Made You A Mixtape: September 2015

@simba-lyons

Happy Three Year Anniversary to Simber!!!!! To celebrate, the following playlist is the first playlist that Berlioz made Simba. Yes, that’s right, I have tried to recreate what it would have been here, which means that these songs reflect three criteria:

1. They came out in 2015 or before 2015 and would be on Berlioz’s radar  2. They remind Berlioz of Simba, and so they are mostly cheerful and a bit funky and are Big Sounds 3. Lowkey Berlioz is in love with Simba and these songs are telling him if he would just PAY ATTENTION. This is most obvious in the fact that Ber put two of his fave songs ever on this playlist-- Eskimo Kiss and Wood. They are both on this like massive playlist that he gives people for like Songs That Sound Like Ber’s Soul so yes!

So this is not a ship soundtrack as much as it is a Simba Soundtrack or a Simba-as-he-sounds-to-Berlioz-in-September Soundtrack. <333 The following descriptions are all basically incoherent, so I apologize. 

Out of the Blue- Prides 

Hear you come, my heart's only drummer I've been holding out for your symphony The air in my lungs is like thunder And I can't fight what you've made of me.

This is a Big Sound Song and a good way to open the mixtape in Berlioz’s opinion. He’d talk to Simba about the scratchy guitar that rumbles under like thunder, those drums, and that persistent, driving synth. And when he’s talking about those sounds, what he’s really saying is basically what the lyrics are saying honestly, like-- this song “text paints” very well, as in, it uses a storm metaphor for a lot of it and builds a storm with its instrumentation by creating a very heavy sonic atmosphere, like with all those layers and booming drums-- wow i really do sound probably how Berlioz sounded when really what he was saying is “You’re like thunder to me” and that’s really romantic and super embarrassing 

Shut Up And Dance- Walk the Moon 

A backless dress and some beat up sneaks My discotheque Juliet, teenage dream I felt it in my chest since she looked at me I knew we were bound to be together Bound to be together

GOD this CHEESY 80s dance guitar powerhouse of a jam!! I feel like i don’t even need to describe how this is such a Simba song in every single way and why Berlioz would think of Simba at once. But yeah, I mean: the sheer joy of it, not to mention that honestly Simba is the discotheque juliet teenage dream in this song who is grabbing Berlioz and telling him to dance. But yeah, I mean it’s so over the top in like every single way. Like Simba.

On the Regular- Shamir

Hi, hi, howdy, howdy, hi, hi! While everyone is minus, you could call me multiply Just so you know, yes, yes, I'm that guy You could get five fingers and I'm not waving "hi" Guess I'm never-ending, you could call me pi But really, how long till the world realize?

Kay so Shamir is a HELLA Simba artist and this song has a lot of these kooky sound samples that Berlioz really loves, especially when it comes to Simba. I want to say that tapping noise is a cowbell? Super fun and funky. And of course, lyrics wise, this song is brimming with confidence and attitude which is definitely how Berlioz saw Simba at first. (He still sees that, but of course this song I think, more than others, really reflects the beginnings of their relationship because obviously Ber knew nothing about the drinking and depression etc.) So yeah, Berlioz literally thinks Simba’s “regular” is this cool, funky, ridiculous guy and including this on the song would be conveying that impression, while also being like “Hey Simba, you should check out Shamir if you don’t know him because his sound is You.”

Oh Girl You’re the Devil - Mika  

And I said follow me Whoever you want to be Don't care where you where you go As long as you stay with me

This is another song along the same lines of “On the Regular”-- very groovy, playful, with some fun quirky sounds and structures that just evoke Simba musically more so than lyrical content. But it’s definitely a song that Berlioz would think Simba would like and find fun to dance to/sing along to. And I mean honestly: this entire album is Simba. Me and Berlioz really struggled with which song to put on here. In addition, this was one of Mika’s more personal albums when it came to his sexuality and including Mika on here and probably writing “Please listen to all of No Place in Heaven” in the margins of the notes included with this playlist was Berlioz subtly talking about his own sexuality to Simba.

Bite Down- Bastille/HAIM

You’ve got your claws buried deep Bite down, bite down into me Bite down, bite down into me You better sink your teeth before I disappear Bite down, bite down into me

Ah yes, another “I’m very into you please make out with my face” subliminal message (is it subliminal?? Is it?) Here’s why this is a Simba song-- because its carnal and aggressive and Big. I do body rolls during the pre-chorus anyone else just me?? And the shifts from chorus to verse to post-chorus is so jarring, it just grabs your attention and keeps your attention, which is probably what Berlioz would point out to Simba. And that’s a very Simba thing too, at least a Simba thing according to Berlioz. Also, I personally love the irony considering this song foreshadows the back and forth that Simber will go through in the winter.

Love Me Anyway-The Mowglis

Oh, you know I love you But no, I am not a saint Oh, I make stupid mistakes But you love me anyway Oh, I forgot your birthday And yeah, I show up late Oh, I'll get it right someday 'Cause you love me anyway

So The Mowglis are a very Berlioz band and this album was probably something Berlioz was definitely listening to. The sing-a-long chorusy stuff is VERY Simba-sound as well as the lyrical content just being so very Simba. I like to think that even though Ber and Simba were very much getting to know each other, this chorus still makes a lot of sense since Simba would show up late and forget all these little things-- but obviously, he has such a big heart and always came across as so sincere to Berlioz. It’s a song Berlioz would maybe learn how to play on guitar and think to himself “Hey I bet Simba would really like this song!”

Eskimo Kiss- the Kooks

Oh lonely bones I'm coming through the sun And our lives have just begun Oh lonely bones I'm coming through the sun And our lives have just begun

As I mentioned above this is literally the biggest fucking tell that Berlioz has a big ol fat crush on Simba. This is one of his favorite songs, ever. This was not even a little bit new, it came out in 2011, and yet Berlioz listened to this song and to lyrics like “She's like a rose without a thorn/She's like the sunflower/That never looks back at the sun” and his first thought was “Simba.” He’d probably say some bullshit about how he just liked the lyrics because they were nice and it seemed like the kinda cheerful thing Simba would like. But it was bullshit and what he was really saying was lets please eskimo kiss under the bar rn because you make me feel both sunshiny like this first half of the song and achey and tender like this second part of the song, so, like, how i imagine how love feels like. That was the inner monologue there. And really, the shift in this song from the upbeat jangly acoustic to that tender part emulates Simba’s two sides, because he is very capable of being a gentle honeybun sweetie pie. 

Smile - The Royal Concept 

I've got to dress sharp, you know I will Give you what it takes cause I'm not Gonna be outdone By those beautiful fakes In your halo, there's gotta be gold I've got you waitin' on I'll step on a grenade so you Can see I'm the bomb

And here we are back at that interesting mix of Berlioz finding some funky songs for Simba but also songs that speak to Berlioz’s perception of Simba’s characters in subtle ways/songs that Ber really wants Simba to be into so they can talk about it! So musically wise, you’ve got a lot of the same elements as previous songs here, lots of powerful guitar and some layered vocals and a pretty groovy tempo. Basically this is an alt rock song that makes you want to dance, and that’s the perfect place where Songs-that-sound-like-Simba live (there aren’t a lot of straight pop songs on this mix as you might have noticed.) But then of course, it’s all about this guy trying to go out of his way to make a girl smile (he “carries sorrow” and will “step on a grenade” for her etc) and if that isn’t the most Simba thing. What i like is this is one of those lowkey sad songs that sounds super upbeat and happy too-- which is also a Simba thing, and I like to think Ber would pick up on those vibes. He’d definitely notice Simba trying to make others happy. And I mean.................. who else was making Berlioz smile............

Shine- Years and Years

I was biting my tongue I was trying to hide (Ooh oh oh oh, ooh oh oh ooh) I'll forget what I've done I'll be redefined

Okay, I admit: this song is really not about Simba at all, this one is Berlioz trying to tell Simba he likes him by putting this song on this mixtape and look I am not responsible for Simba not getting that.

Okay but more seriously: shine/sun/light etc are all motifs that reoccur for Berlioz when it comes to Simba, and have for Simber in general. Years and Years debuted the summer before Ber met Simba and was, again, this openly queer artist who Berlioz was definitely listening to a lot of, so it makes a lot of since that he’d go into their album and put a song on there, hoping Simba would get into them so they’d have this kind of shared connection. He picked Shine because of all the songs, Shine is the most optimistic and romantic, so naturally he thought: Simba. And again, there’s this lowkey thread of Berlioz using music to address his sexuality without actually talking about it.

By My Side- Great Good Fine Ok

Baby when I come to get you I'm all I find Every time I go to come back to see it's not my time Any time you think something is on my mind I'll tell you when it's all about you, I need you by my side

So Great Good Fine Ok is like the contemporary BeeGees, and their velvety falsetto and solid dance beats were Berlioz’s Jam in 2015. Seriously, go back and look, I reblogged all their stuff. ANYWAY, so this song really hits all three of the criteria as I talked about above-- this is a band that Berlioz was SUPER excited about and he wanted Simba to like. Sound-wise, totally upbeat and those trumpets in the end!!! scream Simba, which was basically what Berlioz said to him. He’s always associated brass with Simba, that’s just like, a general known fact. He said “The ending with the trumpets really reminded me of you.” And the translation for that is “Please be my boyfriend.” And of course lyrically, this is about someone pining over another… and that’s really not a Simba mood but it is a Ber one.  

Indian Summer- Jai Wolf

It would not be a Berlioz mixtape without at least one instrumental song or something. And this one! This one! If you noticed, Berlioz organized this playlist so it shifted toward more techno/dance music in the second half and part of that was to BUILD to this song right here, his musical climax if you will. Everything about this song screams Simba to him and I honestly do not have a developed enough vocabulary for music to talk about how that works. Maybe it’s just the scope of the song-- and that it has that very BIG scope and it goes from soft, chime-like sounds to exploding outward in these huuuge moments  that are Cinematic as heck. It’s beautiful and soft while also powerful and strong (and that’s simba for u, those four things). It sounds like adventure, like starlight, like camping? And he thinks Simba would like all those things and was probalby like “Oh he’ll like running to this song.” 

man anyone having serious simba feelings at this point just me or 

Wood- Rostam

Sunlight on your eyelids You were sleeping Ah ah, ah ah ah Sunlight on your back You were dreaming

And following a climax, you must have your falling action and resolution. Berlioz decided to end softly and tenderly with another one of his all time favorites, therefore revealing that he associates Simba with all of his favourite sounds-- all the plucky violin and bongo drum and flute. Plus, it describes sleeping with your lover. That’s it. That’s the whole song. And that’s what Berlioz wants: cat naps in the sun with his sunshine boy. 

He wouldn’t have said that obviously, he would have been like, this “cool percussion bro.” 

But we all know what he meant.