#Rob plays the Fallouts

[puppmeo]

My favorite thing to do in an open world game that gives you quest pins is to do anything except the quests

[hustlerose]

as i slowly exit my "bethesda's writing and design are literally satan" era, i find myself less angry about their many missteps, and more melancholy about what might have been. fallout 3's pre-broken-steel ending, for example

everyone makes fun of that one moment. your super mutant buddy you just met tells you "we all have our own destinies, and yours culminates here. i would not rob you of that." like sorry player 1, you have to die here for no good reason because it's dramatically satisfying

i submit this ending pissed people off not because it's bad, but because it's the wrong ending for fallout 3. fallout 1 and 2 had endings and they felt just fine, but fallout 3 is not a narrative-driven game like those ones. it's a big fun sandbox that you play in to your heart's content. a bittersweet ending with hints of destiny is unwelcome here. even ending the game at the climax is a mistake. the only sensible ending to a bethesda game is "play til you stop having fun." so they did that ending instead, as dlc

what pisses ME off about the ending is that it's so inspiring. i can't help but wish i'd played the game that matched that ending. imagine a version of fallout 3 where all the characters talked like that. imagine the chosen one narrative was dialed up to 11, where every moment of narrative was suffused with tragedy and inevitability. imagine if more characters talked metatextually, musing on your role as player and protagonist. think about all the cool foreshadowing that could have been done to set up a tragic ending where you make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. you could wring so much moral complexity out of this moment, as it could force you to reflect on your charcter's choices. you are the most important character in this world. fate bends around your story. what if the other characters could tell, and had opinions on that fact?

i want to read that story god dammit! sometimes i think it's up to me. maybe i have to rip that great ending right out of fallout 3 and stitch up a whole new story around it. one that actually supports fawkes' dialog as its central theme

[respectthepetty]

I would watch a whole series about Gun kissing all the boys. He deserves it.

Anon, I am very Pro Kiss-the-Homies, but after seeing this completely unnecessary and ridiculous fallout, I know in my soul that we have been robbed multiple times of Gun kissing his homies on screen because people are ridiculous.

*ALEXA! Play Adele's "Rolling in the Deep"*

Ang x Ko

We could've had it all!

GRAMBLACK!

We almost had it all!

KHATHA x DOME

We could've had it all!

BOON x CHAN

We almost had it all!

TODDBLACK!

ROLLING IN THE DEEP!

Like I know Only Friends had the ending it had because of branded pairs, but if I was denied ToddBlack because people would have thrown hissy fits about the kisses being spread out to all the homies . . .

102/10 ALANS

I need us to be better in 2024. If this was a group assignment, I would have thrown everyone under the bus during peer evals.

Quit sucking about dumb shit and start sucking your friends' faces.

Stop being weird about dumb shit and start being weird about your friends' lips.

Don't act strange about dumb shit and start getting normal about showing your friends affection.

And for God's sake,

KISS THE FUCKING HOMIES!

[425599167]

Since Fallout: New Vegas is notorious for being buggy as hell, I think a compelling Watsonian explanation for it is that the player character was shot in the head, and brain damage is causing hallucinations. A lot of things start making more sense. Old World Blues is explicit about the bullets causing permanent changes.

This goes double for characters with Wild Wasteland enabled. Was there a gang of old women beating people up? Were those cyberdogs really playing poker? Maybe the miniature Deathclaw living in that doghouse isn’t real, and that’s why it isn’t dying no matter how much you shoot it.

Courier: Veronica, did we just fight a bunch of aliens?

Veronica: What are you talking about? They’re just some raiders.

Courier: Then where did this alien blaster come from?

Veronica: That’s a gauss rifle- a pretty high-end one, too- please stop pointing it at me.

That one Nightkin with the tumbleweeds: You want to buy wind-brahmin?!

Courier: Is he real?

Veronica: He’s real. He’s real and he’s robbing us.

This more I think about it, the more depth it adds to many of the Courier’s interactions with friends and enemies. Patching up ED-E after the robot got too damaged to know where it should go. Saving Rex from his failing organic brain. Helping Nightkin, especially Lily and Dog/God, suffering from their schizophrenia. Hearing Cass mention her heart condition, or getting Boone to open up. Christine struggling to read after her head was cut up in the Big Empty.

Stealth Suit Mk II: Starting combat... Just kidding!

Courier: Please don’t. *pulls out the Mysterious Magnum just in case*

Mysterious Magnum: *guitar chords nobody else can hear*

Courier: Shush.

A random coyote: *appears to be swimming through the ground*

Courier: Eeeeuuuuggghhh no no no NO. Arcade! Help!

It adds another layer of contempt for Caesar’s Legion and their anti-medicine stance. Caesar’s brain tumor appears similarly debilitating, but instead of recognizing that people need to aid each other to survive, he clings to his infallible image. He can only save himself using medical technology he outlawed, and he wouldn’t let anyone else be helped by it. The Courier has plenty of mixed feelings about gunning down Fiends who’ve taken too many drugs to know what they’re doing, and debates how much sympathy to show the Think Tank after witnessing their psychological decay.

The Courier is a brilliant, unstoppable force who needs friends to help navigate the strangeness of the wasteland.

[newvegascowboy]

I'm also a lifelong fallout fan. I have fond memories of playing Fallout 3 and New Vegas with my brother, taking turns with the Xbox controller, but I do wish bethesda had kept up with the themes of the original games. There are some critiques happening with Rob-co and Vault-tec, etc, and how they hurt people, but Fallout 4 in particular was very "AMERICA FUCK YEAH" which is just not what fallout is.

If I were to direct it, I would have changed so much of it tbh.

Speaking of fallout being gay, how much queer representation do the games actually have? Because I can't think of any off the top of my head. It's been years since I've played any of them tho

I relate to that a lot! My first exposure to the fandom was watching my brother play 3 when i was a kid. Then I played it myself as a teen in prep for 4, which came out right after my birthday. Fo4 is probably the only game i have 1000+ hours in, so all my critique comes from a place of genuine love.

And to answer your question: not a lot. I can think of 4 character in fnv: Arcade Gannon, Major Knight, Corporal Betsy, and Jimmy, the former legion slave. I guess if we're being generous, that Legionary as well and Cass, considering her one controversial voice line. Not counting the courier, because the bisexual perks are totally optional.

Im not counting any of the fo4 companions as queer. I dont think a character being playersexual is bad ir problematic, but i also dont consider it canonical representation. None of them ever mention having a past same sex lover, and the only lovers ever mentioned are opposite sex, in the case of Maccready, Deacon, Nick, (and i dont want to list all the fridged wives). You could view Danse's relationship with Cutler as being homoerotic, and i headcanon that as well, but there is no textual evidence to base that analysis. Again, not counting the sosu because all queer relationships are optional, and you can go through the whole game without running into anything overtly queer. I guess there are a few unnamed couples in settlements (county crossing and oberland station) that are implied to be queer, but again. Nothing overt.

Not to mention, KLEO's "Im a woman baby" and Deacon being a woman are played for jokes, so. I think Beck in 76 is nonbinary and uses they/them (yayy fellow nonbinary) but i dont know much about 76 to say for sure. I guess that's progress.

[punk-in-docs]

Ok ok ok I cannot stop thinking about the dynamic of Eddie x Pencils when they’re in their new fluffy lovey relationship. Possibly even Eddie being jealous AF cause all his friends just love hanging out with her (maybe a little too much) I just love them together. I can see Eddie being all screechy/shrieky cause he’s not getting one on one time and it’s starting to piss him off! Love those two sm!

🕷 Green is the Colour 🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

6.6k words

Summary: EDDIE X PENCILS RIDE AGAIN - listen I’ve been thinking about this ask for two days and I thought what if- what if everyone else loves pencils so much and rudely robs Eddie of her time and the fallout of the kids being all steal ya girl- poor Eddie-

“I swear man, I’m about to start plastering her poster on telephone poles and milk cartons. It’s getting pretty freakin’ dire over here.” Eddie speaks as he presides over the squares of the board splayed before him.

Friday night. Doused under the blooming tulip bulbs of the Hellfire club room. Shadows spot the room where the dramatic lights can’t scrape. Swimming sea blue and fiery Sahara amber.

The candles are lit. Jerky flames flicker their licks of light. Stage set. Atmosphere geared up for the adventure and the conflict that may come. The dice are gathered. Board awaits. Poised for another one of Eddie’s imaginative campaigns.

Some would say sadistic- he would say mildly warped at best.

Folks were still strolling in from end of class. Numbers not assembled to full platoon yet.

Gareth, Jeff, Sinclair, and Matt are the first ones to rock up. Still waiting on his other tardy freshmen. They sit at the table. Drink sodas. Scarf down the snacks Gareth bought cause it was his turn. Cheetos, red vines, pretzels, and Reece’s pieces.

Eddie chucks himself back in his throne. Sits with his heels popped on the table edge. They sit and slowly kill time. He listens to them munch chips loudly, bicker over dumb shit, and somehow, the conversation had turned its attentions onto you-

His pencils. His maiden. The Art to his Garfunkel. Only much, much, hotter.

Gareth chucks Eddie a Reece’s cup. He catches it one handed - but there’s no celebratory fist pump. No jerking smile. He doesn’t scoff it down in three seconds like his usual bottomless-pit style when it came to candy.

He’s subdued. Something irks at him. Like a thread he can’t find the end of. He taps the edge of the table.

“So you haven’t seen your girl in a while then huh?” Jeff asks in reply to Eddie’s statement about milk cartons. A sloped smile on, as he snaps open a Pepsi can.

“Nada.” Eddie answered. “It’s really starting to grind my gears.”

You ate lunch at their table some days. Were welcome to, in fact. Sought after. Your absence is noted on the days you don’t, with curiosity and longing.

You caught a ride with Eddie to school. Mixing with them with no hint of awkwardness, and arguing about which was better, Sabbath or Motörhead.

I’m sorry but Motörhead rules in my book. Have you heard Lemmy play? Like c’mon open those ears kiddos. You know Ozzy wanted originally wanted to call ‘Iron Man?’ Metal bloke. C’mon.

As Eddie walked into school with his arm slung around your shoulders. You were still arguing with Jeff about it. He couldn’t get a word in. Once you start arguing about music you cannot be placated.

Alright, alright then can we at least agree that Twisted Sister is better than Bowie, Jeff tried in vain to argue.

You turn to your boyfriend. Clutching your pearls. Choking on the crazy statement.

Edward the children are delusional. What have you been feeding them? LSD?

He cackled all the way to class.

You got in on their jokes. Poked fun with them at the jocks. Correct their English homework when they get spelling mistakes, cause you happened to walk that class last year and got an A+.

Dustin honey, you spelt transcendence wrong. As you rubbed out his mistake with him with the end of your pencil eraser and filled it in. Told him to put his argument in the first paragraph to give it more punch up top. Science he got, lit essays were hard.

Your girlfriend is a freakin genius, man.

You think I don’t know that? C’mon you think I couldn’t pull the brainiest, hottest chick around? Please? I’m beating off chicks with a stick over here. Comes that devil Munson grin.

You patted his chest. Do I need to put a tongue depressor in your mouth? Are you getting hallucinations again?

C’mon pencils that was one time after a bad trip.

You’re slowly growing into familiarity in the social circles Eddie turns in.

Not like you could be apart for long. You two were inseparable and grossly in love. The making out was frankly, sickening, in its duration, frequency, and volume. Like something strummed right out a carpenter song. Heart throbbing teen love. And oh, it’s clutches were fierce.

That was, when he could lay eyes and hands on you. Which hadn’t happened now for four hellish, crawling days. Time is being waded through treacle for him.

It’s making Eddie fucking itch.

“Maybe I should file a police report.” He jokes. But in all seriousness, it’s actually crossed his funky little mind.

“I think I saw her earlier. She was out in the lot helping that Mayfield kid. Putting stickers on her skateboard or something.” Gareth told him.

“Not you too, red.” Eddie sighs muzzily as he crashes his head back to his seat in despair. Arms flailing out. Pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Does everyone in this school get a bigger slice of her than I do? Oh you know. I’m only her boyfriend for fucks sake.” He whines.

“She is pretty cool though.” Matt piped up. “Even by our admittedly limited standards.”

Eddie side shoots him a acid glare that says ‘yeah, no shit.’

“She busy with schoolwork or what?” Sinclair asks.

Eddie flails his hands. A mock attempt at trying to assuage his lovesick heart.

“I guess. I mean she does looovvve to stick her head in the books that one. Or she’s always sketching away. I know she had a history paper at the start of the week she had to stay home and work on but seriously, I’m dying of vicious neglect over here.” He makes a clawed hand over his heart like it’s gonna slowly squeeze to a stop.

“Yeah, it’s like we’ve gone what? Three lunch times now without seeing you guys noisily attached to each other’s faces.” Sinclair the elder, chuckles.

Eddie lobs a Reece’s piece at his head. “Ow. Hey?”

“That was called for. You know it. Pain is a part of life.” Eddie frowns at him.

“You’re just snippy cause you haven’t sucked face in so long.” Sinclair pointed out.

“I wonder if she remembers what I look like.” Eddie dreamt dazed. Staring at the ceiling so wistfully. Always so dramatic.

“It’s Friday night. I’m sure she’ll be free.” Jeff tries to play the kind and hopeful card.

“She better. Or else I’m not joking about that milk carton idea.” He wags an over accessorised finger in warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Gareth placates as he chews on a red vine.

The bang of the doors has Eddie’s eyes slamming across. Ready to beat seven shades of shit out the tardy pair. Hellfires club rules were absolute: Eddie was known to take his rules seriously. To the death.

Henderson and Wheeler come careening through the doors. Wary of the lateness of the hour. Incurring the Munson wrath.

“Hey, don’t mind us.” Dustin says as they throw themselves into their usual seats and grab their things.

“Sorry we’re late. Got- held up.” Wheeler explained as he rooted elbow deep in his bag.

“Oo red vines. Gimme.” Dustin screeches. Mike snatches for the Cheetos packet.

“It’s ok man. We were just talking about Eddie and how he hasn’t seen pencils in like, forever. It’s driving him nuts.”

Silence. Thick as soup. You could sip it.

Eddie drags his eyes up and catches the way Wheeler flicks his eyes across to Henderson. Who has suddenly clammed right the hell up. Sat there holding a red vine.

Henderson usually trilled on and on like tweetie pie. Something was definitely up. All was not right in whosville. Boy better not bother with poker. Not with a giveaway face like that.

Those whiskey dark Munson eyes never missed a thing. Dagger tips that scratch into his two young opponents.

Henderson knows they’re being scrutinised. The way that crazy mane of Eddie’s flicks where he tilts his head at the two of them.

He braces his arms suddenly on the throne and sits up to crouch on his heels. Dustin and Mike actually flinch.

Their terrifying rabid DM coming level like a metal perching gargoyle. Really, Hellfire wasn’t Hellfire without Eddie scrambling around or climbing on shit.

“Something to say there, gentlemen?” He pressed. Sawtoothed edge to his voice that grates. Cuts skin. He claps his hands together.

“No. No. Nothing man.” Henderson spits out. His knuckles are white on the edge of the table.

At the same time of Wheeler’s “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

They’re prickling with sweat along the hairline. Hands fidgeting with their back pack straps. Plus, the inevitable fact that Eddie’s dark-cold stares are among the most intense things ever known to man. Arctic frostbite skimmed off a razor cold ocean could cut less.

Through narrowed whiskey eyes. “Have a seat.” He bit out each word.

Dustin tried to make small talk as he unzipped his bag. Got his character sheets. Very loudly excited over the prospect of snacks. Loved everything. Everyone looks good tonight. Everyone’s good. Good, man. Cool.

Wheeler just kept his mouth shut. Eddies eyes burned holes in the both of them like bleach.

“Why so late.” Eddie asks punchily. Creeping accusation hangs heavy on his tone.

“Uhhhhh. We-“

“We, why are we uh, late? Mike do you- recall.”

Eddies white knuckles crack together. His teeth will soon be dust.

“We… ran into Mr Clark. He started chatting about- science and, shit. You know, other stuff.” Mike got out.

Eddies bullshit-o-meter was creeping into the red. Hazards flashing. Alarm bells wailing. The rest of the guys at the table are side eyeing each other with drawn back smiles. Biting lips to stem laughter.

“Name the stuff.” He grins. So wide. Too wide. Scary wide. Calling the bluff.

Mike gulps. Dustin’s mouth gaped and no words came out.

“Man-I-think--I-think-we-should-just-tell-him.” Dustin whispers out the side of his mouth. Turning to Wheeler who was crumbling under the famous Munson poison stroked gaze.

“I feel like a rat.” Wheeler explains.

“Funny. Cause In about five seconds I’m gonna feed you to an entire army of rabid rats unless you spill, and tell me what the shit is going on.”

“We, have an advanced calculus test on Monday.” Dustin piped up.

“And?” Eddie urged snappy.

“And, uh, we needed some help and luckily, you know this really awesome someone, very selflessly offered us some assistance in furthering our education. Which is really nice of them, when-when you think about it” Dustin yammered.

Eddie nodded. Sucking in a deep breath. Eyes darting back and forth on them.

“This someone-“ He started.

“Man I told you he’d be wicked pissed.” Wheeler snuck out the side of his mouth at Henderson.

“Shut-the-hell-up. It was your idea.” Dustin hissed between clenched teeth.

“Describe them to me.” Eddie waved his hand in a curling motion.

“Who?”

“This selfless being who helped you. Describe them.” Eddie’s eyes threaded with steel.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

They blink owlishly at him. Mouths slack like guppy fish.

“Medium height. Hair. Uh, Eyes.”

“Do they also have feet and teeth, cause that’s not narrowing down any of the general populous for me.” He bitches at them.

“Studies art. Likes all kinds of cool music. Works in the record store. Loves Billy Idol. Bout yay big-“ Wheeler explains. Holding his hand up to roughly your height.

“You probably… know who we’re talking about… now.” Dustin summed up with a closed fist nervously waving in the air. Smoothing his clammy hands down to the table top.

Eddie slumps back to his chair. Rubs his fingers into his temples. A storm of pins starting to thunder at the roof of his skull. Like top pitch Slayer shredding screams in his ears. It’s deafening. Pins and needles plucking in his brain.

“Let me get this straight-“ He announced with the usual Dungeon Master fanfare from his ornate throne. Voice booming in the quiet of the echoing room.

He crosses his arms. Rattle of his chain bracelet. Clack of those rings as he swirls a finger in the air trying to pluck at the right words.

“I couldn’t lay eyes on my own girlfriend for the entirety of my week. I don’t see her at lunch. Or after school. Not a peep. I look everywhere for her today. And I mean everywhere man, and now you’re sitting there, telling me, she was helping you pipsqueaks, finish your calculus paper?”

He leans forwards and stabs his finger into the tabletop. The whole thing quakes. Storm Munson hitting hard. Expect casualties.

Wheeler looks at his shoes. Dustin nods nervously.

“That’s hmm, about uh right. Yeah-“

“You are skating thin thin ice my friends.” Eddie warns.

“Whilst we’re on the subject, I suppose I should mention, I uh, did invite her over to watch band practice tomorrow night. She said she’d bring cookies.” Gareth revealed.

“Awhh neat score man. What kind?” Matt asks.

“White chocolate and raspberry.” He grinned.

“Oh my god.” Jeff giggles in glee. Fist pumping.

Eddies fit to tear his hair out.

Wondering how long he would have to spend in prison for the completely spontaneous and cold-blooded murder of his entire DnD club.

He wonders if he could make it worth it. Or to the border-

“I can’t believe I have to share my girlfriend with all of Hawkins and now I have to try and compete with you morons? Unbelievable.” He mumbled to himself.

“Are we gonna start this campaign or what?” Gareth asks. “As you say, we don’t come here to chit-chat. We’re here to play.” He pushes his hand on the table before him in emphasis.

“You’re lucky I don’t banish you.” Eddie snaps. Eyes crazed.

“Banish me? Wait. Like in real life. Or the game?”

Eddie stares at him for a second too long. Raps knuckles on the table.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

Gareth shrinks in his seat.

“C’mon man take it easy. Nothing wrong with everyone liking her. Surely that’s a compliment right?” Jeff tries to argue.

“Oh yeah. I’m feeling the benefits right here. Hey, if I need any help scheduling a date with my girlfriend anytime soon I’ll just ask one of you bozo’s. She free tonight, how about next Thursday?” He jokes around. All jocular and pissy.

“Nah man, she said she was going home tonight to-“ Dustin began but tapered off when Eddie shot his famous ‘really’ look. Deadly.

“…study for chem lab.” He finished slowly. “But she said to say she’d call you…. After… Hellfire.”

Eddies committing war crimes in his head. Truly.

“I detest you all so much. Let’s start please, before I-“ He clenches his hands and cracks his knuckles. Takes a deep breath.

“So, we start in the wild plains of-“ Eddie explains. Voice slipping into hushed storytelling mode.

“Hey, does she play DND?” Gareth interrupts, with something that definitely looks similar to flirtatious. Big big smirk.

Eddie glares. It’s steeped in all kinds of poison.

He reaches across and flicks over Gareth’s figurine. It clatters to the floor.

“Oops. Look at that. Bad storm.“

~

The sun dips low over the low slanted street of houses as you walk up the smooth tarmac of Gareth’s drive towards the Garage. The Fall night pricks unkind at your back and churns your breath silver.

Through the trees on the horizon the sky is stroked into layered slices of punchy lilac and petal pink. Black trees loom thick from the woods like prickly pine sentinels.

You’re lugging a tugging heavy bag crooked on one arm, and a whole plate of cookies in the other. Rocky road and raspberry and white chocolate. Teenage boys ate like a ravenous pack of wolves half starved.

You smile as you come to the muffled metal wall of sound thrashing it’s rhythm the other side of that garage. The crash of drums. The bass. The cry of that warlock you recognise so well.

Hands not free, you rap awkwardly on the clanging door with your elbow. You ick when your banging disturbs some rain drips that scatter off the overhang and drips chilly down your collar.

You gaze up as an eruption happens the other side of that door. You smile at hearing the music come crashing resoundingly to a clunky screech and stop. The pitchy whine of the amps and microphones.

Voices blare over the din. You hear the rush of footsteps. Sneakers scraping over the tarmac. You know exactly whose-

The garage door clunks up so fast with a fierce rattle. Rolling from the other side. Showing you in slow degrees, the red drum set. The mic stands. Rust square of carpet. The corroded coffin sign emblazoned proud on the wall.

Cords snaked everywhere. Boxy amps and all those metal posters Gareth tacked around the place. Half of them were from you. You bought him two more today from work that Sal let you snag.

You hear Eddie’s shrieky shouts rattle at the door. “Back off. Hey, hey hey hey, back off. My girlfriend, man. Mine.”

“Hey guys- uhfff“

A gut punch of a sudden attack crashes into you because your boyfriend ducks under the partially open door, and full body tackles you. Like the scurrying menace of a jangly golden retriever that he is. Beloved guitar slung right around his back. He toddles you backwards down the wet driveway.

You hold your arms out either side with the cookies in one, and your bag in the other as he limpets like lichen. He bends his knees and scoops you up off the floor. For a skinny guy he was freakishly strong when he had to be. Your sneaker toes scuff and drag the rain sheened tarmac.

Wiry leather arms enclosing you. But they’re strong too, clutching you to a firm warm chest draped in a black Zeppelin tee. His mouth at your neck. Apple smelling hair tangled in your mouth. Elbow hooked around your head.

You hum a smile. Cause it’s just entirely wrapping you up. Leather and bar soap. Red smoke smacking into you. Eddie. He’s burying you alive in one of his all encompassing hugs that you just burrow yourself into. Warm t shirt body surrounded by the outer colder layers of denim and leather.

You knock your head to rest into his. Whole body fluttering with the giddiness of being near again.

Eddies hooked his arm around your neck like he’s keeping you there, hostage.

Sweat damp bangs and burning off so much manic energy, and a smile splitting his lips. Waterfall spill of curls cupping that face. Making a frame out of those intense espresso dark eyes.

“Missed you.” He rumbles as he rubs his cheek on your hair. Delighting in the smell of you in his nose. Coconut and perfume. You, soft and real under his hands and you’re here- listening to the slow dub-dub of his heart as he holds you closer than was physically possible. If you were any closer you’d be on the other side of him.

“Never would have guessed-“ You smart at him. But you can’t crow too loud. Your stomach is cartwheeling. This boy has you so soft. It had been an interminably miserable week without him. Like being sat in the darkness for a week without your spots of golden sun.

“Missed you too, Munson.” You peck a kiss back on the side of his head. “You gonna put me down anytime soon?”

“Unlikely.” Is his answer. If anything he wraps around you tighter. Squeezes the stuffing out of you like a crushing boa. Like he could crush you up and snort you. Swallow you. Anything- still wouldn’t be close enough.

He does put you down. Mainly so he can cup your face and shove his lips onto yours. Warm hands on your cheeks tugging you to a messy kiss. He presses every ounce of yearning into it. Pours it into you via those pillowy lips.

“Gotta stop that annoying school habit. Y’know. It’s really getting in the way of my quality one-on-one pencils time.” He says with the tip of his nose brushing into yours. Stroking your hair back off your neck.

“Fine. It goes. Tomorrow.” You smirk back.

Tipping in so he can kiss you again. You smooch him all slow. He leans into it. Humming a moan that sends a reactive zing up your spine. You want to grab at his denim back and kiss him some more but your hands are annoyingly full. He sucks on your lower lip and scraped teeth, your breath skips.

“Please for the love of god, keep it PG.” Gareth calls out. Sat at his drums still. Twirling his sticks in hand as the band stands and watches Eddie kiss and kiss, and twirl you around in the cold stained twilight air. How it brushed you both in cloaking purple.

“We don’t need to see that.” Matt piped up. Looking down at his guitar.

“Man, you ruin all my fun.” Eddie grins back at his friends. Slinging his accessorised fingers into your belt loops. Reeling you inside.

“Can you take these before my arms freakin fall off?” You laugh to Eddie.

“For me? Shucks.” He takes the cookie plate off you. Of course he does.

“Don’t scarf them all down to yourself like last time.” Matt pleads.

“Or lick them all.” Jeff adds.

Eddie is already tearing the saran wrap off and shoving a rocky road cookie right into his mouth. The whole thing. Opens his mouth as he chews making his signature demon face. Charming.

Covering his shirt in a waterfall of dark chocolate crumbs. You kindly brush them off him as you step past.

“Sounded good guys. Another Judas Priest cover?” You ask as you come inside and dump your bag down by the ratty old couch off to the far side.

“We’ve almost got enough new covers for a set“

“Next gig at the hideout is in two weeks, right?” You asked. You recall Eddie telling you over the phone.

“Yup. And we wanna have a couple of new songs rehearsed by then.” Jeff says. Nervously trailing his hands over his guitar strap. Shuffling his feet on the squashy carpet.

“Nice one.” You comment. “Can’t go wrong with Judas Priest. Though you know in my opinion you should totally throw a little Blondie in there. Crowd pleaser.”

They all groan in unison.

“You always say that. Or Talking Heads. You’re unnaturally obsessed.”

“Debbie Harry is such a babe though, man.” Gareth sticks his tongue out.

“Really?” You ask as you stand and chew a cookie. “This coming from the boy who has the Kim Wilde poster up in his bedroom.”

“That’s not mine. It was my sisters.”

“Crawled it’s way into your room did it?” Eddie winked at you. Beaming. Leaning against the couch arm.

“I hate you guys.” Gareth decided.

You round back and confiscate the cookie plate off Eddie and hand them round. He snatches off what he can before they’re ripped away. Noisily sucking chocolate off his fingers.

The guys cluster around to get one. About time they stopped for a break and a snack anyhow. He’s all set to pout at you until:

“I also have a Six pack in my bag.”

Eddie’s smile whips back around tenfold. “God, you’re a babe.” He sticks his lips to your temple with a disgusting wet smooch. All lips and spit.

“Awh c’mon.” Gareth opened his arms wide. Disappointed at the lack of the beer being shared around.

“It’s band practice not a kegger.” You pointed out. “Besides I brought Pepsi and spent half an hour of my day making cookies for you guys. I’m not totally evil.”

That was met with a chorus of disgruntled mumbles and grunts.

“Evil pencils.” Eddie whirled in close and hissed naughtily in your ear. His breath on your neck made goosebumps break across your skin.

“I’m sorry. When did you all turn 21? I must have missed the party invites.” You smile at them with your arms crossed. Stroking your hand over Eddie’s arm, as you made sure they all got a cookie.

He made a ‘suck it’ face to his band mates as he cracked open a cold one.

“You’re 18 and Eddie’s 20.” Matt unhelpfully pointed out with a grin.

“Watch your mouth when you talk to your elders.” Eddie pasted his chest to your back as you handed the plate around. A ring clad hand flashes for another one. White chocolate and raspberry was his weakness after all.

“You can’t have all the cookies and a beer. Not fair man.”

“Pencils baked the cookies. Guys. Pencils is my girl. Which means that the cookies are mine too. SO, you only partake if I decide to let you, idiots.”

“So, if she’s hanging out here with us in band time, does that make her our groupie?” Gareth asks cleverly. Waving the cookie in his hand around, gesticulating.

Eddies hand reaches over and lightly flicks the curly hair near where the top of Gareth’s ear should be.

“Hey.” He winced and cupped the side of his head.

“Any more groupie talk and one of those drumsticks is going up your nose, man.” Eddie warns. Gareth did love sticking his neck out

“I’ve got two posters in my bag drummer boy, don’t make me take them back to Sal.” You threaten with a grin. Eddie is making devil eyes at him.

“What’s the score?” Eddie asked you. Hands linked around your waist. Just enjoying the way he could sway bodily into you. Chin nesting on your shoulder. Cold beer within reach. And his guitar. His perfect Saturday night was set. His two favourite chicks.

“Scorpions live tour 85’ and, a Sabbath poster from the 1980 tour Live at Last.”

“Comment rescinded, Mi’lady.” Gareth decides as you chucked him over the shiny rolls of paper.

“I’m keeping you geeks in posters and new tapes here. You should build a monument to me. Fifty feet tall.” You joke as you grab a beer.

You toss the nearly empty cookie plate down on the coffee table and fold your legs up to sit criss-cross on the old orange couch with its sagging cushions and patchwork blanket thrown over the zig-zag floral pattern.

Eddie tips his head back to look across at you. Slumps down the arm to crash next to you. “We will dance around it naked, light a fire, and beat our chests whilst howling at the moon.” He smirks with mischief skated eyes.

You crash your sloshing beer can to his. “There’s the devotion I so crave.” You admire him being close by - at last - brushing the salty sticky bangs off his head with your fingertips.

“The very least I could do. You keep these bozos happy. You keep me in beer and kisses and…” He lowers his voice and sneaks his head closer to your ear to whisper “other much dirtier things.”

You smile. Letting your head fall back to the couch cushions. Eddie’s full out and out beam catching yours. Laying his head down to this saggy couch. Slotted right next to yours.

Heaven really as a place on earth. He’s sat here gazing into your eyes like they’re a new fascinating form of glittery stars.

“It’s been a long week without you, Munson.” You tell him with a note of gladness taking up your whole throat. It was a relentless flurry heartache, of school, work, homework heaps and heaps. Too much. You feel stretched thin and brittle as burnt twine.

“Those little puffy baggies under your eyes are a dead giveaway, pencils.” He thumbs below your eyes, squishing down softly at the bags that seem darker and more black-purple than usual.

“Insane workload this week. Rudely kept me from seeing my favourite metal head.” You said with sulk.

“I can remedy that.” He twists to set his beer down on the floor. Returns with hands free to tuck you close. Hand slipping around the back of your waist. Splaying you to his chest. Plucking a deep inhaling kiss into the nest of your sweetly tropical scented hair.

“M’here now. You’re here. The world is set right again.” He comforts.

You smile and welcome the touch. Hand on his soft stomach. Grounding yourself in the barely soft pudge of his tummy through his shirt. Sat hip-to-hip at last with your menace of a metal head. Breathing in worn leather and smoky reds and it’s like he’s your jagged little rock n’ roll touchstone for normality. You can sink into relaxation now he’s here by your side.

“Apparantly you were really mean to whole of Hellfire yesterday.” You asked with humour traced on your mouth.

“That’s subjective. I can be a fair DM.”

“Mhmm? Apparently you banished Gareth.”

“He was being annoying.”

“You made him cry.”

“Who told you that?” He fidgeted. That meant it was true.

“My little birds and spies.” You mocked in a witches cackle.

“That’s concerning.” He commented.

“Lucas chatted to Red about it. She tells me all the goings on.” You inform him.

“Dammit, red.” He cursed with a silly grin.

“Why were you being mean?” You coaxed out like he was a toddler throwing a tantrum over someone touching his favourite hot red fire truck.

He slung his eyes up to yours. All dewy lashes and bambi. “Because-“ he starts with stroppy inflection. His arm unconsciously squeezed you in closer.

“They’re stealing you off me. If I can’t find you, you’re in the library helping Henderson and Wheeler with their homework. I come to see you at work and you’ve got this gaggle of meddlesome kids I have to bat away to get a look in. I find you at lunch and you’re monopolised drawing npc’s for Hellfire club or band posters for our next gig.”

You can’t help smiling. Oh, Eddie.

“Here, I didn’t even ask you here tonight. Gareth did. You brought cookies for them all and posters for the little shithead. You ask Jeff about his mom and his brothers broken friggin leg, and Matt’s asthma.”

“Is his brothers leg any better?” You check.

Eddie grits his teeth.

“He broke it at the football try outs. He so wanted to make the team. It was very traumatic.” You added openly.

“I just wasn’t counting on having to share you around with the entirety of Hawkins High.” He shakes his head. His hair goes all flicky. Something sad skates across his eyes.

You parse his sullen words through a filter:

One day you might chose them over me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did.

“Munson?” You say seriously. He sulks but catches your gaze. “What?”

You answer by cupping his chin and lean in to smooch him real slow. The way he likes. He can’t stand half ass cold little pecks on the cheek. What have we been married for forty years- fuckin C’mere I’ll show you a kiss, pencils. Propriety be damned.

Eddies way was always to devour whole. All or nothing.

You hold onto his face even when you pull back. Lips all kiss stung. His eyes are all yummy and dark chocolate heavy. He’s dazed already.

“I don’t mind the babysitting. They’re cool kids. They adore the absolute shit out of you, and I’m glad they don’t despise me. And this goes without saying but I only have one rockstar in my life. That’s always gonna be you, baby. Period.” You tell him. Rubbing your thumb across his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks all dopey. Puppy grin on his big silly mouth.

“Fuck yeah.” You grin. Eddie kisses you so hard it tips you sideways.

You laugh and it’s mumbled and crushed onto his lips. His sneakered foot flails out and catches his beer. Whips it over. Hoppy bud lite spilling everywhere.

His band mates clamour over the new sight of you both slanted horizontal on the couch. Eddie piling on top of you and some definitely sloppy making out happening.

“Heyyy-“ they all shout. “No dear god, please stop.” Like you’re a couple of dogs they’re trying to stop from humping.

“No no. We don’t have time for you guys to be horizontal right now. We have band practice!”

Eddie ignores them. Selective Munson hearing.

“Come over after this?” He asks with a low tone that you definitely catch onto the very sultry meaning of.

“Unchaperoned? Brazen. I’ll be ruined.” You tease.

“I’ll make the ruination very worth your while.” He picks the back of your hand up and kisses it all soppy and daft.

“Don’t you always.” You smile. Biting your lip. He’s simping hard when he nuzzles into your neck and lays out his arguments. Giving you those huge sad baby cow eyes.

“I’ve got a list of reasons you should accompany me home.”

“What are they, pretty boy?” You ask. Tucking hair behind his ear before it sticks to his lips.

“Number one, You just called me pretty…” He held up as his hand as he ticked off his reasons.

“Number two, you’ve got a really nice butt. Really. It’s like, super cute.”

“Thank you. Number three?”

“Wayne’s missed you. Asking me every damn day when I’m bringing you over again and you know I don’t like to disappoint.”

“Of course.”

“Number four, there is a spider in my room that looks like it might eat me. And I need a witness in case it tries something.”

“I’ll have to consider that.” You negotiated. But truth be told you made your mind up hours ago.

“I might consider it. Even if only for the express reason of spider protection. Not for any other reason whatsoever.”

He nods solemnly. “Mhmm yeah. I’m just trying to be safety monitor you know? Safety in numbers.” He says as he slides his hand up your sweater. Brushing over your stomach. You hold his hand over you.

“I like your thinking.” You tell him. He seals a lush kiss at your lips. Playing around with you.

Eddie parts from you with a sticky smooch. Licking lips. Your fingers tunnelled into the back of his hair. Lost in the sea of wild curly black. “Later, rockstar.” You bite your lip.

He blushed so much at your praise. That’s one other gorgeous thing. The amount of compliments you can pour into this boys ear in whispered praise or dirty filth: he lights up with the giddiness of it every time. Bulb bright. Megawatt.

He scrambled up and off you. “Alright, alright you little shrimps-“ He hissed moans and groans where he hauled himself up, and away, after smacking a wet kiss to your cheek that lingered.

“Where were we huh?” He crowds in and peers at the scribble of their set list. Leaning over to take a look.

You mop up the spilt beer with the too big sleeves of your sweater. Dabbing the floor. Gareth’s mom wouldn’t care for the garage being left smelling like a frat house.

You put the can back into the table. Laughing to yourself as they start to bicker over what song should be next.

Jeff sidles over to you all nervous as you’re knelt on the cold floor. “Can I beg a favour?”

He gets a pretty mangled tape out of his pocket. “Player in the car chewed it up on the way over. I know you have the touch.”

“Indeed I do.” You wipe your beer hands over your jeans and shimmy your fingers and take it off him with a curling grin. Slipping a Bobby pin out your front jeans pocket. “Leave it with me kid.”

You look down at the Corey Hart tape. Hook a brow. “Sunglasses at night, Jeff?”

“It’s my moms.” He offers all jittery. Hands sliding into his pockets. You nod. Carefully handling the shiny tape that needed rewinding.

“That’s what I say to Eddie about the Bryan Ferry and ABC I have shoved under my car seat and if you dare tell him- I will kill you ten different ways.” You grin with narrowed eyes. “Everyone’s allowed a guilty pleasure.”

“Secrets safe with me. You’re awesome.” He lisped bashfully, before joining the rest of his band. Who were now breaking out into a full blown argument now. The air fragrant with it. Thick shouts and interjections layered over each other. Everyone rising over each other to be the loudest.

Eddie is, of course, winning. Shaking his mad head and snatching the red sharpie and scrubbing over Gareth’s writing and almost running the pen over his fingertip on the page.

Stuffing another cookie in his mouth. They’re clamouring louder and louder. He’s spitting crumbs everywhere and now it’s turning into “Ew, gross dude.”

You shake your head and settle on the couch cross legged, sipping back cold beer occasionally, and patiently put Jeff’s poor mangled tape back to rights.

“You’re coming right?” Floats over to you. You break your concentration and look up. Gareth is talking to you.

“To what? You ask. Feeling behind and dumb.

“Our gig at the Hideout. It’s totally your thing.” Gareth flirts.

“Mmm audience of six drunks. I promise to be there and to misbehave.” You say methodically as you focus back on the cassette.

Eddies giving his best Billy Idol attitude glare at Gareth’s head. “Did you just invite my girlfriend to our gig?”

“What? She’d totally be into it.” He defends.

“Nothing wrong with getting some babes in the audience, right?” You shrugged, looking over at Eddie with a snappy wink.

“Exactly.” Gareth answers. A touch too flirty.

Eddie inhaled deep in rage as he snatched his own drumstick off him. “This is going up your nose, now.” He snapped.

Gareth wound around the drum set and Eddie gave chase. You watched them loop the damn thing ten times whilst Eddie shrieked at him and aimed random things at his stupid curly head. Half a cookie. An Iron Maiden cassette tape. Empty Pepsi can.

Symbols clash where they sprint past. Dodging cords underfoot. “Interfering son of a- MY girlfriend. You hear me, MINE, you lil shit.”

You stayed in your corner. Saturday night now apparently in full swing. Shaking your head as you smiled. Boys.

~

The crickets are creaking and the stars were vivid, winking so bright, when you and Eddie step out the garage door, and into the relentless night air. Thick and cool. So smooth you could sip it like a dirty martini.

It pricks bumps up your arms as he slings his metal clad fingers through yours, and lopes along with you. Band stuff corralled messily into the back of his beaten old van.

He stops when he scans the street. Shoes scuffing the sheet of tarmac.

“Huh.”

He flicks his eyes around. You lurch ahead of him. His hand still stuck wrapped in yours.

“Something up?” You ask.

There’s a glint of promiscuity in your eyes. It’s a menacing conspiratorial look. One that you’ve studied and poached off him, no doubt.

“Lack of a certain Capri sat on the curb out here, pencils.” He looks around. Making sure his eyes don’t deceive him.

You grin. “Yeah huh. How strange.”

He comes level to you. Twirls you into his chest. Arms linked around your middle. Those pillowy lips grazing the top of your jaw. Clever Pencils.

“Guess l’ll have to stay over now.” You accept. One hand over his. The other holding your overnight bag you’d assembled hours before.

“Seems that way.” He flirts all grinning, as he waddles you down the drive. Inside he’s fist pumping and yowling at the top of his lungs.

He pitched for you again. Leaning down and shouldering into you. Biting his lip all cheeky as he growls out a sound as he flips you over his shoulder. Carrying you with your legs dangling down at his back.

“I win. Pencils. I win. Suck it kiddos. How you like me now.” He says as he clumsily runs with you down the drive.

“Eddie!” You shrill. He slaps your ass. Makes an Mmmm sound as he does.

“I got your juicy ass now baby. I ain’t sharing anymore.”

Your laughs and shrieks and his cackles echoing in his ears all the way.

~

May I also just say the feedback from this series is a fever dream cause you’re all SUCH BABES and you’re so nice leaving such lovely comments and interacting. I’m truly so grateful-as ever my thanks must be given to @wayward-rose for listening to me chat all things about Eddie a lot. Luv ya babes.

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r

[papakhan]

Other than the horrible feeling inside his skull, Manny Vargas felt… good. Better than he had done in weeks. His cheeks were sore from laughing, his throat ached from talking, but his heart soared. The warm feeling in his chest was more than just alcohol. It was nostalgic, being back with the Khans. Their songs were just the same as Manny remembered. All cheering and dancing and swinging eachother around. Not even the man in the checkered suit sitting sourly in the corner could dispel the feeling of joy in that room.

I wrote ANOTHER Manny Vargas fic this time featuring Benny :) this takes place during the main story of FNV when the Khans and Benny stay at Manny's place in Novac

I'm also gonna mirror it right here

“Do not let Jessup buy any of those fuckin’ toys.” McMurphy said as he trudged up the stairs.

Not even a second passed after the door slammed, and Cliff waved one of those ever-so-tempting Dinky the Dinosaur toys, “Aw now don’t listen to him. You’ll never forgive yourself if you walk away now!”

Cliff Briscoe deserved some credit, he was completely undeterred by the sight of half a dozen Khans piling into his shop. In fact, he was delighted to see them. Most shopkeepers kept wary eyes on Khans, waiting for them to slip something into their pockets. But not Cliff Briscoe.

“No dice,” Benny said, pushing his way to the front, “We don’t want any of your junk, pal.”

Briscoe’s eyebrows knitted together as he scanned Benny. The Mojave dirt had somewhat diminished the crispness of Benny’s suit, but it still screamed ‘Hot Shot Casino Owner’ no matter how many days in a row he’d worn it. Though nowadays that seemed more like ‘Hot Shot Casino Owner After Wrestling With Six Khans’.

Still, ever resolute, Cliff pushed on, “Well… what are you looking for?”

“We’re not looking for anything, get it?” Benny snapped, and Jessup scowled at him.

“You got any slugs man? Twenty gage.” Jessup asked, leaning on the countertop to run a finger along the dinosaur’s spines, eyes wide with temptation.

Benny tutted, “And how are you gonna pay for that, genius?”

Jessup snapped upright. He shoved his face in Benny’s, lips pulled back in a snarl, “Get the fuck off my back.”

Benny’s mask cracked as he jolted away from Jessup, like snatching a hand away from a dog about to bite. Cliff eyed the pair hesitantly. One of the other Khans laughed. Jessup held fast, his stance daring Benny to get closer.

Benny was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He raised his hands after a moment, placatingly, “Fine, do what you want.”

Jessup wrinkled his nose, then spat on the ground between them. Both Benny and Briscoe pulled a face, though Briscoe’s quickly disappeared as Jessup turned back to face him. Benny stalked away to another corner of the store, ignoring the Khans jeering at him. One of them elbowed him, Destiny--or ‘Eyepatch’ as Benny had taken to calling her in his head.

“Serves you right, dumbass,” She snickered as she flicked the lapel of his suit jacket, “Hasselin’ Jess when he ain’t sleepin’ right.”

Benny swore he’d never hit a woman, but he smacked Eyepatch’s arm away without thinking. She returned the favour by jabbing him in the ribs. Benny recoiled away, taking a learnt-- slightly out of practice --defensive stance.

“You hit me again girlie, and none of you are getting paid.” He hissed.

“I’m just playing, man. Don’t have to be so stuck up all the time.”

Benny ignored her, pretending to be very interested in the signed baseball cards framed on the wall instead of rubbing where she’d jabbed him. What he wouldn’t give to drop these idiots tonight and make his own way back to Vegas. But it was too many days away. He couldn’t risk sleeping unguarded. At least if the Khans robbed him in his sleep, he’d know where to start looking for the chip.

Not that they would. They weren’t exactly loyal, but they kept their word. It was almost nostalgic. The old style of honour big gangs like the Khans believed in. What the Boot Riders used to believe in. Not much honour left on the Strip these days, even Benny could see that.

He had to wonder if this ‘associate’ they were banking on lending them a room subscribed to the same worldview. As they’d approached Novac, McMurphy had raised an open palm to the dinosaur. He hadn’t elaborated much. ‘An old friend’, he’d said. Benny had heard some muttering from the other Khans, a couple of names he hadn’t heard before. It seemed that some were not as excited about this reunion as others.

The bell above the door jingled and a hush fell over the store.

“Oh, hey there Ranger Andy,” Cliff said cheerily, words that made Benny’s head jerk up. A fucking ranger? Here? Seriously?

Benny eyed each of the Khans, trying to guess which would step out of line and start shit with a ranger. None of them moved an inch, their gazes fixed on the Ranger who was wearing his full uniform and leaning heavily on a cane. All except Jessup, who kept his back to Andy and Benny. The Ranger licked his lips, glancing around at all the Khans in the tiny room.

“Uh, howdy Cliff. You alright there?” The Ranger spoke carefully, watching Cliff like he was waiting for him to blink SOS.

“Oh you know how business is these days, but I’m just fine.” Cliff replied cheerily, entirely oblivious to the look the Ranger was giving him, “I haven’t had any more of those holotapes you like, but I still got plenty of Dinkies!”

Benny watched Jessup, glaring at the back of his head waiting for any twitch. As if just staring at him could root him to the spot. Jessup may have had the old-style honour of the Boot Riders, but he didn’t have the obedience. But Jessup only glared at the countertop.

“Right.” The Ranger said, standing his ground, “Sure Cliff, you just let me know.”

Another door opened up above and a hot breeze blew in, carrying with it a pair of gruff voices. One belonged to McMurphy, and the other belonged to the assumed “friend”. No one in the room moved as the voices got closer until McMurphy reappeared and frowned at the stand-off, only to roll his eyes at the sight of it. No help there then.

“Friends of yours, Vargas?” The Ranger said.

“Uh,” This Vargas stepped out from behind the taller McMurphy and glanced at the gathered group, the bright blaring red of his beret the first and only thing Benny noticed, “Yeah, sorry Andy, forgot to tell you.”

“You’re not in the army anymore, son, you don’t need to check guests in with me,” Ranger Andy sounded miles more relaxed now than he did moments ago, “I can’t tell you what company to keep, was just a surprise on my afternoon visits, is all.”

Eyepatch beside Benny glared daggers at Vargas. The word ‘anymore’ had Benny’s ears pricked. An army boy, friends with some Khans? Benny didn’t like the NCR, but he was never one to turn down gossip. The way he heard it, they recruited just about anybody, and former raiders were a particular favourite of theirs. Like House to the gangs of The Strip, cushy digs could buy loyalty from a lot of people.

Not that Benny would sell out for anything less than what House came a’knocking with. He could at least rest easy knowing he would never scrub out his own identity for straw army cots and marching laps at the crack of dawn. No no no, it took far more than that. He had what some might call ‘standards’.

Vargas-- or “Manny” as the other Khans took to calling him, led their little band across the courtyard, earning even more raised eyebrows than when McMurphy had done the same earlier. Benny kept his head down, knowing his suit was loud enough on its own. He chewed on the information he’d gathered on Manny so far, which admittedly wasn’t much. A lot more attached to his clothes than the Khans seemed to be. Less scant leather, more cable knit red sweater. 

As Manny worked on unlocking the door to his apartment, Benny’s eyes trailed to Manny’s boots. Soft leather, scuffed and dirty. Not one who took his soldier training to heart, it seemed. And, judging by the tattoos peeking out from under Manny’s long-sleeve shirt, not one who took pride in his old gang ink. 

Manny pried his door open and ushered the group inside. The room was small and dingy, a bed, kitchen and diner all rolled into one, but compared to how Benny had been sleeping these past few days, it was a palace. Benny revelled in the soft carpet floors underfoot, considering how he’d felt every rock and bump in the road through his dress shoes. His eyes fell immediately on the double bed as Manny hurriedly picked up sheets from the floor and rearranged the pillows. So this visit was not expected, Benny realised. The single bulb overhead buzzed to life as McMurphy flipped a switch. Benny eyed him too, McMurphy was very… comfortable here. Like he’d been here many times before.

“Sit down somewhere, jeez,” Manny said and the Khans took that as a cue to flop onto the couch and promptly start fighting over space. Great. Five Khans, one ex-Khan and Benny between one couch and one double bed. 

Benny glanced skywards again, squinting at the bulb. If Manny Vargas had electricity, did that mean…

“You got one ring-a-ding pad pal,” Benny said, sauntering over to Manny as he tidied up a stained mug and bowl that looked as if they’d been out for days, “Think you can answer my prayers and tell me you got hot water too?”

Manny stared at him like it was the first time he’d noticed there was a non-Khan amongst them. Though knowing he was a sniper, Benny could say with some certainty that it was an act. He didn’t even process that Manny might be staring at him like that for the nonsense words that’d just spilt from him. Manny looked down at Benny’s dress shoes, then back up at his slicked hair. Though slick with his own grease now, more than the pomade he’d applied days ago.

“You gonna pay my water bill, buddy?”

“You’re guarding the town all day and they still make you pay bills?” Benny probed, “Sheesh pal, they’re really wringing you dry.”

This time, Manny laughed. He dumped his cup and bowl in the sink and raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, you got me. I don’t pay for the water. But my landlady will get mad with me if we use too much.”

“Oh come on, now you’re just teasing me,” Benny said.

“Look man, I don’t even know you--”

“See! Exactly! You don’t know me! So why don’t you and your friends play catch up while I scrub the grime off my poor skin, whaddya say?”

Manny sighed, chewing the inside of his lip in what Benny hoped was serious consideration. His dark eyes flitted to the Khans like a cry for help. 

“Please baby, just give me an hour alone with the shower.” Benny clasped his hands together, “Shall I beg? Look, you'll get the Ben-man down on his knees. I'll do it but it won't be pretty,” 

“Yeah go on! Beg!” Jessup crowed from the couch, “I wanna see!” 

Benny stopped to glare daggers at Jessup. Then turned back to Manny and flashed his best puppy-dog eyes. Manny pursed his lips, then glanced over at the Khans, grinning, and for a moment Benny was afraid Manny was about to make good on the begging act. But instead, Manny shrugged his shoulders and nodded to the bathroom.

“Go for it, man,” 

“I could kiss you.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to do that.”

*

When Manny stepped into the dim light of the motel courtyard he pressed his back against the door of his room and took a steadying breath. The pleasant buzz of alcohol had started to creep towards a messy blur. He wasn’t a young man anymore, drinking every night on leave. When was the last time he’d had a drink?

Manny scrubbed his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in the hopes of stopping the feeling of the world rocking around him. Or at least stop it enough to keep from being violently sick on his own doorstep.

Other than the horrible feeling inside his skull, Manny Vargas felt… good. Better than he had done in weeks. His cheeks were sore from laughing, his throat ached from talking, but his heart soared. The warm feeling in his chest was more than just alcohol. It was nostalgic, being back with the Khans. Their songs were just the same as Manny remembered. All cheering and dancing and swinging eachother around. Not even the man in the checkered suit sitting sourly in the corner could dispel the feeling of joy in that room.

And tomorrow they’d be gone. He sighed into his hands.

“You okay Manny?”

Manny lifted his head to see McMurphy leaning against one of the posts that held up the balcony, cigarette between his fingers.

“Uh, yeah,” The alcohol made his tongue heavy in his mouth, “Yeah I’m… okay.”

“You sure?”

Manny pushed away from the door and made towards the post opposite McMurphy’s. He wrapped an arm around it and then remembered himself, straightening up to lean more casually and not like a total lightweight.

“I just needed some air,” he said.

McMurphy watched him out the corner of his eye, and even in the dark Manny could see the twitch of his lips smirking upwards. He brought the cigarette to his lips and sucked, the tip glowed ember.

“Me too,” McMurphy’s words came out in a curl of smoke.

They stood there in silence, nothing but stale smoke drifting between them. It had been a long time since Manny had talked with McMurphy. Going on ten years now. He remembered that leather jacket, before it was so beaten and soft, recognised old patches and paint under the new. McMurphy, like Jessup, was exactly as Manny had left him, but at the same time an entirely different man. Like a faded photo. Tired and worn but familiar.

“Do you remember when we climbed around in those old buildings, back in Vegas?” Manny asked.

“When we hopped rooftops when we got in trouble with your mom?” McMurphy chuckled, “Yeah, I remember.”

Manny snorted, “Oh man, after I ‘donated’ one of her old world plates as target practice. I thought she was gonna kill me!”

“So did we,” McMurphy flicked ash from his cigarette, still smiling, “Here I thought Khan moms were scary.”

Manny laughed again and fell into an easy, comfortable quiet. He glanced over at McMurphy, who was staring skywards. Manny followed his gaze to the millions upon billions of stars up above. It was what he missed the most after Mr House took Vegas back from the Khans. Maybe the Khans survived House’s onslaught of securitrons and bankrolled gangs, but the night sky did not. The stars never shone the same after he switched on the lights. Manny didn’t have the head for science to understand why, but even out here the sky was never quite the same. 

“Can you still read the stars?” Manny asked absently.

“‘Course” McMurphy replied, Manny could still hear the smile on his lips, “Harder closer to Vegas but, I can still see what I need. Always know my way home.”

Home. That’s what he missed. A home he could never go back to, with a night sky he’d never see again. Home was what the Khans had. Wherever they pitched that night, that was home. And here he could feel it, their warmth and joy and love despite it all. Novac had none of that, not anymore, not since House, not since the NCR, not since Carla. Manny’s home was gone. Like his family, his friends, his night sky, all gone. 

“You okay man?” McMurphy’s gentle voice drifted to him like smoke on the wind.

Manny’s eyes prickled and he could feel hot tears on his cheeks. Goddamn it. He scrubbed them away with the back of his hand. But he was already caught.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

The quiet from McMurphy stretched on and Manny’s cheeks burnt hot with shame. His head swam with alcohol and his heart ached. It hurt! A burning pain that tightened his throat and forced a sob from his mouth when he tried to laugh it off. The gravel crunched under McMurphy’s boots as he closed the gap between them and wrapped his strong arms around Manny without hesitation. And Manny cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he did. He cried and McMurphy held him close, rubbing circles into his back and shushing him gently. 

McMurphy smelt of clean sweat, leather and cigarettes, with just an undertone of amber. He was taller than Manny, and his jacket was soft and worn. Manny wrapped his arms gingerly around his chest as he tried to get his breathing under control and not snivel all over the friend he hadn't seen in a decade.  

“It’s just so-- shit,” Manny managed.

“Tell me about it,” McMurphy said.

“I keep screwing things up. I feel like I-- I threw away everything and for what? A shit job, no friends, my family hates me! I wake up every day and I think is-- is this it?! Is this all I have left? One shitty hotel room and twelve hours of standing around on my own?” Manny rambled, “Okay-- I had one friend here. One! But his wife hates me so he’s barely allowed to talk to me and now she’s taken off back to Vegas and he thinks I ran her out of town! Is this it?”

“C’mon man, you’re barely thirty. You’ll be fine,” McMurphy pulled back, his hands on Manny’s shoulders, forcing Manny to look at him, “I promise. You’ll be ok.”

“I just…” Manny sighed, “I feel like I’ve wasted all my chances. I fucked things up with Vegas, I tried to have my cake and eat it too with the Khans and-- you know what happened there. And then the only good thing I did in the army was… leave.”

“Yeah, and it takes guts to do that,” McMurphy said, “Look, Manny, you think anyone else in that room can say they’ve done all the things you have? Anyone in this town? You’ve been a son, a raider, a soldier, a citizen, a guard-- all before you got even one grey hair. Not even that beat-up old ranger can say that.”

“But--” 

McMurphy prodded Manny square in the chest, just over his heart, “You got guts, and you got skills. Ain’t nothing else you need. You want friends? Well you got one right here--” McMurphy pointed a thumb at himself, “and I know Jesse’s always gonna have your back no matter what.” 

Manny scrubbed his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater. This time, when he laughed, he didn’t stop by accident, “Hey. Good to know we’re still friends.”

“Sure we are.”

“Even after everything?” 

“Even after everything.”

*

Manny woke with a strip of light in his eyes and a weight on his chest. It would be more pleasant if his head wasn’t throbbing. Manny scrunched his eyes up to block out as much of the morning sun as possible as he tried to think of the name of who he was in bed with. It wasn’t unusual, he’d taken men to bed before. Passers-by mostly, someone he wouldn’t have to look in the eye every time they bumped into each other in the gift store. He’d learnt his lesson there.

Then the night before started to creep into Manny’s memory. The Khans who came to stay.

“Shit,” Manny hissed to himself. He peaked down at the arm draped over his chest. McMurphy. Okay, McMurphy being in bed with him was a good sign. He had the integrity to refuse any drunken kissing from Manny, at least. Especially in a room full of other Khans. Manny squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to any god that would listen that he didn’t embarrass himself last night.

“Hey hey wakey wakey baby, about time too. I just sent your hair-challenged friend off with a line about you powdering your nose,” Benny called over, making little effort to keep his voice down, “But before you go, how abouts you wake up one of your pals so we can split before the heat sets in.”

Manny scrubbed the sleep from his eyes, only half understanding the words that had just spilt from Benny’s mouth, “You saw Boone?”

“Boon, is it? Not sure if he really looked like a boon I’d want. Unless what I wanted was a plank of wood.” Benny huffed smoke out the door, squinting into the rising sun, “What time did your shift start anyhoo?”

“Shit.”

Manny tossed away the covers and shot from the bed. McMurphy groaned beside him, covering his head with the arm Manny had abandoned. First Manny looked for his clothes, only to find that he had fallen asleep still wearing them. All save for his boots, which were neatly paired at the end of his bed. Manny plopped his ass on the bed and shoved his feet into his boots, pushing away the vague recollections of McMurphy prying the boots off him as Manny drunkenly insisted on sleeping with them on. 

Great. The first time seeing his childhood friends in years and he’d gotten drunk and acted the fool. What else can go wrong today? What about angering Boone even more? Sounds just perfect.

Manny gave up on his laces, standing up and setting a ginger hand on McMurphy’s shoulder. McMurphy made another sound that could have meant anything from “What do you want?” to “Go away”.

“Hey man, listen. I gotta go but-- thanks for last night. I really mean it. I hope I see you again soon, okay?”

He hoovered for half a second as McMurphy shifted, rubbing grit from his eyes. Before the man could wake up fully, Manny leant down and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then he straightened and fled from the room, pushing past Benny to run towards the dinosaur.

“Manny?” McMurphy croaked.

Benny blew smoke out the door again, watching Manny half jog, half stumble in his unlaced boots, “He’s gone, pal.”

[ciel-of-vault-111]

Am I the only one who wants to see a fallout game in NYC? It is such a cool area! It could be isolated, being an island after all, and it has multiple iconic landmarks that could be changed to fit the fallout vibe! Central Park could be a rad-filled jungle! Times Square could be a major settlement, with the new year’s ball at the center! Broadway could have adds for fake plays, like, “Vault Boy: the musical” or, “Rob! The RobCo story” Madison Square Garden could be an ice area, because it’s a hockey rink! And, what if the villains were Wall Street executives, who traded people as stocks?! There main base could be the NY stock exchange! So many possibilities!!’

[celestialastronmy]

The Portrayal of Religious Trauma and Spiritual Abuse: Kate Marsh's Story

Let's dive into the heavy topic of religious trauma and spiritual abuse through the lens of Kate Marsh's disturbing experiences in Life is Strange. Fair warning - this gets pretty dark and covers sensitive subject matter around mental health, abuse, and religion. But it's an important conversation to have.

I'll try to break it down in sections, Kate was a kind, religious student at Blackwell Academy who was viciously bullied and slut-shamed after a video of her making out with several guys at a party surfaced online. The emotional fallout was devastating for the vulnerable, sheltered Kate who turned to her faith for refuge.

But the devout church group she was a part of largely turned their backs on her at her most desperate time of need. Rather than supporting and protecting one of their own who was victimized, many in the community embraced a cruel "she had it coming" mentality filled with harsh judgments and rejection.(Mainly her mother and Aunt) It's a sickening injustice that sadly rings true to the experiences of religious trauma survivors.

Religious trauma is the psychological damage caused by severely negative religious experiences, often involving emotional manipulation, toxic teachings, and authoritarian abuse from a faith community. Spiritual abuse takes it a step further by leveraging the faith beliefs against the person through tactics like shunning, shaming, blaming, and enforced deprivation.

And that's exactly what seemed to happen to Kate. When she needed her church the most, they failed her miserably. She was essentially spiritually abandoned and abused at her most vulnerable point by the one place that should have been her ultimate safe haven. No wonder she became depressed and suicidal.

Toxic Purity Culture Playing a Role

A major factor that enabled Kate's spiritual abuse was the deeply engrained "purity culture" mentality that sadly permeates many conservative religious circles. Placing extreme, repressive emphasis on sexual purity before marriage for women while glorifying female submissiveness, modesty, and chastity as moral virtues.

The blaming and shaming of Kate seemed directly tied to this subculture that essentially slut-shames any woman who doesn't rigidly conform to those outdated, sexist standards of feminine purity. Rather than showing compassion to a young victim of exploitation, they turned on her with unbridled judgment and alienation for the perceived sexual "sin." It's dehumanizing victim-blaming crap that can utterly demolish someone's mental health and self-worth.

Frankly, the community's reaction reeked of misogyny masked by feigning moral superiority over Kate's sexuality. An undercurrent of the age-old condemning "she was asking for it" dismissal of sexual assault that has enabled abuse against women for centuries.

Lack of Support Exacerbating Mental Health Struggles

With her church circle reinforcing the vicious bullying through their ostracization and shaming, it robbed Kate of what could have been a core support system to help her through the trauma. Having that foundation ripped out from under her only exacerbated her deteriorating mental health and feelings of existential despair.

In healthy faith communities, spiritual support is meant to be a therapeutic anchor helping guide people through severe crises with acceptance, compassion, and affirmation of self-worth. When that lifeline is cruelly replaced with damnation, dejection, and reinforced self-loathing, it can trigger or worsen clinical depression, PTSD, anxiety, and suicidal ideation.

The spiritual abuse Kate endured represented a profound emotional betrayal compounding her already staggering psychological distress. With the roots of her identity and personal value system embedded in those religious bonds, having that ripped away left her feeling profoundly insignificant, unworthy, and alone.

Clearly, her community failed her abysmally in her hour of greatest need. The very sanctuary meant to provide unconditional acceptance, safe harbor, and trauma-informed care through a spiritual framework kicked her to the curb instead based on a deeply flawed fundamentalist sexual ethos.

Unhealed Trauma Perpetuating a Vicious Cycle

The heavy implication seemed to be that Kate's virgin/whore complex wasn't properly processed or healed from her traumatic experiences. Which is understandable given how spiritually adrift she was abandoned by the one faith support system she invested everything in.

Without a safe outlet to properly unpack the acute shame, rejection-sensitivity, objectification, existential brokenness and myriad other complex emotions involved in her ordeal, it's no surprise she sank deeper into despondency and self-harm reinforcing patterns.

With virtually no healthy framework to recontextualize what happened and rebuild her self-worth, she remained stuck in a purgatory of unhealed trauma and spiritual abuse aftershocks slowly tearing her apart.

That's what makes the cycle of religious trauma so insidious and damaging. The very sociological underpinnings that are meant to affirm someone's humanity within a belief system get hijacked as weapons to degrade and dehumanize them. It fundamentally distorts their entire sense of identity, purpose, and cosmic belonging.

Breaking the Cycle through Awareness and Support

Which is why greater mainstream awareness around religious trauma and its mental health impacts is so crucial, especially for practices that enable spiritual abuse and toxic fundamentalism. The more we can shine a light on these cycles, the easier it becomes to recognize the warning signs and intervene before vulnerable people get systematically stripped of their dignity.

Ultimately, it's about providing a compassionate environment that deconstructs shame, learns from past mistakes, and rebuilds supportive networks for those in crisis based on healthy spirituality and belonging.

Kate's isolation was one of the most heartbreaking parts of her story. If she'd had access to affirming support systems equipped to empathize with her pain and guide her through it based on universally human values like grace, acceptance and resilience, perhaps the outcome could have been different.

Because at the end of the day, faith is meant to provide sanctuary and healing from suffering - not be another source of torment. Kate deserved so much better than to be discarded and shamed by the very community that should have fiercely protected her.

Hopefully through greater empathy and open discussions on religious trauma, spiritual abuse and their horrific toll, we can learn how to cultivate spiritual environments that truly embody the unconditional love they preach - especially for those who need it most.

[mosswolf]

It is a pervasive condition of empires that they affect great swathes of the planet without the empire's populace being aware of that impact - indeed, without being aware that many of the affected places even exist. How many Americans are aware of the continuing socioenvironmental fallout from U.S. militarism and foreign policy decisions made three or four decades ago in, say, Angola or Laos? How many could even place those nation-states on a map? The imperial gap between foreign policy power and on-the-street awareness calls to mind George Lamming's shock, on arriving in Britain in the early 1950s, that most Londoners he met had never heard of his native Barbados and lumped together all Caribbean immigrants as "Jamaicans.' What I call superpower parochialism has been shaped by the myth of American exceptionalism and by a long-standing indifference in the U.S. educational system and national media to the foreign, especially foreign history, even when it is deeply enmeshed with U.S. interests. Thus, when considering the representational challenges posed by transnational slow violence, we need to ask what role American indifference to foreign history has played in camouflaging lasting environmental damage inflicted elsewhere. If all empires create acute disparities between global power and global knowledge, how has America's perception of itself as a young, forward-thrusting nation that claims to flourish by looking ahead rather than behind exacerbated the difficulty of socioenvironmental answerability for ongoing slow violence?

slow violence and the environmentalism of the poor, rob nixon

[apomaro-mellow]

Wingman Nancy 6

Eddie whistled. “Lookin’ good, Harrington.” 

“It is a special occasion”, Steve said, letting Eddie into his house.

Eddie closed the door behind him and grabbed Steve’s hand, making him lift his arm. “Come on, give us a twirl.”

Steve blushed. “Eddie...”

“Give daddy a twirl~” Eddie turned him around and made Steve show off the red and white striped shirt and tight, bright jeans. “Look at you. You know exactly how good your arms look in that shirt.”

“I think they look even better here”, Steve said, wrapping them around Eddie’s waist.

“They look good wherever you wanna put ‘em, baby. Bet you could bench press me an’ shit.”

“You’re not gonna distract me. Rob and Nance will be here any minute.” And just yesterday Eddie had gotten him with the classic ‘I bet you’re not strong enough to carry me’ and what should’ve been an afternoon cleaning the garage was spent making out on the couch. Not that Steve would ever complain when the end result was him kissing Eddie.

“Any minute doesn’t mean right now”, Eddie said, leaning in.

While they were in the house, they were very visible to Robin and Nancy, who were about to knock on the door.

“I’m not going in there while they’re like that”, Robin said.

“Do you find it surprising at all, how fast they’ve moved?”, Nancy asked.

“Nope.”

“Huh...I mean we could probably-nevermind”, Nancy shook her head quickly.

“We could-we could do something like that, right?” Robin laughed nervously, then coughed to cover it up. “Be, uh, you know, horny t-teens?”

Nancy couldn’t help but think about the last time she let go in this house. What happened and the fallout and the consequences and-

“No pressure though! I know you’re probably all new to this ‘liking girls’ thing and to be honest it’s not like I have a plethora of experience I mean I know what I’d like to do? In theory? But I get it if you’re not read-”

“I know what I want to do with you”, Nancy confessed. Everything else about this was so out of her wheelhouse, what was one more thing? And it wasn’t like Robin herself would ever make her feel bad about it. She had spent more than one night, letting her imaginations and her hands run wild.

Robin swallowed. Nancy stared as she bit her lip.

“Come on.” Nancy grabbed her hand and barged into the house. Steve and Eddie broke apart, doing very poorly to pretend they weren’t just making out.

“We’re taking the guest room”, Nancy said, pulling Robin up the stairs.

“What about bowling?”, Steve asked.

“Bigger fish Steve!”, Robin called out as she was lead away.

With a smirk, Eddie went to the living room and put a record on, for once not caring what sound came out. He was content when it turned out to be jazz. Then he turned back to Steve.

“For their privacy, and ours.” He then dove onto the couch and made grabby hands for Steve. “C’mere.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He supposed bowling could be done on another night.

Upstairs, Nancy took Robin to the guest room and locked the door. They both sat on the bed, hands in their laps. Robin grabbed Nancy’s hand.

“You sure you want this? Want...me?”

They heard the music playing downstairs.

“I should be asking you that”, Nancy said, squeezing her hand.

Robin took a breath. “Only one way to find out, right?”

Nancy nodded and turned towards Robin more. Slowly, they leaned in towards each other, trying to give the other a chance to back out if they didn’t want this. Then their lips touched and it only took half a second for them to fully melt into it. Whatever worries they had melted away.

Nancy let Robin push her down onto the bed and when she tried to pull away and apologize or slow things down, Nancy grabbed her by the back of the head to bring her in for another kiss. Her heart jumped when Robin’s hand brushed against her chest. Nancy put her hand fully on her chest, letting out a small gasp when Robin squeezed.

Even through layers of clothes, it felt electric. Was it a bit immature to forego evening plans in favor of just sitting in a room kissing? Perhaps. Especially when just one floor below was another couple doing the exact same thing? Well to be quite honest, continuing to go to the bowling alley and pretending to be interested in playing when all you want to do was get your hands on your date and show them how much you wanted them....

Acting a certain way because of the rules put forth instead of the way you wanted to be

was bullshit.

END

And another one done! Thank yall for joinin’ me on this one :) For more older kid shenanigans, go HERE. And if you want more ronance, head over HERE

Tag Team

@goodolefashionedloverboi @rainydays35 @desert-fern @alienace @homohomohoe @savory-babby @gothwifehotchner @gregre369 @estrellami-1 @l0st-strawberry @dreamlandforever @justforthedead89 @hallucinatedjosten

[open-hearth-rpg]

Coming Back: Fallen Campaigns & Rebirths

From Age of Ravens

CAN CAMPAIGNS AGE WELL?

This first part of the year sees me coming back to two longer online series I’ve run before. The first is the third and what I plan to be the final arc of our Godbound campaign. This is after a long break, with the second arc happening in mid-2022. At this point they have hit the higher levels there and I want to close out some of those stories. It’s been a great couple dozen sessions and I love these characters, but I want to get that some resolution. 

The other is Fearful Symmetries, a Trail of Cthulhu campaign set in 1930s England, with the characters as magicians fighting a secret war. We finished the first story in March of last year. We took advantage of the real world time gap to give the characters a gap as well. Session one was a “getting the band back together” episode. In it we got to see how each investigator had dealt with the fallout from their arcane showdown. It provided a solid baseline the characters have been able to play off of. 

Last year I also returned to a Hearts of Wulin mystery series with two new cases. We managed to reconnect with the big picture threats and story, even though it’d been over a year since we’d played last. We plan on coming back to that for another mystery later this year. Likewise we’re planning on coming back to our Girl by Moonlight game– three months wasn’t enough so we’re going to add another two months to wrap the story. 

Here’s the thing: I have never, ever been able to do this with a face to face game. Every single hiatus or break for a campaign has resulted in that campaign dying out. And it wasn’t just me, I saw this happen to other GMs in the area. My late friend Barry was notorious for this– starting amazing high concept campaigns with energy, but then “taking a short break” which meant we’d never play again. 

Another one, Rob, had something of the opposite problem. He would run long, multi-year campaigns. Then at some point he would take a break for burnout or to recharge his batteries. Inevitably he never returned to these campaigns, leaving them so close to the finish line the players could see it. He would tease folks with the possibility of going back and finishing their stories, but never would. 

And I’m not innocent of this. But it has been a while since I “paused” a game as a way of ducking out. Now if it isn’t working I say that and call it or tell everyone and then steer into some kind of finale. That, like Barry and Rob above, comes from me as a GM not feeling it. 

MORTAL BELOVED

But then we have those games that I wanted to return to. The ones which never got finished because circumstances worked against them. Or the inertia of things pulled us away. Or the people changed in the intervening period. These I really mourn.

I ran a dynamite short Star Wars series which was intended to be the first movie,in a “new trilogy” (before the new trilogy actually came out). This Episode VII  absolutely clicked and I planned to do Episode VIII after a short break for another game. But by the time it was possible, that gaming group had reorganized. Other GMs’ new games took up the nights and players available. We never went back. 

We had a great Exalted Dragon-Blooded game that we had to hold off from because two of the players went through a divorce. We tried coming back to it, but the one member of the couple who returned clearly wasn’t feeling it. So we ended up dropping it. A similar thing happening with a wuxia game, using Storyteller, I ran with a great trio of players. When one of them unexpectedly decided to stop playing because he and his wife had issues, we had to close that down. Because he never actually told us, we never got to do a finale session. 

And, of course, COVID has killed a couple of my games. We had a long-running Sunday group, going on twenty years, but we ended that. Another campaign had been running for almost four years. I asked about transitioning to online, but one of the players (ironically the one who had kibosh’ed the wuxia game) refused to play online. So we went on hold, but I knew we would never come back. The other two f2f campaigns which we transitioned to online survived. One, 13th Age, eventually shifted back to in-person after a year and a half. The other remains online. 

But online games, somehow, have managed to survive these breaks. We’ve gone back and picked them up without missing a beat. I had a long-running Mutants & Masterminds campaign online where we broke up each arc with a different game. And it worked– each time we came back folks knew the world and were excited to play again, even if it’d been many months. 

BREAKING POINTS

So why?

I have theories. First, having an accessible, shared body of material really helps. Character keepers remain– people don’t can’t file away their characters sheets and lose them. They don’t feel like artifacts of something lost. You can review your own character and remind yourself who everyone else played. Keepers offer a strong, complete snapshot of where the game ended. That’s especially true if someone kept a running log of notes. An NPC tab with pictures goes a long way to reorienting people to the setting and situation.

Second, it is easy. You set a schedule and share links. It’s all there, ready and waiting for you. If someone can’t return you can hide their character in the keeper. Maybe they will come back eventually. It's easy to slot in new players to these kinds of ongoing campaigns. 

Third, you can return exactly to the space you left. You return to an online call– a timeless zone. Things may have changed, but generally you can fall back to a sense of familiarity. That goes a long way to establishing continuity. 

Fourth, it overcomes a certain inertia which applies to all online games. I’m a generally shy person; when I have to go somewhere physically, I don’t dig it. My brain looks for excuses not to go out into public. Online play clears away some of that. 

Fifth, online play– at least in our community— is built on a certain social contract. Players sign up for games– something which asks for a modest commitment to play on their part. That’s combined with a waiting list which means that if folks can’t show up, other people can be slotted in. That combines to create a pressure to actually show up or at least to work to make sure other people have access to those slots. Ironically I think that makes people more likely to show up. The act of just having a system makes it more likely folks will consider their attendance and participation.  

LAST EPISODES

Are there lessons we can take from those for non-online games going on breaks or hiatus? Maybe? I suspect having a shared folder– maybe of scanned documents and materials– would make it easy to come back. Likewise keeping a copy of everyone’s character sheet. NPC image collections can help as well– maybe with Pinterest sub-boards. Starting again online and then moving back to f2f might be a good way to gauge if everyone’s still on board. It might also be good, even if the game was more casual before, to set up a calendar and some kind of sign ups. That helps support and remind community members.

I have a handful of games I really want to go back to. In the past I would have considered those dead and buried, but know I’m not go sure. 

[fallout-lou-begas]

why should i read ikroah (i want to hear the pitch)

It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin' (@ikroah) is a story about coming back from the dead for revenge, and being afraid it might be the only thing you have that was worth coming back for.

It is a fancomic of the video game Fallout: New Vegas, set in a post-post-nuclear-apocalypse on the cusp of a geopolitical free-for-all, and subverts the power fantasy potential of the open-world role-playing game by making the single most consequential person in the Mojave Desert somebody who has never felt more powerless in her life: Agnes Sands, a prickly and taciturn package courier.

After being robbed of her cargo and shot in the head, Agnes' journey to find the man who killed her features a nagging feeling of futility, complicated feelings about violence, the (post-(post-))apocalypse as a lens for interpreting life and death and transformation, a gnarled depiction of life as a transsexual in a commonly hostile world, two women pushing 40 with a weird gay thing going on, sympathy for cowardice, and ever-improving art including a revolving door of talented guest artists—all told in short, character-driven issues that each encompass a single vignette.

Prior knowledge of the source material is not required to follow or understand the comic.

(anon if this convinces you to read @ikroah then you have to tell me)

[dono-cho]

I do want to draw more HCs but have been playing Kenshi lately (it reminds me so much of old Fallout!!) 🥲

But! Will decide to sort of briefly write it here, it's about Dismas before the events of Darkest Dungeon 1.

15 years ago he rose up to become a bandit chief around the area, the Gutter Rats as the thieves call it. Thing is, that was Vvulf and his Wolves' turf too, and there was a gang war.

Funniest thing is that the D-man never carried about the power or influence but rogues flocked to him because he was just too damn good at robbing and killing.

Also in that 5 years of gang war (before a delicate balance of peace was achieved) Dismas kind of like, showed a bizarre talent for tactical strategy, it's the main reason how the Gutter Rats kept alive so long with the smaller size of influence they control

It did carry over to how he manages the Hamlet and their civilians and heroes, just one of the strange skills Reynauld notices he has

[lesvegas]

I'll always be a Bethesda hater and Fallout 3 Is Garbage is one of my all time favourite videos. But also here's a list of things I begrudgingly like about Fallout 3

The crafting system is so rudimentary that it actually feels approachable and like I'm encouraged to use it

I like making Nuka Grenades and Shishkabobs especially

I like how some junk actually serves a purpose. You'll have to kill me before I'll ever start collecting most of it but I like how books and scrap metal are actually worth something

Megaton kinda goes hard ngl. Who doesn't love junk towns

Rivet City is cool conceptually and the bridge extension animation is cool and I loved exploring the depths of the lower decks

Rivet City market place is extremely easy to rob

Wes Johnson voices a guy

Making Eden kill himself was stupid as hell and the moment I finally accepted the plot was never gonna get good but on repeat it's pretty funny

"I AHM the Enclavee"

Fawkes

I haven't actually played any of the DLCs but that one death animation in Mothership Zeta where you slide off the edge of the ship and into space is pretty cool I guess

Uhh that's it actually

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

This interview was conducted in July 2023.

After a five-year hiatus, prolonged due to the pandemic, Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt and team are back for the seventh instalment Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. Shrouded in secrecy, the plot and character details are very much being kept under wraps with little being known about it beyond the crazy action sequences shown off in the trailer. From Tom Cruise riding a motorcycle off a cliff in Norway to drifting a bright yellow Fiat 500 around the streets of Rome whilst Cruise and franchise newcomer Hayley Atwell are handcuffed to each other, Dead Reckoning Part One has somehow managed to step up from the heights of Fallout to provide yet another impossible mission. This time, Ethan Hunt and his IMF team must track down a terrifying new weapon that threatens the whole world if it falls into the wrong hands.

Thankfully, Ethan’s not alone. Alongside him for the ride is the return of Simon Pegg’s Benji, Ving Rhames’ Luther, Rebecca Ferguson’s Ilsa, Vanessa Kirby’s mysterious White Widow and Henry Czerny’s former head of the IMF Eugene Kittridge who hasn’t been seen since the first Mission film. Joining the cast are Esai Morales as the film’s main villain, Cary Elwes, Mark Gatiss, Rob Delaney, Pom Klementieff and Hayley Atwell. The cast for the new film is certainly a force to be reckoned with.

Hayley Atwell’s character Grace is set to feature prominently alongside Cruise and is a character that Atwell described as “consistently inconsistent and unpredictable.” Christopher McQuarrie, director of Missions 5,6,7 and next year’s 8, has known for some time that he’s wanted to work with Atwell. After seeing her on stage in London 10 years ago he told her “That thing that you can do on stage, I want it. I don’t know where to put it, I don’t know what the character is yet, but I want to work with you.” But the process of writing Hayley Atwell into a Mission film hasn’t been that straightforward.

When it comes to writing a Mission film, the bare bones are there, and the key action sequences are confirmed but there isn’t a full script for the cast and crew to work with. McQuarrie allows the actors to shape their characters. “Apart from essential plot points of her, it was up for grabs really about things I could offer them, things I could suggest, and ideas I could throw out,” described Atwell. It was a liberating process for Atwell because of the safe space created by McQuarrie and Cruise. “There was no such thing as wrong, or bad, or judgement, or mistakes. There was just making choices and trying new things,” Atwell added. “What they’re doing is exceptional, and their ambition for the piece means they’re only ever going to use things that really elevate the story.”

Working without a script might be challenging for some actors, but it’s certainly not an impossible mission for those involved in the franchise. Getting to have that collaborative effort to create characters — particularly characters that are new to the franchise — is a really exciting opportunity for the cast. Hot off the heels of playing Mantis in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3, Pom Klementieff is already joining another franchise and Klementieff describes working on Mission as like a dance due to the way in which everyone on set, from the actors to the costume department, to hair and makeup, are all bringing ideas and working together to help shape the characters and to help shape the story of the film. Klementieff would come to set each day with no idea what they were shooting, and she’d ask McQuarrie “Who do I kill today?” and the two of them would work together to come up with how her character would go about achieving her mission and working with the props department to ensure that everything worked for the character and for the story.

It’s a testament to the creative minds of McQuarrie and Cruise and everyone involved to be able to create something so immense, without having it all entirely locked down in the first place. For Rebecca Ferguson, that’s what’s so exciting about the Mission Impossible franchise. “We just don’t work with scripts,” said Ferguson. Tom Cruise and Christopher McQuarrie have this incredible story in their head and things develop from that. Ferguson spoke of the differences between doing Mission Impossible and Dune as with the latter there’s a strict shooting schedule and mapping out the film, but the opposite is true for Mission and “It leaves you on your tippy toes ready to constantly jump”. For Mission, they’ll shoot multiple versions of things and see what works best. Ferguson admitted that even she doesn’t know what’s made the final cut of the film. “All that I’m prepared for is the action. I know my character. And the rest is revealed when I see the film.”

It’s essential that of the few things that are locked down, the action scenes are among them. Dead Reckoning Part One takes the action scenes to a completely new level. From scaling the tallest building in the world to hanging onto the side of a plane as it takes off, Tom Cruise has risked his life for the Mission Impossible franchise — multiple times. In Dead Reckoning Part One fans can expect to see Cruise and co-running and jumping around atop a runaway train in what promises to be one of the film’s best action set pieces. And there’s minimal CGI involved either as Cruise is insistent on doing all his stunts practically.

The stunts all being real is what makes the Mission Impossible franchise stand out from the crowd of action films. Hayley Atwell described it as “Unlike anything else that exists,” but adds that it’s part of the fun of doing a Mission film. “That was one of the reasons why I wanted to do it. You don’t come into theMission Impossible franchise with the possibility of building a very serious role next to Tom without wanting the opportunity and the challenge to physically do things that are truly extraordinary and exceptional.”

It’s not just Atwell who was drawn to the adrenaline and the thrills of the franchise with Pom Klementieff saying getting to work with Cruise and his stunt team was an incredible experience. “It opened up a new world of possibilities which changed me completely in an amazing way.” Having been a fan of the franchise since the beginning there was not a world where Klementieff would not accept this mission of being part of the franchise. “I have so many memories on this movie of things that were pinch-me moments. Sometimes I was just shooting and you kind of forget that you’re part of Mission Impossible, but sometimes I would just start singing doo doo, doo doo doo doo…” Klementieff told us that years ago when she was training and learning martial arts, she would schedule her fight training in her phone and call it “Mission Impossible” in her calendar because she was trying to manifest this role that has now come her way.

As for details on the new characters, Klementieff was able to share that her villain doesn’t speak much so she took inspiration from animals, in particular the shoebill stork. Klementieff would watch videos of the bird and channel that into her character. “I kept looking at videos of this bird and when it’s staring at you it’s just so f*cking scary…It’s like a dinosaur bird.” Getting to play a quiet character, particularly in an action movie where there’s often lots of exposition was a nice change of pace for Klementieff. She was able to focus on the strength and stillness that comes through the mystery of not talking. Klementieff teased that we can expect something a bit more mystical in Dead Reckoning Part One and something that hasn’t been seen before in a Mission Impossible film. “It’s such a rich movie and it’s so incredible…the characters are so fucking cool and the story is very special.”

As for Hayley Atwell, she loved Tom Cruise’s enthusiasm for film and the symbiotic relationship between him and Christopher McQuarrie. Getting to work closely with the two to mould and build her character as they went along meant that Grace couldn’t be boxed into one particular archetype. Atwell spent five months training for the role learning mixed martial arts, training with knives and guns, and learning how to drift in a race car, but one of the biggest challenges was preparing to run alongside Cruise and having to reach the bar of his iconic sprint where he runs with every cell in his body. “Pickpocketing and sleight of hand tricks seem to come quite naturally to me, as did drifting,” said Atwell, “because of all that training, by the time we got on set I was ready to inject physical and emotional behaviour into it and offer them a range of performances.”

The physical training all the cast underwent was a difficult experience but that’s not to say that the excitement of it all never got to them. Atwell spoke of one moment on set in Rome where all of a sudden, she turned to Cruise and said, “Oh my God, I’m in a Tom Cruise movie!” to which he responded, “No no no, I’m in a Hayley Atwell movie, you’re Hayley Atwell!” Atwell said, “It was so endearing of him and so generous of him.” Klementieff had a similar story of Cruise’s generosity as she had wanted to skydive with him but didn’t have her licence and so when the film wrapped, Cruise put her in touch with his trainer and taught her how to skydive. “I’m blown away by his generosity and how hardworking he is, and how inspiring he is,” remarked Klementieff.

Among all the excitement of the death-defying stunts performed by Cruise and co, everything in Mission Impossible is driven by character and the story. Even when things are subtle and not always immediately clear to the audience. After Fallout subtly dropped that Vanessa Kirby’s White Widow was the daughter of Vanessa Redgrave’s Max from the first film, Kirby has since been building on these family ties in her character. “I just went back and I watched [Vanessa Redgrave] a thousand times and I thought ‘Oh my goodness, this is one of the great theatre actresses of our time’ and she’s always been a huge hero of mine.” Kirby added “To play her daughter and to try and embody that within an action movie is awesome. I think there’s been a long lineage of really cool women in this series.” Vanessa Kirby was excited by the fact that Dead Reckoning allowed her to explore more, push more, ask more questions and try different things with the character. And whilst Kirby was keeping details on the White Widow’s progression in Dead Reckoning close to her chest, she did tell us that she’s grown up even more except now the pressures are getting to her, and more is on the line and there are way more challenges for the White Widow.

Rebecca Ferguson echoed this sentiment too adding that “people know what they’re going to see when they see a Mission Impossible film, but I think this is going to be ten times better than they think.” Ferguson added, “This is going to be darker and more gruesome and it’s going to engulf you more than you would ever have expected…there are bad-ass scenes, fantastic stuns and wonderful locations.” Making a Mission film is more than just a job for Ferguson who’s been a part of the franchise for almost ten years now.  With the immense training and travel required, making a Mission Impossible film is a journey, especially given the fact they were shooting the film during the pandemic and production had to be shut down across COVID lockdowns. “You don’t film Mission, you live Mission…it becomes your life,” said Ferguson. But as a result, Rebecca Ferguson and her character Ilsa Faust have blended together. “She became me, and I her. Somehow, we moulded into each other.” Because of the similarities between Ferguson and Ilsa Faust, she could make decisions about the character in a split second without having to analyse things or check with McQuarrie.

At the end of the day for director Christopher McQuarrie, for Tom Cruise, and for the entire cast, it’s the characters that matter the most and make Mission Impossible what it is. Whether new or old, it’s the characters that drive the Mission Impossible films. The whole franchise, but in particular Dead Reckoning Part One is full of great female characters too. Vanessa Kirby told us, “There’s a lot of great women in this…the women in this series are amazing.” The women in this film are all equals to Ethan Hunt and make this entry into the franchise stand out so much. “So much of the Mission franchise is about the team,” said Atwell. “It’s about Luther and it’s about Benji, and it’s about Ethan and what they have sacrificed to become part of the IMF.”

With Dead Reckoning being a two-parter there are rumours that this is the start of a big send-off for Hunt and his IMF team but nothing is set in stone. Ferguson was quick to say that she doesn’t believe the franchise will end until she hears Tom Cruise himself utter the words “I am done,” three words that she’s yet to hear from his mouth. “I think Tom is going to keep on going with anything until he can’t bloody walk.” Agreeing with Ferguson, Vanessa Kirby remarked that with Cruise anything is possible. “That’s why it’s called Mission Impossible because he always does it,” added Kirby stating that she’s not heard anything about Cruise being ready to deliver his final mission just yet.