#but only because i'm meant to be working on something different and procrastinating 🤡

[dawndelion-winery]

MY LORD HARBINGER i know it said in your rules but. crack fic reading omegaverse with omega segment ? 🤡☝⁉️ or if not uh uh uh um um um uh hm ‼️

fic !! with ! reader doesmt know anything abt dottore segments and were friends with dotty bt doesnt know hes a harbinger. anyway reader applies for fatui in secret and by chance got assigned to work under dott, but sometimes thered be a dottore around the corner after you Swore you just left a room with a dottore in it. or smth

Crackfic? Crackfic.

I Enlisted as a Joke But Now My Best Friend's my Boss And He's Everywhere

Dottore × GN! Reader

Between the two of you, Zandik had always been the smarter friend. It was hardly a surprise given his natural genius, but that also meant he often cautioned you against things he'd do himself simply because he knew you probably wouldn't succeed.

Still, knowing your friend worked for the Fatui intrigued you, moreso when he refused to tell you anything about it despite frequently declining plans to hang out in favour of his work. Truly, you liked to think Zandik was the one who forced your hand in the matter, leading to you enlisting in hopes you'd run into him more often. You hadn't thought you'd somehow end up as the second harbinger's assistant.

However, a win was a win, and you fully planned to rub it in Zandik's face after your first day at work. Except that he was already in Lord Dottore's office before you...seated in the harbinger's chair...

"My dear, I know you miss me when I'm away, but infiltrating my office as a new subordinate?" Zandik mused as he ruffled through your files, an all too familiar smirk peering out from under the beaked mask. "Zandik? Don't tell me yo-"

"Tsk, is that any way to address your boss?" Knowing Zandik, you were convinced he had you signed to him on purpose. That or fate thought itself a comedian. Begrudgingly, you received your first task from him and trudged over to the lab at the end of hall.

"Dearest, how lovely of you to finally join me here. Hurry up, there's only so much time in a day." Zandik ushered you in, shooing you around to get you to work. Wait. There's no way he got there before you did - you swore he didn't even leave his seat.

Perhaps he had access to some shortcut in a way, though it wouldn't quite make sense why he didn't just take you with him. You weren't given much time to ponder though, as Zandik once again chastised you to get to work instead of zoning out.

Right, you had a job as his assistant. But when he left the lab for a bit only to reappear a second later, you were sure something was up.

"Weren't you going to get something?" you probed. Tilting his head to one side, he smiled at you. "Get what? We have everything necessary at the moment."

This one sounded different too. Perhaps you were imagining it, but you were certain your friend's voice had never been that high. You would've brushed the thought aside though, had he not noted your slight confusion.

"Something off? Perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts?" he said as he laid his hands on your shoulders. Fearful, you shook your head, uncertain how he'd take your suspicions though you were sure that as perceptive as he was, he already knew.

And he did, as he chuckled when he left the room, a spring in his step as he ushered his other clones into the lab with you.

Taglist: @myluvkeiji @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @haliyamori @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @missesclaus @cxlrosii @miss-fantazmagoria @astrequa @kokomist @lemonswriting @eowinthetraveller @ajaxstar @boundedbyfate @the-lost-anime-dad @ash-astrophel @moonbyunniee @greyrain23 @heavenlyfloof

[fallout-fucker]

Part Two is below the cut.

Warning because it's long. @wizardhatwithacowboybrim Glad you like it! I've had a sequel in the works since I made this post but kept forgetting to finish it, so thanks for reminding me! I hope you guys like this concept, lemme know if you guys would like a Part Three. It's lowkey a fic now and I'm debating actually fully writing one with this concept on AO3 because of how fun it is, and have been debating so for a while. I haven't covered all of the companions in this Part, mostly some of the NV ones, because honestly I haven't played NV as much and haven't travelled with some of the companions yet 🤡💀 It also leans into Sole X Hancock. I hope it's enjoyable either way. Also, no beta reading because I cba and honestly I should be doing work right now but did this instead. I would make it actually grammatically correct and such if I was fully writing a fic on AO3 but alas, I have to actually stop procrastinating.

Six has half a mind to pick up Pre-War money when they see it, or jet and orange mentats. They don't really do chems, but finds themself collecting them. That and...Well, all sorts of stuff, really. History books. Ink and working pens or pencils, notepads. Comics. Wigs and different kinds of sunglasses. Silly hats. The pile at base grows overtime. They don't recall who they were meant to gift these things to.

Or why they grab at random junk. They have caught themselves reaching for a broken light bulb mid gun fight, almost getting shot in the proccess, on one too many occasions. We could use the copper- Who's we? Why would we need copper?

They're not keen on the NCR. They can understand the goal, and agree with the idea but don't quite like their execution. Six has an arguably egotistical belief that they could do a better job, for some reason. The NCR would do better with more structure. Less focus on a new currency, and more priority on actually rebuilding and providing support to the local settlements and people. There's a difference between being a militia out of necessity because of the world they live in, but with humanitarian goals at heart, and being a military faction that uses humanity as an excuse but not actually a goal. Too many of those factions around, in fact. The trade is a good idea, but are they actually protecting caravans on their routes? Cassidy would beg to differ. There has to be balance. Money alone doesn't solve these issues.

ED-E seems a comforting companion. Six doesn't quite know how they're seemingly already used to a little flying robot. They finally have someone to use some of the gifts for, though. They quite enjoy putting little decorative hats on her metal head. Sometimes, though, they'll go to hand something to the bot only to watch it drop. Many mugs have been shattered this way, glass and coffee everywhere. ED-E has never had hands, what did they expect? Yet they do it more often than they wish to admit.

Rex is adorable. Even with his brain showing. Loyal to a fault, but dogs are, aren't they? Six all but ran to him when they saw him sniffing about on his own, almost cried from the overwhelming joy. They'd had a dog, they think...Two...One before and one after...Before and after what? They can't recall...All Six knows is the relief they feel when Rex lets them pet him, trusts them enough to roll to his side and gives them room to rub his belly. Soft fur...A few metal paws, but that's okay. When they sit with him back at base, a screwdriver tightening the joints in his hand- No- Paw...They smile. But it's a sad smile. Like one would have when missing a friend, or a few. Not just a dog...But a man, too...Borrowed brains and metal limbs...Ha...Rex was a loyal dog, but an even better partner.

When they become properly acquainted with Boone, a sniper with a deceased wife, they feel a sense of deja vu. When the Novac mess is over, Six has to catch their tongue before they ask if Boone's son is safe, if they both got away. He never mentioned a son. Who would they be running from?

They also smile at the rare occurrences when Boone takes off his hat. Something about a man in sunglasses -Changing out of one thing, maybe into another- Makes Six chuckle, like they're expecting Boone will come out with some one-liner or joke. But he's not the type.

Cassidy is fiery. Downs more whiskey than water. Whiskey Rose is a fitting nickname, though Six had originally settled on Cass. That was until they almost called her Cait. They didn't, thankfully...Had they known a Cait? They don't know whether the question makes them happy or not. If it's a good thing to remember or not. Regardless, they can't deny the- Nostalgia...? Yeah...Yeah. Nostalgia- They feel when Cassidy's eyes burn into their own when partaking in their now traditional weekly arm wrestle. Whoever Cait was, Six thinks they must've liked her. They hope she is okay. They hope she is...Healthy? Well, they guess, they just hope she is still alive.

This world isn't kind. It wasn't really kind then, with all the Wars- What Wars-? But even worse now. Even with all that time...How long had it been? Since...Since what? A fresh breeze, a sunny morning...The sound of cars driving past an open window...Someone dancing by a kitchen counter...The soft sound of a crib mobile playing a lullaby...Maybe...Maybe in another life...Maybe past lives are real...In a way...

They should check on Boone and his son. Is the boy alright? Six hoped so, they know how awful it is to lose a chi-

...Boone doesn't have a son. I don't have a...Did I...Do I have a son?

Veronica is a sweetheart. Her love for dresses is enough to make anyone's heart just that much warmer. There's something familiar in the softness of her smile. Her eagerness to wear dresses and explore that almost long-dead idea of 'girly-ness'. Six knows she’s an ass kicker working with the BOS, and laughs at the idea of her beating people up in a dress and heels. Yet whenever they stroll their way towards the BOS HQ, something always makes Six reach out to grab her wrist; a want to high tail it and run the other way. A sense that they don't value their soldiers as much as they say. Six is scared Veronica will be met with a betrayal from seemingly nowhere. Veronica always just smiles and tells them everything is fine, and marches on in, like a good soldier. Always a good, blind soldier. Six swears they taste poison whenever they mutter the words 'Ad Victoriam'.

Raul is a breath of fresh air. Fresh air laced with a sense of home. Sometimes when he calls Six 'Boss', they look over at Boone, expecting it to have come from their designated sniper. But that isn't quite it.

A large part of it is the occasions he talks about the Pre-War world. When he does, Six goes quiet. Not even a peep. They just sit and listen to his tales, almost like they remember those years themself. Like they can see them. The grass, the beaches and neighbours and houses and shopping streets, the schools and college students and the kids in playgrounds...

Six traces a finger over the watch on their right wrist. On their left arm is where they keep their Pip-Boy. It doesn’t say which Vault it was made for, but it doesn’t match the models of the local Vaults. The words 'Pip-Boy 3000' are engraved on the back, which is hidden when wearing it. It's the only clue Six has of their past. That and their watch. They don't need a watch, their Pip-Boy shows the time...So, they have come to the conclusion it was a gift. They think they would've made a good Detective in another life...If that were true, they'd probably be home now, though. Wherever home was...

Still, they look at the small hand ticking by the seconds and smile. The soft ticks and turning of gears. Whoever made this had been taught well, and had inherited their own habit of gift-giving. Six often puts the watch up to their ear and just listens. The sound of metal and gears. The sound of loved ones. They don't like the idea of wasting time, feels like they missed many years somewhere, somehow...But those moments are worth it. Copper. That's what he asked for...He wanted to fix a camera...Because...I mentioned I wanted...An album of...Of us...That's what we planned before he was born...I...I need to...I need...I don't even know...

But that’s still not fully it. Six also has a soft spot for captured people, like enslaved people at the Legion. Also a soft spot for ghouls, especially those with a sense of humour. Raul's had Six doubling over quite a few times. Sometimes when they're travelling, and sleeping near each other, when Six wakes up, all groggy and such, they almost reach for Raul, almost pull him close as if it's natural. Like one would if they woke up next to a friend of brown hair, and mistook them for their brown-haired love at first glance. That had also happened before, Six thinks...But then they stop, their hand hovering. There's a stigma that ghouls smell of rotting flesh. That isn't true. Six could smell vintage clothes and leather. Worn books. Jet and orange metats, could almost taste that latter on their tongue. They were his favourite, but he isn't here. Whoever he is.

He was always warm, the way that ghouls are. Something about the radiation. Six faintly remember how reassuring it could be, especially on those nights that brought the threat of chilly air. Especially when they were terrified of even the hint of cold. When a hand would gently touch their shoulder, and then someone's warm chest would press against their back and keep the cold, the fear and uncertainty and everything else, everything dangerous, at bay. Like a human radiator. It felt like fire meeting ice. Like moonlight and...

It's nights like that where Six has to turn away and put their hand over their heart, trying to rub the ache in it away. To force themself to focus on the night sky and breathe...But then that sky only reminds them of black eyes, the stars like glints of light and love against a pitch-black backdrop...Where only if you look close enough, you see blue amongst the black.

Six thinks they even really loved the word Blue. Six thinks they loved a lot of things.

Six knows they loved the sky because it reminded them of him. Six now hates the stars and hates the sunshine, which they can't escape from in the literal fucking desert, because they know they loved them at one point, but not why. Or at least not the person that caused them to.

So Six takes a break for a few days from all of their companions and sleeps alone again. Only when they look at the other side of the bed, empty and cold, do they feel the sting of tears. They don't even understand their thoughts, but that doesn't stop them from racing.

I may not remember you but I know I love you...Take care of...Of our boy. Get him some copper for me, will you? You're always good to him like that...Take pictures for me, so I can see them when I'm back. I don't want to miss watching him grow up this time...Not...Not again...I'll come back to you. All of you. I will.

I'll survive...I always do...

Don't I…?

---

The next time Six goes out, they make sure to hand-pick the best items from their 'Random Stuff Pile'. They walk. They help the locals, do odd bits and bobs, and take the odd jobs no one else is willing to do. Most importantly, they wait.

They walk. They work. They wait.

Until it happens.

Until they catch a glimpse of them. Exactly what- Who- Six was waiting for. The group of 'other Couriers' that follow Six when they start helping people again; leaving rumours of their reputation around the Mojave in their wake, like breadcrumbs and clues. A trail to follow. That, until recently, Six hadn't realised they had been leaving. Six almost made a betting game with themself based on how long they thought it'd take until they found them again. A small gamble.

They suppose that's what this is; a gamble. To see if there was a reason Six never felt fear when they saw those figures in the distance. If it were anyone else, they might, in a world like this. Or at least be on edge. But that was never the case. They felt familiar. Six wanted to test that.

Six finds a spot. Out in the open, a valley. One that they cleared any hostiles out of weeks ago. They wanted to make sure they would be safe during this. Six looks towards the hills and mountains looking into the valley, and sure enough, there's a group of masks and red lenses watching. They make no effort to hide anymore. It seems they're betting on Six, too.

Sol- Six smiles behind their mask, debating taking it off. But then they remember the scar that runs over their forehead and into their hairline and thinks not yet. I'm not ready. Small steps first. I have to be sure.

Gambling is dangerous, and they never were a fan of Russian Roulette or bullets or unprotected faces.

Six takes their time setting out the small shrine of trinkets and treats they had brought with them. It's made up of a collection of smaller shrines. It's set out in a way that the number of people on the mountain is accounted for, with a few spare piles depending on which cards Six is betting they have in their deck. Six thinks they can remember and recognise a few of them, their mannerisms, but is unsure about the identities of most of them.

The one with sunglasses sticking out of his shirt pocket, replaced by a mask, sticks out the most. He's always been good at this stuff; following, detail gathering, listening out for whispers and rumours through the grapevine type of stuff. He was the first person Six had put money on being in their recon group, they think he was even the original masked face trailing them around, back when it was just one. His pile is one of the ones Six is confident about, made up of an assortment of wigs and funky glasses, and candy he likes.

Six couldn't necessarily figure out the rest, but could reasonably guess. The Detective, perhaps? That made sense. Otherwise, Six only had their hope.

Cait's name is the only one they remember, and only because of Cassidy. So they hope Cait is there. Six leaves a bottle of whisky as the centre of Please-Be-Cait's pile, more so as an inside joke to themself. That pile is one of the spares, towards one of the sides of the general shrine.

There's hope in all of the piles, Six supposes. Bits of 'I'm trying', 'I want to remember. I want to know you again', and 'I hope it's you, whoever I think you are to me' scattered throughout all of them.

History books. Ink and working pens and pencils, notepads. Comics. Wigs and different kinds of sunglasses. Silly hats. Copper and orange mentats. The shrine grows over time. Six doesn't recall who they were meant to gift these things to, but they're hoping they're right regardless.

When the offerings and gifts are all laid out, and Six has ensured they're perfect, they look once more towards the mountain. The figures are still watching. Of course, they are. They would follow Six anywhere. That's what they did, didn't they?

Six stares back for a moment, savouring it. The hope. Then they begin walking away from the offering. Six moves slowly, so they'll have time to investigate the offerings and still catch up. But now the ball is in their court. Six…Had made their move. Now it's their turn to make a play. To gamble.

Because if Sole's time in the Mojave had taught them one thing…It's that this game…This game was rigged from the start.

What do we think of finessing the Fallout timeline a bit so that Fallout NV takes place after Fallout 4 (I'm working out details and looking into lore to see if this would work without a bunch of plot holes and what not. As far as I know it's not too interconnected to the other games so I feel like you could get away with a 6-8 year jump without too much going wrong) for a plotline where Sole and The Courier are the same person.

So after a bunch of Nuke World shenanigans, Sole 'takes care' of a lot of the people who were running Nuka World, but someone gets away. Anyway skip a few months and Sole and MacCready go to The Capital Wasteland to bring good ol' baby Duncan to the Commonwealth, as well as catch up with an old friend of MacCready's (The Wanderer) to look into the water purification thing that Sole would wanna attempt to do in the Commonwealth.

On their way back to Boston, however, they're ambushed by a group of raiders, who have links to some cult-ish faction down in Nevada. One of the raiders recognises Sole. It's the person that escaped Nuka World. For payback, they take Sole (MacCready manages to escape with Duncan when Sole gets them an opening) and sells them off to that cult. MacCready catches the name just barely. Caesar's Legion.

He gets Duncan back to Sanctuary as quickly as he can and immediately gets word to the rest of the companions. Preston had stayed to run the Minutemen in Sole's absence, Hancock to run Goodneighbour, Nick to carry on with the agency but also to attempt to keep peace in Diamond City after the Sheep's Clothing disaster, etc. Of course there's panic, and they begin to make a plan.

Sole on the other hand, was taken to the Legion. They managed to escape, but not before they were stripped of all their possessions. They have no money, no weapons, no food, no connections. No way to survive, and no way home. They scavenge, get basic supplies. Manage to ask around for work. They get a few odd jobs, not enough caps yet though to be able to get home. Until, they hear of a job through the grapevine. Some delivery that needed to happen, its important, but all hush hush. Doesn't matter much, the pay out is huge, if done right. Last time they took a job no questions asked, it didn't exactly go well, but they ended up with Hancock willing to be their companion, so who knows. Besides, reluctantce based on the unknown isn't so putrid next to the sweet smell of enough caps to tag along with a few trading caravans along the routes back to Boston.

Really, how dangerous can a delivery job be? Being a courier sounds like an easy job compared to being a General.

It should be easy. Should be. Until they're looking up the barrel of a gun. Until a bullet goes through their brain.

They survive, somehow, because they always do, don't they? It's in their name. Sole Survivor. Was it ever a surprise. You'd think they're immortal, a God, when neither a bullet to their brain or even a nuclear war can kill them. But they're not a God. They're human. So, it's doesn't take long for that kind of luck to run out. Like Russian Roulette, there's always at least one bullet in the chamber. You'd think in Vegas, it'd be worth the gamble. But, when they wake, they don't remember anything. Being a Courier sounds easy when you're under the belief that's what you always were.

Less easy when it seems everyone in Vegas and their mother is gunning for you, for whatever reason. All Sole is interested in is catching the bastard that shot them, and getting some damn answers. Both about the damn chip, and who they are themself. Not a single person in Nevada seems to know who the fuck they are, like they appeared from nowhere. The mask probably doesn't help, but it beats getting shot in the head again.

All they know is they have it out for Benny.

As well as a few strange things.

Like how a chill runs up their spine when they hear talk of the Legion, and have almost an instinct to stay away. The same happens with the Brotherhood of Steel. The name feels like it should mean something. Those men and women prancing around in clunky armour feels like it should ring a bell.

They hate the heat of the Nevada, but they know if they had to choose, they would rather boil to death than freeze. They pile on blankets at even the slightest hint of a cold night, which is rare in the desert anyway. But Six doesn't like to gamble. The threat of a bullet has a history of not going well for them. They didn't sign up to play this game. They don't want to know if the other gun chambers are empty or not. Something about the cold just doesn't feel safe, reminds them of something they can't even remember. It's just an inkling feeling, gives them anxiety of a looming threat. Especially going to sleep cold. Something about that thought keeps them up at night, scared to sleep. Like a haunting sense that when they wake up, things will be different.

They're a little paranoid of people whose movements seem too perfect, not entirely human, find themselves looking at the back of people's necks where there could be scars, as if they're chipped or have inplants. It's not like they're not actually human though, right? Right...? They have no reason to believe that. Maybe. They hear a folktale about how your phobias in your current life are warnings from your previous lives. Six doesn't know what they think of that theory. They don't know if past lives are real. Something tells them they could be, in a way.

Six also feels watched. Turns to look over their shoulder far too much. At first they blame the paranoia, but something feels too real. Something feels familiar. After a while, they start to notice the figures in the distance. Faces ducking back behind rocks when Six turns around at the feel of eyes on the back of their head. The man, or men(?), who wear the same Courier outfits as them. Who follow Six's every move. Who, from what Six has been hearing from their discreet asking around, seem to be trying to find out who Six is almost as quickly as Six themself. Six had wondered what had happened to the other Couriers. They wonder if it's actually them. Or maybe they hope they do. Otherwise, the reflective shine of a red lens in an identical mask that matches your own behind your reflection as your walking past a broken window gets too eerie for someone who still doesn't know if they even have a friend's house they can run to if shit hits the fan. At first it was one. Now it's a handful. Six swore there were only five more couriers other than them. Despite the unease, there's still something else. That familiarity. Like when Six sees that ducking of a head in the corner of their eye, it's like a hand on their shoulder. A guardian angel only you don't know if it's an angel just yet. It's like they're growing more confident, like they want to actually reach out. Six isn't so sure they don't want them to, isn't so sure they shouldn't just walk over to them the next time they see them lingering on a cliff in the distance. It feels as if their meeting is inevitable. As if it's not really an 'if', but rather a 'when'. Then again, they shouldn't be surprised.

After all, the game was rigged from the start.