#fallout: nv fanfic

[radroachmeat]

[thebutterflyofthemojave]

Diana and her Big Dada HC

(moodboard made by me)

Ghost in the Fallout AU with baby Diana. The stress about to stay away for weeks, the return at home where Laswell and her wife takes care of her after the death of his wife after the birth(its the wasteland unfortunately).

She is the only thing good in that world of death and pain, I imagine her first word “Dada”. Because she loves her big Dada so much.

When she says the first word he was returned after a request to assassinate some Gunners in a nearby factory, all covered in blood and sand, him tired, and sees his daughter of one year who tries to walk helped by Kate's wife and who keeps saying "Dada”

His eyes full of tears, the constant feeling of guilt in having to raise his little tangerine in such a world that are dissipated in that sweet "Dada" while he promised himself "to protect you little tangerine from this disgusting world”

[coldgardengentlemen]

I am BEGGING ya'll fanfic writers on my HANDS AND KNEES please please please please write more mr house fanfics. There are ELEVEN fanfics of him on ao3 and I have read them ALL even the really weird ones that I didn't really want to read I am desperate please please pleasepleasepleaseplease

[acroagoraphobe]

Writting request: Joshua helping the Courier fall asleep while they are sick :)

OOoooo

i like this one (Courier and Joshua content my beloved)

"Courier, you must rest. You will need to so you may recover."

Joshua stated more factually than as if he actually cared to the sick Courier 6. He was busy working on his many guns that he had and didn't even glance at the courier as he said this. But he knew they were awake, he assumed they were just being their usual defiant self.

But after a small amount of time, Joshua had a little bit of concern tug at his heart for the unfortunate Courier. He could tell they were having trouble sleeping due to their generally feeling terrible from illness. So The Burned Man set his weapons down for a moment and looked over at the courier, their eyes droopy and tired, but he knew they were having difficulty with sleeping. And words alone can't fix that.

He sat down next to them and tried his best to be a comforting prescence to help them sleep. The Courier mumbled some inaudible words and turned to him.

"I can't sleep..." The Courier mumbled, exhausted.

"I am aware. That is why I'm sitting next to you. I hope it would help with that at least somewhat."

The Courier smiled at Joshua, and that smile felt like it crept it's way into his very soul. That was a smile of someone who appreciated his company. Something that Joshua sees ever so rarely.

"You would not have to be struggling now, if you were not out in the rain all day."

Joshua said in his lecture voice, yes there is a difference. (A very tiny difference from his normal tone.) But still, the Courier knew all too well, since they had been lectured many a time by Joshua.

"I know... You told me this.. like Five times now Josh-"

The courier sighed and Joshua rolled his own eyes at the shortening of his name by the courier. He never liked it, but he has accepted it at this point.

"Just try to sleep Courier. Conversation will only leave you awake."

"Fine..."

The Courier leaned their head against Joshua's arm, and Joshua almost pulled away, but their eyes were already closed, and they looked much more comfortable than before.

Joshua moved his hand to gently pat the courier on the top of their head, this was likely the most affectionate he would let himself be with the Courier, and only this once since it helped them sleep while they were feeling unwell. But he couldn't deny that it made him feel warm in a part of his heart he thought was long gone cold.

[bellonathedragonborn]

Hey y’all an amazing Fallout Author on AO3 is deleting her stories due to it being used to feed AI. (An AI program mentioned characters from this story).

She gave us full permission to download the story so I downloaded it into a PDF.

So here. Plus her last message to us:

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Joshua Graham, freshly fallen from grace, freshly bathed in fire, waking up to dull aches and pains in the firelight of a quiet shack—hissing as he tries to sit up, waking the young woman who’s been sleeping on the ground next to him, who gave him her lone cot and wrapped his wounds in linen and aloe vera. Joshua Graham who tries to threaten her, in Legion tongue, but finds his voice as crackled as the skin beneath his bandages, and she who only tilts her head aside with worried eyes. Joshua Graham who is subject to the helplessness he inflicted on others, yet receives grace, and watches with a strange gaze as she offers him water.

Joshua Graham, who doesn’t trust—not after Caesar—and certainly not now. Joshua Graham, who remains indifferent even as the woman spoon-feeds him with a steady, patient hand and earnest eyes, while he can do nothing but lay in wait for days—weeks, even—and in the haze of the setting sun, watches her read an Old Book long abandoned. Joshua Graham, whose quiet refusal has begun to sting as much as his wounds.

Joshua Graham, who rises again, and leaves the cot after not-so-solitary confinement. Joshua Graham, who follows the healer into the light of the sun, where he trails behind as she knocks the Indian rice into her baskets, and grinds the grain into fine meal. Joshua Graham, who eventually goes from perceiving to partaking—leaching bitter tannins from acorns and taking the stone from her hand—who scoffs as she whispers thanks to an animal caught in his trap, yet pauses in wonder when she hastens its death. Joshua Graham, who wonders if it is mercy or punishment, that he was not granted the same.

Joshua Graham, who recovers slow and steady. Who remains silent as the woman routinely wraps and unwraps his bandages, revealing angry red skin. Joshua Graham, whose gradually learns to accept the woman's meanderings, yet still turns his eyes away when she sits by the fire—hands grasped together, head bowed in prayer. Joshua Graham, who feels the creak in his bones when he flexes his own tendons, and wonders if he should even place his palms together once more. Joshua Graham, who, on some higher level, wishes to flay the skin from his knees by kneeling for forgiveness, yet believing it would never undo all he's done.

Joshua Graham, who doesn't try to undo anything—but tries new things. Joshua Graham, who allows himself the struggle of weaving reeds, and fights the tremble of broken hands as he does so. Joshua Graham, who returns to the menial task of chopping wood, who does not let the woman gather sticks, who carries his work inside they may survive another night. Joshua Graham, who takes it upon himself to hunt, so the woman no longer has to kill—who makes sure he does it clean—and quick—that he remains a steward and not a butcher, and that they do not suffer. Joshua Graham, who no longer knows how to be gentle, but who knows how to give.

Joshua Graham, who wakes to the rumble of footsteps in the middle of the night, and must drag his host from the flames of her home, lest she burn the same as him. Joshua Graham, who knows his past has come to haunt him, and that he shall never escape—that even in moments of peace, he is watched equally by Caesar and by God—that there is no rest for the wicked, but the pit and tar and ruin.

Joshua Graham, who watches his companion dig through the ashes with bloodied fingers, that she might retrieve that Old Book, for she believes they need it more than food or water. Joshua Graham who does not help her, but holds her shoulder as she cries, and pulls her from the wreckage with promises of finding another. Who whispers that he knows a place, and of people, and of others. Who tells her that she shall find her treasure, as she carries it now, and it will never leave her.

Joshua Graham, who sits at the angel's side in silence, and finally—finally—decides to join her as she prays. Joshua Graham, who bows his head in reverence, repentance, and finds a waste of tears falling from his eyes. Joshua Graham, who begs and hoarsens his voice, who speaks hate because he hates himself, who believes in love that isn't for him, who is then pulled into a warm embrace by both deity and dream, and sobs against the shoulder of the woman holding him. Joshua Graham, who remains there 'til morning.

Joshua Graham, who holds empty his open hand, and lets her fingers intertwine with his, to begin their journey home.

[callmewisteria]

When It All Falls Apart

When the conspiracy began to take shape in the late 2060s, the faces, names, companies, contractors, and entities behind it all thought they had until the turn of the century to implement their plans. As it turned out, they were a little more than twenty years off when it all fell apart. Series of one-shots zooming in on ten of the biggest players with a stake in a nuclear war – one that came earlier than they had planned for.

AKA how ten minutes of Fallout On Prime turned into over 60k words of writing over the course of six months. I couldn't be happier to finally have this published, and, yes, it fits into my series of Fallout fics It Began On October 23rd, 2077. Read it on AO3, ff.net, and/or wattpad!

[libertybri]

Can I please get some romantic/fluffy Raul headcanons?

These are going to be very sporadic and random, so bear with me

Raul best shows affection to Six by words of affirmation, constantly uplifting and complimenting them

If Six is struggling to sleep next to him, he will softly sing in their ear

He loves to slow dance

Sometimes when Raul comes across scrap pieces of paper, he will write love letters for Six to keep

He stitches the holes in Six’s clothes, as well as makes repairs on their weapons and armor without them noticing

Raul prefers to make dinner for the two of them on date nights to impress Six with some old family recipes he remembers

If Six does not speak Spanish, he is more than willing and even excited to teach them

He loves to receive love in physical touch and words of affirmation

He will swoon for sweet words out of Six’s mouth, especially if it’s spoken in his native tongue

Hugs are his favorite thing from his favorite person; He loves to rest his head in the crook of Six’s neck and take in their scent while they hold each other tightly

He dreams of one day leaving the Vegas life behind and living on a farm with just him and Six, maybe a few brahmin and chickens

He would follow Six to the ends of the Earth and shows that love to them so easily and confidently

[courier-nix]

Still reposting old art. I touched this one up a bit but not much. It's my courier taking a picture of the King and Rex. This was a scene from my fanfic

From 2023 at some point

[katies80s]

What's you're Fallout 🔥Hot Take🔥

It could be ANYTHING

like... a n y t h i n g

[the-hat-vintage]

Jeez permadeath hardcore New Vegas is absolutely brutal. Let me explain with the all the permadeaths I took a screenshot of.

Starting with the Ranger.

I was roleplaying a ranger and gave myself the clothing of one and gathered Boone and what I believed to be enough gear. She was ready to bring order and peace with the NCR and crush the legion under her boot. We hope to gain more rep with the Novac locals by clearing the repconn building of the ghouls threatening the town

With her trusting 5.56 revolver and sharpshooting companion she figures this would be a piece of cake.

They get in, talk to the intercom, and start blasting like normal. However, things get worse as they get upstairs.

The ghouls in the big hallway start to notice them and begin to overwhelm them. They get to the balcony area overlooking the lobby and two more ferals stands in front of the Ranger. While Boone deals with the ones behind us she deals with the two in front of her.

she starts shooting, downing the first feral with ease, as the other charges and scratches her up. Panic starts to set as she has to reload. After that she misses all her shots again and the ghoul continues to scratch. To avoid the feral attacks the ranger starts backing up before the claws grab her again. She neglects to notice the absent railing behind her as the ghoul scratches one last time and she falls off the balcony and time begins to slow. she hits the desk as her neck cracks and her lifeless body plops to the ground. Her pistol still in hand.

After Boone kills the ghouls, he notices the corpse of his new ranger friend. In his sadness of a fallen soldier, he walks slowly down the stairs and as walks out of the lobby. The Ranger's life fading as this all ends and, the idea of her on the dam protecting the mojave from the Legion, dies with her.

This was the Legionnaire.

I like to commit a lot, and this was my survival items focused melee, and explosives build.

It was a rough campaign for this guy. I made it 5 lives for each character as I was not used to or having fun on single life ending so soon.

He had lost my many lives 2 from dumb situations (can't recall) and the other 2 were from wanting to obtain the Nuka breaker (I have a mod that relocates the GRA weapons, and this one was in heavy fiend territory). He was officially on my last life and yet had not been inducted into Caesars legion. He was able to meet him and get to the point where House needed retribution, but wasn't fully ready to fight his secruitrons yet, so he heads for Dry Wells

(Dry Wells is a fun mod that adds more of Legion Territory) He get there and start doing some easy quests until tasked with dealing with a den of Yao Guai nearby. He agrees knowing the danger yet feeling ready to take them on.

The first few of them were easy with the Nuka Breaker making pastes of them until he gets deeper in the caves. A long cavern that split into multiple small rooms and the large bear at the end (there were more but only one attacked). Instead of chucking explosives like he would with a difficult foe he charges in. He swings at the beast, but it swings with him, and we both take our blows, but the legionnaire suffers the most. He should be chugging medicinal items and drugs to kill this thing, but the thrill of the fight kept taking over as fight overtook flight and before he can take another swing, he dies to the claws of the Yao Guai

The Legionnaire had hopes of being a centurion or even a Legate whose explosive weaponry would make the enemies of Caesar tremble in the mushroom clouds he would make. However, the Legionnaire would die in combat not against a Ranger or vicious human foe, but a beast who had a hunger deeper than his own. He dies and no one would fear his name.

More brutal and anticlimactic than saddening but I'm including it because 1. I worked hard on this character and 2. The fact the Yao Guai is mocking my corpse (it's not dead it is doing a lying down animation like what?!)

Last one and I'll head out.

This was the Sheriff.

A typical bring law to the lawless wastes type deal as he sported his rifle and revolver. Coming from NCR territory to bring some law to towns that need him and didn't want to worry about NCR bureaucracy to ring the bell.

He was pretty outgunned in most fights and would sneak around the ones he could, but sometimes he needed to. He had helped the folks of Goodsprings and now it was Primm's turn.

He had rescued the deputy and was given the options of possible new sheriff candidates. He decided to go for the NCR as the idea of a robot or a convict laying any good effort law sounded out of the question.

He heads for the Mojave outposts to convince them to reinforce the town and it's citizen. On the way he spots a Highway Patrol Station held up by raiders. He decides to go around them for the time being and finally makes it to the outpost.

After getting the reinforcements, he heads back to share the news and establish law to Primm. On the way he figures he should clear those raiders so the soldiers have no trouble in getting to Primm.

He sits atop a little cliff and starts to aim his sights when a feral ghoul from out in the desert jumps him. He manages to kill the ghoul but alerts the raiders of his presence. Instead of retreating and retain a new strategy, the sheriff pulls rifle back up and begins a firefight. He fires at them managing to hit them and even killing one charging at him with a knife. He is outnumbered however, and the bullets from the raiders pierce him too many times as he falls to his wounds.

With his gun clutched between his arm the sheriff looks one more time at the sun. Not an early sunrise, but a sun that had already rose and will keep doing so after he is gone. Although the sheriff may not be there to invoke the law on the lawless, he was able to help two new towns. With that thought, the sheriff stares at the sun till his soul leaves him basking in the desert.

Thank you for reading my post if you got to here! I wanted to share some of these stories and I legit had fun writing about their deaths.

Hope Y'all have a good day and happy trails!

[lilacretrograde]

I said I was going to do this months ago, so here I am keeping my word. all bets are off, a Fallout New Vegas AU fic is now live again. I've taken time to rework the character development and storyline and I'm much happier with the direction now.

Buried in a shallow grave with a gunshot to the head, Courier 6 comes back from the dead like a revenant, hell-bent on revenge. It feels like a Cooper Howard western she’d seen on a holotape years before, but the cowgirl from Jackson turned delivery woman will learn what is really the danger of the expansive desert.

Annie’s quest for vengeance takes her across the wasteland, where she meets a talkative Brotherhood Scribe and eventually, the man who tried to leave her for dead. Does she let him live and ride off into the sunset, or finally get her revenge?

After all, what happens in New Vegas stays in New Vegas.

Check out the new first chapter here!

[eldritchcoffeefiend]

Random Head Canon - Post Hoover Dam, Caesar's Legion Aligned Courier

The golden laurel leaf crown was carefully placed on the Courier's head. No. No longer the Courier. Years ago she had another name, a name that had been erased by two bullets, and was replaced by that apocryphal epithet. At least, until Caesar bestowed another new name on her. Now she was Bellona - named after an ancient Roman warrior goddess who, according to Caesar, was known for her bloodlust and madness in battle.

Bellona's attendant was silent and carefully made the final adjustments to the wreath, nestling it amongst the curls and securing it with bobby pins. Once satisfied, she dabbed perfumed oil behind her mistress' ears.

The final touch was the Mark of Caesar, tied around Bellona's neck, the burnished gold dully glinting. Although it wasn't necessary to wear it now, her reputation preceded her now, she did so out of habit and, perhaps, over the years it had unwittingly become a good luck charm for her, evidenced by how the relief of Caesar had been smoothed over time from idle touches.

"Thank you," Bellona said, dismissing the girl and not a moment too soon. From somewhere in the apartment, there was a crash followed by the sound of shouting boys, a barking dog and the annoyed voice of another servant - most likely the cook - telling them all to clear off and let her work.

Bellona smiled to herself and considered going to the rescue, but a knock on the door stopped her. Stepping into the foyer, and opening the door, she found a Praetorian on her doorstep.

"Bellona," he greeted with a nod. "I am to escort you to Caesar for your weekly audience with him."

Smiling, she fell into step next to the young man as he led her out of the Ultra-Luxe and into the glaring midday sun.

"How is Lucius these days?" she asked, resting a hand on the Praetorian's forearm.

"My father's as well as can be expected," he replied. "His eyesight has declined further. Caesar has been generous enough to allow him to serve as an advisor to the new head Praetorian. At the very least it's stopped him from being such a grumpy bastard to my mothers."

Bellona's step faltered. Even after all this time, occasionally she forgot that many of the high ranking officers had multiple wives. For those who served most loyally and faithfully, it wasn't uncommon for them to have at least four. Lucius had, if rumour was to be believed, six at one point. It had also become common, now that the Legion had settled in New Vegas, for these multiple wives to oversee their households in conjunction with one another, raising their children (at least until they reached the age to start schooling and training) and seeing to their husband's needs.

She, however, had been the exception to that rule. Bellona did not like to share at the best of times and had vehemently argued with Caesar that as part of her reward her husband would be hers and hers alone.

"I'm sorry, Gaius," she replied. "He was always patient with me and my ceaseless questions when I first became part of the Legion. I've always highly regarded him. When you see him next, could you please let him know that I asked after him?"

"Of course," he succinctly replied. Gaius had grown up hearing tales of his father's bravery and fierceness, but to hear Bellona speak so fondly of him was odd.

Along the Strip, drunken gamblers milling about had been replaced by rushing slaves, citizens and Legionaries. Tired whores, dubious weapons merchants and hawkers trying to lure customers into the casinos were long distant memories of a different age. Now the Strip was a giant marketplace, the casinos serving as barracks for troops with the penthouses were reserved for the upper echelons of the Legion. The only other exception was Gomorrah, which had been given to the priestesses to be repurposed as a temple.

Bellona held her head high as they approached the Lucky 38, ignoring the whispers and stares. She'd grown used to it, to a degree, as she'd essentially become a living legend - further proof of the divine become flesh , according to Caesar himself and now preached by the priestesses.

Now inside the Lucky 38, the doors sliding closed behind them, allowing the deathly silence of the disused casino to settle over them like a blanket. It had always made her shiver, the darkness, the mustiness - and if she stood still for too long, she was sure she could hear the ghosts of a long dead era whispering in her ear. And, while she didn't trust the creaking elevator, she was relieved to hear it ding and it's doors rattle open.

~@~@~@~@~@~@~

"Ah, Bellona!" Caesar warmly greeted, smiling broadly at her.

She paused long enough to press a closed fist to her heart and bow deeply.

"My Lord, Caesar," she returned the greeting.

"It's always good to see you," he said, waving her over while a Praetorian brought a chair near to Caesar's throne.

As she rose to her full height, her eyes flicked in the direction of Vulpes and, as much as she hated it, she could feel a blush creep into her cheeks. Even after all these years, after everything they'd been through, he still had this effect on her.

A quick quirk of the corner of his mouth, a distinct gleam in his eye - all subtle signs that most would miss. Bellona didn't. She knew her husband too well. She also knew that look in his eye meant that tonight, once the evening meal was done and the children were sound asleep, Vulpes would drag her to bed and ravish her. Although, in all truth, she was happy to acquiesce to him, relishing how he kept her lingering between pleasure and pain until they were both spent and exhausted.

"Everyone out!" Caesar demanded, breaking Bellona's train of thought.

There was a long pause, some uncertain shuffling of feet and finally the men started to file out of the room.

"Wife," Vulpes quietly greeted as he passed by.

"Husband," she replied, practically purring.

And, unnoticed by others, their little fingers briefly linked before Vulpes exited, leaving Bellona alone with Caesar.

Pretence dropped and as she took her seat, she chuckled, "I thought they'd never fucking leave."

Laughing, he shook his head, always amused by the blunt nature of the former Courier.

"I hear that congratulations are in order. Again," Caesar eyed up Bellona's barely there baby bump. "How many is this?"

Resting a hand on her belly, she smiled, somehow looking embarrassed, and said, "Six. Unless we have more twins, which I swear I'll throw myself off Hoover Dam if that happens. It's fucking awful carrying twins."

"The rate you two are going, you're going to have a Centuria of your own," Caesar laughed.

"Not if I can help it!" she exclaimed. "I've... told him no more after this one."

Caesar arched an eyebrow at her in question.

Bellona sniffed and shrugged, "I'm getting fat."

Caesar burst out laughing, pounding a fist on the arm of his throne, but then went into a coughing fit. Producing a cloth from seemingly nowhere, he held it to his mouth until the coughing subsided.

As he sat there wheezing, trying to catch his breath, his hand fell limply into his lap revealing bright red streaks of blood on the cloth.

Bellona stared at it wide eyed.

"Fuck," he gasped. Watery eyes looked into hers and he bluntly stated, "I'm dying."

She gave him a crooked grin and exclaimed, "Well fuck, Eddie, ain't we all dyin'? You ain't nothin' special."

"Fuckin' insolent bitch," he rasped and tried to not laugh. "Should have had Vulpes crucify you ages ago."

"Well someone's got to try and keep you humble. Also, what would have been the fun in that? Besides, do you think he actually would have done it?" she asked, a wry grin on her lips.

He huffed, staring at her, trying to ignore the niggling paranoia in the back of his brain, wondering how many times she and Vulpes may have plotted against him.

And, as if she was reading his mind, she placed a hand on his arm and quietly said, "He would have simply because you commanded it and Vulpes has always loved you more."

Caesar slumped on his throne and stared unseeing into the distance.

"Thanks to you, my Legion has it's Rome. It has gone from strength to strength, growing and thriving more than ever. However..." Caesar looked over at Bellona, his brow furrowed, "I hear that Lanius grows anxious. He's no longer content to sit within our own borders, that he's eager to conquer more lands, more tribes. His eyes are firmly set on annexing the NCR."

"Does anyone else know?" she asked.

"No, only you."

They stared at each other for a long time before she offered him a broad, toothy grin.

"Well, Old Man, let's talk succession."

[fallout-underworld]

Alright yall,

Wheres cooper “the ghoul” Howard fanfics at😝

[acroagoraphobe]

What Makes a Man a Monster.

Chapter 2: Normal To The Human Eye?

(Gonna do a much longer chapter this time. Enjoy this trainwreck!!)

After an estimated few hours, Sixer stirred once again after rolling roughly down the hill from the Goodsprings Cemetery so... Unceremoniously. It was genuinely pathetic for a being of his status of omnipotence. He picked his ass up and stumbled towards a nearby saloon, dragging his still blood soaked boots as he walked. He didn't have time to read the sign or look back at the people giving him horrified looks of a man seemingly walking off being shot twice in the head. Everyone heard the gunshots in the night, but no one bothered to check what it was, so they didn't have to risk their own asses.

This was absolutely not the average day for the various folks in the bar, seeing a man with two gaping holes drilling through his head, saunter on in like it was just his average day. Hell, looking only slightly annoyed even. It was genuinely difficult to tell due to all the blood and bits of brain splattered across his face. No one even dared to approach Sixer as he sat down in a booth, fearing they'd seen death himself. But before you could blink.. he looked fine again, Although the blood still made his shirt stick to him and yes it's as uncomfortable as ever.

Blood dripped down his face and onto his neck, Making his clothes more ruined than they already were. Covered in dirt, muck and.. By the Lord whatever the hell else. That ratty old tank top he wore stuck to his skin and was honestly more of an inconvenience to him than the gunshot wounds in his head. The dusty old floorboards creaked beneath his boots, their dry, dead appearance getting dotted with bloody dust... or dusty blood. Because there's obviously a difference between the two.. Totally. But either way, Sixer was a fucking mess. Dirty, bloody, and dusty, walking into a bar.

The seat creaked beneath him as he sat down in the old booth in the dark corner of the bar, Sixer began to asses his situation. His bag was gone, his gun was gone, And worst of all, his damn dignity was gone. Not like he really had it in the first place, but still.

Soon enough one of the folks in the bar grew interested in this man, Sitting down in the booth across him. A woman with a dog that followed around at her ankles despite it's size and that It could very easily trip her. "What the hell happened to a newcomer like you all the way out here?" Her voice questioned Sixer, Who had to pretend he didn't already know her name. Sunny Smiles. He had to wait and be polite for her to actually introduce herself. Ah, the akwardness of omnipotence is.. greatly annoying. She looked so upbeat despite seeing a man covered in his own blood and chunks of brain.

[ Lot's of reasons I'm out here, none of them I can really explain. ]

And they did. They always did, so predictable.

Sixer uttered, with a voice unknown to him, but well known to everyone around him. Sunny looked slightly suspicious but kept that same smile on her face. It was damn annoying how nice she was, at least to Sixer. But a lot of people were annoying.. People are very simple minded creatures. All he had to do was wait for the usual "You better not cause any trouble then." words to come out of Sunny's mouth. It's always what people said when he came around like this.

[Not planning on it, I just want to get a drink then hike my ass outta here.]

"Well, Let's hope you don't cause any trouble around here. We're a peaceful little town here." Sunny Smiles said with caution, her dog looked a lot less trustful of Sixer. Well.. more like it wanted to maul him. Dogs hated him.

Sixer responded to her statement, before he remembered his lack of caps.. or anything to his name.

[Or not, Forgot I have.. No caps whatsoever.]

Sixer muttered under his breath as he shifted in his seat. blood continued to drip down onto his clothing, but it was from his nose, not his head.

"Well, since you seem to be pretty down on your luck here.. I can get you a drink this once. Since youre new here." She smiled, standing up and talking to the woman tending the bar. Sixer knew her name too, but it wasn't exactly relevant. Sunny placed down a few caps at the counter and came back with a beer in hand, setting it on the table Sixer was sat at.

[Thanks, I'll be out of your hair soon, Don't worry.]

Sixer took a swig of the beer and took a deep breath. He had no idea where to go.

[bellonathedragonborn]

Does anyone else hate it when people new to AO3 treat the website like Instagram and add/tag games or fandoms that have nothing to do with what they’re writing about?

I am currently writing for the Fallout game series and ever since the Tv show came out people have been making fic and TAGGING ALL OF THE GAMES when they should just be tagging the show.

It’s annoying and makes it hard to find out what’s actually a part of a specific fandom or just something added in for exposure.

It also buries fics that belong to that fandom.

(I’m going to tag the games below so any of y’all that’s doing this can see this and stop.)