#frosthill

[browneyed-daughter]

Though Marko was dead, the Courier had not emerged from the contest unscathed. She would bear physical and mental scars for the rest of her life. Quietly enduring her injuries, she steadily limped back to the Mojave Wasteland, where uncertainty... and war... awaited her

[thesound-of-myvoice]

Excuse me BUT what happened to all the children of Frosthill?!

[skullinacowboyhat]

saint kithri frosthill, mage-slayer turned sorceress [she/her]

[the-chosen-none]

I have no real interest in mods aside from somewhat following the Frontier mess, but when I found out that the fairly popular old New Vegas Bounties mods included incredibly blatant references to Judge Holden and Glanton from Blood Meridian, plus a character named "Javier Sugar" who speaks several lines lifted straight from No Country for Old Men, I wanted to find out how many references to other things pop up throughout the three mods. Turns out, a LOT.

I identified some of them myself, but eventually when I realized how much time it would take for me to watch a whole playthrough or try it out myself, I decided to look up the rest on TV Tropes and put them all together in a list.

The aforementioned Judge Holden knock-off is also said to be seven-feet tall and is a child predator (though only technically implied to be in Holden's case)

The character literally named Glanton runs a group who goes around killing "tribals"

There's a character named Cormac, as in Cormac McCarthy

During the scene with "Javier Sugar", in addition to all the NCFOM quotes there's also a random quote from the movie The Outlaw Josey Wales thrown in there... to spice things up? IDK, the quote is something like "Dyin' ain't no way of livin', boy"

A character called "Harmonica" references one of the main characters of Once Upon a Time in the West

The ghoul Doc Friday references the historical figure Doc Holiday, and his revolver the Huckleberry references the famous quote from his depiction in the movie Tombstone, "I could be your huckleberry"

Marko's outfit seems to reference the character Loco from the movie The Great Silence.

The Frosthill segment of III is also lifted from The Great Silence, what with its Utah setting during the winter, the main character getting shot through the hand, and bounty hunters pretty much kill the whole town.

Aaron Flagg the cult leader seems to be inspired by Randall Flagg the Stephen King villain

The sniper Charlie Halfcocked references the U.S. Marine sniper during Vietnam, Carlos Hathcock, the previous record holder for the most kills

Tom Quigley references the movie Quigley Down Under, the titular character being played by Tom Sellick.

Enclave members Quantrill and Onoda, who keep fighting despite the Enclave's repeated defeats, are named after Confederate guerilla William Quantrill and WWII Japanese soldier Hiroo Onoda, who did the same for their sides (okay, I thought that reference was pretty good)

Eileen the Fiend = serial killer Aileen Wuornos

Tony Idaho = Tony Montana from Scarface

Tommy the former Omerta enforcer who killed a made man references Tommy DeVito from Goodfellas

Alex and his gang in Freeside reference Alex DeLarge and his droogs from A Clockwork Orange

Freddie the ghoul = Freddy Krueger

Jack, former muscle for Heck Gunderson, references the villain Jack Wilson from Shane, his revolver is called "Shane's Bane"

Albert Quisling = Vidkun Quisling

Mario Barksdale = character from The Wire

Prometheus is named after the subtitle for Frankenstein: "The modern Prometheus", his Deathclaws are Mary and Shelley

Pancho Cortina = Pancho Villa

"Squirrelly" Bill Blasius references outlaw "Curly" Bill Brocius

Angel Lee is a combination of Angel Eyes from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, and the actor Lee Van Cleef

Godwin, who mails out bombs, probably references Unabomber

Joe Frost = Edward Snowden

Guys fighting over treasure named Clint and Tuco

Fiend chem lab has characters Walter and Pinkman, references Breaking Bad

John Ramsey's body is put on display with a quote referencing the movie Unforgiven, "This is what happens to assassins/rangers around here".

Those are the ones that I either caught myself or saw other people list, if there's more, go ahead and add on.

Some of the historical references are kinda funny, though others are either tasteless (Aileen Wuornos) or eye-roll worthy (Carlos Hathcock = Charlie Halfcocked, GEDDIT IT'S A GUN JOKE), and the majority of the pop culture references are so blatant and so numerous that it gets annoying.

If I made my own mod or anything else, of course I too would love to stick in a bunch of references to the things I love, though I would try to be less obvious about them, put different spins on them, you know? You can't really judge mods to the same standard as the source, and I would be more forgiving if the rest of the mods didn't look like such an edgy slog.

[free-and-to-none-accountable]

(Viddygames)

Undetermined if this was a result of mine own Russelian indiscretions or just a natural consequence of modding a broken game but I keep getting stuck in the Frosthill massacre cutscene. I have been knealing in the snow in Utah for Ten Thousand Years. The White Pharoh is real, he's got me, and he keeps trying to shoot my zombie dad in the head from 2 feet away and missing over and over again forever

[vyxythepixie]

Title: The Incorrigible Loki Bangs The MCU

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Loki/Maria Hill Rating: T (Teen and Up) Day: 23 Prompt: Lick Warnings: Non-con licking

Summary: Loki finds himself across the MCU in a series of orally fixated scenes. A collection of extremely short drabbles/blurts of prose intended to run across the month of September.

READ IT HERE ON AO3

@suck-tember​

[that-kid-from-vault-101]

The blood dripping from my hands belongs to at least a dozen people. Ford, the rest of the bounty hunters, not to mention myself.

I can scarcely move at a limp, having been gassed, beaten, shot, and buried alive all within the last four hours, but I nose open the back door of the saloon, struggling towards the graveyard, leaving the deep snow red in my wake.

I spare some thought to what brought me here, as I slip on the slope to the valley pass, catching myself on an outcropping, staring for a moment at the ground as I open my mouth to spit what had to be mostly half-clotted blood into the muddy slush around my boots.

Randall. God, Randall, you wonderful ghoul-hating bastard. Only once in my life have I had such high respect for an employer, never have I come to call one a friend. You didn’t deserve what you got, no one in Frosthill did, but to have your recompense snatched from you before your very eyes, after so long, being so close, I cannot imagine how gutted your last moments were.

You paid me fair for honest work, you relished in ridding the world of its scum as much as I did. You spoke to me, let me drink your whiskey while you told me what Marko had done to your family. When the bottle was halfway gone, you sat and listened while I told you what had happened to mine.

I told you you’d have made a good father. You told me to quit the soft shit, but that you thought the same of me.

I slide down the slope leading to the graveyard uncontrolled, rolling the last meter or so, and catch myself on my elbows. I think if I’d used my hands I’d pass out from the pain, the two weeping holes barely patched up, unhealed and bleeding like Christ’s stigmata as I prepare to do something so very un-Christlike.

The graveyard is vast. The fever took most of frosthill a decade back, and it had taken years to recover. It’s an eerie scene, as Marko pats down the earth at the end of the center walkway.

He buried you himself. Some gesture of respect, I suppose, for your tenacity. Your drive. The only thing he’s capable of respecting, I think.

He doesn’t notice me, at least not at first. He plants the shovel in the ground, as though admiring his handiwork, but perks up at the sound of the snow crunching beneath my boots.

He turns halfway, his expression irritated, likely thinking me one of his peons interrupting his work, before it turns to befuddlement. He opens his mouth, inhales to speak, but your pistol is already in my hand.

Marko’s fast, but I’ve been at this since I was 19. I’m faster. He clears leather, but the sound of that hollow-point .44 hitting flesh thuds through the courtyard before he can do anything with it.

It catches him in the hinge of his jaw, shearing it away and carrying it with the momentum of the bullet away from the rest of him. Marko falls to one knee, his tongue flapping in the freezing air like some obscene tentacle.

I didn’t come here to hear him talk.

Marko is tough, very tough, and he sets back onto his knee, trying to bring his pistol up and around. The revolver kicks again, and his pistol drops, his hand hanging by a ligament and a few strings of meat.

The pain hits now, the adrenaline starting to ebb even as my anger reaches its peak. The kick of the revolver against my ruined palm sears through me like a hot poker and I stumble, leaning against one of the gravestones for a second until the nausea goes away.

I gather myself and stand. He’s looking at me, drooling blood down the front of his woolen coat, his breathing thick and clotted, but his eyes are clear, unclouded, his head tilting back to meet my eye as I approach.

Our eyes meet, and his are a pale, beautiful blue, full of hatred and disgust as he looks up at me. Confusion, too, as though he couldn’t fathom a loss of dominance, couldn’t imagine a situation in which he was not the one in control.

I don’t relish the moment. I can’t. There’s nothing to enjoy. There is only a job to be done. I remember another old friends words. Killing, when done righteously, is a chore like any other.

I raise your old Remington, Randall, and settle the barrel right between his eyes. He doesn’t flinch.

“You’re just another fucking raider.”

I pull the trigger.

[whitecrownsblackthrones-archived]

MEET THE MUSE!

LEGAL NAME: Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XII DATE OF BIRTH:  N/A NICKNAMES:  Naslednik Tsesarevich Korolevstva Zedessa, 1st Prince of Zedessa GENDER:   Cis Male AGE:  Unknown(50-to-60 physically) SPECIES:  Age Immortal PLACE OF BIRTH:  Kingdom of Zedessa CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS:  Resident of Îngheţ Castle(Frosthill Castle) LANGUAGES:  Russian, Icelandic, German, English, French, Latin, Korean, Japanese, Chinese OCCUPATION:  Aristocrat CRIMINAL RECORD:  None DRINK I SMOKE | DRUGS LIKE[S]:  Coffee, hard alcohol, solitude, peace & quiet, the smell of burning wood DISLIKE[S]:  Discourteous people, rude people, too much noise

(PHYSICAL INFORMATION)

FEARS:  N/A PERSONALITY TRAITS:  Cold, blunt, uncaring, workaholoic HAIR COLOR:  Snow white EYE COLOR:  Dull gold HEIGHT:    6′8 Feet

(FAMILY INFORMATION)

SIBLINGS:  Younger Siblings - Tsarevich Skender Constantin Geza von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Evvann Dumitru Chirila von Zedessanici, Tsarevna Stela Imanuela Enache von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Teodor Flilip Dragonic von Zedessanici, Tsarevna Bianca-Cosmina Pirvu Niculescu von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Mihail Stan Iordanescu von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Rahela Bogdana Stefanescu von Zedessanici PARENT[S]:  Mother - Tsarina Aurika Alexandrescu Eliduca von Zedessanici, Father - Tsar Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XI, StepMothers - Concubine Rahela, Concubine Sorine & Concubine Ruxandra Preda CHILDREN:  None PET[S]:  None

(RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION)

SEXUAL PREFERENCE:  Pansexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single, verse dependent

LEGAL NAME: Skender Constantin Geza von Zedessanici DATE OF BIRTH:  N/A NICKNAMES:  Chetvertyy Tsarevich Korolevstva Zedessa, 4th Prince of Zedessa, The Icy Shield GENDER:   Cis Male AGE:  Unknown(40-to-45 physically) SPECIES:  Age Immortal PLACE OF BIRTH:  Kingdom of Zedessa CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS:  Resident of Îngheţ Castle(Frosthill Castle) LANGUAGES:  Russian, Icelandic, German, English, Latin, Korean, & Japanese OCCUPATION:  Aristocrat CRIMINAL RECORD:  None DRINK I SMOKE | DRUGS LIKE[S]:  Coffee, long hikes, mountain climbing, keysmithing DISLIKE[S]:  Discourteous people, social drama

(PHYSICAL INFORMATION)

FEARS:  Returning to war PERSONALITY TRAITS:  Loner, akaward, slightly anti-social HAIR COLOR:  Snow white EYE COLOR:  Colbert Blue HEIGHT:    6′8 Feet

(FAMILY INFORMATION)

SIBLINGS:  Older Siblings - Tsesarevich Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XII, Younger Siblings - Tsarevich Evvann Dumitru Chirila von Zedessanici, Tsarevna Stela Imanuela Enache von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Teodor Flilip Dragonic von Zedessanici, Tsarevna Bianca-Cosmina Pirvu Niculescu von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Mihail Stan Iordanescu von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Rahela Bogdana Stefanescu von Zedessanici PARENT[S]:  Mother - Concubine Rahela, Father - Tsar Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XI, StepMothers - Tsarina Aurika Alexandrescu Eliduca von Zedessanici, Concubine Sorine & Concubine Ruxandra Preda CHILDREN:  None PET[S]:  None

(RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION)

SEXUAL PREFERENCE:  Pansexual, feminine leaning RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single, verse dependent

LEGAL NAME: Stela Imanuela Enache von Zedessanici DATE OF BIRTH:  N/A NICKNAMES:  Pervaya Tsarevna Korolevstva Zedessa, 1st Prince of Zedessa, The Fragile Ssnowflake GENDER:   Cis Female AGE:  Unknown(22-to-27 physically) SPECIES:  Age Immortal PLACE OF BIRTH:  Kingdom of Zedessa CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS:  Resident of Îngheţ Castle(Frosthill Castle) LANGUAGES:  Russian, Icelandic, & English OCCUPATION:  Aristocrat CRIMINAL RECORD:  None DRINK I SMOKE | DRUGS LIKE[S]:  Tea, flowers, learning new things, peace & quiet DISLIKE[S]:  Loud people, yelling, sudden noises & actions

(PHYSICAL INFORMATION)

FEARS:  Always being a failure, upsetting her mother PERSONALITY TRAITS:  Shy, nervous, easily frightened, skittish, submissive, quiet HAIR COLOR:  Snow white EYE COLOR:  Golden Yellow HEIGHT:    5′7 Feet

(FAMILY INFORMATION)

SIBLINGS:  Older Siblings - Tsesarevich Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XII, Tsarevich Skender Constantin Geza von Zedessanici, & Tsarevich Evvann Dumitru Chirila von Zedessanici. Younger Siblings - Tsarevich Teodor Flilip Dragonic von Zedessanici, Tsarevna Bianca-Cosmina Pirvu Niculescu von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Mihail Stan Iordanescu von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Rahela Bogdana Stefanescu von Zedessanici PARENT[S]:  Mother - Concubine Ruxandra Preda, Father - Tsar Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XI, StepMothers - Tsarina Aurika Alexandrescu Eliduca von Zedessanici, Concubine Rahela & Concubine Sorine CHILDREN:  None PET[S]:  None

(RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION)

SEXUAL PREFERENCE:  Demisexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single, verse dependent

LEGAL NAME: Teodor Flilip Dragonic von Zedessanici DATE OF BIRTH:  N/A NICKNAMES:  Tretiy Tsarevich Korolevstva Zedessa, 3rd Prince of Zedessa, The Direwolf in Human Form GENDER:   Cis Male AGE:  Unknown(20-to-25 physically) SPECIES:  Age Immortal PLACE OF BIRTH:  Kingdom of Zedessa CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS:  Resident of Îngheţ Castle(Frosthill Castle) LANGUAGES:  Russian, Icelandic, German, English, Latin, Korean & Japanese OCCUPATION:  Aristocrat CRIMINAL RECORD:  None DRINK I SMOKE | DRUGS LIKE[S]:  Coffee, long hikes & mountain climbing, peace & quiet DISLIKE[S]:  Discourteous people, rude people, bystander’s syndrome

(PHYSICAL INFORMATION)

FEARS:  Leaving someone to suffer when he could help PERSONALITY TRAITS:  Cold, blunt, short tempered, caring, ‘grump’ HAIR COLOR:  Snow white with a Silver shine EYE COLOR:  Golden Yellow HEIGHT:    5′11 Feet

(FAMILY INFORMATION)

SIBLINGS:  Older Siblings - Tsesarevich Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XII, Tsarevich Skender Constantin Geza von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Evvann Dumitru Chirila von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Stela Imanuela Enache von Zedessanici. Younger Sublings - Tsarevna Bianca-Cosmina Pirvu Niculescu von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Mihail Stan Iordanescu von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Rahela Bogdana Stefanescu von Zedessanici PARENT[S]:  Mother - Tsarina Aurika Alexandrescu Eliduca von Zedessanici, Father - Tsar Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XI, StepMothers - Concubine Rahela, Concubine Sorine & Concubine Ruxandra Preda CHILDREN:  None PET[S]:  None

(RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION)

SEXUAL PREFERENCE:  Pansexual, feminine leaning RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single, verse dependent

LEGAL NAME: Bianca-Cosmina Pirvu Niculescu von Zedessanici DATE OF BIRTH:  N/A NICKNAMES:  Vtoraya Tsarevich Korolevstva Zedessa, 2nd Princess of Zedessa, The Shining Northern Star, The Aroura Princess GENDER:   Cis Female AGE:  Unknown(17-to-19 physically) SPECIES:  Age Immortal PLACE OF BIRTH:  Kingdom of Zedessa CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS:  Resident of Îngheţ Castle(Frosthill Castle) LANGUAGES:  Russian, Icelandic, German, & English OCCUPATION:  Aristocrat CRIMINAL RECORD:  None DRINK I SMOKE | DRUGS LIKE[S]:  Ice-skating, ballet, shopping, socializing DISLIKE[S]:  Discourteous people, rude people, people who don’t cow-tow to her, people stepping on her dresses.

(PHYSICAL INFORMATION)

FEARS:  N/A PERSONALITY TRAITS:  King, caring, always positive, upbeat, a little full of herself HAIR COLOR:  Snow white with a Silver shine EYE COLOR:  Golden Yellow HEIGHT:    5′7 Feet

(FAMILY INFORMATION)

SIBLINGS:  Older Siblings - Tsesarevich Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XII, Tsarevich Skender Constantin Geza von Zedessanici, Tsarevich Evvann Dumitru Chirila von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Stela Imanuela Enache von Zedessanici & Tsarevich Teodor Flilip Dragonic von Zedessanici. Younger Siblings - Tsarevich Mihail Stan Iordanescu von Zedessanici & Tsarevna Rahela Bogdana Stefanescu von Zedessanici PARENT[S]:  Mother - Tsarina Aurika Alexandrescu Eliduca von Zedessanici, Father - Tsar Emanuel Valdamir Urzici von Zedessanici XI, StepMothers - Concubine Rahela, Concubine Sorine & Concubine Ruxandra Preda CHILDREN:  None PET[S]:  None

(RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION)

SEXUAL PREFERENCE:  Pansexual, male leaning RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Single, verse dependent

[meatcrimes]

the evolution of noore; from the strip, to hoover dam, to frosthill

[browneyed-daughter]

Quite a stage we have here, huh? Audience of dead men.

[skullinacowboyhat]

kithri fucking frosthill, arcane trickster rogue (she/her)

[sweetxrevenge-blog1]

Utah

This is just a collection of things I drabbled out after finishing New Vegas Bounties bc it hit me really hard in the feelings haha. They don’t have a lot of explanation in them, but they’re just sort of an ‘in the moment’ thing.

The saloon reeked of blood, gun smoke, and the cheap alcohol it supplied. The former two were new additions, courtesy of the bounty hunter standing in the middle of the room surrounded by the corpses of those who had betrayed her. All but one. The slippery little shit escaped from under her nose, running out into the snow. It was pointless, though- she stepped outside and fired off a round into his leg, sending him down. He shrieked in pain, dropping his tough-guy facade completely. Ketan stomped through the snow over to him, ignoring the pain shooting through her hands and arms as she grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging his head back to look him in the eyes, keeping a solid foot on his back. The fear she felt in his gaze was the most satisfying feeling she had felt in a long time, and she savored it too much to be disgusted with herself. "Why?" She demanded, she didn't ask. She commanded him to answer her. He was crying, ugly crying. "I w-was scared!" He cried, snot running down his face which was bright red from the cold and the tears. "There wasn't any way you'd win, it was safer to side with Marko! I didn't know he would- he would..." "You killed Randall without a second fucking thought. I don't want any of your goddamn excuses." Even though she had just challenged him to give her one worthwhile. "I didn't enjoy it! Neither of you ever took me seriously!" "We were trying to protect you, you little shitbag!" She shouted, tugging harder on his hair. There wasn’t anyone to draw the attention of, they were all dead. Her volume didn’t matter. "This life is not what you wanted! This is what happens! No matter what choice you make, you die, either way!" "I just wanted to be like you!" He sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Then let's start with surviving a bullet to the brain," She spoke coldly, colder than the snow falling around them. She pressed the barrel of Sweet Revenge to Ford's temple, and pulled the trigger with no hesitation. He died instantly, falling limp out of her grip when she let go of him and stepped away. "Failed step one." Sweet Revenge was returned to its holster, and Ketan sighed. She hated herself. She hated that this was the only solution. The first time Steven was 'killed', she was filled with rage, ready to slaughter anything in her way to avenge him. This time, she just felt empty. A twinge of guilt ran through her, but she suppressed it just like she suppressed everything else. Ford wasn't a bad kid. He just had his head so high in the clouds, he was too scared to come back down to Earth. That didn't excuse him from Ketan's traitor policy: they die. Ketan lit a cigarette, eyes still set on the corpse in front of her. It hurt to kill him. She wasn't going to deny her own humanity, it hurt to have to be the one who put him down. She was so certain he was just some kid who needed guidance, who needed to be shown reality. He already knew reality, though, that was apparent when he abandoned his beliefs to join what he thought was the winning side. That's the kicker: it wasn't the winning side. It was the losing side. Anyone who opposed her was the loser, she made sure of it. It would catch up to her some day, like Marko kept insisting it would- she knew that. It was just going to catch up to him, first.

It was over. The cold, icy mountain air bit at her skin and the wounds still healing on her shaking hands. She stood alone, now; Marko's corpse was still warm beside her, if that man ever had any warmth in him at all. What a shame she hadn't brought a shovel with her, maybe she could have returned the grave he buried her alive in. It was, after all, conveniently empty now. Instead, she stared down at the fresh grave directly in front of her, right at her feet. The graveyard went on for a mile at least, countless unmarked wooden crosses in neat, organized lines; she wasn't sure whether the number or the sick tidiness of the way the corpses were buried was worse. However, only one grave held her interest, the one in which the dirt hadn't yet settled. Ketan knelt down by the wooden cross, careful not to disturb the mound and pulling her knife from its sheath on her thigh. Controlling her hands was still difficult, and she likely wasn't going to have perfect control of them ever again. Slowly but surely she carved into the wood, paying attention to neatness and detail as she wrote out the name of the deceased: Steven Randall. Once she was satisfied, she stowed the blade and pushed back to her feet. The tears were coming, and the first thing that came to mind was surprise that she was even capable of crying anymore. Her hand drifted towards the holster on her right side, pulling Sweet Revenge from its place there and looking it over. Part of her was tempted to bury the gun with him, as some sort of final step in fulfilling the revenge he wanted so dearly, the revenge he put on her shoulders. No, he didn't put it there. She did. The moment Ketan realized that she and Randall were family, that they were all each other had, that revenge became her responsibility whether he was alive or not. Maybe it was selfish to think he was all she had. She had other friends- she had Boone, Arcade, Veronica, all of the people she had encountered and who agreed to help her. It was definitely selfish to chase her own revenge high the way she had, leaving them all once more without a clue of her whereabouts, too consumed with hatred to bother telling them that she might not come back. That was the sad truth: it was entirely possible she wouldn't come back. But Randall was different from the others. He reminded her of someone, way back in the deep reaches of her mind where forgotten memories slept. It could have been anyone, perhaps her father or brother, if she ever had either. He was the first real friend she made after she crawled out of the grave, and how fitting it was that she avenged him after crawling out of one again. It wouldn't bring her peace. She knew that. Ketan would never know peace, no matter what she did, now. "I know you wanted me to keep it," She mumbled, idly returning the revolver to its holster at her side. "Doesn't feel right, not after all this, but like you said: would have just locked it back in the safe. Grave's about the same thing." Nightfall made the coldness of the air bitter, so much so it left a bad taste in your mouth. She let out a long, visible exhale, hands snaking their way into her jacket pockets. "Good bye, Randall, you crazy zombie bastard," her lips couldn't help but curl into a smile when she said it. Ketan turned to look back towards the pass she came through, turning to leave. Her steps were heavy through the snow, and her boots were soaking wet. She figured that if being shot through the hands and buried alive couldn't kill her, neither could frostbite. It was gonna be a long trip home.

Ketan's eyes opened like curtains being drawn at the speed of light, shooting upright in her bed. Her body was shaking, her breath was labored and she was coated in a cold sweat. It was the nightmare again. The same one that came every week, sometimes every night for several days in a row. It was so rare for her not to have it, she considered this normal, and she should have been used to it by now, but you never really got used to dying. It was Frosthill, the townspeople all on their knees in the street, then they're all gunned down. Their cries and the gunshots ring in her ears and echo like ghosts wailing at her in accusation, in blame. The blood turns the snow red, and it melts away while Ford, that fucking two-timing coward, puts a bullet in Steven's head without a second thought. It stings, she wants to scream, but she's gagged and she can't make a noise above a muffled yelp. The screams feel like rats trying to claw their way out of her throat, turning it sore and raw. Her stomach does somersaults, trembling in rage and pain as that monster, that horrific bastard has the nerve to touch her, to hold her jaw and force her to look at him. His words blend together into a cacophony of screams and laughter so concentrated it's deafening, as the ground below her opens, and swallows her whole. The darkness made it hard to breathe, like the chasm was getting deeper but tighter, suffocating her while she could still hear that hideous chorus of screams and laughter, telling her it was her fault, everything that happened was all her fault. Ketan ran a hand through her hair. Every time this happened, she would usually cope with it by getting hammered and passing out from that, since that generally drove the nightmare away. It was always temporary, every fix was temporary. Nothing could truly fix her psyche. Her eyes surveyed her hands. The large, grisly, round scars in the center of her palms and the backs of her hands were a constant reminder that the nightmare wasn't just a dream, but that it happened, and it happened because she fell for a trap she should have seen coming a mile away. The scarred areas were still tender and sore- her fingers, especially her middle and ring fingers, didn't work quite as well as they used to, just as she predicted. Nothing in her worked as well as it used to. Her mind wandered while she sat up in the middle of the night, eyes drying out from the heavy air conditioning blasting into her room. An idle thought wondered how much Med-X it took to kill you. She pushed the thought away. She considered getting up and seeing if anyone else was awake, but she didn't. This was her battle, it didn't matter to anyone else. Give her the Hypocrite of the Year award, but she wouldn't make others deal with her bullshit. She dealt with theirs so that she could forget about her own for even a short while.

A grumbling sigh found its way out of her throat and she reclined back into bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun. She just hoped sleep would find her again, soon.

[transgressivepistoleer]

FNV Bounties One Shot: Only Fitting

           Jericho crouched behind one of the few standing tombstones, her breath steaming fast and hard in the snowy sky. Her hands burned and cramped and bled. She hadn’t taken the time to let them heal from the cruel wounds they had received. She hadn’t had the time to take. Jericho had to strike when all her foes celebrated her burial, and Marko was out of the main town. Both were taking a breather in their dance to oblivion, and Jericho couldn’t help recall how she wound up here.

           The Mojave was far away from this frozen hell. Jericho missed the heat, the lights, the towns. She had come to find new appreciation for the smaller things in life after being dragged from her own grave, a bullet lodged in her skull. Things were up and down after that. She needed caps, so she joined a fledgling bounty hunter outfit and rose through the ranks to the top. Well, she guessed she was the only one besides Steven Randall, gods rest his soul. Judge Richter was what first brought her into the attention of Marko. The Judge was with some kind of syndicate, and possibly a child molester. It was hard to ask him with fifteen bullets clogging his lungs.

           Steven had been slain by one of the Judges hired guns, so Jericho was on her own. She had built a reputation then, in that near lawless desert. She tracked Red Bear, Marko’s second in command at one time, and convinced him to give up. He was tired. So very tired, and Jericho gave him a way out. She didn’t know if it was because of his hostages, the vast array of guns pointed in both directions, or a glimmer in the man’s eye, but it ended bloodlessly. Which was more than could be said for the Ghoul Gunslinger Johnny Rounder and Marko’s own brother, Sergio. Both fell to Jericho’s gun and will.

           It was Sergio’s death that made Marko snap. By his own admission, he would’ve left her well alone if she hadn’t brought family into this. She tried to explain there was no other way, but he refused to listen. Of course, this was way after she found a man named Virgil waiting for her by Steven Randall’s old shack. After Virgil showed her the backlash of her bounties. After Virgil took her to Utah. After Virgil unveiled himself to be Marko, and walked away into the blizzarding night before Jericho could fire upon him.

           Jericho found her way to Frosthill nearby, and the bounty hunter camp soon after, led by Steven Randall himself back from the dead. Sure, he was a Ghoul, but she had no trouble with that. The next week was spent slowly taking out Marko’s forces. One by one they surrendered or were shot where they stood. On the eve of the final confrontation, Jericho found a dirty secret. A bloody betrayal by the NCR official brought in to fund their group. In exchange for the town to be brought under NCR’s wing, Jericho and Randall were to be brought alive before Marko. And every other bounty hunter in the camp were in on it, save one.

           Jericho watched, gagged and helpless as Marko grandstanded before her, blew Steven Randall’s head into red mist, and then massacred the entire town. He took her hands and stabbed through them, hoping to prevent her from every handling a weapon again. Marko then took her up a hill, and buried her alive with her guns. “Only fitting,” he had said. Jericho didn’t know how long it was in that airless dark. She didn’t know if she screamed or saved what little breath she had. In her mind, she kept seeing those she had shot down, and wondered if they were as terrified as she was.

           The withered corpse of Mr. House had begged her for mercy. Ceaser had fought defiantly to the last man. President Kimball didn’t even know what hit him. But she had her reasons for all of them. Mr. House, the tyrant, the man who lived too long, who thought caps could buy any soul in the Mojave, had had to be put down before his madness could spread. Ceaser was a monster, plain and simple. His Legion boiled Jericho’s blood like no other. And Kimball was rabidly focused on bringing the Mojave under the NCR. So many resources and lives down the drain for his dream, Jericho found it a mercy to end his wasteful imperialism.

           All these thoughts swam through the darkness of her crypt. Jericho didn’t know if she was going to Hell, or if there even was one. Joshua Graham thought there was one. Dr. Mobius didn’t. Ulysses wasn’t sure with her. But Jericho was certain the she was going to die. Certain until she felt the earth above move, and light and air seeped into her coffin. What followed was a whirlwind of explanation and Stim-paks. One of the Bounty Hunters hadn’t joined with Marko and his crooked deal, instead hanging back. He had seen everything, and was petrified through it all. He dug Jericho up as soon as everyone had gone back to Frosthill. He offered to help her back to the Mojave, to let everyone think she was dead, to let her live in obscurity for the rest of her days.

           But Jericho couldn’t take him up on it. Not after the betrayal and the massacre. She couldn’t let Marko get away with this, couldn’t let that bastard live. Couldn’t let Ford celebrate his part in Randall’s death. Couldn’t let all those killed lay unavenged. So she geared up and headed down to Frosthill with fury in her heart.

           When Jericho kicked the door to the saloon open it was better than she hoped. Every turncoat was there, drinking and cheming up in celebration of them being rich. Every turncoat’s jaw dropped as Jericho stood in the doorway. Every turncoat fell as she let loose a tidal wave of lead and fire, screaming like the souls of the damned. She didn’t stop until the building groaned ominously, its supports riddled with holes and its floors soaked with blood. Jericho stepped outside and burned the saloon with the Incinerator she had taken taken from Cook Cook’s shredded corpse.

           As the embers lit up the night sky, Jericho turned towards the graveyard, where she had heard Marko say he was going. But before she left, she placed mines all around the edges of the saloon. She had escaped Death’s grip three times now, and she wasn’t going to let any of the treacherous bastards inside do the same. It was haphazard, it was dangerous, it took time, but Jericho was glad she did it. She was even more glad when she heard two go off behind her.

           And then it was time. She walked into the graveyard, Marko standing with his back to her over the fresh grave of Steven Randall. His surprise when he heard her boots in the snow and turned was delicious. His scathing words weren’t. They argued. They argued about determination and of destiny. Of legends and those who write them. They argued of sins and saints, bullets and bounties, and finally of who would walk out alive. Then the words fell silent, and only the freezing wind was heard.

           Marko slipped into V.A.T.S first. The shot from Old Scratch nicked Jericho’s arm. It might as well have taken it clean off from the inferno of pain it brought. Jericho returned the favor, her Jackal blasting rounds deep into Marko’s side. He winced, but didn’t fall. He fired again. Jericho coughed blood. She shot him in the leg. Marko roared in pain. The air was soon heavy with gun smoke, the ground littered with casings. Jericho fell back behind a tombstone and injected a Stim-pak. And it was here that she was, reloading Jackal, desperately thinking how to outdo the most dangerous man in the Wasteland.

           A bullet clipped her hiding place, sending stone shrapnel into one of her eyes. Jericho screamed, dropping Jackal and clutching at her bleeding eye. Bullets fell from her hands onto the ground. Through tears, Jericho saw something among one of them. A bullet of Jackal’s caliber, a red band around the casing. She didn’t know when she picked one of those up. Maybe during one of her spending binges she threw a few onto the pile. It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was that maybe the explosive round would give her the edge.

           Randall had frowned on using “unfair” ammo like that. He always said that if you couldn’t get by with the speed of your draw and the heat of your lead, then you shouldn’t be standing there in the first place. But Marko was just too good. Jericho knew she could never defeat him like that alone. But she still hesitated before picking it up.

           “What’s wrong, Bounty Hunter?” Marko’s voice came mockingly. “I thought you were, ‘going to show me the error of my ways.’” Jericho grimaced, and loaded the explosive shell into Jackal. Marko had cheated first. He had set the trap back in the camp, had pierced her hands so she might never handle a gun properly again, place an army of traitors between him and her. His evil would end here; she would make sure of it.

           Half blinded, Jericho stood and aimed at Marko. In V.A.T.S, she could see she couldn’t hit his head or any other vital organs. But then a thought occurred. She didn’t have to end him in one shot. All she had to do was make sure HE couldn’t do the same to her. So, shifting her aim to the left, Jericho fired.

           The bullet exploded violently by Marko’s right, causing him to cry out in pain. Jericho fired again and again, explosions tearing the earth asunder, and performing the simple task Jericho had in mind: crippling the right arm of Marko. Old Scratch dropped from his shattered grip, and he fell as his leg gave out from under him. He was alive, but could do no more.

           Jericho walked slowly up to him, pressing Jackal into his forehead. Marko stared venom into her, black hate an inferno in his eyes. Jericho stared back and cocked the hammer back. Then she saw the grave Marko lay against, and the name written there. Steven Randall. Jericho withdrew Jackal, and put it away. “What’s the matter, Bounty Hunter?” Marko spat. “Lose the nerve all of a sudden?”

           “No.” Jericho said, her voice hoarse from the cold. From her coat, she drew Steven’s gun. The gun she received from him in his will when he died the first time. The gun he had told her would slay the monster that disfigured him and slaughtered his wife and child. The gun that had felled Judge Richter, Johnny Rounder, and Sergio. The gun Jericho would no doubt give up to her successor, or to her killer, or to both. Sweet Revenge. “I thought it only fitting.”

*BANG*

[azzy-the-christian-furry]

Got to Frosthill today, starting NVB3. Played through, did everything I possibly could. Experimented a bit by blowing Brookshire’s head off. Turns out, his death doesn’t change anything in the main DLC at the very least. Loaded back to avoid the bad NCR rep. Kicking Dog kicked his last dog when I dumped an M4 mag into him. Glanton got to live, temporarily, because hostages. Shot Mr. MarksmanPants in his stupid face after he survived a plasma grenade, then collected his fingers to prove he was practicing not being alive.

Spared the people who could be spared. Used an automatic plasma rifle and two bottlecap mines to kill the traitor bounty hunters. Nothing too eventful. Used the LIER to turn Marko into a piece of Swiss cheese after a handful of deaths, then cut off his arms and legs so he could be staring into the sky, questioning his decisions and stupidly OP stats. Stole Marko’s revolver as a trophy and his clothes because unique item. Surprisingly, the ammo I took with me was enough to get through this combat intense mod. Perhaps it’s because I used burst fire more often than automatic.

Got Guts off the side of the road, plus Cooper simply surviving the mod by default. Adding Russell, the Sierra Madre will be... tolerable. I think I can take Hope in, too. The money I’ve saved on not using Stims has saved me 200k bottle caps. Usually by this point, I have 115k average. Just above 312k right now. Think I’ll try to shove my belongings off on a mod companion to see if I can smuggle them into the DLC.

Gonna start a New Vegas run called “No Stim Jim”

I can heal, but no stims, super stims, or doctors.

[whitecrownsblackthrones-archived]

[Promised at Birth Marriage] | @akumanoken​

Teodor knew the day would come. His father, the Tsar, he was just about obsessed with arranging marriages after the loses Zedessa suffered in the old war, so hearing that one had been decided for him even before his birth did no shock him. Even less so with how far down the line of succession he was, the 3rd in line, & with all the other brothers he has(4 in total), it’s not as if losing the 3rd in line for the throne would cause major issues.

The Tsarevich(Prince) let out a sigh, watching the carriage holding his future bride in it cross the bridge that led up to Ingheţ(Frosthill) Castle from the window of the entry hall. Here already? Seemed like only an hour ago he was told the Makoto Princess was on ‘her’ way, unless time truly flied that quickly.

The doors to the entry hall were soon opening, staff rushing out to assist the foreign princess with ‘her’ things & see that ‘she’ was brought into the warmth of the castle as soon as possible. They can not have their prince’s bride freezing after all!

“Your highness, I hope the bitter bite of our home’s climate did not over harm you.” After a bit of hushing & bustling, Teodor waited until doors to the hall were closed, shutting out the chilly Zedessian air. “Welcome to Zedessa, Princess Sakura, I am Teodor Flilip Dragonic von Zedessanici, your husband-to-be.”

[meatcrimes]

about Noore’s life after Joshua dies:

she quits bounty hunting permanently after leaving frosthill, and after the battle of hoover dam, the only place she ever fires a gun again is at shooting ranges.

mr house understands her desire to not kill ever again and eventually hires new people as his assassins, but with a high turnover rate and very little loyalty and trust between him and his new employees.

for a while she trains his assassins in close quarters combat but as she gets older and isn’t as physically fit as she once was, she stops.

arcade and his husband adopt a child and she is declared the godmother. she’s like an aunt who teaches them to box and goes hard with birthday presents. when they’re still young she teaches them self defense and how to disarm, and when they’re older she teaches them how to strike to kill. arcade isn’t exactly happy about that but he knows it’s a skill his kid needs in the wasteland. the family always looks forward to visits from Aunt Noore ™

after the events of frosthill she develops PTSD that goes undiagnosed for a few years. she doesn’t exactly have healthy coping mechanisms and prefers drinking over talking.

she does not enter a relationship again after joshua dies. she is not “single” she is widowed and she Will let you know that there’s a difference.

due to her harsh lifestyle and unhealthy vices she dies of a heart attack in her late 50s. mr house outlives her and has her obituary published everywhere throughout the strip and outer vegas. her ashes are taken with a caravan into Utah to spread her ashes across the Deep Creek mountains.