#it’s the same problem the fallout show faces

[deputyrook]

okay I’m going to be critical of DAV for a second.

caveat: there’s obviously a lot I like about modern dragon age and Veilguard. I’m having a lot of fun in the fandom right now. I love the new characters, i think the different backgrounds and factions are great, I think the game is very enjoyable to actually play overall. etc.

But there is a lot to criticize when it comes to the writing in DAV, given 1) the way the game ignores (and frankly doesn’t seem to understand) so much of its own lore and 2) complexity and nuance are stripped from the game, making it feel shallow compared to it’s predecessors. Frankly the lack of depth and nuance is baffling to me.

Controversial opinion: I think BioWare should have canonized a worldstate if they couldn’t write a game that meaningfully incorporated the player’s previous choices. To completely leave out any mention of the results of these choices leaves huge, important aspects of the world of Thedas untouched in Veilguard. And you can feel the absence!

It’s incredibly bizarre for the game not to mention, for example, who is Divine, or who is ruling Ferelden. Rather than avoiding a problem (players won’t have their decisions catered to) they’ve created a totally different one (the divine/ruler of ferelden isn’t mentioned at all when they should be hugely important.) Wiping out Southern Thedas is a far worse solution IMO than just being like “Alistair’s king, Loghain’s dead, there’s an old god baby” etc.

The comics canonized a worldstate, and if they can’t write games that incorporate prior player choices meaningfully, the games should too. Because leaving out these aspects or “wiping the slate clean” is LESS satisfying by far.

[sp0o0kylights]

Adopt a Jock Part One / Part Two / Part Three PART FOUR YOU ARE HERE Part five 

As always I own my entire soul to  @chalkysgarbagefire

Steve didn't show up to lunch that Monday. 

This was a problem, because Gareth and Eddie had carefully prepared the entirety of Hellfire to help make Steve play a D&D one-shot. 

(Well, mostly Eddie--and he'd left out the parts about how the entire goal was to acclimate Harrington to hugs and high fives. 

Gareth assumed that was a more careful conversation they'd all have later, outside of school grounds.) 

"Eds, if you jiggle your legs any harder the table is going to take flight." Gareth complained, scooting away before he got jabbed in the gut. 

"Where is he!?" Eddie muttered, glancing at his watch for what had to be the twenty-fifth time. “Are we sure he showed up to class this morning?" 

Stewart, the only person to share a class with Harrington, gave their leader an exasperated look. "Yes, I’m sure." 

He flicked his spoon, pointing it towards Eddie. "And yes he looked fine, yes, everything seemed normal, no I don't know why he's not here and no, no one fucking abducted him, or threatened him, or any of the other crazy excuses you keep coming up with!” 

Eddie’s frown deepened as Gareth and Grant traded concerned glances. 

"Maybe he just didn't want to sit with us today." Jeff remarked, approaching the topic with the same care a technician had when approaching a live bomb. 

Gareth thought it was a smart move, considering Eddie looked like he was about to rocket into the ceiling. 

"He's sat with us everyday, why would he change now?"  Eddie argued. 

"Maybe there's a basketball thing happening. Or he's saying hi to his jock buddies." Gareth tried, using the same cautious tone Jeff had. 

"We’re his friends!" Eddie snapped, looking two seconds away from losing his shit entirely.

 Almost unconsciously, Gareth and Jeff both raised a hand almost to try and help calm him.

Like he was a wild horse and they were the preteen girls in the movies determined to establish a bond before he killed their grandpa or some shit. 

This was what happened when one deviated from a predetermined Munson-made plan. Not that Steve had known that of course, but then, he wasn’t exactly catching the fallout, was he?

‘I am making Harrington buy lunch after this.’ Gareth thought, as Eddie returned to bouncing both his legs almost frantically. ‘From someplace expensive.’ 

"Maybe Hargrove ate him."  Grant suggested, as if the very thought of Billy Hargrove wouldn’t set Eddie off on a rampage. 

"I could see it." Stewart agreed. "Dude has cannibal vibes." 

"Not. Helping." Jeff hissed, his palm still in the air and hovering vaguely over Eddie’s shoulder. 

Sure enough, Eddie’s entire body tensed at the mere mention of Hawkin High’s new King. "That’s it. We’re going to find him.” 

“Have fun.” Tiff said, waving him off. 

Eddie glared. “We’re all going.” He practically spat.

With a put upon sigh, Tiff set her food down. "You really want to spend the rest of our lunch period stalking around the hallways looking for Harrington?" 

Eddie gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white. 

"Yes Tiff, I do." He said, a manic gleam in his eyes. 

He shoved up from the table, striking the kind of pose he often used during his rants. “This is a break in a pattern of behavior. A veer from an established path! This is the very first sign in every horror movie that something is wrong!” 

He went to put his foot up on the edge of the table, like a pirate captain looking to the seas ahead, but instead missed it entirely and fell forward. 

Eddie flailed for a moment, before managing to catch himself on the edge of the table. Instantly he began acting like he��d intended to fall like that from the start. 

“I refuse to let any of us behave like idiotic, stupid, horror movie characters.” He finished dramatically, hair hanging in his face. 

“You’ve been watching that Sherlock Holmes show again, haven’t you?.” Jeff asked him flatly. 

“Among other things.” Gareth muttered, because as usual, he was the one who’d been watching said shows and movies with Eddie.

Not that it bothered him any, just that it meant he got to watch his best friend adopt new behaviors in real time. 

Eddie flew back up, flinging his hair out of his face with a dramatic toss of his head. 

“Come on my Watson’s! Let’s go find Harrington. I have a one-shot to pitch dammit!” Eddie outright yelled, flinging his arm skyward once again. 

He got several startled glances in the cafeteria for it, but as used to Eddie as they all were, no one bothered to say anything to him. 

“Why the fuck would we all be Watson?” Stewart muttered as he stood. 

“I agree. Obviously, I’d be Watson.” Gareth said, also getting to his feet. “You’d be Mrs. Hudson.” 

“Oh fuck you, I would at least be the other crazy smart dude.” 

“Mycroft or Moriarty?”

“Mycroft.” Grant and Jeff chanted as one, the both of them putting their food away. 

“Not one of you is any Sherlock Holmes character. Except maybe the dog.” Tiff cut in with an eye roll as she finally gave in and stood herself. "Now come on, let's go take Eddie for a walk." 

Said metalhead flipped her the bird, but otherwise didn't protest. 

(Probably because this wasn't the first time they'd had to do laps with Eddie.) 

xXx

"Maybe he just went home." Gareth said reasonably some fifteen or so minutes later. 

They'd made their way through the school, Eddie obnoxiously bursting through all the bathroom doors to loudly (and embarrassingly) yell for Steve.

They hadn't seen hide nor perfectly shaped hair of their wayward jock, and none of them were looking forward to trapezing around the outside of the school to hunt for him.

Thankfully, they didn't have to. 

"Wait.” Tiffany asked, as they passed by the small little hallway leading to the art and photography rooms. “Is that Steve?"

Immediately all heads turned towards the direction she had pointed in. 

"I think so?" Jeff guessed, eyeing the guy standing in the hallway down from them. 

Gareth squinted, trying to get a better look. "Looks like." He agreed. "Also looks like Tiff was right, he is hanging out with other people." 

Eddie tensed at that. A true feat, Gareth thought, because he was already wound so tight he looked in danger of snapping in half. 

 "Fucking useless." Tiff muttered. 

Louder, she said; "Let's try that again. Isn't that our idiot jock with his ex-girlfriend and the guy she supposedly cheated on him with?" 

The lot of them watched as Steve stood in one of his classic defensive positions (arms tucked into his sides, back rigid and chin down, like he was about to perform some kind of football tackle.) 

Nancy Wheeler faced him, her own chin raised and her arms crossed like she was about to give the lecture of a lifetime. 

In between them stood Jonathan Byers, though he was angled more towards his girlfriend than Steve. The guy practically radiated discomfort but seemed to be managing. 

Even if his shoulders were practically above his ears.  

It didn't exactly look like a two on one situation, but then it didn't not look like it either. 

"Shit." Gareth said, which summed up the situation rather nicely. 

"Should we go save him?" Grant asked, concerned. 

Not one person moved.

 Instead, all eyes went to their fearless leader--who was uncharacteristically silent. 

Gareth took in the narrowed, frantic-turned-furious look upon his friend's face and wondered vaguely if he was going to have to stop a murder today.

Possibly two, depending on Byer’s involvement. 

"Defensive position boys!" Tiffany called out, breaking the spell with sheer volume as she made the decision for them. "Eddie, you with us or not?" 

Brave words for her, considering Gareth knew damn well that Tiff was often more bark than bite. 

Thankfully, it worked. 

"Right!" Eddie barked, jerking in place as he came back to himself. "Our Stevie needs us, men and Tiff!" 

He pointed forwards, like a war general leading a charge. "Hellfire, move out!" 

Fanning out into a triangle behind their club president, the lot of them followed as Eddie marched forward. 

"You know I didn't mean it like that." Nancy was saying, and even though Gareth didn't know her he could tell she was frustrated. 

 "You have people you can talk to. You have m--" she cut herself off when Eddie strode up next to Steve. 

Then blinked rapidly, reminding Gareth of a startled cocker spaniel when the rest of Hellfire fanned out around Harrington like wolves guarding their young. 

(Or brightly colored and very angry ducks, but wolves sounded cooler. 

Plus the last time he'd said something like this aloud; Grant had loudly informed him it was actually Muskox that made protective circles, Stewart brought up that triceratops were cooler, Jeff decided they should be bees and Tiffany had gone off on a tangent about badly done animal behavioral studies.) 

"I daresay I agree!" Eddie said, taking a dramatic leap forward and startling Steve and Byers both. 

That alone was a cause to worry--Gareth couldn't recall a single time Steve wasn't hyper-aware of his surroundings enough to get properly lost in it. 

At least lost enough that he missed an entire group of people approaching. 

"Steve is more than welcome to talk to people! His people." Eddie leaned forward a touch, the smirk on his face the one he used when he was playing up his role as the town's satanist cult leader. 

To her credit, Nancy recovered remarkably fast. "I take it you believe that's you?" 

Eddie reared back, like a cobra rising to strike. "Why Nancy Wheeler, Stevie here is an adult and can choose who he wants to talk to.”

He turned, one hand over his heart and the other held out to Steve. " Ain’t that right, big boy?”

Nancy and Byers both just stared. 

Gareth couldn’t blame them, he was staring too. 

Apparently deciding Eddie was too ridiculous to deal with, Nancy returned instead to talking to Steve--who, Gareth noted with more than his fair share of pride, looked a bit more grounded now that Hellfire had arrived. 

“I understand that we’re in a weird place right now, but you have to  know I still care about you, right?” Nancy bit her lip, clearly unhappy to have an audience but plowing ahead anyway. 

"I'm fine, Nance.” Steve told her, voice steady, but growing flat. 

 He was shutting down--shutting her out, if not everyone out. Gareth knew, if only because he’d watched Harrington do it to them more than once. 

(Knew because he himself had shut downs just like this. Eddie and Nancy were the kind of people who got loud in their anger, demanding people see and face them. 

Gareth on the other hand, even with his more explosive temper, often ended up more like Steve when faced with breakdowns with people he cared about. He didn’t want to hurt them. To say the wrong thing, to lash out when someone was just trying to help.

It was safer to shut up, back away and put some distance between yourself and whoever had pissed you off.) 

Either Nancy wasn’t aware of that or was too deep into her own emotions to see it, because she took a half step forward. “I know you’re not fine. I know you, Steve.” 

“Not anymore you don’t.” Steve responded, and Gareth wondered if he realized he was leaning away from her--and towards Eddie. 

Considering the way Wheeler’s eyes bounced between them, he knew she definitely had. 

Quite possible Byers too, from how he had to stop himself from pulling Nancy away. 

“I’ve been working hard to become someone else.” Steve added. “So you don’t have to feel responsible for me. I’m not your problem anymore.”  He spoke without malice, just with the pure emptiness of someone who completely believed everything he said. 

“Steve-” Nancy protested, but Eddie cut her off. 

"You heard him." He said, peacocking his little social win in a way only Eddie could. "Now if you don't mind, I have extremely important things to discuss and you have cut drastically into my time." 

He flicked his fingers in a shoo gesture, one that made Nancy's eyes spark in a way that quite frankly, terrified Gareth. 

"Fine." She grit out through clenched teeth. "You know I’m always available to talk, Steve." 

She strode off, passing Steve and the rest of Hellfire without a glance backwards. 

"Sorry man." Jonathan muttered apologetically to Steve as he passed, following after his girlfriend. 

Steve waved him off. 

"Well she's just a delight." Jeff muttered, once Nancy was well out of hearing range. 

Steve's entire chest heaved in a sigh, swaying slightly backwards as if the entire confrontation had physically drained him. 

"She's trying to help.” Steve muttered softly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She's just...coming at it wrong." 

He turned, seeming to finally notice that all of Hellfire was there. "What are you all doing out here anyway?" 

"Rescuing you." Grant informed him. 

"From Nancy and Jonathan?"  Steve said in disbelief. 

Like Byers hadn't supposedly kicked his ass already. Nevermind the moping Wheeler had caused. 

(The entire school had witnessed the moping. 

It was, after all, part of what had drawn Eddie to Steve.) 

"Yes." Tiff replied bluntly. “Also if she corners you like that again, I will make it my personal mission in life to top all her test scores.” 

"I--okay." Steve blinked rapidly, clearly unsure of how to process that.

“Not that I needed rescuing,” He continued after a moment, staring at the whole group. “But why were you looking for me in the first place?” 

His voice was slowly recovering, coming out of that weird flatness it had scrunched itself into. It was an excellent sign, a sign of trust, and Gareth leapt to keep it before someone could say something stupid and fuck it up. 

"Eddie needed you to pitch his next one shot idea and couldn't wait for you to show up." Gareth admitted. “We decided to hunt you down since you were missing lunch.” 

“Oh.” Steve blinked again, and though it’d be concerning on anyone else, the guy just looked like a lost puppy. “I’m sorry man.”

“It's alright Stevie. I just thought you'd totally ditched us.” Eddie sniffed dramatically, looking like he was going to wing an arm around Steve’s shoulder but thought better of it. “No biggie.” 

He pouted, and made absolutely sure Steve could see him do it. 

“Is this you trying to get more of my M&M brownies?” Steve asked after a moment. 

“Oh my dear, sweet, athletic friend. Not at all. Instead, you are going to play the one shot I worked so hard on.” Eddie bounced his shoulder into him as he spoke.  

 It was a weird little compromise the two of them seemed to have, since Gareth had regularly witnessed Eddie ping-ponging off Steve’s shoulders. “Let us break your tabletop cherry.” 

“Or what?” Steve asked, the tiniest bit of humor peaking through. 

Eddie stared at him, abruptly still and completely serious. “I will cry, Steven. Loudly.” 

It brought a small smile to Steve’s face.

“Fine. I’ll play your dumb dweeb game.” He said, and couldn’t seem to stop the smile from overtaking his face when Eddie threw his arms in the air and cheered. 

“Come on, I’m pretty sure the bell rang forever ago.” Jeff said, as they began to venture out back to the main hallway. 

(“Hey guys?” Steve asked, right before they all split up to go to their various classes. “Thanks. For the save.”

Eddie positively beamed. “Anytime, Steve. Anytime.”) 

xXx 

“Hey Gareth?” Steve asked a few days later, joining Gareth in the library during his free period. 

(Gareth himself was skipping, because if he had to listen to yet another lesson on the Crucible he was going to declare himself a satan worshiping witch and demand to be hanged.) 

Gareth hummed to show he heard, as he carefully took stock of the loot he’d gotten from their last game. Eddie had been pretty good about it for once, and he wanted to look things over before the one shot. 

“Can I ask kind of a weird question?” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

“Shoot, Stevie.” Gareth replied, finally comfortable enough to use the main nickname Eddie had nailed the poor guy with. 

“Did Eddie give me a character with bad eyesight or “night vision” or whatever, because he thinks I have bad eyesight?” Steve’s fingers made sassy little air quotations around “night vision” because he knew damn well it wasn’t called that and didn’t want to get chewed out. 

It was appreciated, even if it was cheeky as shit. 

Gareth stopped writing. “Why’d you think that?” 

“He just keeps acting like I’m my character.” Steve replied with a shrug. “Like all that stuff we planned  about how my character gets around and relies on the group since he can’t see that great in the daylight? He does it for me too.” 

“It’s Eddie, he’s eccentric.” Gareth struggled to keep a straight face, trying not to give the game away. 

Laughing would absolutely clue Steve in to the fact that Eddie was doing it on purpose. 

“He just keeps telling me before he touches me. Outside of the game.” Steve continued, utterly baffled. 

Of course, Eddie was doing far more than that, in order to keep up the appearance that he was just being a weirdo who was too into his game. (Instead of trying to alert Steve to the fact he was going to lean on him, hug him, or do any other thing involving skin to skin contact that usually made Harrington panic.)

“If you don’t like it you should tell him,” Gareth said. He knew it was the better option, encouraging Steve to communicate. They could come up with something else if this was too weird (as frankly, many of Eddie’s plans could be. 

Bless the guy but he had a habit of going for the dramatic over the practical.) 

“No!” Steve protested, far too quickly. 

He cleared his throat with a cough, and continued in a much calmer voice, “No, I don’t wanna ruin his fun or anything.” 

As far as excuses go for letting something happen it was a weak one, but Gareth wasn’t going to call him on it. If Steve wanted to hide behind Eddie and his “fun”  then Gareth would happily pretend to buy it. 

Would buy whatever excuse Steve needed, to help make the guy feel more comfortable and like himself than the still often vacant ghost that hung around now. 

“Just wanted to know if he actually thought my eyesight sucked.” Steve finished in a mumble. 

“Well you did trip over the curb that one time.” Gareth teased playfully, and shot a grin at Harrington when that awkward look of his melted into something more offended. 

“I was walking backwards!” Steve defended, his normal, almost bitchy tone returning. 

“Uh-huh. And what about when you almost ate shit over that garbage can and Eddie had to save you?” Gareth taunted. 

He grinned, watching as a blush overtook the older boys face, Steve glancing away frantically and--

Oh. 

Oh!

'Oh-ho, ho, ho!' Gareth thought with absolute glee. The entire fucking school knew what Steve looked like when he had a crush, (Steve himself had made sure of that with Nancy) and Gareth recognized the beginning of it happening all over again.

Steve Harrington had a crush.

On Eddie.

Gareth could work with this.

“You know….” He  paused, grin turning sly as a sudden idea came to him. “If you want to mess with Eddie a little bit I have an idea.” 

Steve stared at him, confused. “Why would we want to mess with him?” 

Gareth leaned forward. “Because pranks are fun, Harrington. Legend has it you even used to do them.”  

Steve still didn't look convinced, but the nice thing about a man like Steve was that all Gareth had to appeal to was his sense of adventure. 

“Now." He clapped his hands together in a move that had very much been stolen years ago from Eddie. "How good are your acting skills?

Meant to post this yesterday but I got surprise laid off last week and that pushed me back a bit, sorries! Absolutely related, I have a Ko-Fi now lmao. It’s https://ko-fi.com/sp0o0kyghosthost 

Unemployment should go through just fine so I don’t really think I need to full panic but hey if you wanna throw me a dollar and yell “Dance writer dance!” I’ll do a lil tippy-tap jig. 

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Follow Me

Request: Can you do something like Vault 4 in the show but with Coop and the reader and how they'd react to friendly faces (or what seem like friendly faces?) A/N: This prompt GOT ME GOOD. I started out with Vault 4, scrapped that, and somehow ended with hippie Ghouls singing Uncle Kracker songs that we're pretending are original because they definitely didn't exist in the pre-war Fallout universe a totally realistic Fallout story that involves hippies and the ocean Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language Summary: You can't help but be suspicious of everyone you meet in the Wasteland, but a group of friendly, musically-inclined Ghouls just might be the exception.

Word Count: 1.9k+

(Gif Credit to @オレは強い)

“You get the caps?” 

Cooper tosses a bag tied with twine your way in response. It’s heavy, the sound of bottle caps clinking in a soft reassurance that you can afford to rest your aching body for more than just a couple nights.

“There isn’t anything in these damn dunes but sand and rocks.” You kick at the ground, “Might as well start pedaling back east.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Cooper answers. 

“Not this late. We’ll go west. Follow the coastline.”

You sigh in defeat, resigning yourself to the fate of slogging through thousands of tons of sand. 

“Problem, sweetcheeks?”

A scowl curls your lip at Cooper’s sarcastic jab. He’s already walking west into the orange halo of a setting sun. 

“Just don’t want to hike back through more miles of dunes if we don’t have to.” You mutter and follow behind him. 

If he was going to be a prick, you were at least going to use his already-irradiated body as a sun shield. 

After a substantial payout on your most recent bounty, Cooper and yourself were both ready for a break. It had been a long few months of job after job and patience was wearing thin. You’re both getting more snappy with each other as the days slip by; Cooper is more dependent on his Vials after exerting himself, and you’re plain exhausted. Sunburned, sweaty and dry all the same. It is a volatile mix of attitude and flaring tempers, both of which you and Cooper possess a staggering amount of.

The drop location for the bounty had been far west in the sand dunes, nearing the coastline. Cooper had made the drop while you sought out shelter for the night. Sought being the key word, as you’ve been hiking through sand for hours with nothing to show for it. You met back up with Cooper at the crest of a dune, where he’s huffing down a Vial and pacing like a caged animal. 

And now, you’re back on the move. 

You trail in his shadow even when the sun sinks below the sand and a full moon rises. You’re comforted by the absence of heat and creeping relief of dusk as it soothes away the day’s burns, but desperate for a reprieve from the elements. It takes you a few moments shuffling through your pack while walking to find the salve you’d mixed up months ago and slather what remains of it on your roasted cheeks. Trying to put the lid back on and not fall flat on your face is a chore, made more difficult by Cooper’s sudden stopping in front of you. 

“Damn, a little warning would be…” You trail off, looking ahead. “Nice.”

It had been years since you’d seen the ocean, and its grandeur isn’t lost on you. Waves lap at the thirsty shoreline, breaking up the moon’s silvery reflection. For miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, water dances and shifts until it mixes into a twilight sky on the horizon.

A childish bout of excitement washes over you as you observe. Only one more hill of sand separates you from the water. Cooper sighs as you weave around him and hustle towards it. 

“Don’t you get in that water, woman.” He barks, “I ain’t fishin’ you out.”

You ignore him and hike up the next dune. Forever seems to pass as you climb upwards and you curse the sand once more. You’re almost to the top, ready to make a mad dash to the water when a voice stops you. 

“Hello!” A surprisingly happy voice catches you off guard, coming from your left, “Welcome, friends!” 

Cooper is immediately on guard, pulling his pistol. The Ghoul persona steps up to bat, his face all hard edges and glaring eyes. Despite the arguing and bickering you’ve been putting each other through, his protective streak drops over you like a shield. Now at your side, he nudges a shoulder in front of you.

Ghouls can take bullets a lot easier than a human, after all.  

In the direction the voice came from, you take stock of not one but several figures in a circular camp. They’re grouped around an old cable spool that’s topped with bottles of various liquor and drinks, and they move to the twang of what you think is an old guitar. A small fire crackles next to the table. The guitar chords reach your ears in slow waves, an inviting tune that makes you want you go down and dance with them 

The figure who’d called out is closer, hands held up in a placating manner. You’re surprised to note the familiar lack of a nose and wrinkled skin that labels him a Ghoul. He’s apparently younger than Cooper - as most Ghouls are- with skin a little less warped and blonde hair that still seems to grow rather wall from his scarred scalp.

“Woah there, brother. Take it easy.” 

Cooper doesn’t relent. “We ain’t here to make friends. Just passin’ through.”

There’s something about this stranger that’s genuine. That’s not to say you haven’t met real, genuine people in the Wasteland, but kindness is something found few and far between these days. You've met a few Ghouls outside of Cooper, most of which are inherently more friendly due their outcasting from a lot of the major settlements. They’re usually chatty, comforted by the sight of a smooth-skin traveling and being in close quarters with another of their own kind.

Your Ghoul, though, is less willing to accept friendship on the fly. 

“It’s not about the destination, folks. It’s about the journey.” He pauses, “And the people you meet.”

You blink at him and turn to Cooper, who snorts. “Well ain’t that sweet.”

“Listen brother, I know life is rough out there but I swear- we’re just here to enjoy what we can.” He motions over to the camp, where another male Ghoul is picking the guitar and laughing with the others.There’s no weapons lying about, and a clear line of sight in every direction.

A smile pulls at your lips, and you place one hand on Cooper’s forearm. The music is washing away any sort of hesitation you had, reinforcing the desire for rest. 

“Sorry, my partner here is a little paranoid. We wouldn’t mind stopping.” 

It takes a few moments of convincing (half of them being threats of physical violence) for Cooper to stand down. You’re fairly certain he knows these Ghouls are harmless, but can’t escape the suffocating paranoia that comes along with two hundred years of Wastelanding.

Shortly thereafter, you're introduced to the ragtag group, sharing only your first names and settling your things against the side of an overturned car that only has half of the roof sticking up from the sand. Kevin, Phil, Desiree, Cody and Mallorie regale you with their stories, about leaving the major settlements for a life on the road and somehow being happy and relatively unscathed by Wasteland violence. 

Through it all, Cooper is predictably standoffish, amber eyes shooting daggers into anyone that gets too close.

Which, with this group, is everyone. 

They aren’t just friendly, but physical, rubbing your shoulders and patting you on the back. One of the female Ghouls braids your hair while Cooper sits stock still across the firepit. They attempt to make conversation with him, most of which ends with no response. You scowl at his rudeness each time, and nudge his shoulder to prompt one word responses once you’re returned to his side of the fire. 

“So, where are you folks headed?” The female Ghoul who’d braided your hair inquires. 

Cooper is quiet beside you, cigarette dangling from between his lips. 

“Not sure.” You answer, glancing to your side to look at the ocean. “We kind of just... Move. Wherever we can find work, we go.”

“A shame that we’re still slaves to money after being nuked.” Phil, who’s been strumming on the guitar since you joined, speaks up. “You’d think everyone could just be peaceful now.”

And that statement actually gets a reaction from Cooper. It’s a snort, but a reaction nonetheless.

“Ain’t nobody peaceful out here.” Cooper stubs his cigarette out on the rotted metal of the car, “Everybody wants somethin’. Money, drugs, power.”

“Guns.” You add, lighting your own cigarette. 

“Not us.” Desiree, the very same that braided your hair, looks around the group, “We left all of that. All we want is peace.”

While it was a nice thought, you’d seen too much to ever believe it was true. The Wasteland truly metamorphosizes people, and not always in a good way. There’s always someone clamoring to be the newest leader, the brightest glow of hope for the world. 

“True that, sister.” Phil lifts his drink and the group follows, toasting to her words. “And to our new friends, I hope you can find peace someday.”

You smile in spite of your own thoughts, raising the cigarette in your hand in a lazy nod to their previous toast. The group cheers once again and lifts their drinks towards the sky. You bump playfully into Cooper’s shoulder, and your Ghoul stares at you from under the brim of his dirty hat. His eyes are narrowed and you know deep down he’ll never be able to escape the grip the Wasteland has on his heart, but that doesn’t mean you won’t try your damndest to get a smile out of him. 

“I got something the cowboy will like.” Phil pats his guitar as if it’s a shiny new car, “I dabble in the country genre.”

Cooper tilts his head back and steals the cigarette from between your fingers. “This oughta be good. You gonna regale us with some Johnny Cash this evenin’?”

Kevin pipes up then, smoothing out his blonde locks. “No Johnny Cash here, man. Phil’s got some original stuff. We call it ‘new age’ country.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Cooper finishes your cigarette, and starts working on lighting a second to make up for it. “Let’s hear it.”

The sarcasm drips heavy from his voice, and you resist the ever-so-common urge to slap him for his rudeness. You’re plucking the newly-lit cigarette from scarred fingers when Phil starts strumming the guitar again, now in a slow beat that immediately makes you think of the ocean swirling behind you. It’s a melody far different than that of the Wasteland radio stations, something new and creative that sends an excited tingle up your spine. You nod your head with each note, nudging the Ghoul beside you. He takes a long swig of whiskey, watching your swaying out of the corner of his eye. 

“You don't know how you met me, you don't know why

You can't turn around and say goodbye.”

Happy to have something cheery  in the sprawling hellscape you’re forced to live in, your smile cracks wider. Cooper is watching Phil now too, one hand resting on his thigh and the other loosely gripping his whiskey. 

“Follow me, everything is alright. 

I’ll be the one to tuck you in at night. 

And if you want to leave, I can guarantee

You won't find nobody else like me.”

Warmth washes over you at the lyrics and you lean into Cooper’s side. He shifts around to make it comfortable for you, and the fingers of that arm find your hip. Phil keeps crooning into the night, lulling your eyes shut as your cigarette turns to ash. Your eyes flutter when Cooper takes another swig of liquor, sweeping over the group. Everyone’s swaying to the tune, singing along and dancing. It’s not until you move to settle back down that movement catches your eye and a shit-eating grin spreads across your face. 

Cooper’s boot just so happens to be tapping along with the beat.

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[gallavichsreddie1128]

You Belong With Me (Patrick Zweig)

Description: Y/N is in love with Patrick but is convinced he doesn’t feel the same

Word Count: 2,007k

Author’s Note: Please send in requests! I have a few that I’m working on right now but I’m open to whatever

Y/N was in love with Patrick Zweig. She has been since they first met. She met him and Art at a Tennis game and they became close friends. They were a trio and everyone knew it. There was even rumors that they were all fucking each other but unfortunately that wasn’t true. Patrick loved sleeping around but the idea of fucking Y/N never seem to cross his mind. Art saw how Y/N looked at Patrick and he knew that she loved him. Y/N was super jealous anytime that Patrick got a girlfriend or bragged about hooking up with someone. Anytime she’d ask him why he was telling her any of this he just told her that “you’re one of the guys.” That hurt.

She had to hide back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes as she gave him a fake smile. He never saw her like that. It got so much worse when Tashi Duncan came into their lives. Both boys were swooning over her and it made Y/N jealous. Tashi was nice to Y/N though. She teased her about her friendship with both guys but never had any ill feelings towards her. Patrick and Art reassured Tashi that y/n was just a friend after the homewrecker comment. Y/N had to hide her jealousness and sadness hearing about the night the three of them had together. Patrick wouldn’t shut up about it but like a good friend Y/N just told him that was crazy and awesome for him.

“Yeah she said whoever won our tennis game could get her number.” Y/N hoped that he lost it. He didn’t and thus began Tashi and Patrick’s relationship. Y/N watched them be all lovey dovey while her and Art were seething. Art had it bad for Tashi and y/n wasn’t oblivious to it. Y/N and Art went to Tashi’s game together and waited for Patrick. “Where is he?” Y/N asked. Art decided to text him and got a response back moments later. “They are fighting so he’s not coming.” Y/N sorta felt happy that they were fighting but she knew that was wrong.

She could see on Art’s face that he felt the same way. Y/N gasped as Tashi broke her knee. Her and Art got up immediately and ran to her. Her cries and screams sounded awful and Y/N felt so bad. Her and Art sat with her when Patrick arrived. Tashi screamed at him to get out but he wouldn’t listen so Art did, “Get out Patrick.” Patrick looked at them and looked at Y/N. She opened her mouth but words didn’t come so he walked out. Y/N debated on going after him but knew it wasn’t right. She would have to talk to him later. “Why didn’t you say anything in the room?” He asked her as he showed up to her room.

She wanted to scream that she loved him and she was tired of being one of the guys but didn’t. “I don’t know. Everything just happened so fast.” She said softly. “He wants her, you know that right?” “What?” “Art wants her so he caused all of this.” Y/N looked at him confused. “What do you mean Art caused this?” “The whole reason we were fighting was because of Art and cuz I suck at Tennis?” Y/N was shocked that Art would be the cause. Did Tashi like Art? “You don’t suck at Tennis.” She tells him. He smiles but shakes his head. “According to her I do.” “Well she’s wrong.” Y/N thought that he was great at Tennis. Art and him kinda had a fallout after that but Y/N still kept in contact especially since they all went to the same college and even after that.

Patrick was a mess that Y/N had to clean up constantly. “Thanks for being here.” He says to her as they drive to a hotel. “No problem.” “Are you sure you don’t mind paying? I’ll pay you back as soon as I get the money.” She laughs and shakes her head. “All good.” They got to the hotel and y/n paid. Y/N had a big girl job and never went pro in Tennis but still made a lot of money. “Are you hungry?” She asked as they got to the hotel room. “Yeah, a lot.” “Let’s go get some food then.” She said. While they were getting food she got a text from Tashi that told her they would be at the challengers. Y/N jaw dropped and looked up at Patrick who was scarfing down the food they got.

“So I have some news and I don’t know if you’re going to like it.” She says. He looks at her with a mouth full of food. He motions for her to keep talking. “Art is going to be there. Playing against you.” Patrick almost chokes on his food. “What?” He asked, Y/N nodded. “Tashi just texted me.” Y/N was excited to see her old friends. Patrick wasn’t. “Girl it’s so good to see you.” Tashi said and hugged her old friend. Y/N hugged her back and said the same. “Hi Y/N.” Art said and hugged her. “I missed you both so much.” “Did Tashi tell you that I was here?” Art asked, not knowing that Patrick was here. “Yes.” Y/N gulped. Neither of them knew of Patrick’s presence. “Awesome! I’m glad you came. I have to go practice.” He said and walked away.

Tashi looked at Y/N suspecting something. She never was good at hiding anything. “What is it?” Tashi asked. Y/N looked at her and shrugged. “I just can’t believe you guys are here.” Tashi raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s here isn’t he?” Y/N nodded and Tashi rolled her eyes. “He was here before you guys were. I got your text at the hotel.” She told her. “Art’s gonna freak out and think that I planned it all.” “I don’t think Art’s gonna think that.” Y/N tried telling her. “We gotta keep them away from each other.” Y/N agreed. Patrick won all of the rounds leading up to the finales as did Art. For the most part they hadn’t seen each other but knew that they were there. As Y/N and Patrick were drinking and talking he kept looking away from her and staring at something else.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him and he snapped out of it. “Nothing.” He lied. Y/N looked behind her and saw Tashi. She looked back at him with a “really?” face. He sighed, “She’s married.” Y/N exclaimed. He nodded and understood but still got up to go talk to her. Y/N could tell that the conversation wasn’t a pleasant one. Tashi seemed annoyed and when Patrick came to sit back down he told her, “She wants me to stay away from Art.” “I do too.” He looked at his best friend, “What?” She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Patrick it’s not good for you guys to be around each other and for you to be all over her still.” “I’m not all over her!” “Patrick, yes you are. You have to let her go.” She was right. “I asked her to be my coach.” Y/N’s jaw dropped. “You did not?” He nodded his head. “I did and I think she might do it.” Y/N sighed, “You’re a dumbass.” She breathes out. “It could be good for me,Y/N.” She knew that Patrick wanted her and it disgusted her. She sighed and shook her head, “I don’t know what’s good for you, Patrick.” Though that night he got exactly what he wanted.

With a price of course that he wasn’t even sure he was going to do. “I want you to lose.” Tashi said to him. He wanted to laugh in her face but he also wanted to fuck her so he was in between. “I’ll do it.” He ended up telling her but there was always a I’ll do it but you have to do…with Patrick. So when it was all said and done Tashi looked up at him. “She loves you, you know.” He looked down at the woman with confusion written all over his face. “Who?” She rolled her eyes. “Y/N.” Patrick didn’t believe that, not even for a second. “Yeah right.” He said and pushed Tashi off him the best that he could.

She sat up and huffed. “I know it’s ridiculous that she loves someone like you but it’s true.” “And you fucked me? Knowing this.” “I’m not her best friend, you are.” He sat up as well. “Okay let’s say that you’re right. Why haven’t I noticed?” She looked at him like he was stupid. “Cuz you’re stupid.” He took in her words as they sat in his car. Was his best friend really in love with him? “Why hasn’t she told me yet? It’s been 15 years.” “Cuz Patrick you’ve been with girl after girl. She doesn’t think you feel the same way.” 

He got back to the hotel around 2:30 am. Y/N sat on the bed waiting for him. He opened the door to be greeted by her. “Where were you?” She asked in a whisper. “Out.” She rolled her eyes, “clearly but what were you doing?” “Tashi wants me to throw the competition.” He ignores her question. She sighed. “Of course you were with her. Patrick she’s married she doesn���t need you to fuck things up for her.”

“You act like she didn’t call me to hook up.” Y/N stood up from the bed. “She what? You what?” He rolled his eyes. “We had sex okay? But only so I would lose tomorrow.” “Patrick, that's not okay at all. That’s really shitty.” “You know what else is shitty? Not telling your best friend that you’ve been in love with him for 15 years.” Her eyes widened at his words. “What?” She whispered. “You’re in love with me and you’ve been for 15 years!” She breathed out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.

“I am. But I shouldn’t be. I mean you’re a bum, Patrick. And it seems like you use me and even though I know I shouldn’t. I do and I would die for you, Patrick. But you love her and you always have and you always will. I’m just one of the guys to you.” She had tears in her eyes as she said those things. Patrick looked at her, “you really feel that way about me?” He asked. “Yes but I still love you. I’ll always love you Patrick Zweig.” She said. He walked up to her and cupped her face. The tears that were falling from her face landing on his hand. “I’m such an idiot.” “What?” He kissed her, hard and full of passion.

She kissed him back like she waited 15 years for this kiss. Standing in the room, in the moonlight as they moved their lips together until they need air. “But Tashi. You love her.” He shook his head. “No I don’t.” He said and kissed her again. This time they fall onto the bed not breaking the kiss. She moved to straddle him, not breaking the kiss. His hands moved up her back and hers placed on his chest. She moved to cup his jaw and deepened the kiss.

This was a dream come true for her. No matter how shitty he was, she would always love him. She pulled away from the kiss and started kissing his neck. “Wait stop.” He said and she pulled away, confused. “What’s wrong?” She asked. “You don’t deserve this.” She stared at him with the same look. “I want to take you on a date before we have sex.” She was shocked by his words. Patrick was never known to be a date guy. “After I win tomorrow. I will take you out.” “So you aren't throwing it?” He shook his head. “Hell No.” He said, making her laugh. “And if you lose?” “I’ll still take you out.” “You’ll pay?” He nodded and kissed her again. “I’ll pay.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price takes Nikolai to a gig and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: sexual content towards the end.

Price stood on the outskirts in the standing area of Liverpool's Olympia stadium tracing back the decisions that had led him to this moment. He clutched half a pint of the worst lager he had ever tasted in one hand, his fingers bending the plastic inwards under a tense grip, while the other hand remained deep in the pocket of his jeans, turning his flat keys over and over.

Nik had thrown the flyer down on his desk about a month ago, and those big brown eyes had been turned onto their pleading setting immediately. Laswell likened them to the eyes of her barrel-shaped black Labrador; big, loyal, soft, irresistible. Price had asked her whether her wife knew there would soon be a third in their marriage and she'd thumped his arm hard enough to leave a mark. "Liverpool, this is where you live," Nik had said, stating rather than asking. "Can you help me book this?"

Nikolai could fix you a handgun in Liverpool no problem, replete with silencer and enough hollow point ammunition to create a very bad night for the Merseyside police force, but booking and attending a gig was apparently too much. Price had snagged up the flyer, squinted at the band name as if he had a chance in hell of recognising it, and then agreed.

Because why the fuck not? Brass were pressuring him to book some leave so they could tick the 'monitoring mental health and well being' box on his performance management, so it was as good excuse as any. You can kip on my sofa, he'd said, I can cook a better sarnie than the Premier Inn.

Nik's entire face had lit up. "Good! And you can come with me," a single beat of breath, "or I might get lost." There has been no time to argue the point because Garrick had knocked and entered, only to be scooped into a hug with a boomed, "Gaz, my brother, good to see you!" and the Russian-shaped whirlwind had disappeared.

So Price had done just that. He'd booked two tickets at the same time as his annual leave - three days should get them off his back - and put it out of his mind.

Not that there would have been much time to mull it over; they shipped out on a week long recon mission the following day, and the fallout that followed had taken up the rest of the time. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the train with Nik opposite, watching the British countryside sprint by in a blur of green and grey, drinking a beer and playing cards.

Being around Nik was easy. It wasn't just that he didn't take up energy to entertain, or require a certain mask from Price, it was more than that. Like he slotted into a part of Price's psyche built precisely for him, and Price felt happier when he was there. Laswell said it was like Nik removed the stick from Price's arse as part of his exfil service and Price had told Laswell to fuck off.

They had spent the afternoon mooching around Price's gaff. Not much to see really, but Nik had been fascinated by the dusty family photos on Price's wall and asked after every face; mother, father, sister, two nieces, a nephew, grandparents. He'd wanted to know about them all.

Then, with an hour and a half to go before Olympia's doors opened, they'd got changed for the evening. Price had thrown on the only shirt he owned that didn't come from the bargain bin of a Mountain Warehouse or the Army Surplus catalogue - a Ralph Lauren his sister has bought him one Christmas instead of the much preferred fishing-themed memorabilia - and stepped out to be confronted by Nik in a Slayer cut off tank that showed off the sides of his torso in a way that made Price feel hot under his designer collar.

"You look," Nik had said, studying Price carefully, head tilting to the side with a wry little smirk, "ill-prepared."

"And you look like Ozzy Osbourne took some steroids so I reckon it evens out." Nik had laughed at that and thumped Price's chest, and in the next moment they were sitting in the back of a taxi, Nik talking through the set list with the same excited gusto he did when pawing over a new bird in the hanger. Price was just glad he had remembered his Loop earplugs and couldn't help but smile along at Nik's excitement.

After drinking together through the support band and watching Nik grow gradually more and more restless, Price had sent him into the pit. He stood watching Nik from afar - "your shirt is too nice, captain, you stay here and finish your beer, I'll be back," - a man ten years his senior, orchestrate what the lead singer was calling a Wall of Death. More, more, further. Don't be a pussy! And then they sprinted at each other to the crescendo of a shredding guitar. Jesus fucking christ. Price lifted his lager to drink and then hesitated; he was pretty sure he'd felt something wet slosh over his face and shoulders, into his drink, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't piss, so he put his inordinately expensive and shit lager down on the nearby bar.

The last gig he had been to was at fifteen, a year before he joined the service. 3rd November 2000 at Wembley in London; the Smashing Pumpkins. He remembered it so clearly because of the hiding his father had given him for not only hitchhiking his way to London, but stumbling home off his head on cheap vodka the morning after. There hadn't been any Walls of Death at the time.

Nik stumbled out of the melee that had followed the wall's demise just as the song ended, and a line formed down the centre of Price's brow. A knot twisted in his belly, and a little further down, at the lumbering mess of a man that approached. His tank clung to the curves of his chest, darkened with sweat, his usually neat hair ruffled and erratic, the sheen on his arms and collar bones reflecting the strobe lights and drawing Price's eye. A shiver of something that felt far too fucking much like longing ran down his spine.

"You're bleeding," Price said dumbly, his throat tight. His gaze settled on the split in Nik's lip and the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone.

"Eh," Nik huffed, wiping a smear of blood on the back of his hand. "The other guy looks worse." There was that feral little grin. The same grin Nikolai wore in the field when shit had gone Pete Tong but they had still come up golden through sheer grit, dumb luck and the precise application of violent savagery. It set a fire in Price's chest, made something feral and untamed rouse from slumber, and suddenly there was an itch beneath his skin.

"Damn fuckin' right," Price replied, reflecting Nik's grin back at him. A breath passed between them, something unspoken and wild as their eyes met. And then there was a strong hand gripping his jaw, another on his hip, pushing him into the wall behind him. His back hit home, knocking the air from his lungs, and his fists bunched in the sweat-soaked material of Nik's shirt as Nik's lips pushed to his. The coppery taste of blood mixed with cheap beer and cigar smoke, and every sane thought fell out of Price's head, replaced instead by a maelstrom of chaos centered around the feel of Nik's tongue, the softness of his lips, the demand of his teeth and the rock hard bulge that ground into Price's hips.

Price was sure his moan would have been audible but for the thump and scream of the music. Nik kept that grip on his jaw as he damn near plundered Price's mouth for what he wanted, but the other hand left his hip to push against the wall, clenched in a fist near Price's head. When they pulled apart, Price sucked in a strangled gasp of air and Nik pushed his face into the scruff of Price's beard. "Ty prekrasen," Nik breathed, "ya tebya hochu."

Price had been practicing Russian. He still couldn't read it, but even if he hadn't understood the words or the low growl in Nik's voice, the hunger in Nik's kiss on his neck would have communicated his meaning just fine. "Bloody hell," Price arched against the hard line of Nik's body, fists shaking. "Yeah. Fuck. Wait..." He shoved Nik away, just a fraction, but held onto his shirt with the same desperation. Caught in the conflict between what he wanted and another part of him that had been wounded once before. "I'm not your three a.m. shag, Nik. We clear? I don't do that. If this is--if this is what this is, then no, look at me, you hear?"

Nik let out a burst of a chuckle, eyes soft as he met Price's gaze. "John, you are and always will be my everything." He was drunk enough to struggle around the 'J' in Price's name, defaulting the zsho- inflection, but his eyes were clear as he said it.

"Fuck," Price responded, eyes wide, and Nik kissed him again, slower this time. When he stopped, Price was shaking.

"And you?" Nik breathed into his lips.

"Not here, not... I can't hear myself fucking think."

"Then home." Nik pulled him from the wall and soon they were navigating the corridors crowded with drunks and staff into the night. The cool air bristled over Price's skin, but it did little to cool the heat in his body, barely able to keep his hands off of Nik when they fell into the back of the cab. Nik sat contentedly, the backs of his fingers stroking up and down Price's forearm as he watched the city speed by.

Price's hands shook as he shoved the key in the door of his flat, and he turned just in time to be crowded across the threshold by Nik's chest. The door slammed shut and they tumbled onto the beaten up old sofa padded out with a spare duvet and pillow. Nik tore into Price's clothes remorselessly, thirty-ish quids worth of buttons skittered under Price's coffee table as the shirt was k.i.a. It didn't matter, because the feeling of Nik devouring his chest, scrubbing his stubble into sweat, hair and cologne with a deep, guttural groan, was worth every shirt Price owned and then some.

They fumbled and wrestled out of their clothes in search of skin. Nik worked his way down Price's body, wrenching his jeans and boxers over his thighs to lick a long stripe up the hard line of his prick before swallowing it in one. A strangled noise broke from Price's chest as he buried a fist in Nik's hair; the responding moan that vibrated in Nik's throat sent pleasure licking up Price's spine like tongues of flame. Nik kept him teetering on the brink, pulling away with a soft pop to work his way back up Price's body and squirm out of the baggy cargo shorts far enough to free his own cock. He took them both in one big hand and rutted forward, grabbing at the arm of the sofa behind Price's head for purchase.

Slicked by their precum and Nik's saliva, Nik fucked them both into his palm with enough pace and force to make the old sofa creak. He leaned down to kiss the moans and whimpers from Price's mouth in between growled pants of want, slipping in and out of Russian, English and some of the other eight languages he knew, like his brain had short-circuited and was spinning out. Fuckin' hot, is what it was. One of Price's hands joined Nik's, if only to feel the silky iron of his prick against another part of him. He squeezed tighter as his pleasure crested, balls pulling tight, and spilled between them.

Nik practically fucking purred with delight, thrusting against Price's spent cock until he grunted in discomfort before pulling away. No fucking way Price was letting him keep the upper hand; he snagged Nik's shorts and used them to yank him up until Nik's cum-slick cock hung over his face. His palm gripping one plentiful arse cheek, he sucked Nik into the back of his mouth, encouraging him to thrust in with a firm squeeze and low growl.

If Price had thought Nik had been loud before, the act of fucking Price's face had unearthed a whole new vocal range. Nik moaned, growled and panted like an animal, fisting Price's hair as his balls settled against the bristles on Price's chin. Price's throat spasmed, his chest ached, his damn eyes watered, but fuck he wanted Nik buried in him forever. His fingernails bit into the flesh of his arse, his spent cock flicking with interest across his belly, as Nik staked his claim. It took only a handful of deep thrusts before Nik hit his peak, buried to the hilt and spilling down Price's throat with a euphoric shout.

His grip loosened in Price's hair and he withdrew slowly, cock still twitching as it drew over Price's tongue. He replaced his prick with his mouth, kissing the taste of himself on Price's swollen lips with a bone deep moan, before lapping at the tear tracks on Price's cheeks.

At some point, Nik must have moved them to the bed, because Price resurfaced from his haze with his face on a thick, furry chest and a strong arm around his shoulders, the bedsheets draped up to their waist. Nik traced vague circles on Price's bicep, half lidded eyes unfocused as they stared at the ceiling. "I meant it," Nik said, clearly sensing Price's return from his post-fuck delirium. "Everything I said."

Price swallowed hard. How did you respond to that? Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for Nik's devotion. "I know," he murmured. "I... Me too. For a long time."

Nik shifted, rolling Price onto his back so he could look down into his eyes. "Then we make it work."

"Nik... Our lives, we... Shit could go upside down real bloody quick."

A finger pressed over his lips. "I specialise in upside down, captain."

"You just put your prick in my throat and you're still going with captain."

Nik shrugged, lopsided grin slipping back into place. "It is hot. Maybe I will fuck you in your uniform next time, hm?"

"Presumptuous, Nik..."

"Maybe over your desk." Nik sank down to kiss Price's neck.

"Cleaning lady would have somethin' to say about that."

"She is not invited. I do not share." A nip against his throat, and Price arched into Nik's chest.

"Fuck, okay... Mate, you're rabid."

"Hm, only for you."

Fuck. Only for you. Price closed his eyes as Nik's hand slid beneath the blanket. Yeah, fine, they could make this work. They could have this. They deserved it, this one thing, and fuck did Price want it bad.

[danikamariewrites]

Take Them All Down (part 2)

Rhys x reader

A/n: First off, I am so sorry this is months later. I did not realize I wrote part 1 in freaking October until I reread it for a refresher. Like no wonder so many of you asked me about part 2! There will not be a part 3 (so sorry if you have your hopes up for that after reading this).

Warnings: blood, violence, and eventual fluff

The throne room filled quickly. You couldn’t pick out faces even if you wanted to. Looking down you see the unlucky prince you had grabbed in your rage was Eris. The only surprise you showed at his fear was a raise of your eyebrow.

Seeing ghosts scares people. Eris isn’t immune to that.

The crowd parts, letting Beron. When he sees you with a sword to his heirs bleeding throat he pales. “Everyone out!” Beron roars. The room empty’s in seconds. Leaving the three of you alone.

“You,” Beron says cooly, raising a shaking finger at you. “You, are supposed to be dead.”

——

Rhys hasn’t broken his stride or acknowledged his family since the cemetery. Ripping open his closet door and donning his leathers Cassian finally grabs him by the shoulders, pinning him to the wall. Everyone waits with bated breath at the threshold of the bedroom. Azreil stands between the family and his brothers to absorb any fallout.

“Rhysand! Stop! By the fucking Cauldron, what do you mean she is not dead?” Cassian’s booming voice causes even Azriel to take a step back. But Rhys stands strong. Mirth dancing in his eyes. “The bond never broke,” he said with that haunting laugh and even more troubling smile.

“I have felt nothing since Hybern. The bond it…it’s just been waiting for y/n to wake up.” Cassian let go, his face pale. Instead of being angry he wanted answers. He was beyond confused at how you could possibly be alive. They saw your body, watched as your coffin was buried!

“What’s the plan Rhys?” Azriel asked, a slight shake in his usually calm voice. Another haunting laugh leaves Rhys’ lips. “Eris has been screaming in my head for an hour. She went right to the Autumn Court. My vengeful wife, HA!” Azriel and Cassian look at each other. Then it clicked.

Beron had found your body.

He had been the one to alert everyone, even brought Rhys over to you.

As if he was reading their minds Rhys began to voice their train of thought, “Beron saw an opportunity at the end of the war and took it. The instability of everything. He needed to take me out of the equation first before taking out any of the other courts. ‘Killing’ y/n was the way to go. Smart. He wants Prythian. Wants to be High King and for that he needs all the courts to rely on him. He has been creating problems that only he and his court can solve.

“I’ve been in contact with Kallius and Helion over the last few weeks. After Amren’s last meeting with the governors I knew it was Beron. Without us and trying to keep their courts alive it’s been a mess.” “So you are aware the court is struggling?” Amren interjects. Anger rolling from her tiny body in waves. Rhys turns to look at her. His face sympathetic and guilty. “I know you’ve been doing everything I should be. And I am so sorry. I should have never shut down like that. But I couldn’t…”

Cassian claps a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “We understand, brother.” Had it been any of them Rhys would be doing the same thing his family was doing.

“I’ve reached out to Kall and Helion. They are meeting us in Autumn soon. Get ready to go.” His brothers nod, leaving Rhys to prepare for what awaits him in Autumn.

——

Back in the throne room you stall Beron. You want him to continue his tirade, letting all his anger out so you can deflect it right back at him. When he paused you dug your blade deeper into Eris’ throat. He held back his wince. Knowing the punishment from his father would be worse than loosing his head.

Before you could open your mouth to retaliate the bond in your chest stirred. You felt everything all at once. Anger, relief, love, and grief.

Rhysand.

He knows. He came for you.

Surprise shines in your eyes. Looking down at Eris he meets your gaze, his own amber eyes screaming ‘I did this. I told him. Please let me go.’

Dropping the sword from his neck Eris breathed out a sigh of relief. “Go,” you growl at him. He scrambles off the dias, deciding that leaving you and his father alone would be best. He dashes for the large double doors. Your eyes never leaving his back until Eris disappears from view.

You need to stall longer. Although you can feel Rhys again he’s far. Probably just winnowing to the border of the court.

Making a show of bringing your sword up to your eyes to inspect Eris’s blood slowly dripping down the sharp edge. You wipe it off on the skirt of your dress. Looking down at the swishing black fabric you notice how dirty and tattered it is. You don’t know if it’s from being buried for so long or pulling yourself out of your grave. Maybe it’s both.

The memory of waking up in the pitch black and digging yourself out flash through your mind. You want to drop to your knees and cry until you have no tears left. A pulse of love comes down the bond full force. It gives a you a renewed strength as you stare down Beron. Soon, it promised. Soon you could do all of that in Rhys’ arms.

Lifting your sword you point it at Beron. “We have a score to settle, asshole.” He smirks at you. Reaching out he pulls his sword from thin air. Sweeping into a ready stance. Beron curls his fingers, beckoning you forward. “Let’s see if the dead can fight.”

You run toward him, letting a cry rip from deep in your chest. You are going to kill this motherfucker.

The two of you keep clashing. Metal against metal ringing throughout the throne room. Slash after slash you finally feel the adrenaline wearing off. You’re weak and can feel he’s gaining the upper hand. Beron backs you toward the dias.

With a mighty swing Beron has you down. Your back hits the wooden stairs. Wasting time trying to recover, Beron stomps over, kicking your sword from your hand. Beron pushes his heavy boot against your open hand. You scream at the feel of your fingers cracking between his weight and the wood. He lets out a cruel cackle. “This time, I’m going to kill you for real.”

Beron raises the menacing blade. Ready to strike right through your heart. Closing your eyes you brace yourself for impact. It never comes.

The doors explode. You take a risk and move your eyes off Beron to see who has barged in. Rhys, those gorgeous wings on display. He’s flanked by Azriel and Cassian. Kallius and Viv with Mor at her side. Helion and his general. Beron must’ve done something to really piss off three High Lords while you were buried.

Everything went by in a blur. All you could do was watch. Rhys could’ve easily fought Beron on his own but it seemed like they each wanted a piece of him. Near the end Eris comes racing in, his neck bandaged. It’s an easy fight in the end.

Eris brings his father to his knees. Broken and bruised, he surrenders. Eris takes control, ordering Beron to be sent to the dungeons and watched at all times. His execution would come soon. Eris didn’t want him escaping.

You feel arms around you. Jumping, you look to your side and see Rhys. You almost didn’t recognize him with the beard. There was hope twinkling in his eyes. Silver lining them as he stares at you in disbelief.

A loud cry escapes your lips as you put all your weight on your mate. Rhys says something that you don’t hear, your ears are still ringing from the explosion. Darkness consumes your vision as the throne room falls from you. You cower into Rhys’ chest hoping the light comes back.

When you feel a floor beneath you again you pull away from his chest. Looking around you find you’re back in the Town House. Home. You are finally home.

You see the family behind you, not wanting to scare you. Tears fall freely down your face. When you woke up in that box you never thought you would see them again. By some miracle the Mother decided you weren’t done living yet and gave you back.

“I knew you weren’t dead.” Rhys whispered, kissing your forehead. “I could never leave you.” You say softly, looking up at him. He smiles at you. Tears falling down his face into his beard. Bringing a hand up you run your fingers through his beard.

For someone who has been depressed it’s very well kept. “I like the beard.” Rhys laughs as he pulls you into a hug. After embracing on the floor for what feels like hours Rhys shifts so you are looking up at him again.

“I want Madja to look you over, then we can get you into a bath my love.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across your cheek. Wiping away dried mud and blood. You won’t argue with him. You can tell he just wants to take care of you. “Sounds perfect.”

[darkstarofchaos]

Hello! Another person who is incredibly frustrated with redeemed Megatron.

Me and my friends have all voiced the exact same problems and that main being that we don't ever get the before him like at all. Hints here and there but for the most part NO ONE outside of the bad guys has any bad blood towards him.

I understand not every kid show needs to be these deep emotional epics but at the same time it's still weird to me that the Autobots, who have lost countless family and friends thanks specifically to the actions of Megatron and his followers, show no sort of lingering resentment. After all, the amount of time between the war ended and the beginning of the show would be like a few hours for beings that live for millions of years.

Having the Terrans would be a great excuse to have the devil's advocate angle when other Autobots still don't feel comfortable around him. I said the same thing in my own Starscream post too about how sometimes people can't change because those around them refuse to let them.

Megatron should've felt alienated from both sides and by him not falling back into old habits and committing to staying good would've actually proved that his redemption was warranted.

I'm not asking for it to take over the show, but these little background moments. Hell, Bumblebee's attitude would've been a little bit more tolerable if you were it was coming from a place of feeling slighted pissed that the cybertronian who more or less ruined his "childhood" (I've accepted that headcanon that any given Bumblebee is basically a former child soldier) is just walking free side to side with his mentor.

The sad thing is that the first couple episodes kinda show some hints of that? Like when Optimus gives his "Roll out" bit and Megatron tells Dot he's never sure if he means him, or Bumblebee being kinda wary when he tries to call Optimus and gets Megatron (also, Megatron's matter-of-fact recounting of how he kept his soldiers in line). It wasn't enough on its own, but they could have continued the trend to show most bots are wary of him at best, or even implied that the reason some Autobots don't show up much is because they don't want to be around him. It wouldn't have taken many changes to show Megatron as fairly isolated, with maybe one or two relationships that kept him from backsliding into his old ways (his friendship with Dot works better for me because 15 years is a long time for a human, and we know he saved her life at least once).

Honestly, I was ambivalent about his "redemption" in season 1? After Jawbreaker asked him about his altmode and it turned out all he had to do to get Optimus' trust was scan an Earth alt, I pretty much gave up on getting any meaningful backstory for him, so I was resigned to him just being Generic Ex-Decepticon (and then What Dwells Within happened and he finally felt like a Megatron trying to do better to me. Not just in his interactions with Starscream, but when he interacted with Optimus and Croft too: angry, wanting to do things his way, trying to do better but slipping into old habits. If he'd been more like that throughout the show, paired with the Autobots responding appropriately to him, I would have enjoyed his character a lot more).

And then Season 2 happened. And we went the "Starscream is worse than his abuser, actually" route. And now I'm like... This is everything I do not want from a Megatron redemption. The only thing I want from a Megatron redemption is for him to face what he did to the people closest to him. Every single Megatron redemption sees him running off somewhere and leaving the Decepticons to deal with the fallout of his war, and he never has to face the people he personally hurt. And when it comes to Starscream, it's almost treated like a good thing that he hurt him, because when Megatron isn't there to "keep him in check", he's worse than Megatron ever was. And then people roll their eyes and say "Starscream is always power hungry and evil, what do you expect?" while Armada Starscream is right there, and EarthSpark Starscream in Season 1 was a hell of a lot closer to Armada than to Cyberverse.

On his own, EarthSpark Megatron was boring and a waste of potential, but not especially offensive. Paired with Starscream, and specifically Starscream as he appeared in the final episode of the latest batch, he is possibly my least favorite part of EarthSpark right now. Not as a character, but as a concept. I like Megatron, but I have no use for a redeemed Megatron who still has to believe that he's better than Starscream, and be supported in that belief by the narrative. The early scene in S2 when Megatron tells Starscream to let the war end could have been a really good character moment, because we would see that there are still things he doesn't regret, and that he truly sees himself as better than Starscream (who isn't even the one to blame for the war's continuation - I firmly believe that, since the Decepticons were the ones being hunted and locked up, it falls to Megatron and the Autobots to prove that things can be different now. And if the war is continuing, it's almost certainly because Megatron and/or the Autobots fucked up).

But instead we get, "Yeah, Megatron thinks he's a better person than Starscream. And you know what? He's right." I am so done with the abuse apologetics.

[tachimichishrine]

i’ve found someone who writes for tachi?? omg?? you’re writing is so amazing i love it! can i req an x reader where she’s like chuuya’s subordinate in the pm so she’s higher ranking than tachihara but takes an interest in him bc, hello?? who wouldn’t? so she starts to play specific moves that draw them closer together (ngl im thinking mastermind by taylor swift if yk the song) and when they’re finally dating he confesses that he knew what she was doing the whole time? aka intelligent slightly manipulative reader thinking she’s being slick abt it. thank youu!

<welcome to the corner of tumblr where we worship tachi and have no shame about it !!!!!!!!!!! OH FUCK YEAH I love this ask I love the idea and I love you, i've never heard that song before but woah it got my brain juices flowing, sorry it took centuries but here you go luv ♡>

"mastermind"

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tachihara michizou x fem! chuuya's subordinate! reader

warnings: mention of drugs/alcohol and drink spiking (dont try this at home kids) ; a little bit of gore/torture but it's one sentence ; for some reason there are some elements of kind of sort of yandere!reader that just manifested themselves grgrgr but barely i promiseee ; fluff + plot ; cursing n intended lowercase

it was the middle of the night, and your phone wouldn't stop ringing. you tried snoozing it, turning it on silent but it would keep vibrating on the night table aggressively. against your better judgement, you picked it up and took a look at the caller id.

"boss man 🤏🧍"

well, you couldn't ignore that.

"what the fuck do you want you short little shit, it's 2 in the fucking morning," you grumbled, then cleared your throat before actually pressing the green icon to pick up the line. "hello, boss. is there anything I can-"

"cut the bull, where the hell are you?"

"um, at home? sleeping?" you raised a brow that he couldn't see. "am I supposed to be somewhere?"

"you- forget about it. just get here, now."

now, he was really getting on your nerves. "get where? I can't read your mind, boss, what-"

he hung up.

you didn't have a problem with chuuya in general; he was a decent guy, sometimes. you got assigned to work under him in the fallout of his partner, the famed demon prodigy, disappearing. of course, he didn't want anything to do with you at first, and you would've felt the same if mori wasn't breathing down your neck to keep on it. so, you kept showing up on his missions a few minutes before he arrived, the information already extracted or people already beat to a pulp.

he still wouldn't budge, so you had enough of working so hard just to be his subordinate and exploded at him one day. he could barely get a word in as you yelled loudly and ranted about his inability to accept help. while he was speechless in the aftermath, you just sighed tiredly, handed him your phone number and said that you weren't going away anytime soon and you'd appreciate it if he would just let you work for him already. time passed and eventually you got his trust.

what you didn't get, however, was an explanation for why you were rushing to slide into clothing fit for the outside world and making your way to the port mafia headquarters. it was the only place he could mean, so you ran over there with guns strapped to your thighs and safety off. you had to plan for whatever the hell might've been going on, but all you saw was a nearly empty lobby.

you cursed under your breath, irritated that you busted your ass for no reason. from the corner of your eye, you found a familiar face and approached him.

"hirotsu," you walked over with a pissed expression, "do you know where chuuya is?"

"oh, chuuya isn't here. he told me he'd be sending someone to deal with it," he said following a polite nod of the head. "he needed the black lizard to perform a mission, but he's unavailable tonight. so, he said that he'd send you."

"he's unavailable?" your eyes nearly bulged straight out of your skull, but you caught the slight squint in his face. "oh. he's drunk out of his mind, isn't he?"

hirotsu nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so. mori only gave him this assignment tonight, and he was already intoxicated when he got the call. I was with him when it happened, so I suggested he call you."

"oh, he so owes me one after tonight," you chuckled, less angry now that you realized he was probably just collapsed on his couch at home and will have the worst hangover the next morning, which you could easily mock him for. well, at least that brightened your mood a little, aside from seeing the black lizard in action. you'd heard of them, ordered massacres through hirotsu but never been there to witness it. that would definitely be fun. "sooo, what exactly do I need to do? just be there or something? yell out 'fire!' like some kind of medieval war commander? 'cause I've always wanted to do that."

the old man was slightly amused by all of your excitement regarding the concept. he said that he just needed someone to be there in case, and you were technically of a higher ranking than he was. you told him that he was such a stickler for hierarchy; he retorted that you sounded like some guy he worked with named tachihara. who that was, you hadn't a clue, but you were assured he'd be there alongside another leader of the battalion.

the rest was a lot less interesting than you thought it would be. you strolled into an abandoned warehouse where the enemy was based with a small army behind you, and you stood there while they lined themselves at your side and waited for your word. you went against your inner child and ordered them to fire in a normal voice rather than a stupidly dramatic one, then you just watched the bodies fall. you glanced at the side to see hirotsu, who was intently scanning his surroundings to make sure there were no tricks. by his side, you saw a masked person and another man who was half-asleep, leaning against the wall.

you fell hard to the sound of gunshots.

maybe it was the way his entire body leaned onto the worn concrete, the way his foot was flattened against the wall and his hips slumped lopsidedly, the way his v-neck plunged down his chest from under his coat, the way his jaw sat tight and clenched despite his slender neck bending backwards to rest the weight of his head behind him. you pulled your gaze off of him since you were afraid of staring, but everyone was already dead and hirotsu was commanding the nameless suits back to hq. the man opened one eye - fuck, they were a glossy amber, some of the prettiest you'd ever seen - and scoffed while he followed them out. he walked like a textbook delinquent, hands in his pockets with awful posture, and you just watched him.

shit, what just happened? you exchanged some brief words with hirotsu as he thanked you for showing up, but all went over your head. you blurted out the question before you could think twice.

"which one of them was tachihara? out of the two who came with us. since, y'know, you were mentioning him earlier..." since, y'know, you couldn't get the picture of your mystery man out of your head and you needed to know his name.

following the affirmation that it was indeed the man with the bandage on his face, you at least had a name as you flopped back into bed at 5 in the morning. you didn't sleep, and you sure as hell couldn't get your heart to stop beating so fast.

something had unhinged inside of you, and all you knew was that you were going to have him.

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"boss, what'd'ya want me to do to 'em?" you yawned, half-asleep as you sat next to the hungover mafioso who was holding some kind of mystery drink in his hand while the other shielded his eyes from the light of day. you came over to his apartment - something which you knew he hated but was in no position to protest right now - and were simultaneously nursing him back to health and being a pain in his ass. "if word gets out that we annihilated the organization but two of their executives are still alive, our rep would take a hit."

"can you shut the fuck up," he groaned, body slumping further onto his fancy kitchen counter while you continued to laugh internally at him and his slightly pathetic situation.

"look, boss, I'll tell you what," you leaned down to his crouched over height and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder, "I'll take care of it. the whole thing. I just need your permission to grab the black lizard if I need 'em for support, but I can make sure it all goes away. and you can just sit today out and spend all day in bed if that's what you want. how does that sound, boss?"

he grumbled and passed out again; you took that as a yes.

you smiled to yourself as you picked up the unconscious body bridal-style, walked over to his bedroom and set him down. he complained loudly in undefined slurring, but you just shushed him and tucked him in under the covers. he was still trying to argue with you when you removed his hat, placed it at his bedside and then gently kissed his forehead and wished him a good nap. it was a little ironic just how much your boss felt like an uncontrollable younger sibling, but you would never say it to his face as you enjoyed the use of your unfractured limbs.

you tiptoed your way out of the apartment and the building, despite being fairly certain that not even an earthquake could disturb his slumber, with parts and pieces of your plan coming together. what you said was true, you did need to take care of those surviving executives. but you didn't really need the black lizard.

you only needed him.

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tachihara heard a gentle cocking of the gun as you glanced in his direction, waiting confirmation that he was indeed ready to storm the facility. you had managed to track down the runaways and corner them in their hideout, and decided you'd call for "backup"; you asked hirotsu for someone who was good with guns and mid-range fighting, since you knew that if you didn't specify, you might end up with the other commander of the black lizard. you didn't like leaving things to chance.

you tilted your head to the side, giving the signal for him to go ahead and sneak down the next hallway. he was eerily good on his feet, light steps as if he were made to be a spy. you did a lot of infiltration work on chuuya's behalf (his face - rather, his short frame - were too easily recognizable on the streets), and every second got you thinking of ways to subtly suggest to him that he provide backup once more on any one of your numerous infiltration missions.

for his part, tachihara didn't seem to be noticing all the coincidences lately. he didn't appear particularly deft or clueless, just indifferent as if he truly couldn't care less. instead of a faint pang in the backrooms of your heart, you felt a sense of challenge, like it was your mission to get him to fall for you because the good things in life are worth fighting for. besides, where's the fun in it if he wasn't playing hard to get?

the mission went by in a blur. you mimicked his mannerisms, ensuring that your movements were perfectly synced with his so that your gunshots felt more like a dance, synchronized bullet ballet. when all was done and the bodies were dropped, you shot him a faint smile.

he raised a brow, perplexed at your joy among the sea of blood, but you began clutching at your chest like he'd shot you with his glare and he chuckled a little bit. you could've sworn you fell in love with him all over again.

"say, I was wondering..." you thought out loud as you crouched down to the body of the target, pulling out a knife from your calf, "are you new? in the port mafia, I mean. I've been here ages and I don't think I would've forgotten someone who shoots like you do."

leaning on the wall while he watched you carve out their skin, peeling off a specific section that had their organization's signature tattoo, tachihara scoffed. "what's it to you?"

"just makin' small talk, don't get your panties in a twist sweetheart," you snickered, albeit screaming a little internally; you didn't expect him to be so resistant. you bagged the proof you needed to show your boss that you got the job done, then rose back to your feet. "alright, we're done here. thanks for the backup."

"wasn't like it was my choice," he rolled his eyes, although you didn't sense any true irritation in his voice. good, this is good, you can work with that.

"wasn't your choice, huh?" you repeated to yourself out loud. "how 'bout this, then: I'm gonna go grab a drink, so it'd be your choice if ya wanted to tag along, no?"

he murmured something about being busy and you tried not to let him see you frown as you walked out.

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this was your fifth "coincidence".

coincidentally, tachihara ended up needing to hand-deliver a message to chuuya, but you coincidentally bumped into him and promised to pass it on. he looked at you a bit suspiciously, but didn't say anything.

coincidentally, you were out drinking with hirotsu on the same day he was going to join the old man. you wouldn't go so far as to say that you played a part in the veteran's sudden diarrhea that left you two alone, but then again it was quite odd that you slipped some sort of substance in his drink right before. not that anyone saw, of course.

coincidentally, weeks of coincidences paid off. every time you'd run into him, need the black lizard or the other way around, he was starting to loosen up. you had a number of inside jokes and he spoke a little more on missions.

this time, you had to go negotiate with a foreign organization from which you imported an important number of your firearms. chuuya was available to go, but you pleaded with him to let you do this on your own, making up some lie about how sending an underling instead of an executive would show them that they are not the ones in control. he seemed skeptical but let you go.

soon afterwards, you whipped out your phone to dial his number.

"it's so unfair!" you complained to tachihara, groaning loudly as you combed through your closet for the right outfit for the occasion. "like I get it, he's busy and all, but dumping a mission on me last minute? sheesh, that's a cheap move, especially from chuuya. I've got 2 hours to figure out what the fuck I'm going to say to these people."

you left the phone on speaker while you pressed dresses against your figure, glancing in the mirror to see if it was the right one. "and it's a big organization, too! I have no idea what I'm going to do if things go south except get my brains blown out."

lies. if things went south, you would easily be able to make your way out unscathed. you were the right hand woman to a port mafia executive, not a scared little girl, but he didn't need to know that right now.

"would'ya like me to tag along? if they see one person, it might look like you were sent as a sacrifice, but if we're two, they'll know we mean business," he offered, as planned. you pumped your fists in the air and contained a squeal.

"hm? oh, you don't need to do that, tachi," you said softly, sliding out of your clothes and into your form-fitting outfit, making sure to check out your ass and reaffirm that you looked stunning. "wait! I'm just kidding," you giggled playfully, "it would mean a lot if you did. thanks."

he chuckled the faintest amount, and you made plans for when and where to meet. you told him that it was a high-end restaurant, so he'd need to wear something fancy enough to blend in, but of course the high-end restaurant was your idea. you'd planned it all in advance, setting up a corner in the back of a place that the mafia had under their thumb and inviting the organization there.

a date, it was a date, and it didn't matter if he didn't know it.

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"you look stunning, dear." he grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it, looking up with soft eyes you'd never have expected. he pulled out a seat for you and called the waiter to get you a cold glass of water.

unfortunately, "he" was the executive from the other organization, not tachihara.

awkwardly, your plus one stood in the corner with the rest of the guards, shooting you occasional glares that basically screamed, "why did I volunteer to do this, again?" you just laughed internally and told yourself that you'd take him out again as a way to make up for it, which was your goal all along. you adored it when all the pieces fell into place.

the negotiations were flawless. the man across the table from you seemed to be very willing to cooperate, and you figured his slight cracks at flirting might've been a part of it. the other part was that he looked positively jet lagged and you might've put a little something in his wine to mellow him out. you were sure he would've reached the same conclusion if he was sober, this was just a harmless little nudge in the right direction.

"10% increase on the price for a 20% increase on the quantity of firearms imported, then," you reiterated, smiling sweetly at him while he agreed to double what someone in their right mind would ask for. "lovely doing business with you, sir. I'm glad this didn't have to escalate."

he smiled softly, offering you his hand to help you up then nodding his head towards the exit so his goons would follow him out. you looked at the piece of paper he'd slid into your palm, a phone number etched into it, then watched him looking back at you with a wink. for a moment, you could've sworn you'd almost forgotten about tachihara.

"that was boring as fuck," he strolled over to you, clicking his tongue as he complained about his feet hurting from standing there for so long, saying that he wouldn't have worn a goddamn suit and tagged along if he knew all he would be doing is watching you flirt with some guy."

"that," you stressed, pocketing the number but trying not to think about it, "was not flirting. if I was whoring myself out for the mafia, believe me I'd put myself down with my own hand."

"oh yeah? brave words for a woman with a dress that tight on her ass," he scoffed, crossing his arms before he realized what he'd just said.

"tachi, you lookin' at my ass?"

he seemed at a loss for words, huffing angrily as he walked out and you laughed to yourself. he was so cute when he got angry.

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tachihara michizou was not an idiot.

he, however, did not know what to make of your behaviour towards him.

all these run-ins, all your conveniently-timed missions where you were down one person, every text you seemed to send at the perfect time. he knew your gaze lingered on him and he knew that you wore that dress for him, but he couldn't be sure about it.

confirmation came when he was casually chatting with chuuya over drinks.

"my damn subordinate has been so fucking weird lately," the executive slurred, gesturing for another glass while he toyed with the empty one. "reminds me of that fucking dazai... always plotting some kind of shit..."

"she sounded kind of pissed with you 'cause of that last gig with the firearms dealers," he retorted before downing his shot and slamming his fist on the counter out of adrenaline. "since you dumped it on her."

"huh?! the fuck you mean, dump it on her? she was practically beggin' me for that job, said she didn't want any backup either. I'm telling you, tachi, that chick's gone mad."

so it was a lie, when you called him, complaining. he wondered what else was a lie, but then he wondered why you would lie about that.

as if on cue, a message popped up on his phone with your name on it.

"are you free tonight?"

so he wasn't imagining things. for some reason, it got his heart beating, thinking about the fact that someone would do that for him. but, before he could respond, another ping:

"I got shot sorry lol I have no idea why I made it sound like I was asking you out. could you bring a first aid kit or something? thanks a ton!!"

he concluded on the fact that you were confusing, and that he wouldn't say anything about it, especially since you probably think you're incredibly slick about it. instead, tachihara excused himself from a very drunk chuuya and said he had to go.

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"ow, ow, ow! fuck, why don't you just pour the whole damn bottle on there, while you're at i- fuck!"

the whining was hard. you had to do it manually, making sure you actually sounded like you were in pain when really, your "fever" was from all the heat of feeling tachihara's hands on you as he dabbed the wound.

ironically enough, this wasn't planned. you genuinely did fuck up, the man you never called seemed to want revenge because he sent a few people to kidnap you. you only got grazed while you took care of all the henchmen, but it still hurt like a little bitch.

he was the first place your mind went to, as always. you managed to get yourself home but you couldn't reach the spot on the bottom of your ribcage where it sliced open without feeling a lot of pain.

and so, you just turned it into an opportunity to get him in your house, sitting on your couch, his hands on your skin that was barely covered by your shirt. the alcohol he was pouring onto the wound hurt but you couldn't feel anything except pure ecstacy.

"say, you're not bad at this," you fake winced as he pinched the skin together and just put a bunch of superglue on it. "you got... gah, you got experience as a medic or somethin'?"

"how exactly did this happen?" he ignored your question and instead helped you up slightly so he could wrap the bandages around your torso.

"remember the guy from the other night? well, he gave me his number and I never called, so he got butthurt and sent some goons to fuckin' kidnap me. or kill me, I'm not sure. I didn't really pause to ask 'em."

he looked as if he almost didn't believe you, pulling down your shirt and gently tapping on the spot he bandaged. "there, you're all set."

"thanks again," you smiled at him, groaning a bit as you sat upright. "I know it's late and you were probably doing some other shit."

then a slight pause. "if you want to crash on my couch instead of walkin' home, I don't mind."

the walk wasn't long, and he didn't feel tired at all, but he didn't tell you that. he just helped you walk over to your bed then got himself comfortable on your sofa.

you'd never been happier to get shot. maybe the universe was finally on your side, in its own weird way.

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the wound was fully healed and tachihara was yours.

it was the perfect excuse to him check on you, to have him come over and stay over as "protection in case someone tries to kill you again". both of you knew your excuse was bullshit, your plotting to get him by your side so painfully obvious now that he was getting closer and closer to you. by the time he was making visits on his own and smiling at you in the hallways at the port mafia, you didn't need to do anything anymore.

it was a wordless confession; both of you walking in the streets at night, going nowhere and not saying much. it was cold and you could see both of your breaths swirling in the air. you blinked and suddenly your faces were close, too close, and your body was leaning in on its own. his lips tasted like something your mind could've never guessed.

nevertheless, you were still addicted.

something about the kiss felt effortless, too. like you didn't need to do anything, say anything to get him to wrap his hands around your hips and pull you in close. this was the way it should be, easy and effortless. like you could wait patiently and he'd fall in love with you all on his own.

"have you seen my holster?" he called out weeks later as you laid down on your couch, reading a book as he looked around for the item.

"it's over here!" you called out, the holster expertly hidden in between the cushions because you wanted him to come over to you and find it. as he walked over to you, watching you wave it while dangling on your finger, a teasing look on your features.

"you're a conniving little shit, you know that?" he sighed with a soft smile, glancing at your hands as you set down the book by your side then sitting by your side. "if you wanna talk to me, you can ask like a regular person, y'know?"

his wide smirk as he looked at you pout, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you fake-sobbed into his chest. "you're so mean, thinking I'm lying!"

he grabbed your chin, gaze directly settling onto you with a look that said not to bullshit him. "you think I don't notice? when you kept bumping into me, us getting paired up on missions, even that time you said chuuya 'dumped' that job on you? yeah, you're cute but you're not a great liar."

you furrowed your brows. "if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

"'cause I wanted you to tell me yourself."

"asshole," you pouted, laughing as you leaned towards him and kissed the tip of his nose. "I just didn't think... never mind, it worked, didn't it?"

he rolled over, laying you down on the couch and settling himself on top of you, making sure you were trapped. "being all cryptic now, aren't we?"

"maybe," you muttered between kisses, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him deeper. "... maybe... maybe you were just... I dunno, so pretty, and I thought 'fuck, he'd never go for me' and... I don't know, it's not important..."

"aw, look at you, gettin' all soft 'n mushy," he chuckled into your neck, smiling at your words while his teeth graze the tip of your earlobe. "keep talking 'bout how out of your league that I am."

"oh, shut up," you whispered, grabbing a handful of his hair and bringing his lips back onto yours so he would stop talking. "I'm tryin to open up here, you smug dipshit."

he grinned as his hand went down in between your thighs, parting them and opening up your legs. "I like the sound of that."

you squealed playfully and rolled him over, but the couch wasn't wide enough and you both fell onto the floor with a dull thud and a frenzy of laughter.

"seriously, though," he brushed your hair out of your face and pulled your hips so you were snug on him while you caught your breath and lowered yourself to kiss him again, "you're talkin' nonsense, baby."

"mmn, if you say so," rolled right onto his tongue. you believed his words, or maybe you didn't, but it barely mattered. he was here now, in your arms and telling you everything you wanted to hear. he said that he knew of your antics, yet the truth was that he couldn't do a damn thing about it if he wanted to.

all because you're a mastermind.

[zedecksiew]

What Do Ability Scores Represent?

Recently, Into The Odd and the players in my home game helped me realise something fundamental:

Ability scores represent how good you are at acting under pressure.

STR isn't strength, it's toughness;

DEX really means reflexes;

WIS is more accurately calm or willpower;

etc.

+++

It is convention in roleplaying games that your ability scores / attributes / six stats determine who your character is.

High DEX means your character is spry, capable of acrobatic flourish; a good Willpower generally means you can browbeat others / themselves / reality (if you are spellcaster) into doing what they want; etc.

There is pleasure in looking at a sheet and seeing: Oh! These are the things my character is good at.

But you do run into problems. Does my 18 DEX rogue know they are fleeter than the 17 DEX bard? What if my wizard thinks she is stronger than her 10 STR? What if I have a brilliant scheme but my barbarian only has 9 INT?

How well, in other words, does the map represent the territory?

+++

(Art by Vesha, who is an illustrator! source)

I've got three players in my home game:

Vesha plays the teenaged trader Khabar (and his buffalo friend / parent-figure, Paal);

Amanda plays the monkey warrior Boots-Ra, now going white-furred;

Aish plays Captain Phung.

Phung does not yet own a proper sea-going vessel. Perhaps he lost his previous ship? Perhaps he never had one. (He does have a magic five-person sampan, though!)

He is impulsive. He tends to make dodgy deals with hapless village-folk, pick up dangerous-looking objects, and flirt with dangerous-looking men.

+++

Mechanics-wise, here's how my interactions with Aish / Phung tend to go:

Me: Okay, make a DEX save to duck before the hunter stabs you. Aish: Damn, my DEX is only 6, guess we'll see ... Amanda: Oh, no, Phung!

In a previous session:

Me: Okay, I think I'll call for a WIL save, because the ghost in the goat skull is trying to possess you. Aish: Well, my WIL is 5, hopefully this works out ... Vesha: Oh shit, Phung!

Some sessions back:

Me: The automaton shoves you. Make a STR save? Otherwise you'll be on the ground at its mercy. Aish: Guys I have 6 STR, I may be in trouble here. Me: Wait wait wait. What are your stats again?

So it turns out that Aish had terrible rolls at chargen. STR 6 DEX 6 WIL 5. Just going by ability scores, Phung is an idiot weakling.

+++

Thing is, Phung isn't an idiot weakling.

I've got crafty players; they are pretty good at cooking up multi-part schemes. (Their go-to tactic is bamboozling rival factions to show up at the same place, then benefit from the fallout.)

Phung is generally the face for whatever racket they've got going: he's the most obvious leader (the party is generally "Captain Phung and crew"), and Aish plays him as a capable, charismatic go-getter.

Looking at the character sheet, is Aish playing Phung wrong?

Fuck that. A player cannot play their own character wrong. I reject this notion outright.

What's going on?

+++

Different rulesets try to bridge the gaps between player action, character ability, and abstract math in different ways: eliminating mental attributes; going totally skill-based; etc.

The ruleset that comes closest to "solving" this, for me, is Into The Odd.

Saves are the only kind of test player-characters make, in ITO and its derivatives. This is key.

The ruleset assumes competency on the part of characters; you only go to the dice if you need to figure out stuff that is out of your control.

How badly a straight-up fight goes; whether you can jump aside in time if you've accidentally sprung a trap; whether you can improvise a lie on the fly.

+++

Implicitly, and in practice:

The STR stat in ITO is more accurately toughness---ie: how well you can withstand a physically demanding situation you didn't prepare for.

Ditto DEX, which is an abstraction for how quickly your reflexes trigger.

Same with WIL, which is how well you stay calm under duress.

I can be sharp when I've got time and it is a subject I have experience in. But suddenly ask me to make a speech and I'm toast (low INT).

Some folks have no martial arts training but can hold their own if a brawl breaks out in a bar (high STR).

Captain Phung is a pretty cool operator when he's in control, but tends to seize up when things go off the rails (low WIL).

There's my answer to the conundrum of Captain Phung: he's a genuinely capable guy. He's just not necessarily great under stress. His reach exceeds his grasp, sometimes.

+++

Your ability scores don't represent who your character is. Your ability scores represent who your character is, when under duress.

In other words:

Ability scores are who your character is when they are not in control. Ability scores are your character's reactions.

+++

I do feel slow on the uptake, for only grokking this now.

Chris McDowall probably has a post from the mid 2010s or something where he discusses this aspect design in detail, the clever genius bastard. It is probably internalised play-culture within the ITO-and-descendants community; Emms points out that the current edition of Mothership explicitly talks about stats in this way.

Still!

Am glad to have a regular TTRPG group again, and I have them to thank for my epiphany!

(They are kickass. I ran them through Whirling Mummy a while back and it was a RIOT)

[joons]

“The social media gamification of community”. I’m obsessed with this. Do you mind elaborating on it?

When your primary community is online, the normal incentives we have to get along with a diverse group of people are no longer in play. The whole idea of manners is that you are signaling to your neighbors that you are not insane, that you are safe, that you are willing and able to assist them if there's a problem, and you hope they will do the same for you. In a small community, whether it is a workplace, a church, a small town, an apartment building, or a subway car, you are expected to maintain a certain level of politeness and care for other people, because we are social creatures who get spooked in large groups and want to rely on some kind of script for how to behave in ways that won't get us kicked out of the group. We smile wordlessly, we say "hello," we don't blare loud music, we step outside to smoke, we call when someone has died, we hold open doors, we intervene if someone seems uncomfortable, and if we have a real issue with someone, we are forced to confront them about it directly, while trying to be honest, direct, and professional. There are alternatives if we think someone is really harmful, like reporting to the police, or a whisper vine where the people who need to know about their behavior know it. But in general, you cannot get away with spreading lies about someone - or cutting someone off, or being really rude, or refusing to do the small things that allow us to assure each other that we're all fine - without seeing, in an IMMEDIATE, physical sense, the consequences. Something as small as littering will show in our environment. Someone flipping you off unsettles you, even if they're a stranger. And they can see your reaction. They can see the reaction of the people around you, or those of their friends, who might say, "Hey, knock it off." There's basically a shared need to make the space into a strong network, one that helps as many of its inhabitants as possible, where they are safe and where everyone has a stake in not going apeshit, if only because there are people in the vicinity who might punch them for being awful.

We don't get any of that on social media. We can delete people very quickly from our lives without them even knowing. We don't have to face their families, or their disappointed faces when they find out they've upset us. We don't have to even deal with our conflicted feelings as much because we don't have to be reminded of it. If someone annoys us, we can take a video of them, upload it, and immediately get tons of positive feedback from people who don't know the person involved, don't care what will happen if they laugh at them, and will make YOU feel great for being antisocial and cruel to a neighbor. Because it's not happening in front of them. It's at a distance. It makes you feel like a reporter instead of a fellow citizen. And gradually what happens in this isolated, digitized world becomes more important than what is happening in front of you. You don't really "NEED" the people around you, you feel, to survive, so why should you treat them kindly? Why should you compromise on your own preferences, why should you try to reach an agreement that will make everyone feel like they had an input in a difficult situation? You are used to tailoring your own experience, and it's fine to take what is happening in a small town and turn it into content that the entire globe can pick apart without having to live with the fallout.

tl;dr touching grass is so good for you because it reminds you that you are a person who needs others and you can't get in the habit of modding your life to avoid any difficulties because that will just make you stale and unable to grow and make living in the physical presence of people unbearable because everyone is playing to social media instead of looking into someone else's eyes beside them

[lwh-writing]

I've been rewatching the Hunger Games movies with some friends, and I have many, many thoughts. I seriously need to reread these books because it's been years and Suzanne Collins is a literary genius, but I digress.

Anyway, there's a quote in Catching Fire where President Snow says "If head game maker Seneca Crane had any brains at all, he would've blown you to bits then and there." This is in reference to Katniss and Peeta almost eating the poison berries and getting out of the arena as co-Victors rather than them turning on each other, thus giving the rebels hope that they can stick it to the Capitol. It is Snow's belief that killing one and/or both of them would have solved the problem before it BECAME a problem.

But the thing is.... it really wouldn't have. If anything, it would have made the rebel problem worse.

Let's say Crane killed both Peeta and Katniss. For the first time in decades, the Hunger Games would have had no Victor. There would be no victory tour, no new kid to pimp out to the Capitol's highest bidders, and no new distraction until the next games roll around. And on top of that, it would have shown the entire world how little the Capitol actually cares about them. The game makers changed the rules halfway through to allow for two Victors, and then they took that away at the last second because two Victors emerging from the arena would have destroyed the very foundation of the Hunger Games. If Crane had truly shot down Katniss and Peeta, the fallout of the 74th Hunger Games would have been a wake-up call to both the Districts and the Capitol that Haymitch was 100% correct in saying that there are no winners of the Hunger Games, only survivors. The bright-eyed Capitols would have been forced to face the reality that the games were fundamentally unfair, and the Districts would have been shown that if even the Victors, the people guaranteed wealth and luxury weren't safe, that if their small beacons of hope could still be killed off without those in power batting an eye... then why even bother playing to the Capitol's tune in the first place? And the Rebels? They've got two new martyrs for their cause, and a newly discontent populous ready to fight for them.

Now, alternatively, let's say Crane did nothing. Let's say he let Katniss and Peeta eat the berries and they both die in the arena by suicide. Well, that won't be as drastic as Crane shooting them down, but the results are still mostly the same. The 74th Hunger Games still has no Victor. There's no one left to play distraction and convince the people of Panem not to look behind the curtain and catch a whiff of its political rot. And it's still the two-Victor rule change and the immediate retraction of such that doomed their favorite star-crossed lovers. It's still a wake-up call to the Capitols and the Districts that the Hunger Games are unfair, and that those in charge are willing to change the rules at their discretion no matter how it affects the general public. The people are still pissed, and the rebels still have their two martyrs.

Well, okay, what if Crane only killed ONE of them. Let's say Crane sees what's happening and decides to shoot only Peeta or only Katniss, it doesn't matter which. The 74th Hunger Games has a clear Victor, but that doesn't help a thing. Once again, it's still the rule change and retraction that got one half of Panem's OTP killed. It's still a clear signal to the people that those pulling the strings don't care. There's still discontent in the Capitol and the Districts because the Capitols lament their failed romance, and the Districts just saw an almost-should-have-been Victor get shot down on live TV. Not to mention it shows that the games are rigged beyond belief when the game makers, quite literally, chose the Victor. The Rebellion still gets a martyr. And on top of that, they get a mouthpiece stirring up shit.

You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that if Peeta or Katniss walked out of that arena without the other, the one that survived would have taken that lying down, consequences be damned. You cannot tell me that Peeta "If it wasn't for the baby" Mellark wouldn't have been playing the press and the political scene like a fiddle and knocking down Snow's regime like a line of dominos. You cannot tell me that Katniss "Girl on Fire" Everdeen wouldn't have been itching to take a quiver of arrows and massacre all occupants of the Presidential Palace. A Peeta without Katniss or a Katniss without Peeta would have Snow's worst political nightmare, and if he killed them after the fact, then the riots in the streets would have only gotten worse.

Seneca Crane's fatal mistake wasn't letting Katniss and Peeta live; it was allowing the two Victor rule change to happen. The SECOND that happened, the foundation of the games-- the image of the sole Victor shining above the rest --was shattered. Nothing could have fixed that, not even the hasty second rule change later on. There was absolutely no situation where Snow and company walked away the winners. Absolutely none. And Crane choosing to let Katniss and Peeta live was honestly the best choice in a string of horrible choices that could have been made. And the fact that Snow doesn't see that highlights exactly how out of touch he is with the human element that drives people to do the things they do.

Note: edited to fix "Capital" into "Capitol"

[mllemaenad]

Is there a reason FEV keeps turning up all over the place? Or for the differences in Super Mutants between regions? I've been assuming different strains, since the virus was experimental, but there might be another explanation.

The Doylist answer to this one is "because super mutants are iconic". They're the threat the Wasteland is facing in the original Fallout, and "where the hell are the big green guys coming from?" is that game's biggest mystery.

When you think of the aesthetic of Fallout, you get: vaults and vault suits, ghouls, super mutants and power armour. So you tend to get those things in all the games. There are Fallout stories without super mutants, but they're mostly DLC. While certainly not impossible, it seems highly unlikely that you're going to go a whole game without ever seeing a super mutant.

I say this because it helps to understand the starting point when the writers are putting together the story: we're having super mutants. That's not in question. We're just inventing the horribly unethical experiment that justifies their presence in this instance.

Okay. With that out of the way ... to go more Watsonian: why is FEV everywhere? Well, because it was a big pre-war project. Arguably, it was the big pre-war project.

It starts with the "New Plague", sometimes also known as the "Blue Flu". This was ... well, I guess imagine the horrible child of COVID and bubonic plague. Big pandemic that killed a whole lot of people in the 2050s. New Plague was also rumoured to be a Chinese bio-weapon. Now, I will note that there is not a lot of strong evidence in the games that this is true. "It was a naturally occurring virus that the US government fear-mongered about for the purposes of propaganda" and "it was some other horrible US research project gone wrong and released into the general populace" might also be reasonable explanations. But the New Plague existed, and it was at least believed to be engineered as a weapon by humans.

So the plan to solve that was the Pan-Immunity Virion, which was intended to be a one-and-done vaccine for any and all viruses. Which, in fairness, does sound pretty cool. Most pre-war projects just leave you wondering who the hell could have thought this was a good idea – but I'll give them that one. That would have been an excellent use of science. But while they were tinkering with that, they found that their test subjects got bigger, stronger and (sometimes) smarter.

Unforeseen side effects began surfacing in early 2076 with the PVP. Animal test subjects began showing an abnormal growth rate accompanied by increased brain activity. The U.S. government took notice of these discoveries, and in the interests of national security, moved a team on-site to secure and oversee the project, which was now dubbed the FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus) project. – FEV Research, Fallout

This leads me to the another big pre-war problem: resource scarcity. See, the big military advancement that was allowing the US to hold its own in places like Alaska was power armour. Now, anybody who's played either Fallout 4 or Fallout 76 knows that power armour is a pain in the arse to maintain. It has to be built; it has to be repaired; it eats through fusion cores at an alarming rate. One of the jokes in the television series is each Brotherhood knight needing a squire along just to deal with the massive amount of work that goes into keeping a person functioning in power armour. And we are in the middle of the damn Resource Wars.

So ... okay. What if, instead of putting soldiers into walking tanks, we turned them into walking tanks? Solves your power problem in one hit, right? Reduced costs, more profit. Suddenly this isn't a medical project, it's a defence project. And the important thing here is that the power armour guys and the FEV guys are one and the same: West Tek Corporation. The people who built those suits the Brotherhood of Steel love so much also made the big green guys they keep picking fights with.

West Tek, much like Vault-Tec, was deeply entwined with the US government and likely the Enclave. They had a lot of free reign to do what they wanted. And what they wanted was to dunk humans in FEV to see what would happen.

We know they tested FEV on soldiers at the Mariposa base.

Log Date January 7, 2077 Major Barnett has ordered transfer of all FEV research to the Mariposa Military Base. He plans to continue the project experiments on volunteer subjects. I am against this, and would like it noted here that research on human subjects is not recommended by myself or my staff. – FEV Experiment Disk, Fallout

We know they tested it on civilians in the town of Huntersville.

The sickness that hit us around February is getting worse. Thanks to some doctor from West Tek, we haven't had any deaths yet. Thomas McDevitt was able to convince them to lend us a hand, and they sent help. Their doctor says it's nothing to worry about, just a rare strain of the flu virus. Tell me, what kind of a flu virus makes your skin start to change color and your hair to fall out? People are starting to get scared. Maybe I'll convince Thomas McDevitt to hop into his truck and head for Charleston or something, to get more help. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Thomas McDevitt since he went to West-Tek. – Gail Meyer's Journal, Fallout 76

We know that soldiers enforced these experiments in both cases. This was government sanctioned mass-FEV exposure.

While it was never surprising, the scene in the Fallout TV series demonstrating the various pre-war corporations collaborating on the vault experiments makes its presence in Fallout 3's Vault 87 pretty much a given. Why wouldn't West Tek try to continue its most tantalising, but perhaps least consistently successful, experiment once the bombs fell?

And like I said – West Tek, Vault-Tec, all those people were caught up with the Enclave. The Enclave loves FEV. If they are in an area, you can guarantee the virus is there as well. There are two separate attempts to just kill everyone by dosing them with FEV – Dick Richardson's Enclave tried it in Fallout 2 and John Henry Eden's tried it again in Fallout 3. The Scorchbeast situation in Fallout 76 seems to have been an accident, but I think there's a fair chance they had some FEV mixed in with their flux and ultracite, given how radical the results were.

Thomas Eckhart: So you're telling me we're responsible for this thing? It's what? A mutated bird? Some kind of vulture or something? Enclave Scientist: Mister Secretary, based on the physiology we're assuming something originating from the Chiroptera order before undergoing changes… bats, sir. But it's not just a result of radiation, sir. The specimen was inadvertently exposed to our biochemical tests last year, considered a failure at the time. – Whitespring Automated Recording five-point-four-point-eight, Fallout 76

The West Coast Enclave had access to FEV by the time of Fallout 2 (around 2241); Appalachia may have had it earlier (it was easily accessible, in Huntersville). So you've got enormous pre-war companies with a heavy investment in FEV spreading it everywhere, and at least one post-war faction running around with it – and that faction does not care about anybody's wellbeing in the slightest. No wonder that crap is all over the place. I also suspect, given the lax safety standards of pre-war America, and the general chaos of the post-war period, that there's a lot more ambient FEV floating about than is actually documented.

But that brings me to the second part of this – different types of super mutant. To get back on the Doylist train again for a minute: FEV is specifically designed to be the plot device virus. It does whatever the story needs it to do. It's both highly modifiable and wildly unstable so you can have "we tried to do this wacky thing and it succeeded!" scenarios and you can also have "we tried to do a thing and this wacky nonsense happened instead" scenarios. The same exposure event produced both the Master, who is not a super mutant by any stretch of the imagination, and the whole Harold-and-the-tree situation.

That said, I have a few different lines of thought here. One: different strains of FEV seem less important than the various other things to which the victim has been exposed. Two: I don't think there's a lot of evidence for massive differences in super mutants specifically. Three: I think, as I said, that it's at least possible that FEV has been involved in some of the known "wild" mutations out there, and that this can tie those two earlier points together to create a better picture of FEV mutants.

To the first point: we know for a fact that radiation exposure is a major factor in what sort of super mutants you get. The Master figured this out by trial and error:

Oh glorious creator!! I have succeeded in spreading the complete joy of unification to another soul! Unlike the others, his total radiation count was low. I believe this is the factor we have been overlooking all this time, as it seems the conversion is more successful in the cases with less radiation damage. I have never known such glory as I felt when taking his mind into our own. – Richard Grey's audio diary, Fallout

... and the Institute confirmed the same:

This is Doctor Elliott, reporting for the BioScience division. March 2224. We just received another batch of… subjects… but as my previous report stated, we're at an impasse here. More of the same won't help. I am officially echoing the team's position: the most likely progress for our research on synthetic organics requires new avenues of exploration. The two most promising strains of FEV have been adapted to an ideal state, but… we're still missing something. Additional Commonwealth subjects will not help. It's the same problem across the board: exposure to too much radiation. We need something… someone new. There's a proposal we'll be putting forward… I am not entirely comfortable with it, but it seems the best course. – FEV Research Notes: 2224, Fallout 4

This is why the Institute needed to kidnap the Sole Survivor's son in Fallout 4. You just do not get good results when you expose post-war humans to FEV. Whatever adaptations or relatively benign mutations the radiation has caused react badly with the virus.

It's worth noting here that the Institute does actually seem to have successfully completed the original West Tek project. I mean ... synths. They're human, but with increased resilience and disease resistance, and "Coursers" specifically function as a kind of super solidier. Pre-war DNA, appropriately modified FEV, and a hell of a lot of tinkering – and that's what you get. That's exactly what West Tek was trying to do. Implanting chips into their brains to control them is a bit of Institute-specific evil, but I'm pretty sure West Tek would have approved.

With less rigorous testing, you get on the one hand people like Marcus and Lily: super mutants with minimal radiation who seem to have survived the process changed, but nevertheless as complete people. Marcus is very much just a normal guy (terrible aim with a minigun; never ever give Marcus a minigun, but otherwise ... ) and most of Lily's issues seem to be caused by stealth boy use, rather than FEV specifically. On the other hand you get people who clearly had suffered some degree of radiation exposure. This covers most of your generic super mutant foes, but also people like Gond (a super mutant NCR ranger in Fallout 2), or Grahm (a super mutant trader in Fallout 76). They have suffered some degree of brain damage – but they remain people.

Okay. So what do I mean about there being little evidence for differences in super mutants? Putting that Doylist hat back on for a second ... super mutants primarily serve the same purpose across all the games: big, tough enemies for your character to fight. This isn't just a Bethesda thing either: Fallout and Fallout 2 both used mobs of super mutants as enemy encounters. So their behaviour and characteristics have to fit with that function, and any storytelling is going to revolve around that. You could have had the FEV do something different with them, but they didn't.

Back to the Watsonian version ... once you recognise that you are only likely to get super mutants like Marcus if the victim came from either a vault, or somewhere equally protected from radiation, there's just not a lot of difference between the super mutants in general. FEV seems to:

increase aggression – and this is something even largely peaceful super mutants seem to struggle with. For example, Gail in Fallout 76 will tell you that she refrains from violence at the request of her adopted daughter.

impact speech – this is obviously a stylistic choice, as super mutants fit into the "B-movie sci-fi" aesthetic that defines Fallout. Their broken speech is less about the science of FEV and more about "how monsters talk". A few super mutants are exempt from this, obviously, but it's supposed to be shocking to hear a super mutant talk "normally".

affect memory - this may explain the former point, at least somewhat. If super mutants need to relearn speech post-infection, then their manner of speech could simply be the product of copying each other. It's noteworthy that this one seems to be true even in the least affected super mutants: Marcus's memories of his former life are hazy and Fawkes has no idea what he was doing before the FEV. It seems to be progressive, at least in some cases: Marcus's exact words are "My memories of being a human aren’t as clear as they once were"; Brian Virgil still knows who he is; Lily definitely still remembers her grandchildren. But that loss of identity is a persistent theme across most super mutants.

So with all of that, it seems like you're mostly dealing with situational differences. In addition to what are functionally super mutant raider gangs in Fallout 2 there are also many of them living peacefully in places like Broken Hills.

Fallout: New Vegas specifically deals with the interaction between super mutants derived from non-irradiated humans and irradiated ones. Tabitha, a nightkin, refers to the latter as " dumb dumbs" because ... she's helpful like that.

The radio station is fixed, and we've begun sending our message out into the desert. Marcus thinks I spend too much time in here, but what does a first gen know? Rhonda says they're just one step from dumb dumbs, and I agree. – Tabitha's Journal, Fallout: New Vegas

Super mutants in Fallout 4 and Fallout 76 occupy strategic buildings, and seem to have deliberately tamed creatures like mutant hounds and floaters. There's evidence of strategic thinking in Fallout 4: Fist was using Rex to lure more humans and the whole affair was just hilarious to every super mutant in the building (bar Strong). Likewise, Hammer clearly knew exactly what he was doing when he occupied West Everett Estates:

Fist, this is Hammer. I got a human to make the machine work. We found a good place. Already has walls and water. Some human made a tiny room under ground with many good things inside. Send more people so we can raid more. We give you these guns for trade. – Hammer's Holotape, Fallout 4

There's less of that in Fallout 76, but in its earliest version that game had zero interest in presenting functional societies of any kind. When friendly super mutants showed up, they behaved much the same as the examples in other games. There isn't a friendly super mutant town in Appalachia as of this writing, but there could be, if Bethesda ever decides to take the story in that direction. There was no peace with the super mutants in Fallout 4, either, but there could be, one day, under the right circumstances.

Aside from size and the distinctive green skin, there's not a lot of difference between a super mutant and a raider. You're looking at a bunch of angry, amnesiac people who were not likely having a great time even before they got dipped.

That handles most super mutants ... but it obviously doesn't address the elephant in the room: Fallout 3. What about the super mutants of the Capital Wasteland?

We know, absolutely, that the scientists in Vault 87 were experimenting with multiple strains of FEV:

Once again, I've hit that damn wall. At fourteen days, all of the test subjects began to exhibit severe bouts of rage and anxiety. So much so that they were a danger to my team and to this facility. I had no choice once again but to order them to be destroyed. It pains me every time we do this. The same cycle has been repeated in every strain we test. We always see superior physical adaptations, but the mental changes are their downfall. – Chief physician's terminal, Fallout 3

That could definitely account for things like their gold skin, markedly different to the prevailing super mutant green. But the key thing is that they got the same results with every strain they tried. And they were working with vault dwellers, which is supposed to make it easier. So what gives? Well, one thing we also know is that their maintenance chief had persistent problems with radiation:

Vault-Tec's crappy handiwork is at it again. I have spent the better part of a month patching and re-patching the radiation purge system that vents excess radiation from the G.E.C.K. chamber. I have no idea why this system keeps failing. I suspect the system is simply inadequate and can't handle the amount of radiation it's purging. Recommend installing a new purging system as soon as I can get one cobbled together from spare parts. Should have it ready in about a month. – Engineering terminal, Fallout 3

I strongly suspect that the residents of Vault 87 had suffered radiation exposure. Not lethal amounts – we're not talking "leave the vault door open to see what happens" levels here – but enough. They were functionally no different to surface dwellers. Thus the scientists got the exact same results with every FEV strain: aggression, memory loss and distress.

In terms of their behaviour, I think Fallout 3 is best understood as an extrapolation of the "worst" ending of the original Fallout – that is, the ending where the Master wins. You can read through them all on the wiki, and despite all the Master's big promises there's never any blissful "Unity": just a wave of super mutants washing over every settlement, wiping them away. This is what's happening in Fallout 3, and by the time the Lone Wanderer arrives on the scene there's little left.

The original inhabitants of Vault 87 were survivors of a nuclear war. They suffered tremendous loss and grief even within the vault: people who were murdered by the scientists were listed as "unexplained" deaths. They were the victims of hideous experiments that deprived them of their identities. And when they broke free, they inflicted all that grief and misery on the Capital Wasteland. They are without purpose or cause. They are just angry and confused. They don't know who they were or what happened to them.

But how different to their brethren are they, really? You can listen to some of their dialogue:

This is boring. We should be collecting more humans. We need more of us! The bucketheads have killed too many… – Super mutant dialogue, Fallout 3

That's a rational enough statement, in context. By 2277 the super mutants are locked in a decades long conflict with the Brotherhood of Steel. They are aggressively dipping people just as the Brotherhood is recruiting from the locals, to replace their numbers.

I'm hungry! I need something to eat. Meat would be good… A Brahmin head, roasted just a bit, with some… – Super mutant dialogue, Fallout 3

Perfectly reasonable. Who doesn't dream about dinner when they're hungry?

They are not mindless, and they haven't necessarily suffered more damage than an average West Coast super mutant.

Fawkes is obviously the exceptional super mutant in this case: the companion character, the one who came through all this relatively unscathed. But there is also Leo: a super mutant who has largely forgotten himself, but who has chosen peace.

And this, which makes me especially sad, from Fallout 4's terminal entries:

As the years passed, and Arthur Maxson grew, so too did his accomplishments. At age 12, while on a training patrol, he killed two Raiders and saved the squad that was supposed to be escorting him. At age age 13, he single-handedly killed a Deathclaw (and gained the large facial scar he still has to this day). But it was his victory at age 15, over the Super Mutant "Shepherd" who was attempting to re-organize the Capital Wasteland's Super Mutants, that elevated him to hero-like status. When word of this feat reached the Elders back on the West Coast, they knew the time had come… Maxson was ready. Ready to lead and, more importantly, to reunite the fragmented Brotherhood of Steel forces on the East Coast. – The Rise of Elder Maxson: Accomplishments, Fallout 4

That's a super mutant with a name. A super mutant with a drive to organise his people. I'm frankly suspicious of the idea that he was a war leader with a name like "Shepherd", but even if he was organisation of the Capital Wasteland super mutants would be broadly positive. Yes, it might make them a tougher enemy to fight ... but it could also open up the possibility of negotiation, or even peace. It would be a step away from mindless violence. Until the Brotherhood put a stop to that.

So I am not sure there is a significant distinction between the types of super mutant, specifically. Okay, but FEV definitely does some bizarre stuff. We have Harold and the Master; we have floaters, centaurs and mutant hounds; we have intelligent deathclaws (I miss them; I loved them); we have that one genius mole rat from Fallout 2.

So why would super mutants be consistent? Well, I'd suggest maybe they're not. It's just that "super mutant" is what you get when you expose a person to FEV under certain circumstances. I suspect that other mutated humans may also have an FEV component to them, and when the differences are big enough we stop calling them super mutants.

This is not meant to be exhaustive. There are a lot of mutants in the Fallout universe and this post is quite long enough. Nor is it meant to be definitive proof that these are FEV mutants. We mostly can't know. My argument is that: we know FEV gets around; we know environmental elements can have a significant impact on what you get out of FEV exposure; in some cases we know we are looking at quite extensive changes in a short period of time.

Group 1 - Psychics: There are people in several of the games that seem to demonstrate psychic ability. Sulik, in Fallout 2, is quite uncanny with his insights when communing with his grandfather's spirit. The Forecaster, in Fallout: New Vegas is able to foresee certain evrnts. Mama Murphy, in Fallout 4 takes chems to receive visions of past, present and future. We know the Master in the original Fallout experimented with an FEV "psyker" project. It did not go well. While there seem to be some side effects, the people listed above are largely fine, so this would presumably involve extremely mild exposure to FEV.

Group 2 – Trogs: "Troglodyte Degeneration Contagion" is an environmental mutation suffered by residents of the Pitt. Like classic FEV "super mutant" exposure, these individuals suffer from memory loss and aggression. Unlike super mutants, they are small (ish) and wiry, and very much built for speed. We know that radiation and toxic chemicals play a part in their mutation, and it is noteworthy that the Fallout 3 Official Game Guide makes a reference to "unidentified mutagens". It is also noteworthy that there are Trogs in Fallout 76, which begins 25 years after the bombs dropped. So whatever happened here happened fast. We're not looking at two centuries of change.

Group 3 – Mole Miners: There is very little lore on these people, but they are also a very rapid mutation: they are present in Appalachia at the start of Fallout 76. As there are "classic" super mutants in the area, these may be an interaction between FEV and the toxic air found in the mines.

Group 4 – Swampfolk: Admittedly this one is a bit of a reach, but they very much fill the super mutant niche in Point Lookout. I acknowledge that there's an unpleasant joke about "hillbillies" and "inbreeding" here, but I think it's also worth noting that these people suffered from both radiation exposure and apparently New Plague. This would be an interaction between multiple types of engineered viruses.

I know, I know: this is a lot of words. So – the "too long, didn't read" version:

FEV is everywhere because a bunch of careless and malevolent pre- and post-war groups put it there. They also dumped it in the water in at least one location, and once you've done that the stuff can get anywhere.

While there are different strains, environmental factors are probably more significant in determining what kind of mutant you get.

What we call a "super mutant" has relatively little variation, with the major factor being how much radiation exposure the person had, and consequently how much brain damage they have suffered.

There are a lot of other types of mutated human out there, and where FEV is involved you're likely looking at wild variations based on various environmental factors. But we don't call those people super mutants, because that's a very specific type of FEV mutant.

[inscrutable-shadow]

Whumptober 2024 Day 1 - l'esprit de corps

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

Mariano and Luis (who is. not here. lol) belong to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump. Finally made a banner for the shared military AU! Thanatos is.... well adjusted, surely.

contains: post-traumatic stress disorder, flashback, water phobia, grounding techniques

also available on ao3!

One of the most important parts of therapy, in Thanatos's opinion, was remaining in tune with one's own emotional state. Allowing oneself to be buffeted about by the client's emotions and your own issues led to dysregulation, which was a slippery slope to all kinds of emotional fallout. He made a habit of regular check-ins with himself during a session to ensure he didn't have anything going on that would impair his judgement, which is why when he noticed his attention had drifted away from the words his client was saying, it immediately sent up red flags.

Than's pen had stopped moving over the paper several minutes ago, and he couldn't quite get his eyes to focus. With some clients, it was a battle not to fall asleep in his chair, so mundane were their problems or so well-trodden the topic, but not with this one. He'd never in his life been bored during a session with Mariano. Ortiz was one of his favorite puzzles, Thanatos was always laser focused during their sessions, taking reams of notes and running through what literature he's been through lately on post-traumatic stress, searching for a path forward. He'd been doing the same today, his handwriting at the top of the page was immaculate, flowing cursive, as usual, but as he'd proceeded further down "I had deteriorated into a barely-legible scrawl. His hands were… shaking. That wasn't good. What were they even talking about? He couldn't… he couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears.

Oh. Yes. Panic attack. He got them on occasion, sometimes without an identifiable trigger. In this case, Mariano had been discussing his early days in the war mage program. Thanatos had thought he'd be fine hearing about it, he'd never have taken on the mage as a client if he hadn't. Must just be an off day, something else getting to him, making him vulnerable. He was fairly confident the dripping water he was hearing was not a leaky pipe, nor was his sweater vest actually kevlar. It was getting worse.

He needed… needed to get himself under control. Needed a break, needed to stop. Move, Thanatos. " H-Hey, Mariano. This is all— It's all great stuff, yeah? We're… we're making e-excellent progress." Inhale. Exhale. Steady yourself. "I really would like to pick up right where we left off next time, but I think— ahem! I think I need to wrap up for to day, if that's all right. I… I'm suddenly not feeling very well." As cliché as it was, Thanatos had always gotten good results from concentrating on his breath. Deep inhale after deep exhale, counting his heartbeats as they slowed. He was okay, really. He just needed a minute.

"Oh, that's okay… Are you alright? Do you want me to get you some water?" Mariano was already on his feet and moving to the cooler.

Water was the last thing he needed. Gods, he could feel it on his face. "No! I'm… fine, Mariano. I just need some time to myself, really. We can re-reschedule… for tomorrow, or some other day, or you can come in early next week! Whatever works best for your schedule." In Hermes' name just leave…

Fuck. He was dripping wet, and so cold. Shivering, leaning heavily on the desk from where he'd stood to show Mariano out. You're losing control. Get a grip, Booker. Inhale. Exhale. If it's obvious you're cracking under the strain, the abuse only gets worse. They're looking for your limit. Don't let them find it. He just needed to wait for this to pass somewhere he could be alone. Just needed it to pass. It would, he knew it would. Inhale. Exhale.

A hand on his shoulder nearly made him break. "I… don't think I can do it this time, Luis. I think it's too much…" The words came out slowly, mechanically. It was always too much. And he always kept going. Luis would tell him he could do one more, one more bucket, one more dunk, one more minute, and Thanatos would shake and shudder and cry but he would. He always would. Had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

"Oh. That's okay. You… you don't have to do anything."

That was… a surprise. Letting him off early? "I'm… almost done?" He didn't want to be dismissed from training, he could do it, he could be better—

"I think it's okay to stop for today. Come on, here, take a seat. You don't have to do anything anymore."

It didn't make sense, but Thanatos wouldn't ignore a direct order. He could deal with the consequences if it turned out to be a trap, weasel his way out of it then. He'd always been a smooth talker. He accepted being led to his chair and put his head on his knees, forcing his breath through his nose. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. It was working, he was calming down. The edges of the world didn't feel as fuzzy. "No, it's… I'm okay. I'm sorry. I can do it, I just need a second," he tried again.

Luis held Thanatos's hands between his. "You're okay. No need to go again. No more water, Thanatos."

Really? He was done? No more? Relief crashed through him like a wave, and when he lifted his head, his vision no longer crackled with static. He… recognized those scarred hands though. A war mage's, but not Luis's. "M-Mariano?" Why was Mariano here? Had he been… He'd been in a session, hadn't he?

He looked up into the young mage's face, at the relief reflected there, and felt his own drain away into a pool of dread. He'd just had a panic attack in front of a client. He'd have to weave words very delicately to salvage this. Either that, or show vulnerability. He wasn't sure which idea scared him more.

taglist: @athens-writes, @albatris, @thethistlegirlwrites

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

@thejurassicparty

💢👊👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 (Angry symbol, an oncoming fist, and two men kissing with a heart)

Lan Wangji had always been a very calm man. Self control and discipline had been instilled within him like second nature, he had been taught when and how to hold his tongue and restrain his reactions no matter how strong his emotions and impulses.

The fact that he punched that ridiculous man right in the face in the middle of the market was, in fact, very much a restrained reaction. If it had not been, the man would have ceased to exist before he realized what was happening.

A few people gathered round following the event, leaving quite a wide berth to avoid any fallout in case the fight continued... and, of course, to watch. It wasn't every day that they got to see the respectable Hanguang-Jun send someone tumbling down into a stall of watermelons with just one hit - of course everybody wanted a first row seat to the show.

Hanguang-Jun appeared entirely unbothered by the sudden exertion of force, gingerly taking out a decorated handkerchief from one of his sleeves and wiping his knuckles with the same gusto one would do after killing a particularly messy insect.

"I will not be so merciful next time." He said, voice level, though the disgust in it was nearly palpable. "Keep your mouth shut and your hateful opinions to yourself next time."

"Or what?!" the man shouted, finally managing to stand up on shaking legs, a hand wiping at his bloody nose. "You'll kill me?"

Lan Wangji's fingers gripped Bichen loosely. "Yes."

"What a joke! The Lan sect is being corrupted by that horrible Yi..." but his eyes caught onto Lan Wangji's firmer grip on the hilt of his sword and the murder intent that emanated off him.

His bravado seemed to break a little at that, but he continued talking. "Are you all seeing this? He's threatening my life after violently assaulting me! Your sect leader will hear from me!"

Lan Wangji appeared entirely unaffected, in fact suppressing a derisive smile. "Brother is in town. I could arrange that you meet him and tell him what you said about our sect."

The man sputtered, face turning red in both anger and embarrassment. "Does that justify you punching me?! Whatever happened with the Lan sect rules?!"

"Rule 23. Deliver punishment swiftly where necessary."

"Even through violence?! Ridiculous!"

"Violence is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. This is not the Cloud Recesses. If it had been, you would not have been here."

The veiled insult seemed to have enraged the man even more, but before he could open his mouth to speak any more, he found his lips sealed.

"Consider this a kindness of the Lan sect." a new voice piped in, and everybody was floored to see Zewu-Jun show up, his signature smile colder than usual. "If I let you speak any more, you would be dead. I do not want to give young sect leader Jin any trouble handling business with your failing sect."

And in the midst of everything, Wei Wuxian finally emerged from one of the stores, carrying a hefty bag of items and a wide smile on his face. "Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, come on in, they have flavored lu... Zewu-Jun? What's going on?"

Lan Xichen sighed, deeply. "An incident."

"It has been dealt with." Lan Wangji responded, a soft look in his eyes at the sight of his husband. Zewu-Jun was quick to reassure everybody that nothing more would be happening and to move on with their day, joining them himself as the gaggle of Lan disciples and juniors caught up to him on the way to the discussion conference.

Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to leave a little kiss on his husband's lips and hand him the heavy bag of items. "You got into trouble for me again?"

"Yes, I did. That's what husbands do." And Lan Wangji pulled Wei Wuxian into a deeper kiss right in the middle of the street, delighted in the knowledge that people wouldn't dare look for too long after his earlier display.

He'd have no problem throwing punches with everyone if it meant defending his beloved. After all, he had more than enough of being a bystander to such things - and he would stand up for Wei Ying no matter what, even if he had been 13 years too late.

[hardworkandguts]

Mayonaka Punch

真夜中ぱんチ

(Anime)

Comedy by PA Works

Era: 2020s

Rating: A

Plot: At the same time Masaki, a vlogger with self control problems assaults one of her friends and collaborators live on air (twice) and is excluded from the group, Live, a vampire wakes up from a 20 year slumber with one thing on her mind - find the girl she saw in her dreams, who just happens to look suspiciously like Masaki. After meeting by chance in an abandoned hospital where Masaki was desperately trying to recapture her old streamer magic and Live was searching for blood packs Fallout style, she proposes letting Live feed on her if she and her vampire friends help her reach 1 million subscribers.

Length: 12 episodes

Thoughts: The single cour, 12 episode show trend is creating many problems in killing the potential of many shows, as any writer is in a "pick 2" position with character development, story development and preparing for the ending. While many shows suffer from that dillemma, Mayonaka Punch proved it is perfectly manageable. While it doesn't exactly stand out from the many "girls do stuff" shows other than the twist! most of them are vampires and the chaotic energy Live and Tokage bring to the table, it paces the story evenly in two halves, the first where we are introduced to and establishes the characters (Tokage is the last to join on episode 3, and she presents herself with her trademark subtlety), and the second part leading to finale, evenly split between the back 6 and front 6 episodes. The ending is absolute perfection on how it subverts the heightened stakes "they split up" trope in the most ridiculous way and unveils the cute reason Live obsesses over Masaki in just the final minutes.

Moving away from the "12 episode rant", this is a show that is driven mostly through Masaki's insecurities - it's implied she was a bit too controlling even before throwing a fist on air, she's even going as far as allowing a vampire to feed on her to beat her former partners, is easily overwhelmed by negative online comments (while being a hate magnet at this point, I guess that's not a fun combo), and almost ruining their videos by over-editing and hiding the chemistry the Banpai Manor inhabitants have together. Over time she does some self-reflection, particularly during her homecoming episode (one of the best, in part because Live goes feral in this one) when she has being a kinda shitty older sister thrown at her face at every opportunity. She's not a person you'd probably like to be friends with - the show makes it clear her friends had good reasons to kick her out - but little by little seems to be grasping her drive to create content slop is a detriment on her relationships. As for the vampires, we have the two gremlins, Live who is completely obsessed with Masaki, to the point of, worth repeating, going feral with the prospect of being in the house she grew up in (it isn't, but try telling her that) when she visits her at her mother's home after a couple of days apart and Tokage, the loud, degenerate gambler (I don't know how well these characters - I love - will age as we're entering the age of people losing their paycheck to a "can't lose" 3 way bet) of the group who for all that matters is the one who started to unlock the potential their potential as NewTubers so that she has more money for pachinko. Ichiko is more or less Live's personal assistant and who ends up doing most housekeeping (if not all, considering the others) and is heavily in debt for bad stock investments likely because nobody was there to say to someone who can't read kanji to not get into stocks, driving her interest on having a successful channel and Fu is the quiet one, and we get a really sweet story of forbidden love and dreams out of her past. Appearing frequently due to their antics is Yuki, who's the primary foil as she's in charge of keeping those four from revealing they're vampires.

While it has wrapped up pretty nearly, It has a way forward to a new season, with Masaki and Yuki joining the on-camera madness, so I'm curious if it's getting a second season down the line.

Recommended to: do you like cute gremlins doing stuff?

Plus:

Perfectly paced.

On-par gremlin behaviour by everyone involved, even more when garlic is involved.

Looks quite good, very solid on the character design.

Minus:

Nothing to speak of unless we're really done with just 12 episodes.

[mdhwrites]

When it comes to fanfiction, what are your thoughts on OCs/self-inserts (I'm aware there's a difference between the two)?

So I know both of theirs reputation. In many's eyes, one is just a more extreme version of the other. Both are seen as wish fulfillment on the writer's part and thus are written poorly by default as a part of making them the most special thing that special'd. What is interesting to me in this regard is that this is actually just the same problem that the writers of the OG content face when introducing a new character but the writer doing it doesn't realize the landmine they're potentially walking onto.

Have you ever seen a long running show, even maybe just a couple seasons, and when they add a new character they get a bad reception? "They're just a copy of this character!" "They aren't nearly as deep as the cast that's already there!" "What purpose do they serve to this story except to let the writers... Add their own OC." This is because the audience is going to be inherently biased towards the characters who are already there. Trying to add a new MAIN character is always going to be difficult because it inherently means shifting the balance of the work, especially because the new character is going to need a lot of time to flesh out their place in the ensemble. Starlight Glimmer is an example, where the season after her started with a lot of episodes that were in someway focused on her so she could prove her good girl status or show how she was different from Twilight Sparkle because that's just what needs to happen with a new character.

But I want to emphasize this: OCs/Backlash on a character like this is predominantly a MAIN character problem. You want to throw in a random self insert who gets two lines and then dips out? Few, if anyone, is going to care because hey, you needed a rando there so why not just a quick cameo? This is the style the Marvel movies took with Stan Lee. His cameos were never that much a problem because they were usually a quick joke. They didn't detract from the characters you were there to see.

Which brings us to why this problem is SO. MUCH. WORSE. when it comes to fanfiction. One of the strengths of fanfiction from a novice writer's perspective is that a lot of criticism is going to be softballed because the audience is primed to just enjoy the work regardless because they just are there for more time with the characters they love. For an experience writer like me, I could theoretically be experimental with my stories more on Ao3 as a test bed for if those would work in general because I'm not going to get a one star review for the formatting, I'll get a comment going "This was weird but MAN I loved seeing X do Y." Your audience being inherently primed to enjoy your work is one of the joys of being a fanfic writer because it means it's so much easier to find your audience.

That also means it's really easy for original elements to be seen as hostile. As invading the space, especially if they're overshadowing the rest of the cast. The audience isn't here for your original characters after all. They're here for the characters they already enjoy. It makes me think of how the most famous OC of MLP's fandom... Is Nyx, at least from fanfiction. That or Pip but both use sleight of hand in order to get away with this. Nyx is not a wholly an OC. They are a mix of two characters explicitly. Nightmare and Luna, just turned into a filly. So instead of "Check out my OC," it's "Check out my alternative version Princess Luna/Nightmare Moon." Littlepip meanwhile is in a Fallout AU in an Equestria that is, well, a post apocalypse. That isn't MLP at that point. That's just original fiction and so your expectations change because you don't actually know from go if your favorite characters are going to be there so you're more there for the blending of media. Any appearances by canon characters becomes a treat and so Littlepip doesn't have to compete with them. I've also never read either of these stories, I'm just going off of what I've absorbed since I know these characters are commonly liked and what their concepts are. This is also not a condemnation of either character, both need to be well written to be as popular as they are or else they would have been discarded, just that they don't have as much of an uphill battle as literally just dropping a new character in the media world you enjoy has.

The other way you can bypass this is to make them narratively subservient to a character. What I mean by that is that they clearly are there to push another main character's arc and the like. As such, they don't feel as much like a main character, they feel like interesting supporting cast to one of the characters already is primed to like. Pretty much any Apple Family OC is going to fall into this so long as the story also heavily includes Applejack or Apple Bloom. Babs Seed is literally just this where her connection to the Apples and how she challenges them makes her immediately compelling to the audience because we want to see that. A looooot of one off characters honestly fall into this category, with the added bonus that they're not main characters, they're supporting cast.

So with all of this, I think it begs the question: Are OCs/Self Inserts treated unfairly? Well... That's really fucking complicated. As I pointed out above, the well written and the well conceived can absolutely be liked. It has maybe fallen a bit out fashion post MLP but a lot of fandoms probably have semi-famous that just got popular enough to start being passed around. An OC can be well received so long as they're done well. The reason so few are done well is honestly tragically simple: You have now taken one of the hardest parts of original writing and added the biggest downside of fanfiction with none of the strengths of fanfiction.

I have said that I became an original writer because I found myself limited by fanfiction. That the AUs I made were essentially irrecognizable, or not materially added to, by being fanfiction. This is because the one mandate, the one restriction, of fanfiction is that you have to work within the boundaries of the media you are in. Those boundaries are looser than an original story but there are limits. You make an alicorn OC in MLP fanfic will ask questions because doesn't that make them a princess? So now you have to add someone entirely from whole cloth, robbing you of the bonuses of fanfiction, while making sure they contort to the rules of the fiction, rather than ever being able to bend those rules for the sake of the character and their story. This can actually make it really good practice for making original characters for an original story because of those extra challenges but that's not how most fanfic authors look at it. It's just adding a character, or themselves, into a story because they're excited to do so. That is a recipe for disaster.

I also think it is given too much shit for the same reason. Unless the person touts their OC as perfectly written... Let them enjoy their trash. Fanfiction is for the writer before it is ever for the reader after all. If you can empathize with why a person adds themselves into a story, which is an entire blog on its own, then it can help you see a poorly written OC and go, "This isn't for me." And then leave. You do not have to be a dick about it, they're just trying to enjoy themselves.

As a note: This is why I so very, VERY rarely go after fanworks. I do not want to shit on people just for wanting to create and play. It's just discouraging so unless I have a larger point I can make through the work, an actual lesson to teach rather than just dragging it through the mud, I'm not even going to bother talking about it. I'm just being a dick then.

And a lot of the push against OCs and Self Inserts in fanfiction fall into and I hope that hasn't discouraged people from making the stories they want to like it did for me with my first ever piece of fanfiction. See you all next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.