#new vegas reacts

[anonymousgayrobot]

you can really hear the 3 CHR in that ..helloo! ‘:)

[fallout-friends-react]

Could you please do NV companions react to courier dating yesman

Arcade: "Oho my god. You cannot be serious." Arcade had a comically large smile on his face. The Courier assured him they were serious about it, and did their best to explain all the good things about Yes-man. Arcade listened intently, as seriously as he could. At the end of their speech, he looked at Yes-man, and (he thinks) Yes-man looked at him. "You know what? Why not. Who am I to say this type of thing is impossible?"

Boone: The Courier was nervous to come out with the news, but knew they had to if they were going to keep traveling with Boone. "Great." Boone said dryly. "Can we get going?" As it turns out, he really didn't care all that much. As long as Yes-man didn't get in his way, it wasn't really any of his business.

Ed-E: 2 robots, 1 courier :)

Lily: Surprisingly, Lily took to Yes-man quite well. Maybe it's his high-spirited attitude that she likes so much. The Courier liked to listen to the conversations between the two. Very entertaining.

Raul: "Y'know boss? I've seen a lot in my time. This is something... new." Raul rested his hands on his hips and faced Yes-man. "I sure hope that's a good thing!" Yes-man replied happily. "I guess it's not... bad?" Raul questioned his own words. He shrugged. "I just hope I don't have to be the one to fix him when things go sideways."

Rex: Clunkly metal box is just around all the time now. That's fine.

Cass: "This is stupid." Cass said flatly. The Courier, clearly upset, couldn't get a word out before being interrupted. "I mean, look at his stupid face. Can you even stop smiling?" She asked Yes-man. "I cannot!" he said cheerfully. "Oh yeah. This is gonna go great."

Veronica: "You're dating.. a securitron.." Veronica asked without a question mark. The Courier gestured to Yes-man, "yeah look how cute he is!" Veronica clearly stifled a grimace with an awkward smile. "Can you come here for a sec?" She slung her arm around their shoulder and whispered, to make sure the robot couldn't hear. "Look. I know my way around mechanical things. Are you sure this is like... safe? Couldn't he go rampant and end up hurting you or something?" The Courier shrugged her off and dismissed her worries. More than anything, Veronica was just worried about them.

Vulpes: Vulpes took one look at Yes-man. "No."

[maddymoreau]

[satans-left-asscheeky]

fnv companions react to a courier who may or may not have sold their soul for stunning looks. you could dunk them in radioactive sewage and come out still looking amazing.

Sorry for taking so long... I hope you like it 💖

Arcade

"Have you ever had a bad hair day? No? Didn't think so."

He'd definitely notice their beauty, but it really wouldn't play any part in the way he treated them (unless they were confirmed Batchelor in which case he'd be slightly more awkward) though after a particularly gruesome fight with loads of blood shed and dirt caked everywhere he'd notice how even after all that they still looked like a God. He'd assume it was a genetic thing, but secretly be a bit jealous of how their hair stayed in place under any circumstances.

Benny

"Goddamn pussycat, I'm not used to being outdone, but you are quite the looker you know that?"

He would flirt so hard with them that it was pathetic. Sure, he shot them in the head and all, but it was dark then! If he had seen their eyes...well shit... Anyway, he thinks they're swell.

Boone

"You- I- uh....nevermind"

It took him a while to notice, actually. Boone had trouble looking people in the face because sometimes he sees the faces of people he's seen through his scope. Well, one day, as they were wiping sweat from their brow after a particularly close call, he looked and became a little flustered because he'd never seen someone look that good... especially not after a fight. the words just sort of stumbled out of his mouth, which only made him more flustered, and the left the courier confused

Cass

"Face like yours must get a lotta free drinks, huh hotshot?"

They were easily the most beautiful person she'd ever seen, so of course she'd casually flirt, but if the courier didn't really seem interested, she'd just kinda leave it alone, but hey can't blame her for trying!

Raul

"Carefully Hermosa/Hermoso might break a nail, god forbid."

He'd assume they were really into their looks, but once he realized they didn't even try, he'd find it hilarious actually and tease them even more.

Veronica

"Ya know I'd be nice if you'd share some of your inhuman beauty with others... starting with this one brotherhood scribe... you might know her, actually. "

I mean, for Christ's sake, they'd been shot in the head, buried alive, and walked across the entire Mojave just to get revenge, and they still looked gorgeous doing it! it just wasn't fair. She had to put time and effort into her appearance to look even half as good as six.

Vulpes

"Your appearance may charm the profligates, but you'll quickly find ceaser and his men aren't as simple minded"

He says while admiring their beauty. He'd hate himself for it because their looks should be the last of his worries.. a soldier needed to be strong, clever, and quick in battle. Their attractiveness played no part in their success, and yet he couldn't help but feel like they were sculpted by Venus herself... and he resentes them like crazy for reducing his thoughts to something as trivial as obsessing over anothers beauty

[nightingaelic]

Alright, let's spin my sexy little wheel with every challenge, exploit, and perk in the game. 3... 2... 1... And it's landed on the Infinite Companions Glitch. Companions react to traveling as a group, Fallout 4 & New Vegas.

And what occasion would bring everyone together like this, I wonder

Fallout New Vegas

"I've had worse," Raul admitted, chewing thoughtfully.

"See?" Veronica offered some of the toasted night stalker tail to the others. Boone and Arcade declined, but Cass laughed and humored her. Lily daintily took a piece as well, and Rex snapped up the rest with relish.

"And that's normal for you," Arcade said, clearly dismayed. "When you're out on your own, hunting for supplies - you just cook up whatever attacks you that day, whether it's venomous or not."

"Beggars can't afford to be choosers, doc," Cass replied, crashing her shoulder into his.

"But we can," Arcade insisted, digging through his pack. "I've got pork and beans, I've got mutfruit, I've got cornmeal and brahmin jerky and barrel cactus-"

"Then save it for when we don't have coyote snake meat," Veronica suggested with a smile. "I cooked the tail, Arcade, not the fangs. If you really want to have a heart attack about wasteland diets, ask Six for their radscorpion venom casserole recipe."

"Very tasty," Lily rumbled, with a wistful look on her face.

Arcade gave up and began unsealing the can of pork and beans with his can opener. The tool broke halfway through the task and fell to the sand in front of the fire. The rest of the companions made noises of sympathy, and ED-E swooped down to scan it immediately. Arcade put his face in his hand and passed the can to Boone, who pulled out a knife and resumed prying it open.

"Dame eso, por favor." Raul nudged ED-E away gently and bent down to pick up the fallen can opener. He looked it over, then pulled a screwdriver out of his jumpsuit pocket and began tightening the faulty hardware while the eyebot watched with interest.

Boone loosened the top of the can sufficiently and pulled out a small, enamel saucepan from his pack. He dumped the pork and beans into it and set it in the nearby campfire's embers, watching it like a hawk from behind his sunglasses.

"Big day tomorrow," Veronica remarked, licking night stalker grease from her fingers.

"You said it." Cass leaned back on her pack and pulled her hat down over her eyes. "Almost makes a girl wish she'd written her story down. In case of the worst."

"You'll be fine," Veronica reassured her, though there was a little trepidation in her own voice. "We'll all be fine. A positive attitude is half the battle."

Boone shook his head and unearthed a spoon from his pack. Cass caught the movement and raised an eyebrow. "What do you reckon our odds are, sniper?"

"Hard to say." Boone crouched down to stir the pot of beans.

"We've done everything we can," Veronica insisted. "We got my family, Arcade's, even the Boomers... it might be enough."

"Enough, not enough..." Cass shrugged. "There's no other way. We fight, or the Mojave burns."

Boone nodded. Arcade ran a hand through his hair and stared into the fire. Lily patted Veronica on the shoulder, and the Scribe leaned into it, chewing her lip as she did. Rex, who until this point had been stretched out before the campfire, perked up suddenly. One by one, the companions turned in the direction of the cyberdog's interest. The crunch of boots and rustle of creosote heralded the courier's arrival, returning from their perimeter check.

Immediately, the mood lightened. "Hey boss," Raul greeted them. "Turn the radio on?"

The courier obliged. Radio New Vegas was halfway through Peggy Lee's "Johnny Guitar," and everyone around the campfire groaned.

Fallout 4

"Come and get it!" Piper yelled.

There was a mad dash for the first helpings of stew, with MacCready, Cait, and Deacon all elbowing and shoving to put their bowls forward. Codsworth doled out ladles with some exasperated remarks about manners and decorum, but the bot couldn't completely contain his delight that his cooking was such a hit. Curie, Preston and Piper formed an orderly line behind the first three ruffians, while Hancock finally shook himself free of the nap he'd been taking and stretched leisurely before the campfire, nearly knocking away Nick's cigarette in the process. "Watch it," the old synth warned him.

"Can you even process that?" Hancock wondered aloud. He pulled one of his own cigarettes out and touched it to the end of Nick's to light it.

"Old habits die hard," Nick replied.

"Ain't that the truth." MacCready sat down on the other side of Hancock. "Still find myself itching for one, occasionally."

"Strong hungry," Strong complained from the other side of the fire.

"Sorry, big guy," Deacon said, waving his spoon at the super mutant. "Cooked food goes to the FEV-free crowd first. General's orders."

"I still don't think we should be feeding an... a mutant at all," Danse muttered from the back of the stew line.

"Watch it, tin can," Hancock growled.

"Lighten up, Danse," Cait suggested. "He's going to kick in the Institute's back door with the rest of us tomorrow morning. You don't want him going in on an empty stomach, now do you?"

Strong stood suddenly and flexed his arms. "Strong go hunting!" he announced, before crashing into the nearby brush.

Piper took his abandoned seat and turned to check his meager pile of possessions. "Didn't even take his sledgehammer. He must be starving."

"Hunger is not known to inspire patience," Curie commented, sitting next to the reporter. "Puis-je avoir du sel?"

X6-88, who had been hanging back and munching on an Institute-issued ration bar, passed her the shaker of salt from Codsworth's supplies. Curie thanked him and added a dash to her stew. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?" she asked him.

"I am prepared," X6-88 replied, but the space between Curie's question and his answer was enough to betray the Courser's unease.

"You know, we could use a lookout to cover us," Nick said casually. "In case things go bad enough that we need to retreat."

"Retreat is not an option," Danse cut in. "The Institute's grip on the Commonwealth ends tomorrow."

Preston cleared his throat. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, Danse, but Nick's just being practical. Two of us should stay behind to guard the entrance to the cooling water tunnel system. If X6-88 wants it, one of those spots is his."

X6-88 nodded. "This would be acceptable."

"Fine." MacCready gulped down a spoonful of stew. "Who gets the other spot?"

The companions all looked at each other. Deacon coughed, and Hancock scratched around his collar, avoiding eye contact with anyone. "I'm not missing out," Cait muttered. Clearly, there weren't going to be any volunteers.

Codsworth, sensing an approaching presence, swiveled two of his eye stalks away from the stew he'd prepared. "Perhaps we should ask the general."

The sole survivor approached the fire from the southwest, huffing a little from their hike up the nearby embankment. "Ask me what?" they said.

"We need two rear guards at the tunnel entrance tomorrow," Preston explained. "X6-88 is one. We want you to choose the other."

"Oh, easy." The sole survivor bent down to scratch the ears of the German shepherd that had loped into camp with them. "Dogmeat. If he gets shot down there, I'll never forgive myself."

Deacon jabbed a finger at them. "I knew you loved that dog more than us!"

The sole survivor grinned. "He gets in way less trouble than all of you. Come on, if you're really that stuck on this decision, we'll draw straws."

[simplegenius042]

Fallout Casting for Ryomen Sukuna Matata for Jujutsu Kaisen Abridged react fic

"Fuck school! Be crime! Do gay!" - Ryomen Sukuna, Episode 2 JJK Abridged (by the Schmuck Squad).

Reasons To Why I Believe These Characters Should Be Casted listed below the cut:

Richard Grey/The Master (the leader of the Super Mutant Army and the main antagonist of Fallout (1997), seeking to evolve humanity into super mutants with the Forced Evolutionary Virus (FEV), however, is stopped by the Vault Dweller, Elrand Brandt, and his companions via the power of persuasion) -> Mostly the grotesque way his body is morphed and stuff, but you can imagine his mouth opening on Ryder's body like Sukuna does on Itadori's body.

Sulik (a tribal looking to save his sister in Fallout 2, was saved by the Chosen One, Finidy Mona, and joined her as a companion to find the GECK, while she also helps him save his sister from slavers) -> It's mostly his tattoos that got me to choose him as a potential candidate.

Stanislaus Braun (the Overseer of Vault 112 in Fallout 3, Braun is a sadistic old man who regularly tortures his captives in a world of virtual reality, but had known the location and use of the GECK, which lead James Dolen to seek him out (only to be transformed into a dog), but was later outwitted by Alph inside the VR world and Amata from within Vault 112) -> Evil for the sake of being evil? Hates a kid for no reason? Would definitely take over somebody's body if given the chance? Sukuna candidate.

Yes Man (a securitron Benny had tampered with to help him overthrow House, is key to the Independent Vegas ending of Fallout New Vegas. Courier Six, aka Ryder, finds him in Benny's penthouse, and teams up with the securitron to save Benny from Caesar and overthrow House together) -> Listen he's too cheery for his own good. And sarcastic too. Like Abridged Sukuna.

DiMA (the synth co-leader of Acadia in Fallout 4 Far Harbor DLC. He is also the "brother" of Nick Valentine, the person who gets the Sole Survivor, Nate, to admit that he's likely a synth himself and has been involved in the sketchy shit around Far Harbor) -> Though the least potent candidate, what cannot be denied is that DiMA disregards everything about morality when it comes to doing what he thinks is the ways things should be.

The Scorchbeast Queen (the motherfucking progenitor of the Scorched disease and the final boss of Fallout 76 (if players nuke her nest at Fissure Site Prime). The Resident, Vega, only survives her encounter with the Scorchbeast Queen because of the FEV that had partly transformed her) -> She looks as ugly as Sukuna's fingers.

John Henry Eden (the President who runs the Enclave in Fallout 3, has all the personalities of the past presidents copied and downloaded into his A.I. He intended to use the water purifier to release a modified FEV into the water to kill anyone with a trace of radiation in them. He attempted to get Amata onboard with this plan, but since it would technically kill Alph, Amata convinced the president to give her the virus to "use" and tricked Eden into self-destructing and run like hell while Raven Rock fell down around her, towards Alph and his companions who were fighting outside trying to get to her inside) -> Eden and Sukuna are all aboard the murder express.

Dean Domino (one of Ryder's temporary companions in Fallout New Vegas Dead Money DLC. He was friends with Frederick Sinclair and had used Vera Keyes to get him one step closer to the Sierra Madre vault, however America being nuked interrupted this heist and lead him to being ghoulified, and while trying to get into the Sierra Madre, had been forced by Father Elijah to help him get into the resort. Dean eventually betrays Ryder inside the Sierra Madre, having been unable to comprehend someone could be as smart as him, which leads to him getting filled with lead) -> Dean Domino is a selfish bastard, Ryomen Sukuna is a selfish bastard.

Dr Klein (a brain apart of the Think Tank in Fallout New Vegas Old World Blues DLC, he was the director of the Big MT. His speakers are set on a loud volume and he is quite an arrogant punk. Klein and the rest of the Think Tank had vivisected Ryder, taking her heart and spine (and losing her brain to Dr. Mobius) and would only allow her to leave if she dealt with Mobius and gave them the resources to explore the Mojave from the safety of Big MT) -> As loud as Abridged Sukuna is.

Ishmael Ashur (the leader of the Pitt in Fallout 3 The Pitt DLC, though he is the big boss of slavers and raiders, Ashur is trying to humanely find a cure for the Trog which his daughter Marie seems to be immune to. However, the Lone Wanderer, Alph's appearance in the Pitt shakes things up) -> If Ashur just lost his benevolent intentions behind his actions and was doing things for the evils, he could be a lot like Sukuna.

God (the alter who acts as the "conscience" to a nightkin called Dog in Fallout New Vegas Dead Money DLC, he looks out for Dog and wants to kill Father Elijah so badly. Ryder helps both Dog and God make peace with each other and merge them both into a new personality) -> God is the voice in Dog's head, and his voice is quite menacing. Like Sukuna, though Sukuna is more malevolent than God.

Remember, for the alternative option, REBLOG and put in the tags WHO else from the Fallout franchise should be Abridged!Megumi and WHY you think they'd better suit the role. Also if there is a tie, then a repost will be made with only the tied candidates, and you'd have to pick from them.

I've also created and will continue to update (until the polling is done) a Master List for the poll results of the casted winners. You can find it right here.

You can find my Fallout OC profiles Master List right here, which also includes a link to the original post where I pitched my react fic idea. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, chow!

[danses-with-dogmeat]

wait omg can i request joshua for the praise thing?? it's so cute i think i'm gonna pass out /pos (gn!six please)

Joshua Graham Reacts to g/n! Six Giving him Praise

Ahh yes! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, that piece was just too darn sweet to write, honestly.

Sorry it took so long to come out, but here it is! I hope you like it! 😁

Also, here's the original ask as well:

"I just have to ask you for a few characters 👉👈 Porter Gage, Hancock, Raul, Charon and Gob ack don't call me out for my ghoul loving ass just getting showered in praise. I just feel the ghouls don't GET enough lovin', they are all wonderful, handsome and great men."

And here is the link to the full post!

I'm gonna add Joshua to the full post as well, btw :3

“Joshua?” Your voice carried smoothly over the sand, through the hot, dry air. But Joshua didn’t stir, he didn’t even seem to register his name. 

���You okay?” You pressed forward, craning your neck as you took a couple steps in his direction, trying to see what it was in the creek that had caught his attention so fully. 

“Did you… find something?” You bent down as you reached Joshua’s side, noting the way his unblinking eyes seemed glued to… nothing. Nothing, but his own reflection, staring back with the same intensity. 

The sand shifted beneath you as you settled by Joshua’s side. He noticed you, out of the corner of his eye, but remained silent. 

What could he say? 

How could he speak all that he was thinking, as he peered down at his scarred and bandaged face? Could he voice the way that he feels? So unworthy of your devotion to him, so confused as to why you stay by his side, so appreciative that you care for him the way you do, but so wholly afraid that if he speaks his fears, that they will come true. That, as soon as you come to your senses, as soon as the novelty of being with him fades, you will leave…

Who could love a face like mine? And more… Who could love the man that this face belongs to? A man who has done so much wrong, that his sins could only be absolved through the most violent forms of suffering? And even still… Am I truly free of them? 

He did not feel it. 

“I... am not worthy…” The missionary began quietly, and saw your head snap towards him as the words met your ears. “I am not worthy of even the least of all the deeds of steadfast love and all the faithfulness you have shown me.”

“What?” You asked, your brows furrowing as you shifted your body to face him, rather than the stream of water below. 

“It’s a line from Genesis." He attempted to clarify, "Jacob is speaking to God, speaking to him of his own humility in response to the devotion that the Lord has shown him.”

Your brows didn’t unfurrow. 

“And that… That has to do with…?” 

“I’m not…” Joshua’s jaw clenched as his eyes finally left his own watery visage in favor of hiding behind his downed lids. 

“I’m not sure why I said it. The quote just… came over me.” He lied, knowing full-well that the words had everything to do with you. 

If I tell you that I feel unworthy of you, will that start something? Will that plant the idea in your mind that I don’t deserve you? Will you then act on that idea?

“Hey.” 

He felt your touch upon his shoulder as your voice met his ears, it was light, but unyielding as your fingers clenched at the bandages insistently. 

“You can talk to me.” You smiled as Joshua’s eyes opened and his gaze landed upon your face, and he wasn’t immune to it. Nor your words, and all that they promised. 

Love rejoices with the truth.

“I’m humbled by you, Six. Humbled by the love you show me every day, and I feel… As Jacob did with the love of God. I feel unworthy of you.”

He felt your grip tighten upon his shoulder as sadness flooded your expression. It pained him to know he was the source of the strife he saw in your eyes.

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget who I am, what I’ve done… What I look like, when I’m beside you, but then, my reflection finds me. Then as I look upon your face, as I remember your deeds and your devotion to me, your kindness to others... I cannot help but feel confused.”

“Joshua, I–” 

He continued insistently, his scarred brow hardening over the intense blue of his eyes as you saw them spark with fire from within.

“I have erred more times than I could possibly count, and yet, each is written upon me, like a shouted word, etched into my very skin for all the world to see. For all who gaze upon me to pity me and my failures, to hate my deeds and to agree that I am unworthy of compassion and repentance. That I am unworthy of happiness, and certainly, of love. They see you beside me, and they know, simply by seeing me, that I am unworthy of you.” 

Joshua’s hand traveled slowly up to grasp at yours. Your eyes were wide and glistening as he gently took hold of you, and removed your touch from him. 

The air was utterly caught in your throat as your partner released your hand from his grip and stood beside you, his gaze resting back on the reflection in the running water that marred his covered features even further with each ripple over the small, jagged river stones that weren’t yet smoothed over by the current. 

“But it seems that you’ve failed to note this. Whether by choice, or simply because you are too righteous to see such things, you’ve still stood by me, even despite all that I’ve done, and that I am... I had to be sure you know the truth, Six. So that you can make your own decision about me, about our relationship… And you can find the words and inspiration you need to leave me behind, and to move on to better things. To be with someone who deserves you.” 

And truth will set you free.

The thought sprung unbidden into Joshua's mind.

I don't feel free.

But perhaps... Perhaps, now, Six can.

Still, you sat in the sand, in shock at everything that had just left your partner, the man you love, and have loved happily for the months you’ve been together.

Where had it all come from?

One moment you’re making camp, waiting for Joshua to collect water, dusting off the fabric of your tent, laying out the bedrolls close enough to later rest in his embrace all through the night, and now he… what? Wants you to leave him?

What changed?

Joshua made a move to step away from you, to leave you kneeling there, alone, beside the river that had apparently inspired these harsh words that encouraged even harsher actions, but you would not stand for it.

You could not. 

“I won’t leave you, Joshua.” You got to your feet as he paused his steps, and he tilted his head towards you, to better hear your words. To hear the justification that he was sure would be well-meant, but ultimately, unfounded. 

“Why?” He whispered, and you got the sense that he was going to speak more, that he would continue monologuing until he convinced himself further that you do not belong with him, even when you know that, beyond all reason, you do.

“Because Joshua, because..." You took a breath as righteous words filled your mind, "'You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and… I love you.' That quote comes from the book of Isaiah. And it’s God speaking to Jacob, telling him that this is why men are worthy of him, and why, even if they’re not, they’re still deserving of unconditional love, even by one as divine and perfect as God.” 

Joshua’s eyes were the ones widening now, and his body turned so that he could face you fully once again. 

“Now, I’m not saying that I’m perfect, but… If God can stand to love you, if he can keep you here, after all you’ve been through, if he can promise you life, even after going through what should’ve meant your death tenfold, then can’t I do the same? Can’t I promise you a life with me, can’t I love and accept you for who you are, no matter what anyone else thinks?” 

Joshua’s light eyes were glistening as they fixed on the sand below him, and you couldn’t help but step forward to try and draw his attention back to you. 

I had to sit through your monologue of self-hatred. Now it’s your turn to listen to all the reasons your words were wrong.

I won’t have you tuning me out.

“After living a life so devoid of it, there’s no one I can think of who’s more worthy of love and compassion than you.” 

You placed both hands on either side of his face, gently urging his eyes to meet yours. 

“Everything you’ve done, Joshua… You’ve been made to pay for. Just as you said, it’s all written upon your body, but it’s here too.” You dragged one palm down to rest over his chest. It was warm to the touch, even through the layers of his bandages and clothes. 

“And here.” The fingers of your other hand brushed over his temple, then his forehead. 

“You’ve paid for it enough. With these horrible thoughts, these feelings of unworthiness plaguing you, every mark upon your skin, all the pain you feel every day. Trust me, my love, you've paid for it. Now… I think God and I both just want you to know peace.” 

Joshua’s hands rose to delicately collect yours, to pull them down in between your bodies. But he didn’t release them from his grasp this time, only held them there, embracing you as much as he could allow himself as his mind still swirled with turmoil. 

“But why?" He asked, "You don’t have to be with me. No one is requiring it of you; and with another, everything would be so much easier. You could be happy… Happier than I can make you.”

“Why you?” You almost laughed at him, it seemed so obvious within the confines of your own mind, the mind that was almost always occupied with thoughts of him only. “I love you, Joshua. I love how you speak to me, how you respect me and want me in your life. I love that I’m able to help you, but you… You’ve helped me more than I think you know.” 

“How?” His voice was so desperate for an answer, it was almost demanding.

“Ever since I woke up from that grave… I didn’t really have a purpose. I didn’t know who I was, didn’t have anyone in my life to turn to, I didn’t have a path... but you gave me one. With you, I could help people in ways I never imagined. You were always so sure of your own path, that it inspired me to be sure of it too. To become a part of your path.”

You could feel your hands shaking where he held them between you. Your whole body was trembling with insistence, begging him to take your words to heart.

Everything about this night that the two of you were sharing once pointed to normalcy. Making camp, divvying out duties, feeling the warmth of the fire against the cool desert air, hearing the wind sweep over the dunes of sand; it was like so many other nights spent with one another. You hadn’t expected to have this conversation, hadn’t thought you’d be fighting tooth and nail to get your partner to understand how deeply you cared for him, how much you couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him, let alone ever consider it without his knowledge. But it was happening, and now this night was so much more important than all those others, because if you fail… It could be the end of all of this. This bliss that you’ve taken for granted. 

You’d survived without him for months before you ever met him, you could find happiness without Joshua, you knew that, but… With him, you didn’t have to look for happiness. With him, it surrounded you. 

“You have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes,” You said quietly, and even with the linen wraps covering Joshua's visage, you could see the way he softened at your words. “You made me love you more with every word you spoke. I can’t imagine who I’d be now without you, and I don’t want to.” 

Your hands tightened within his grasp, and you pulled his body closer to yours as your eyes stayed locked to his mesmerizing gaze.

 “Darling… in all my life, I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you. Believe me.” 

You insisted, and then you leaned forward even further, and kissed him. 

The thin linen obstructed you a bit, but it didn’t matter. You could feel the heat of him through it, sense the shape of his lips as they moved against yours, as they relented to your touch, and to your words. As he let you love him. 

Joshua’s hands released yours, allowing you to press yourself closer to him as you felt his touch upon your hip, and around the nape of your neck. In the same movement, your arms smoothed over his chest to grasp at his shoulders. He took a deep breath in through his nose, as though he’d been devoid of oxygen until you pressed yourself to him, and you felt the warm puff of air pass through his bandages and caress your face as he exhaled. Subtly, you could taste him through the barrier, the sweetness of cactus fruit, and the tartness of the healing powder he mixed into the water he drank. You sighed into him at the familiarity of it all. His touch, his taste, his burning warmth that sometimes felt unnaturally hot. Enough so, even, that it could scar you in return. 

And though it never had, Joshua hadn’t ever left any physical blemishes upon your skin from his touch, from his love of you, you were certain that you hadn’t gone completely unmarked by him. Like the words he spoke, like the thoughts and actions he inspired, like the emotions that surrounded him in your mind, his mark was within you. And all of that, all of his influence, his own love for you in return, that you felt was as permanent as any scar left upon his own skin. 

“Thank you,” You felt Joshua whisper against you as you parted, but remained pressed to one another. “Thank you, Six, for all that you have given me. I… I still do not feel worthy of it, but, I will do what I can to change that. No matter how long it takes.” 

“Mm.” You hummed, a grin touching your lips as you pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes, soaking in the simple feel of him. “And I’ll be right here. Right beside you, all the way.” 

You felt the outline of his own smile as Joshua leaned forward, and captured your lips with his once again.

[profligate-whore]

HCs about Arthur Maxson?

TW: Mentions SA

Arthur Maxson Headcanons

He tries his best to interact with the brotherhood soldiers, often eating lunch in the mess hall with them. However, he is strictly professional, he will not engage in conversation outside the topic of the brotherhood and their work.

He didn't get his scar from a deathclaw fight, it was actually something really pathetic and embarrassing and he just tells everyone he fought a deathclaw to not seem weak.

He cares for the civilians in his own fucked up way, but he is not tolerant of anyone that doesn't have his same beliefs. He won't hesitate to wipe out those he deems as scum.

Outside of the brotherhood he is a surprisingly good man. He's caring and tries to be romantic to you

He likes writing and is working on his own novel

In one of my fanfictions, Elder Maxson was portrayed as a total asshole. He sexually harassed a knight to sleep with him in order for them to 'earn' the rank of paladin

He's the type of man that would build you a house with his bare hands

He has some older beliefs, such as men being superior than women, but he also thinks everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses

I really want to see a redemption arc for Maxson. Maybe he starts viewing ghouls and synths as actual people with feelings. It'd obviously take a miracle, but maybe later on in the story, after he falls in love with you, he finds out you're a synth. At first he's angry but he slowly accepts it and realized how human you actually are, more human than most. Or maybe you're exposed to lots of radiation, and despite his desperate attempts at giving you bottles and bottles of Rad-X you slowly turn into a ghoul. Non-feral though. He slowly accepts that you're appearance is changed but you're still the love of his life.

I imagine he really wants a big scary looking dog, like a pitbull or a doberman. But when he finally gets one of these 'aggressive'' dog breeds they're actually just a big baby that thinks they're a lap dog.

He's big on alcohol. He's always on the look out for expensive and rare alcoholic beverages.

He first confessed his love to you after you returned from the institute. He admits he was terrified the teleportation would mess up and kill you and he's beyond happy to see you in one piece.

He's jealous of your relationship with Danse, you guys are too close and he can't help but to believe it's more than friendship

[what-inthe-goddamn]

The FNV Companions finding themselves caught under the mistletoe with a romanced Courier Six (gender neutral description for the Courier! :D )

Arcade: He had nearly ran into the foliage hanging on the doorway, grumbling up at it before looking back down to find the courier with a wide grin.

“Looks like I caught you under the mistletoe.” They said mischievously.

“Is that what it is?” He smirked, narrowing his eyes at the hastily attached datura root leaves and mutfruit berries, hanging on by literal threads.

“I read it was used for healing properties by the indigenous tribes here, though it’s not recommended to eat too much of it. Not that I’ve seen any in the field though. It grew mostly on the East Coast from what I recall-“

The courier took his hand, pulling him closer to themself under the door way.

Arcade flustered. “Oh, right. I could go on, but…” he took the courier’s face into his hands and pressed a small kiss to their lips.

Later on in the night he took the mistletoe down, holding it gingerly in his palm. He decided to keep the ornament, drying and pressing the leaves in one of his books to remember by.

Boone: He caught the courier in the middle of putting the mistletoe up, walking up behind them quietly. They nearly jumped out of their skin when he spoke up. “What are you doing?”

“Oh! I’m putting up mistletoe, well- it’s not actually mistletoe, but I got some plants and thought it would be cute.” The courier turned to him excitedly.

“It’s a pre-war tradition Raul told me about!”

“Hm.” He looked up at it. “What does it do?”

“I think you stand under it with someone and…” The courier locked eyes with him, melting under his stare.

“And what?” He pressed.

“You and someone stand under it and kiss.” The courier flustered, hiding their face from him. “It’s stupid! I don’t know why I-“

“Do you want to?” Boone felt his face heat up, averting his eyes from the wide stare through their fingers.

“Want to what?” They asked.

“…kiss.” He mumbled.

The courier lowered their hands from their face, moving them to cup Boone’s as they drew closer to one another. Closing the gap between them Boone melted into their warmth, unable to help himself from smiling against their lips.

Even minutes after they had pulled away he could feel his heart ram against his chest, that smile still plastered on his face.

Cass: She heard the courier fumbling with something out in the hall, interest not piqued enough to investigate until they called her name.

She walked out, finding them lingering in the doorway of their room, leaned up against the frame nonchalantly. She eyed the strange thing hanging above them, an assortment of some leaves dangling on string.

“What do we have here?” She chuckled.

“It’s seems we’ve found ourself under some mistletoe.” The courier winked at her.

Cass beamed at them, taking ahold of the courier by the collar of their shirt.

“So it would seem.” She smothered them with a fiery kiss, holding them until they had to break for a breath of air.

They returned the kiss fervently, dappling each of the freckles on her face as she laughed.

Raul: He grumbled as he stepped out to the suite’s hallway, locking eyes with the courier. His face softened seeing them, stepping over and noting the thing hanging from the doorway above them. Upon a closer look he raised a brow.

“Is that what I think it is, boss?”

A small bundle of leaves and mutfruit was strung delicately together. He smiled; they never had this in his home, but he recalled the commercials and old holo-movies during the holidays, mistletoe dangling and the happy couple kissing under it.

The courier nodded. “I did my best, the plant in the picture was kind of washed out…” They shuffled on their feet as Raul locked eyes with them. “I heard people kiss under it. Is that true?”

Raul’s eyes narrowed, smile turning into a smirk. “You trying to tell me something?”

“I’m just stating things!” They threw their hands up in defense. “Though, I don’t see any reason to break tradition.”

“Neither do I.” He chuckled. Raul stepped closer, taking Six into his arms as they kissed each other softly.

Veronica: She had practically jumped out of bed after turning to find the courier’s spot of the mattress empty. The scribe bolted into the hallway, ready to chatter their ear off about opening presents without her. Then she nearly ran into them at the doorway of the living room.

“I caught you!” She lightly punched them in the shoulder.

They laughed it off, leaning back into the door frame. “That you did.” Their eyes casted upwards, Veronica’s following widely.

She gasped as her eyes laid upon a small bouquet hanging above the both of them.

“It’s mistletoe!” She jumped up and down, taking the courier’s face into her hands.

“It is.” They assured.

Veronica squealed, bringing their face towards her, rocking back and forth with one another as she attacked them with numerous kisses.

She pulled away for a moment. “It’s just like those movies! Oh, you!” Then she returned with more passionate pecks on their lips, just about kissing their breath away.

[grumpymirelurkqueen]

Me : I love gay, blond, bitch, guy ! With glasses !

Arcane Ganon : *Judges me then returns to his book.*

Roman Bridger : Technically...

Albert Wesker : What about him ? Who is he ?

Me : My new favorite blond bitch. Meet you Ignis Scienta !

Arcane Ganon : Ignis : Fire / Scienta : science.

Me : Tu as enlever tout le fun... (You've got all the fun out of it)

Albert Wesker : He's not even blonde.

Roman Bridger : Me too...

Albert Wesker : *He looks at him silently with his arms crossed.*

Roman Bridger : Uhm... He's blind...

Me : *Pop out of nowhere* Yes, but I can look at it in the white of it's eyes. *Proud of my hook joke*

Albert Wesker : *Massages the bridge of the nose*

Roman Bridger : *Look awkwardly at the ground*

My dad played ffxv so I wanted to introduce my new favorite character to my old ones. It was more funnier in my head... Sorry for my English....

[falloutnewcourier]

Question for y’all, would y’all be interested in companion reactions if I did them? I wanna try and get used to writing the characters as I haven’t really written for them before.

[shanaz-khan-newaccount]

Look, i know it sucked, it's trash, it's a pathetic attempt of a final cutscene that should never belong to an rpg with multiple endings but at least it's not a pic of my malewife in a pit with a voice over that states that they died alone and miserable in a dark alley because they attempted to eat a can of soup and chocked themselves with the tin can and it was all my fault because i didn't choose their favourite political party to rule the city.

[fallout-friends-react]

Please write New Vegas companions react to the courier sitting in their lap :)

Arcade: Arcade sighed heavily. It's been yet another long day helping the followers. Feeling tired, he sat on the nearest bench he could find, and leaned his head back so he could look at the sky absentmindedly. With no warning, the Courier sat on his lap, making him jump from surprise. "W-what are you doing?!?!?! There are other places to sit???" The Courier just laughed and said this spot looked the most comfortable. Arcade adjusted his glasses, "I-uh- you.." He stuttered, clearly embarrassed. "Surely there's somewhere better for you to sit." The Courier laughed again and finally got up to sit next to him instead. Arcade couldn't think of anything to say, he rested his face in his hands to hopefully hide his red face. It didn't help much.

Boone: Boone had been keeping watch while the Courier relaxed. They watched him watch the horizon for any signs of danger. He looked bored. The Courier got up and called Boone, "Hey come sit, I'll take next watch." Boone got up without a word, listening to their command. He took a seat on their previously occupied chair. Without even bothering to go keep watch, the Courier immediately sat on his lap. They just wanted to see how he'd react. Blank. Nothing. "I thought you were going to keep watch." The Courier huffed and got up. With crossed arms, they went to do as they had promised. The Courier didn't know it because of his sunglasses, but Boone had a hard time looking them in the eye.

Ed-E: He has no lap with which to sit.

Lily: The Courier was clearly exhausted, and Lily could tell. Without thinking it through, Lily found the closest and sturdiest wall and leaned against it. She assumed a wall sit position, making the Courier confused. "Sit for a bit. I can't let my own grandchild be so tired." The Courier couldn't believe their eyes. There's no way they could sit on her lap while she's doing a WALL SIT, no one could handle all their weight while doing that. Or so they thought. The Courier noticed Lily's bulging thigh muscles. She is a nightkin after all, she's stronger than any normal human. The Courier shrugged and took a seat. Her lap was much more comfortable than expected.

Raul: The Courier and Raul had taken a trip to the NCR embassy to visit some captain for some kind of mission. Raul didn't really listen to the details so he didn't actually know the reason for their visit. The embassy was particularly busy this day, so they were told to wait for the captain to be available. The lobby was busy enough that there were almost no seats, save for one. Raul sat down without really thinking about it. The Courier awkwardly stood in front of him. "I'd offer you my seat, but I think elders get dibs." He chuckled. The Courier just smiled in response. Raul thought for a moment, probably they wanted to sit too, god only knows how long the NCR will take. "Hey boss," he gestured to his lap, "take a seat." The waved him off, surely he wasn't serious. "No really, come on." He patted his lap. The Courier hesitantly took a seat. The two stayed silent for a couple minutes. Raul interrupted the silence by tapping on their arm, "yeah I don't think my old bones can take this. Let's try switching spots" They got some stares from other embassy patrons, but neither of them really minded.

Rex: You literally cannot sit in a dog's lap.

Cass: Both Cass and the Courier had been complaining about how tired they were from walking. Almost to see who could one-up the other on how tired they were. They happened upon a building with a missing side, but at least it still had a roof. One chair occupied the corner of what looked like a kitchen. Cass used whatever energy she had left to run to the chair and take it for herself. "HA. I got here first." She smirked at them smugly. The Courier crossed their arms and looked at her annoyed. Just as Cass rested her arms by her sides to really relax her muscles, the Courier quickly took a seat on her lap. Cass shot them a dirty look. "Oh I'm sorry was this seat taken?" The Courier reflected her smirk from before. "Uh, yeah, I'd rather take the floor if you're gonna keep this up." Cass was too tired to put up much of a fight.

Veronica: Veronica and the Courier had stopped into the first bar they could find. They were both exhausted from walking for nearly the entire day. The bar was way more crowded than either had expected. Almost every seat was taken. Veronica spotted the singular vacant chair in the corner of the room and quickly claimed it as her own. The Courier stood next to her, leaning on the wall. She could tell just how tired they were and knew their feet must have been aching. "Hey," getting the Courier's attention, she patted her lap, to signal they should take a seat. "You sure?" The Courier asked, just to be sure she was okay with it. "I insist!" She looked at them with a smile. They took a seat and were instantly relieved. Veronica invited them to take a seat herself, but she didn't expect it to be so embarrassing. She blushed slightly, and couldn't look at them the entire time they were on her lap.

Vulpes: Having finally set up camp for the night, Vulpes's guard was down. As down as it could be anyway. Sitting on a log near the campfire, he closed his eyes to relax for just a moment. The Courier saw their chance and quickly made their move to spontaneously sit on his lap. Vulpes quickly opened his eyes at the sudden weight on his lap. He lifted his arms so as to not touch them, "Um.. Is there something I can help you with?" He didn't seem as amused as the Courier had hoped for. They quickly got off his lap, feeling a little embarrassed.

[arcadewrites]

Hello!

I go by Arcade, and I write for the Fallout Companions from FO3, FONV, and of-course my beloved broken mess FO4. I also will write for non-companions from these games if requested.

I will write fluff, angst, and NSFW (if I feel comfortable with it.) One shots, headcanons, companions react and anything else requested or that comes to mind.

I really love the Fallout series and am hoping that this blog shows it. Also in case, you are wondering I am currently replaying Fallout New Vegas. My current companion is Boone and I stole his hat.

[satans-left-asscheeky]

Do the Fonv companions watch anime

Arcade

This one's 50/50 for me. I feel like he'd like it if he ever actually watched it, but someone would have to force him to watch it for him to ever really get into it

Benny

No, but Swank watches it, so he's seen it.

Boone

No. Doesn't understand it, but will watch if forced

Cass

No she thinks it annoying and is really obnoxious about her opinion too.

Raul

Maybe- Like if six watched it he'd watch it with them, but he'd never really watch it of his own accord

Veronica

YES! She's super into probably would get Cade into it and share theories with him, she'd also probably force Boone and Raul to watch too.

Vulpes

Yes? But more to understand what people are talking about at first... doesn't really watch it because he likes it though (except the violent ones he's all for those)

[nightingaelic]

Fallout 4 companions react to learning about Caesar's Legion (maybe from an ex-Legionary perspective who now realizes that he was used as a weapon by a ruthless fascist(

The sole survivor was in the corner of the Third Rail's bar, tilting their nearly-empty glass around in fascination as the man before them told his story. The tale itself was full of sand, blood, banners with a golden bull and a bottleneck in the Mojave where nations fell, and it was easy enough for the sole survivor's companion to slip in and listen while the stranger laid it out.

"Arizona," the sole survivor said in wonder when the man had finished. They downed the rest of their drink and pushed the glass forward for a refill. "And trying to recreate Rome... I was never really into ancient history, but it sounds like your Caesar didn't want the reality of that society, just the trappings of it. Am I right?"

The stranger inclined his head. "The change was quick, ruthless, but it brought stability where there once was none. You could even live well in the empire, if you kept your head down. But we lived in service to Caesar, not his Legion, and Caesar's thirst for conquest could not be quenched. It was his end, and thus the end of what he built. There was no empire without Caesar."

Cait: Cait's mouth had taken on an awful, bitter taste as soon as she realized that the man was describing a nation of slaves, and she swallowed the rest of her own drink to try to flood her senses. It didn't help much - the Third Rail's beer had its own bitterness. "Good riddance," she said instead, rubbing her neck. "Let men like him dry out in the desert, in unmarked graves."

"So he died in the Mojave?" the sole survivor pressed. "What killed him?"

"I don't know." The stranger pushed his hair back and glanced around the room. "There are stories, thick as bloodbugs after rain. Internal strife. Heart attack after the defeat at Hoover Dam. An old Legate, come back from the dead to exact revenge, or a newcomer with stars in their eyes and the city across the river at their back. Doesn't matter, I say."

"You're goddamned right it doesn't," Cait agreed. "What happened to his army? The people he took, to run his war?"

The man shrugged. "Scattered. Went home, or elsewhere if home was gone. Arizona roads fell apart again, raiders came back, but the old feuds were gone. Made it easier to band together, make something new."

"As long as it's not another slaving group." Cait huffed her dissatisfaction and slumped against the bar. "That's about the only good thing that comes out of wearing a collar. You find someone else who's worn one, you know them. Doesn't matter if they fought it, suffered alone or with others, tried to play it off like they were happier with one on, you just... know."

Codsworth: "I don't suppose this Legion was very popular, outside of the areas it occupied?" Codsworth asked anxiously. "I would hate to think that there were other nations like it, in what was once a great country."

"Popular or not, the fact that it grew into something big enough to occupy Arizona and beyond is enough to make you worry." The sole survivor sighed. "You fall asleep for 200 years and you wake up thinking that maybe things changed. But they didn't. I'd say I don't get it, but there's nothing left to get, I suppose. The world goes on."

The stranger nodded. "The Bull rose quickly, but it fell just as fast, aided by the Bear and the Colorado River itself."

"I say, bulls and bears?" Codsworth perked up. "What sort of creature are you talking about now?"

"The two-headed bear, the NCR." The stranger raised an eyebrow, sensing his audience was unfamiliar with the acronym. "The New California Republic. The image of the old world, born anew on the other coast, that arose to meet Caesar when he marched west?"

The sole survivor made a face. "New California Republic?"

"Image of the old world?" Codsworth repeated excitedly. "In, eh, in what way?"

"In every way. Progress, politics, destinies and dollars."

"Well that doesn't sound so bad." Codsworth turned to the sole survivor. "I should like to visit this republic someday, if that's alright with you?"

The sole survivor smiled. It wasn't unkind, but it had the ghosts of disappointment and resignation behind it. "Sure, Codsworth. Right after we're done in the Commonwealth."

Curie: "I do not understand," Curie said, furrowing her brow. "To rebuild L'Empire romain, or even to try to do so... this is a step backwards, no?"

The sole survivor and the stranger glanced at each other. Cure shook her head. "But why do this? Where is the sense?"

"Caesar saw strength in it," the stranger replied. "Rome endured, and he wanted the same for his Legion."

Curie looked supremely annoyed. "Strength comes in many, many forms, but ever since I set foot in the wasteland, the only strengths that seem to hold value are military might, and the length of time a thing may last. C'est incroyable. I am... I am sick of it! Adaptation, change, progress of knowledge and learning from past mistakes, where have these all gone?!?"

"You're telling me," the sole survivor agreed, passing her another Nuka-Cola Dark. "Imagine my surprise, leaving the vault after 200-some years."

"Hmph. Imagine mine!"

The stranger's eyes sparked. "If the past world was as well-off as you imply, it's a wonder it ended in fire."

"Oh no, don't put that on me." The sole survivor wagged their finger at him. "Curie here was built for a vault, so she didn't know the pre-war world much, but I spent long enough in it to know the majority of America was swept up in forces they couldn't understand, much less control. I didn't drop the bombs, some well-to-dos in suits did."

"An easy thing said aloud, by someone who escaped the destruction."

Curie frowned at the stranger on the sole survivor's behalf. "You escaped the Legion, Monsieur. Did you also escape the destruction it caused?"

"No."

"Well, then." Curie took a sip of the Nuka-Cola Dark. "If it is a debate of systemic failings you want, we are all more than prepared."

Paladin Danse: The Brotherhood Paladin that accompanied the sole survivor nodded along, recalling what he'd learned about the western chapters of his order and the trouble the Legion's rise had caused them. "I am glad to hear Caesar's government collapsed completely. From what I've heard, he was never sympathetic to the Brotherhood cause. His troops met ours in combat a few times."

"Indeed," the stranger said, in a tone of voice that suggested he might have done more than just hear about the clashes.

"How long ago were you in the Mojave?" Danse pressed. "Do you know if the Brotherhood chapter there is still active?"

"I am unaware of their current activities, but I believe the Knights brought their skills to Hoover Dam, when the time came."

"Outstanding." Danse smiled and sat back on his stool. "It's nice to know that there are people like us out there, wearing the same uniforms and carrying the same purpose - even if they're thousands of miles away."

"Uniforms, perhaps. Purpose?" The stranger shook his head. "The desert Knights vary, in belief and knowledge. Most struggle to hold onto their people, their way of life, as the NCR pours inland and the pull of New Vegas grows stronger. Some dream of things as they once were, speak ill of your Maxson and how he opened his gates to the wasteland. Some don't even know his name, or the name of the one he came from, their own forefather."

That stumped Danse. "They don't know the name of the first Elder? I thought the NCR named a state after him."

"The NCR has much to thank the Maxson line for, but in the end, time can only change a name into a common word. It will happen to their state, as it is happening to your brothers and sisters. They forget their sacred charge, carry out its motions without knowing the reasons, and they die out in their bunkers while history moves on. Like the Legion, their purpose contains a fatal flaw. A dead end, as Caesar used to say."

Danse glowered at him. The sole survivor cleared their throat. "Easy, Paladin. You weren't really expecting to find Brotherhood fans in Goodneighbor, were you?"

Deacon: From behind his sunglasses, Deacon eyed the stranger suspiciously. What he was saying rang of truth, given what he already knew about the Legion, but letting on the fact that he knew anything at all about Caesar or his failed attempt to build an empire might be the wrong move.

He shook his head when Whitechapel Charlie came over to refill their cups, watching the bot take his empty glass away with nonchalance. "Sounds like hell to travel through. Did you run into trouble, coming over to the East Coast?"

"None that you can't find elsewhere." The stranger studied him too, eyes dark and unreadable. He fiddled with the straps of the face mask he'd removed and set on the bar in order to drink. His hands were large, scarred from a lifetime of movement and pain. "Or here, if the things they say about the powers of the Commonwealth are true. Brotherhood, Minutemen, and more. Soldiers and spies... the same battles rage on, East or West."

The sole survivor seemed to have caught on to Deacon's hesitancy, and they drew the attention back to themselves. "Sure. Same shit, different bucket. You do something about it, or you learn to live with it. Like people under the Legion, I guess."

Deacon winced internally, but their careless statement had done the trick. The stranger turned his head on them, lacing his words with ire. "And what is living? The definition changes, if you ask an emperor or a slave. How much choice goes into the act of it? To tread the line of life and survival, to say what must be said to still draw breath, sate hunger, shelter through a storm... sometimes all one can do to resist a force like the Legion is exist, and existence is not enough."

The sole survivor smiled. "No. It isn't. But existence, endurance, in spite of something that wants you in chains or dead is still the first step."

They took a long drink from their glass, sighed, and ran a hand over their face. Deacon knew what they were going to ask, even before they opened their mouth. "Do you know what a synth is?"

Dogmeat: The sole survivor's hand dropped to Dogmeat's head, scratching behind his ear. Dogmeat whuffed softly and leaned into the attention.

"I'm sorry," the sole survivor said to the stranger who smelled of fire and sand, anger and regret.

The stranger closed his eyes for a moment. "There is nothing to apologize for. All of it belongs to history, now."

"Trust me, I know." The sole survivor finished patting Dogmeat and accepted a new drink from Whitechapel Charlie. "Everything that I used to be is history now, and ancient history at that. But I'm living proof the pain's still there. Known or unknown. So I'm sorry about what happened to you, and everyone else the Legion took."

It was a long time before the stranger answered them. The two sat there drinking in silence, staring at the bottles behind the counter and listening to Magnolia's song. It was a sad one, some Buddy Holly cover about rain and the misery of a broken heart, and it seemed both appropriate and wildly unmatched for the two figures grieving destroyed futures at the bar.

"Thank you," the stranger said, when the song was finished.

The sole survivor stood. Dogmeat rose immediately and looked up at them, ready to go.

"I'm glad I met you," the sole survivor said, extending a hand to their drinking companion. "If you ever want to stop looking for what you lost, come visit Sanctuary. I'm there now, most days."

Mayor John Hancock: "Damn shame." Hancock threw back one of the shots that Whitechapel Charlie had just delivered. "Then again, he sounds like some of the people I murdered in order to become the mayor. Either way, we drink."

The sole survivor raised their own shot, but the stranger declined. "Slower," he said, by way of explanation.

"Sure, sure, take it easy." Hancock winked at him. "Got all the time in the world, now that you're not fighting for some asshole who wants to dress up as a historical figure. Who does something like that?"

The sole survivor broke down laughing, and Hancock threw an arm around them and joined in. The hint of a smile played around the stranger's lips, but he remained silent and observant.

"So." Hancock slammed his shot glass onto the bar again. "Why are you here, now? Joining the Brotherhood, the Minutemen? Or just looking for work? You're welcome to use the VIP room, if you're lining up customers as a hired gun... or maybe something else?"

The stranger ignored his suggestive eyebrow waggle. "Walking roads not yet traveled."

"Taking in the sights, or something more specific?"

"Both. Neither. The journey is the destination."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, a poet." Hancock rolled his eyes. "You must be pretty good with that rifle on your back, if you can wander wherever you like and write songs about it, to boot."

"Not songs." The stranger's eyes gleamed. "Histories."

"Histories. My bad." The mayor of Goodneighbor grinned. "Enough about the Legion. How's New Vegas doing, these days? I've heard some wild stories from pre-war friends."

Robert Joseph MacCready: MacCready had gone rather pale as the stranger told his story, and the sole survivor turned to him in concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said, a little too quickly. "Er. Yeah. I'm okay."

"You're not."

"Uhh..." MacCready glanced at the stranger, then at the sole survivor. "It's just... it reminds me a little too much of the Capital Wasteland."

"I thought they'd stamped out slavery in the Capital Wasteland," the sole survivor said in alarm.

"Yeah, for the most part, but that's not what I mean." MacCready swallowed another gulp of his beer. "It's... the Brotherhood. I know, they're not trying to be Rome or whatever, but everything revolves around them, even if you've got nothing to do with the Citadel or Adams. They take what they want, and they use it to make themselves stronger."

"Slavery to a cause, a banner, without the collars." The stranger nodded. "No need for collars, if they write the histories themselves. No room for what might have been, what still might be... and the bull charges on."

"Gears," MacCready corrected him. "And swords."

"Putting a bull on their power armor might be a bit too on the nose," the sole survivor mused. "Then again, gears and swords aren't particularly subtle, either."

"Is that what brought you to the cradle of liberty?" the stranger asked MacCready. "Running from your own bull, mercenary? Or maybe some other bull, a greener one, that leaves skulls in its wake?"

MacCready wouldn't meet his burning eyes. "Let's change the subject," he said.

Nick Valentine: Nick Valentine sighed heavily. "'To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire, and where they make a desert, they call it peace.' Though I guess the desert was there already."

The stranger inclined his head. "And it remains."

"How'd you get out?" Nick asked. "By your own will, or circumstance?"

The man at the bar thought for a moment. "Both. Neither. Fortune and finesse often have ways of intertwining."

"Don't I know it." Nick accepted the new beer that Whitechapel Charlie had brought him and raised it up. "Here's to you and anyone else lucky enough to get out of that situation with their lives. From one runaway to another."

The stranger and the sole survivor raised their drinks in kind, and all three drank deeply.

Piper Wright: "This is gold." Piper was already a few pages deep in her ever-present notepad, scribbling furiously. "We rarely get visitors from the West Coast, traveling through all that territory in between... well you know, you made the trip."

The stranger eyed her notes with an unmistakable expression of mistrust. Piper chuckled nervously and tapped her pencil against the notepad's spiral. "Sorry. Force of habit. Is... is it okay if I log this? Just for my newspaper's files. I'm not going to write an article about you, or anything. Unless you want me to."

The sole survivor chuckled and shook their head. "She's harmless," they reassured the stranger. "Unless she thinks you're dangerous."

The stranger half-turned on his stool. His eyes swept across the room, lingering on the usual figures of Triggermen, mercenaries, wasteland wanderers and midnight revelers, all bearing scars from old battles. All armed to the teeth. Piper caught his meaning and smiled. "Dangerous beyond the norm," she clarified.

"Have to do better than that." The stranger shook his head. "Caesar and his Legion were dangerous, if you talked to the NCR... the raiders... the slaves. But ask the trade caravans who walked its roads, and they'd sing songs of praise. Ask the men who rose in its ranks, who carried its flag to Hoover Dam, of the glory they found. They'd tell you that the danger Caesar spread was merely the threat of change, on the horizon of the Bear's empire. Danger to some, but not to all."

"Yep, same thing the Brotherhood says if you ask them politely not to take your tato crop." Piper screwed up her mouth in thought, before nodding decisively. "I'd like to interview you. Properly. Feel like visiting my office in Diamond City?"

Rather than answer, the stranger finished his drink. He stood, adjusted the strap of his rifle, and let his braids fall in his face as he headed for the exit. Piper scrambled after him, and the sole survivor could make out her excited questions echoing all the way up the subway's stairwell.

Preston Garvey: Preston sighed and removed his hat. "I suppose Rome was around for a long time, but still... not the period of history I would have started trying to rebuild."

"Nah." The sole survivor nudged his arm playfully. "You're more of an American Revolutionary War buff."

Preston blushed a little and put his hat back on. "Seemed more useful, I guess. I didn't come up with it."

"But you kept it going." The sole survivor smiled at him, then turned back to the stranger. "Ever heard of the Minutemen?"

The man across from them inclined his head. "Heard of their strength, and how it waned. Heard of the fort's fall, of a massacre, of a march to Sanctuary."

The sole survivor and Preston glanced at each other. "So you've been in the Commonwealth before?" Preston asked. "I didn't think all of that was common knowledge, outside of the Boston ruins."

"Used to seek the uncommon out," the stranger offered.

"Uh-huh." The sole survivor took a deep breath and blew it out fast, mildly suspicious. "You never said what your job was, in the Legion. Intelligence, I'm guessing?"

The stranger's response was dull, the words heavy on his tongue. "Action. Movement. Shaping roads in darkness, for armies in the sun."

Both Preston and the sole survivor had their hackles up, now. Preston's hand twitched, and his eyes flickered between the man at the bar and the Minutemen general.

The sole survivor's next question was in a lower voice, under the music and bustle of the bar. "So what brought you here?"

The stranger considered his drink. When he finally answered, it was with a longing that Preston felt with his entire being, an emptiness that he sometimes found in himself, after Quincy. "Searching for a new nation. Looking for the sun."

Strong: "Not strong," Strong pronounced the men who had failed to coalesce after Caesar's death.

"Sounds like they were strong enough to cause trouble for a while, though," the sole survivor pointed out.

Strong shook his head. "Super mutant leaders strong in two ways. First way, strong."

He raised his arm suddenly and curled it, causing a few of the Third Rail customers nearby to flinch. The stranger didn't flinch, but he eyed the super mutant with wary interest.

"No strong, no leader." Strong flexed his bicep a few times before nodding. He let his arm fall again, and slapped the center of his chest decisively. "Second way, strong. No strong, no leader."

The sole survivor's gaze turned back to the stranger. "Does that about cover it? No one with the muscles or the heart to take charge, after Caesar died?"

"More to it than that."

Strong snorted. "Boring. Strong or not strong. Nothing else."

Slowly, the stranger nodded. A peculiar look came over his face. "Nothing else."

X6-88: X6-88 took the new information in silently, watching the stranger. The sole survivor had a penchant for approaching the most dangerous person in the room and attempting to befriend them, and more often than not, X6-88 felt nothing beyond mild annoyance at what second-rate raiders passed for menacing in the wasteland. But this man was different. Each new observation the Courser made was raising alarm bells. Scars over scars, jagged lightning across the man's muscled arms. The hard line of his mouth, which was only revealed from behind a breathing mask after purchasing a drink. The worn marks on the weapons he carried openly, indicating practice and familiarity. The weapons he was hiding, inside his long coat, boots, belt. The measured movements of his hands. The impassive light in his eyes.

Indeed, throughout his discussion with the sole survivor, the stranger kept looking the Courser over in turn, perhaps calculating what sort of threat he might pose. X6-88 hoped that his outfit, general demeanor, and refusal to participate in the discussion were enough to dissuade the stranger from any plans that might harm the one he protected.

By now, the sole survivor had tried to draw X6-88 into the conversation a few times, and was increasingly vexed each time he gave a one-word answer. "He's not going to shoot me at the bar," they said finally, gesturing at the man they had singled out. "He'd never make it out of here."

"I would," the stranger corrected them, without missing a beat.

X6-88 put his hand on his laser rifle. "You wouldn't."

And of course, the sole survivor set about scolding both of them for getting riled up over nothing, but over their protestations the two men continued to stare each other down. X6-88 was the only one who saw the stranger give him the slightest of nods. It could have been either a challenge or an indication of respect.

X6-88 did not return the nod.

BONUS!

Ada: "The western caravan companies must be in disarray," Ada surmised, shifting the weight of her protectron frame in a robotic show of interest. "Regime collapse tends to stall trade."

"No more than war," the sole survivor guessed.

"War can be good for trade," Ada corrected them. "Demand goes up for weapons, ammunition, supplies to feed armies..."

"Armies that are willing to pay." The stranger looked the robot over with mild interest. "Caesar took what he wished, if he was able."

"There must have been things he couldn't seize through conquest," Ada replied politely. "The last time I was in the Mojave, his movement had stalled at Hoover Dam. If he didn't control the dam, he must have been in need of electricity, which requires parts and manpower to generate and maintain."

"Lines from Kingman," the man answered, with a faraway look in his eye. "Poles marching north from solar panels, 80 miles along the 93. Salvage purchased or taken from the Mojave itself, dragged south by caravans and slaves. The Legates nailed an NCR captive to every other pole. Left them in the sun to dry. Said they would connect them to the dam itself, then New Vegas, until the line held every NCR soldier from Arizona to the sea."

He fell silent, and so did Ada and the sole survivor. While the latter started in on their drink with relish, Ada shook her assaultron head. "Shall we change the subject?"

Porter Gage: "Sounds like a few I've followed, over the years," Gage admitted. "No plan for what's next, when your number comes up. Course, most don't make it far enough to plan in the first place."

He raised his glass to the sole survivor and smirked. "Do better, Overboss. Watch your back."

The sole survivor rolled their eyes, but they drank as well. The stranger's glass remained untouched, his features hard and unreadable.

"So what brings you east?" Gage probed. "Looking for a new flag to follow? Or are you done with all that, going it alone? Could always use new guns at Nuka-World, if you're looking for work."

The stranger shook his head, and his braids swayed gently. "Not sure what I'm looking for, now, but I won't find it at Nuka-World."

"Come on, won't know until you come through."

This earned the old raider a look so cold that he forgot what sorts of attractions he'd been meaning to highlight at the old theme park. The sole survivor caught Gage's tongue-tied state and chuckled. "Leave off. He's got places to be that aren't covered in tonic residue and nukalurks."

Old Longfellow: Old Longfellow grunted his distaste for the subject matter. "Just another one."

The sole survivor and the stranger eyed him curiously. "Another what?" the sole survivor asked.

"Another man in costume, saying he's got answers." Longfellow shook his head and reached for the bottle of liquor that Whitechapel Charlie had left him. "And none to be found. Fog, sand, Atom or Rome... all the same."

He swallowed a gulp that was a little larger than he'd meant to and fell to coughing. The sole survivor slapped him on the back until he quieted, but Longfellow heard their sigh under his hacking outburst. Sorrow, maybe. Exasperation, more like.

The stranger, for his part, seemed like he was considering the old man's words. Longfellow didn't know if the Children of Atom had any churches in the Mojave, but if it meant that someone else thought harder before joining that radiation-worshipping cult, all the better.

Elder Arthur Maxson: "And Caesar's empire will not be missed." Maxson nodded decisively. "Its disruption of communities and widespread cruelty were renowned across the western deserts, even beyond Arizona and the Mojave."

"Cruelty. Hm." The stranger soberly studied the Elder. "There was no shortage of cruelty in the Legion, but their cruelty was only one tool in their arsenal. There are other ways to break a nation... break any hope of a future. To grasp at power. Isolation. Rhetoric. To put oneself on a pedestal."

Maxson caught the man's drift and glared over the rim of his drink. "Say what you wish to, traveler. Plainly, if you can."

"Easy," the sole survivor warned. "If Hancock has to throw us out again, he might-"

The stranger rose to the challenge, but unlike the Elder, his eyes weren't sparkling with the thrill of it. He looked just as tired as he had when he'd first entered the bar. "An ideal. Lost to time, most can see, but others refuse to let go of. Not a road the Legion is alone on, in this wasteland."

"You would equate my order with a kingdom of slaves?" Maxson slammed his glass down on the bar and pulled himself up to his full height. "The average wastelander might not grasp your veiled insults-"

The sole survivor rolled their eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"-but I know full well when someone is trying to-"

"Oi!" Whitechapel Charlie floated over, managing to make every one of his three eyes look cross. "Put a cork in it, or I'll call Ham down here for housekeeping. I don't care if you're the queen herself."

Desdemona: Desdemona's eyes narrowed. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't."

"My mistake, then." Desdemona smiled slowly, as if she'd plucked her answer from the stranger's very gaze. The two shadowy figures sized each other up, while the sole survivor looked between them with growing unease.

The stranger spoke first. "Heard tell of trains that run the length of the East Coast, bringing passengers by the handful out of one darkness and into another. Slaves of many flags walking the tracks, taking their chances elsewhere."

"We've all heard the stories," Desdemona agreed, sitting back in her chair. "I even heard some about a courier that came looking for those trains, and how he wanted to pull some passengers back into the nightmares they were running from. A courier with a flag of his own."

"I'm not following," the sole survivor muttered.

"I heard his flag changed, even before the bull was slain." The stranger seized his drink and stared into it.

Desdemona crossed her arms. "I heard otherwise."

"There may be truth there." The stranger took a long swallow from his glass and looked away, over the bar toward the neon signs that Whitechapel Charlie hadn't dusted in some time. "The flag, the uniform, even the skin may change, but who knows if the man beneath them has? He may not even know, himself."

"And that's his own business." Desdemona shook her head. "The rest of the world can't afford to assume good intentions anymore."

The sole survivor pushed their stool back and stood. "Okay, my head hurts. I'll be in the VIP room begging Hancock for Mentats if you need me."