#that genetically enhanced brain is kind of wasted on him most of the time

[incorrectgarashir]

Garak: Okay, but what if we went to lunch, but not as friends this time? Julian: AS ENEMIES?! Garak:

[welllpthisishappening]

Mom’s Trip

The trade deadline is stressing me out. That’s it. That’s the reason for this. i have no idea how long it is or why it is or, really, what it is except using Rangers-provided content as fic inspiration. Special shoutout to @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ for both being like, “yes, make it Regina” when I was talking about this. Also, guys, please acknowledge that I turned the six on Mrs. Skjei’s jersey to a zero. 

Or: Ryan Strome’s mom told Artemi Panarin to get her kid the puck and my brain was like THAT’S A BLUE LINE THING. And then Mika’s mom wanted to hug her kid and my brain was like, SERIOUSLY, BLUE LINE. 

----

“Dad! Dad! Mom! Ma—c’mon are you actually here and just ignoring me?”

Emma glanced up from the computer in front of her, a paper-covered desk and plans for an event she was only marginally interested in. She heard the footsteps coming down the hall — more like a brisk jog, really, and that couldn’t have been good for his right thigh.

He’d blocked a shot the night before.

“Hey,” Matt said, almost out of breath when he skidded to a stop in the open doorway to Emma’s office. “Did you not hear me?”

“People across the entire island of Manhattan heard you.”

“Oh, wow. Scathing from the get, huh?”

“How’s your leg?”

Matt shrugged, a quiet noise in the back of his throat that only made Emma’s eyebrows pinch. “Ah, don’t do that, it’s—I’m fine…I mean, we won, right?”

“Sometimes it genuinely concerns me how much you are like your father.”

“Scathing to insulting in four seconds flat.”

“Were you not yelling for him too?” Emma asked, and she was ninety-six percent positive Matt hadn’t knocked. Not like he had to. In this house. The one he grew up in. With enough empty rooms now that Emma could have an office.

Matt let his head loll to the side — a far too knowing expression that Emma did not appreciate at all. She was the mom. She was the adult.

She was—

Her computer dinged.

“Whatcha watching?”

“What did you say?” Emma countered. “Don’t do that? Don’t do that.”

“We’re going in circles here,” Matt muttered, crossing his feet at the ankles. Like he was trying to hit a BINGO card of all the things that made Emma feel vaguely maternal-type emotions. Her computer wouldn’t stop playing the video.

Or she wouldn’t stop playing the video.

Whatever, semantics.

“How many times have you watched it?” Matt pressed. He took a step into the room, arms crossed now and one eyebrow arched impossibly high. “Just—you know, like ballpark it for me.”

“What are you doing here, Mattie?”

“That’s not an answer. Also, this is my house.”

“You do not live here, Matthew David.”

He stopped walking. And the other eyebrow joined the first. Maybe Emma would just slide out of her chair and lay on the floor.

That would hurt her back, probably.

Getting old was stupid.

Being jealous of Regina was stupid.

“Ballpark,” Matt repeated.

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” Emma said again, slower that time like it would make her sound more responsible. Or, at least less insane. She felt a little insane.

She’d watched the video so many times already.

Elsa had sent her ten text messages about it.

Ruby had written a small novel.

Mostly exclamation points.

Matt’s lips twitched, rocking back on his heels with wide eyes and genetically enhanced eyebrows. He didn’t get anything from her eyebrows.

“Yuh huh,” he drawled. “I’m going to guess somewhere in the twenty range, but that’s only because I can still hear it on auto-play and—“

“—The Flyers website is not as good as ours,” Emma interrupted. “It just keeps looping. So my viewing numbers are probably all skewed.”

“You know you can hit pause, right?”

“In theory.”

Matt laughed, crossing the rest of the space and perching on the edge of Emma’s desk. The video started again.

And, really, most of her reaction to the stupid thing was based almost entirely on surprise.

Because it wasn’t the first time Regina had gone on the mom’s trip with the Flyers.

Emma had gone with the Rangers — decked in head to toe blue and Matt’s jersey and Regina didn’t look great in orange, but no one really looked great in orange.

It was a thing.

A hockey tradition, even.

Except now the tradition included viral videos, apparently, pinned to the top of every Philadelphia Flyers social media page — Regina standing in the middle of the visitor’s locker room in Columbus with Mills-Locksley emblazoned across her back and the Flyers lineup in her hand.

She called out every name, all enthusiasm and a smile on her face as soon as she glanced Roland’s direction.

And when she turned towards the Flyers’ starting center.

Demanding he get Roland the puck.

Emma’s eyes flickered back towards her computer. The best part of the whole video might have been Roland’s noticeably pink cheeks.

Or, the way his head dropped to his gloves.

That was Ariel’s favorite part.

So half a dozen text messages Emma hadn’t answered yet proclaimed.

“I didn’t know Gina had it in her, honestly, Matt said. “The sweet is—“

“—Oh, I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“Please don’t. I need my endorsements.”

Emma wasn’t sure what noise she made at that, but she resolutely refused to take responsibility for it, reaching out to rest a hand on her kid’s leg. He grinned.

“You might have some competition for those endorsements,” Emma said. “I bet in between scoring demands and—“

“—Rol did score. The group chat was very quick to point that out while he was whining about getting interviewed because of his mom.”

“What a rough life you children lead.”

“It does get a little aggressive, though,” Matt continued, “Get him the puck! Get him the puck! She’s got a lot of thoughts about Rol’s scoring potential, don’t you think?”

“Eh. She’s got reason to be confident. Legacy and all that.”

“You honestly think she’s working endorsement deals for Flyers guys?” Matt asked. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Any moment without trying to make connections is a moment wasted as far as Regina Mills-Locklsey is concerned.”

“Oh, I’m going to tell her you said that! Then she won’t have time to be annoyed by all the gifs I keep sending Rol.”

Emma clicked her tongue. “Stop teasing him.”

“I’m not teasing, I’m mercilessly making fun. Get him the puck! Get him the puck!”

“Got to shoot to score.”

“Top-tier cliche.”

“Mmhm. That’s definitely my MO.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed, mouth twisting slightly when his hand landed on Emma’s. “Why do you keep watching it?”

“Rubes has watched it more than me.”

“That’s because she wants to analyze the hits and the long-term reach of one thirty second video clip. Is Dad even home right now?”

“No,” Emma shook her head. “Did he tell you to come here?”

“Yuh huh. Why would you think that is? Exactly.”

She couldn’t keep clicking her tongue. She was going to sprain it.

Matt practically beamed.

“Maybe I’ll challenge him to a shoot-off or something,” he mumbled. “Interfering like this. Got to put the old man back in his place.”

“You’re really throwing out insults, aren’t you?”

“He planned this.”

“What did he tell you to get you here?”

“That he had film I needed to watch. Which is just—I’m sure he’s very pleased with his lie and ploy and—“

“—Good word,” Emma grumbled.

“I also think it’s nice you think it’s nice that Gina demanded one of Rol’s teammate set him up. And, I uh—“ Matt shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at the end of his mouth. “You don’t need to go all retweet to get me to come over here, you know. Or tell me shoot. On the mom’s trip or otherwise.”

“Good to know. And your dad and I are going to talk about not-so-subtle plans later. Taking advantage of my mom-type feelings and—“

There were more footsteps.

Emma rolled her eyes, Matt’s laugh bouncing off the walls of her office and making it difficult to hear Regina’s voice coming out of the shitty computer speakers.

Killian tossed his feet at the ankles when he leaned against the open doorway.

“Hey, Matt,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Matt groaned. “You’re not funny.”

“No other people on the ice during our shootout?”

“Do you not remember how shootouts work?”

“Grounded,” Emma said at the same time Killian did. Matt’s head fell to his shoulder.

“I was already reminded I don’t live here,” he argued. “And Dad should probably get in trouble before me, anyway. Lack of tact or a good plan or—“

“—I told you I had video you needed to watch,” Killian interrupted. “Where was the lie in that?”

“You think you’re very smart, don’t you?”

“Let your mom read the lineup on the next trip.”

“Is that my call?”

“Make it your call.”

“Please don’t mention that to Ruby,” Emma grumbled. “It will consume her every thought if she even starts thinking about the impressions.”

“Good word,” Matt echoed.

She flicked his side.

His eyebrows jumped.

And Killian looked very proud of himself.

“Something to think about, at least,” he said, across the office in a few, quicks steps and Emma tilted her head up on instinct so he could press his lips to hers.

Matt sighed. “Awesome, awesome, awesome. Is there food here?”

“You and your brother have got to learn how to feed yourself,” Emma muttered, but she was already standing up and Matt was already jogging back down the hallway and there was far too much food in the kitchen.

And she never did get around to telling Killian where he could stick his plans or his interference, clicking off the Flyers’ website eventually because there was a trip to get ready for three weeks later.

They didn’t reach viral status — a fact Ruby would probably never let Emma live down — because she didn’t actually read the starters, but she did—

“Matt,” another mom grinned after finishing the lineup. “Your mom wants to give you a hug.”

He laughed.

The locker room laughed.

Emma…kind of ran.

The arms that wrapped around her were a little tighter than she expected, but that only made the space around her heart clench a little bit, her chin hooking over Matt’s shoulder pads when he kissed her on the cheek.

“Try and score, huh?” she asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He did. Twice.

Which Emma made sure to mention in the slightly more adult, if even less mature group chat. Several times. Possibly a dozen times.

That night.

[shellheadtmarc]

| BASIC INFO

MCU-based.

On October 23, 2077, the Great War finally ended.  The nukes were launched, the vaults were shut well below their maximum capacity, and civilization as we know it ended in nuclear hellfire.  

The Avenger otherwise known as Iron Man, Tony Stark, was in NYC when the bombs dropped.  Instead of finding shelter in a vault, or following through with one of the many contingency plans put in place for just that occurrence, he instead tried to do what he could in the aftermath, where a city full of panicky people rioted and looted after so long of rationing and not enough, trying his best to help keep some kind of order, to prevent those left behind after the vaults closed turning on each other in the worst possible way.

The years kept passing, and while some people became ghouls with the exposure to the massive amounts of radiation and FEV present in everything, and most died, tests run by he and JARVIS confirmed his initial suspicions,that the arc reactor was keeping him alive in more ways than one.  And in the end, there ended up being nothing for him to do but wait until the worst of the radiation had passed, bide his time, tinker, and keep an eye out for the first of the vaults to start opening.

Two hundred and some change later, the Brotherhood of Steel, on their way to the Commonwealth, crawl past New York in the Prydwen, and Tony, having adapted to wasteland living and doing his best to initiate and oversee rebuilding efforts (and, in the controlled environment of the NYC wasteland, succeeding to a degree), does what any rational, cagey, paranoid wastelander would do:  He suits up and follows them into Boston.  Any Hindenburg 2.0 like that with an amassment of vertibirds and power armored personnel isn’t knocking on the door to borrow a cup of sugar, and he’s heard enough rumors about factions in both DC and Boston with passing traders that he figures New York will have to look after New York for a little while (or...JARVIS will have to help New York look after New York, same difference), while he goes and pokes his nose in the Commonwealth’s business.

He touches down north of Fort Hagen (around the abandoned chapel) after the Brotherhood of Steel arrive and set up base at Boston’s old airport, and from Fort Hagen he’ll start his own investigations into the BOS, the Railroad, the Minutemen, and the Institute.

| APPEARANCE

Tony’s a far cry from five hundred dollar haircuts and bespoke suits these days; the wasteland is rough, and he’s had to get rough back.  Function takes precedence over fashion, and while he still cleans up fairly well, you’ll never see him like that.  His typical uniform is no different than the rest of the wasteland’s, ranging from old flannel and threadbare denim to mechanic coveralls and worn tank tops, all of which are thin enough to let his arc reactor shine through them like a beacon.  

Physically, his entire silhouette has changed:  He’s probably a lot healthier than the average scavver, simply because he is and was born before the war and due to the arc reactor isn’t prone to some of the genetic troubles and illnesses that plague the wasteland.  However, due to the nature of living in the wasteland, where fighting for your life is very often literal, his musculature has changed, and he’s leaner than he was before the war.  His face, too, especially shows that, as his cheeks have hollowed out considerably, and he looks entirely more gaunt these days.

His hair runs in two directions:  Either he’ll take scissors to it himself (and he’s gotten good at giving himself a trim in an approximation of the hairstyles he’d favored before the war, even if they tend to fall flat with no hair product being available these days) when he has the time, or he lets it grow until he can’t stand it any longer.  When it’s longer, he has a habit of pinning it back with bobby pins, which works out just fine for him, because he’s never without one if he needs to pick a lock.

More often than not, he can’t be bothered with his trademark laser-precision facial hair, because shaving takes time these days, and clean water is a resource that can’t be wasted on frivolous pursuits when it’s needed for drinking and cooking.  Instead, while he sometimes is seen shaping it back up every so often, he tends to let it grow as it will (and he does do his best to tame it, but, again - who has the time to worry about things like developing beard oil and balm when there’s so much else to be done that’s more important?), or he shaves completely and the process starts all over again.  Having trademark facial hair is just one of the many quirks he’s had to let go of in the name of survival.

He’s carrying more obvious scars, other than those around the arc reactor.  All those blows to the face and years getting his face banged around in the suit have finally taken their toll, and he’s got a scar that runs the curve of his left brow bone and eye socket, as well as an arch over the bridge of his nose and a permanent one from having his lip split open so many multiple times.  He’s usually sporting a black eye or fat lip, because he still runs his mouth, and running from a fight is no longer an option.  You should see the other guy, honestly.

| FEV ENHANCEMENT

Tony has never been shy about the idea that physical enhancement is as much part of the game of being Iron Man as the suit is.  After all, it’s only a suit, and response times can only be so fast, when there’s always going to be a delay between thought and getting the suit to follow that thought.  So, much in the vein of the 616 run for Extremis enhancement, Tony’s...Tinkered on himself.  Mostly, stumbling across the same strain of FEV developed in the Institute was sheer luck, and it took years for him to decide it was the route he wanted to go, with innumerable simulations and alternatives ran and checked before he made that leap.

To be clear:  He’s not a super mutant, much as 616 Tony was not a true Extremis enhancile.  He took the structure of FEV, broke it apart, cut out the parts he didn’t want, added parts he did, and put it all back together before using himself as a guinea pig to see if it’d work.  And work it has.  He’s a little stronger, yes, but not in a way that matters.  He heals a little faster.  He regrew himself new organs.  But much like with Extremis, he forced it to do what he wanted it to do, which was rewire himself from the inside out, and now when he says ‘the suit and I are one’ he means that.  Literally.  He wires himself directly into it when needed, and the most crucial components of it hide out in the hollows of his bones.

More importantly, however, he’s only reinforced the length of his lifespan, and upped his metabolism, so now he runs on the hot end of the spectrum.  He’s a great bed buddy now in the middle of winter.

Another side effect of the FEV use and rewiring himself includes:  Low level technomancy.  He can literally interface with some machinery within reason and hack it with his brain.  Useful, when you’re up against a bunch of haywire robots and want to turn the tide in your favor by hacking a few but can’t stop shooting and ducking behind things long enough to do it the old fashioned way.  It’s limited, though, and not something he necessarily makes a lot of use of unless absolutely necessary.  

| WASTELAND SPECIAL

The Wasteland Special is the new FEV-based suit.  Well.  “New” is relative.  Years were spent putting together the perfect one size fits all suit suited for the wasteland and its dangers, as well as combining it with Tony’s FEV enhancements so that he has it at a moment’s notice in the chance a super mutant behemoth decides to induct him into the wasteland space program.

It has an assortment of functions, and while it has a connection to JARVIS, unlike his earlier suits it doesn’t require JARVIS to run its systems, as that’s all done with Tony being directly connected to it himself.  JARVIS is, for all practical purposes, more a partner in this venture, and tends to watch Tony’s six.

He doesn’t use it often, and that should be heavily stressed.  Iron Man, for all practical purposes, is something from the past.  What there remains of him existing before the war - which isn’t much - includes some comic illustrations that show the classic Marvel red and gold (that Fallout aesthetic, you know) not anything like what his suits actually looked like.  If he does pull out the Wasteland Special, it means things are bad.  Or he’s off for a stroll through the Glowing Sea.  A or B.  It can also be used piecemeal, much like most of the Iron Man suits.  Jet boots for this, gauntlets for that, he’ll do that far more often than the whole shebang, because he likes perching on overpasses that no longer connect to Boston’s highway system to feel tall.  Or get a layout of the land.  It varies with his mood and whims.  Traveling alone at night, that’s typically how he likes to camp, anyway.

For relevant visuals on how it works, see the Extremis run in 2008 Invincible Iron Man and the MCU’s Avengers: Infinity War.  It’s a long term solution to the problem of lacking resources, since building suits for every function is no longer a possibility.  Yes, it’s still red and gold and lights up in a way that pleases him.  His hall of armors is looking a bit bare, because outdated and outmoded suits were broken down for components to build it. 

| QUIRKS / HABITS / VOCABULARY

First things first:  If you expect Disney dialogue options here, you won’t find them.  Tony’s around wastelanders; he lives like them, he talks with them, he’s friends with them.  These days his dialogue is as peppered with casual profanity as anyone else’s, because it just seeps in without you realizing it.  He was never squeaky clean before, but the wasteland is a whole other ballgame in that respect.

While he’s fairly adapted at this point, his habit of making references to things has never stopped.  Unfortunately, unless you’re as much of a prewar relic as he is, or are remarkably knowledgeable about the prewar world, they tend to not make a lot of sense.  It’s okay, he makes himself laugh and that’s what’s important.  Too, he swaps terms for things interchangeably.  A brahmin might be a brahmin in one sentence, and he’ll turn around and call it a cow in the next.  People eventually stop, usually, trying to correct him, because he says what he says and he’s standing by it.  Yes, he knows brahmin are probably significantly different than a cow now.  Still tastes like hamburger.

He will not, under any circumstances, eat Fancy Lads.  He will starve before he eats one, he will throw them in the Charles; if he ever even picks up a box he finds scavving, it’s because he’s going to trade them when he gets to a settlement.  He thinks they’re horrid.  Anything else in the wasteland he can mostly choke down as long he doesn’t think about what he’s eating too hard, including things like bug meats.

Realistically, there’s a lot more littering the wasteland that just what’s shown in game.  This includes instant coffee, without a doubt, and it means Tony is 100% caffeine-powered 120% of the time.  He hoards it.  He’ll trade for it.  And he only shares it with people he actually cares about, because it’s more valuable than gold at this point.

If he’s traveling with someone by foot he will not travel at night.  The arc reactor is something of a curse and a blessing at this point, because while sure, it keeps him alive, it’s bright, and when all your clothes are threadbare there’s nothing short of wasting resources to cover it.  It means at night Tony’s chest becomes a glowing target, and not only does it put himself at risk from raiders and super mutants and everything else that lurks in the wasteland, it puts the other person at risk, as well.  That’s not something he’s willing to do if it can at all be helped.  He has to be pressed for time or have something more important than the safety of two people on his mind to keep going once the sun hits the horizon.  Alone, he can and will just...Fly to wherever he needs to go.

There are even less people left in the world he’ll take things from directly.  All others must place things on a surface and let him pick it up himself.  This actually has practical applications at this point, with how loosey goosey morality is in the wasteland, which is something Tony really never saw coming, but it makes a peeve a blessing.  His own morality has had to join that loose interpretation of ‘good’, as well, because there are groups in all wastelands who will shoot first, loot your corpse later, and having a staunch ‘I will not kill’ attitude will leave you dead.

He’s got something of a traveling handyman vibe in the Commonwealth, where he moves from settlement to settlement because he’s busy collecting info on the various machinations of the different groups present, he’s interested in the state of things, he starts setting up his own settlements to put under Minutemen care once he decides they’re good eggs, and because he’s genuinely curious, and if something needs to be repaired or done while he’s in those settlements, he will.  He doesn’t take caps for the work.  Tony’s carrying a lot of guilt, about not being able to have much of an influence in stopping the war, and because of that, any money he takes from people he sees as needing it more is blood money.  He will, at most, accept slim supplies, like water or food or a stimpak or two; just enough in the way of things to get him to the next place he’s going.

With that, he’s really good at scavenging for what he needs.  He had to get that way being on his own in NYC for so long until it was safe enough for people to start trickling back in.

He can always be found with a pocketful of fuses and wire and electrical tape, and various other things he usually has on his person are a small tube of wonderglue, a few pencils and pens, and small pocket-sized grid moleskine missing its bookmark and band (he uses a paperclip as a bookmark and a rubber band to hold it closed, and it’s full of cramped writing because he makes every page count), and other odds and ends.  

| AS A COMPANION

Tony does not work via FO4 game mechanics, which sadly needs to be pointed out.  He’s got agency and his own shit to do, and while he might roll with someone for a while because it’s nice to have someone to talk to and it’s nice to have someone to watch his back, there are definitely times he splits off to do his own thing.  Sometimes he gives warning, sometimes he doesn’t.  Regardless of if he does or doesn’t, Tony’s sole purpose isn’t to crawl up the sosu’s ass and stay there.  He breaks the trope of his entire existence being centered around them.  He came to the Commonwealth with a purpose, and he’s going to complete that purpose.  Sometimes that means heading in a different direction than the sosu, and you know, that’s just life, as far as he’s concerned.

He’s also not a companion for every sosu.  Institute and BOS aligned people will find him standoffish and...Well.  Honestly, kind of mean, once he gets an idea of what those two factions are all about.  Siding with the Institute won’t necessarily lock him out as a companion - that’s determined by how canon divergent of a sosu a person is.  The same goes for the BOS.  However, if at any point the Railroad is wiped out, Tony’s gone.  He’s gone, and whoever did it should probably start looking over their shoulder.  Expressing sentiments that ghouls, synths, and super mutants deserve death, despite being sentient beings with free will and the ability to reason and form their own opinions will also see him bouncing.  He won’t come after you in that case for being an asshole, but he’ll be sure to spread the word.

What.  No one ever said Tony Stark wasn’t petty as fuck.

AS A HUGE BIG NEON SIGN FLASHING NOTE:  In the event that MacCready was not picked up by the sosu and taken as a companion, and has not been romanced or had his affinity quest completed, Tony is going to directly default to his relationship with @gwinnetts‘s MacCready.  This isn’t set in absolute stone, Tony’s not unwooable as a companion, but it’s gotta be hashed out.  The reasoning is:  If MacCready hasn’t been picked up as a companion by the sosu, Tony will fairly early on in his time in the Commonwealth end up hiring him himself (for information, not as a mercenary) and there is a major rewrite of MacCready’s quest in play there.  This can be changed with plotting, but the key word there is that we plot it out.  Otherwise Tony and Mac are an item and them’s the breaks.

AS A SECONDARY FLASHY NOTE:  If Strong has not been picked up as a companion by the sosu, Tony will also end up going to Trinity Tower to check out the message and will end up taking Strong on and running through his quest for the milk of human kindness with him.  In the default, natural course of this verse, Tony and Strong will make their way to Saugus together (sans Mac - Tony makes a home and settlement of the town within Fort Hagen military base, and if someone were to go looking, that’s probably where Mac can be found, if not Fiddler’s Green or wherever else he wants to go, he’s got his own free will and things to do, he and Tony aren’t necessarily attached at the hip) and there Tony’s ends up getting fucked up by the Forged.  Strong’s the one that drags his ass out of there, and delivers him to either the Slog or Finch Farm until he can be moved somewhere with better medical facilities.  The reason for this is Tony’s a little too slow  on the uptake at Saugus and ends up losing an eye and suffering burns to his face (and neck).  Eventually he’ll show up with at modified synth-esque replacement that he’ll call a stopgap until he can work up something better.  You’ll never lose him in the dark again, between the arc reactor and the new glowy eye.

Tony has a lot to do, so again, he’s not a companion for everyone.  Someone that needs to keep their companions close and wants them all in one place will find Tony incredibly frustrating, because he can respect the sosu completely and still not deviate from his own to do list and goals.  And if they happen to recognize him (since they’re both prewar relics and he was pretty famous - you might have heard of him?) that shouldn’t come as any surprise whatsoever.

| SETTLEMENTS

Tony, whether he hooks up with the sosu or not, once he allies with the Minutemen will absolutely put any settlements he’s put together under their oversight.  It’s a case of he finds a spot that would be good farm land, would be easily defensible, has a lot of resources - something that catches his eye about it - and he’ll spend some time there, getting it set up for habitation and later be the guy you call to get things fixed, but will also put an emphasis on teaching others how to do what he’s doing, because the plan is not to stay in the Commonwealth (he will, he just doesn’t know that yet).

In the main version of this verse, Tony doesn’t touch vanilla settlements unless there are some a sosu hasn’t done anything with.  Those he does touch can include:

Croup Manor (pretty non-negotiable if @rahasyamay’s stephen is also in play - stephen lives there) Egret Tours Marina (Either way he’ll poke around there - it ties into his and Mac’s relationship) Finch Farm Greygarden Greentop Nursery Hangman’s Alley Jamaica Plain Murkwater Construction Site Outpost Zimonja Nordhagen Beach (he’ll hang around here anyway to keep an eye on the BOS) Oberland Station Starlight Drive In Taffington Boathouse Abernathy Farm (shared with @gwinnetts’s Zetta if she’s in play) Sunshine Tidings Co-Op  (shared with @gwinnetts​’s Zetta if she’s in play it’s their vacation home)

Otherwise, he has his own set of settlements, which may include the following:

Fort Hagen (he...literally lives there and it’s where his main lab is) Fiddler’s Green Trailer Estates (actually considered just an extension of Fort Hagen) Natick Power Substation Ryder Rentals Tucker Town (and the overpass - near the rotting mansion) Sanctuary Saloon (tucked in the swamps near Sanctuary) Reeb Marina Norwood Depot (far south a safe distance east from the Glowing Sea) Evan’s Way (near Diamond City) Gunner’s Plaza / GNN Building Wattz Electronics Prospekt Hill Chestnut Hillocks Reservoir Mystic Pines Rest Home Malden (from the Slocum’s Joe HQ, to Medtek, to outside of town) Concord (from the church down the hill, also the large parking lot below the museum into the woods) Andrew Station (to prevent more raiders from moving in) Quincy (shared with @gwinnetts‘s Zetta if she’s in play) South Suffolk Charter School Neponset Park Walden Pond (to keep raiders out) ArcJet (the area surrounding the building) Several piers on the east side of Boston Quincy Lighthouse USS Riptide (to prevent more raiders moving in) Salem (to keep the mirelurks under control)

And anywhere else that catches his eye.  To keep this from being twenty miles longer than it already is, each settlement might get its own post, and questions are always welcomed!

| OTHER FACTIONS

Part of Tony’s to-do list in the Commonwealth is checking out the other groups in play, and he forms fairly strong opinions about each one.

Minutemen:  He stans.  Preston Garvey is an angel and Tony Stark will not even contemplate hearing otherwise.  He’s not a joiner, but he does ally himself with them and put the settlements he founds himself under their rounds, and makes himself available to them as needed.  Once they get back on their feet, he definitely trusts them to do the right thing, and will advocate they move themselves into a more police force role in the Commonwealth after the main quest endgame.  If any Rhodey is in play with a sosu that isn’t interested in being General, will nudge Rhodey gently in that direction.  (”Gently”, about as subtle as a bag of hammers, honestly.)

Railroad:  They’re doing good work.  Again, not a joiner, and their focus is very narrow and they’re going to make themselves obsolete (which is a great endgame, but expanding to be more helpful to the Commonwealth as a whole after endgame is better) and he can and will do tourist work for them as needed.  He’s not interested in actually becoming a heavy, or anything of that nature.  

Brotherhood of Steel:  He doesn’t like the looks of them right off - they’ve got that stupid airship and vertibirds and their power armor and laser weapons - and he likes them even less when he hears about what they’re doing and how they treat non-humans.  He’s not outright hostile, not unless they give him a reason to be, but he doesn’t encourage them to hang around his own settlements.  He also won’t shed any tears if a sosu sides with the Railroad and destroys them during Rockets’ Red Glare.

Institute:  Not a fan.  Actually, not a fan is a huge understatement.  At first, he’s willing to admit that maybe there’s a little hysteria in the Commonwealth concerning them?  But after literally witnessing replacements trying to take place, getting firsthand accounts - in some cases being invited into the Institute itself to make him less of a “problem” (that’s the joke) - and seeing the paranoia and fear concerning them all over the place, plus the treatment of synths like things rather than people, he’s not here for it.  It’s why he’s an endgame faction for storming them.

Gunners:  His first full day in the Commonwealth he gets jumped by an outpost of Gunners, and that’s what sets him on his path to meeting MacCready.  He doesn’t get them - the really are wound too tight - and there’s very little reasoning for them.  A person can’t even accidentally stumble across them without getting punched full of holes, and after he learns what happened in Quincy, it’s safe to say he is absolutely not their biggest fan.

Children of Atom:  He thinks they’re a little weird, a little misguided, a little kooky, but if they’re not actually hurting anyone - or, you know, brainwashing kids and exposing them to large doses of radiation - and it’s all consenting adults...Well.  Live and let live.

Nuka-World Raiders:  Yeah, do you even need to ask?

| AS AN ENDGAME FACTION

For the truly intrepid and canon-divergent sosu, Tony can be used as their endgame faction, right by himself.  Not that he can take out the Institute on his lonesome with nothing but a suit, that’s just silly.  But he does have the Iron Legion, bolstered by a ground force built from reclaimed gen 1 and 2 synths and spare suits of power armor that run on an ai hivemind.  This is an option for the sosu who’s managed to convince Tony they aren’t an asshole and are going to do right by the people of the Commonwealth, and who wants to minimize human and gen 3 synth casualties.  Tony can be given the designs for the teleportation device and the chip from the courser and get them into the Institute, and he can be the one that the sosu storms the Institute with, if running with any ending other than the Institute’s.

| M.O.E.

MOE is the very first synth Tony rebuilds and reprograms as part of his expansion of the Iron Legion.  Originally he was a limited test run - something of a code debugger - but while the ai MOE is using is buggy, it works.  He learns, he’s self-aware, and he’s conscious, so Tony’s made the decision to keep him online, because otherwise pulling the plug would feel something like murder, as far as he’s concerned.

MOE mostly hangs out in Fort Hagen - his parameters keep him there after he managed to wander off one day and got attacked by feral ghouls and lost his lower jaw, so to keep him safe, he can travel from Fiddler’s Green all the way up to the radio transmitting dishes past Tony’s house, and no farther.  Mostly he can be found tromping between Tony’s house and lab, and he’s a frequent fixture in doing chores such as sweeping and putting away dishes.  MOE himself is picking up most of his cues in behavior from Tony, so there are definitely times he mimicks him well enough to be a little unnerving.  He’s stubborn, very fixated on doing things himself for himself and learning himself and refusing help when offered it.  He’s also a bit tunnel-visioned, getting absorbed in the tasks he determines for himself and can and has barreled people over pulling up rugs to sweep  or walking down the street to the lab in the actual fort.  

He talks!  He’s not a silent robot with  no personality.  He can and will talk and once started is entirely hard to shut up again.  There’s always a million questions once he’s determined someone is trustworthy because he is new, his consciousness is new, and he’s learning.  

He can be a bit startling to see at first, with no lower jaw and the fact that Tony never cosmetically altered him to look less murdery, like the rest of the Iron Legion, but he’s a gentle skeleton robot who has particular ideas about the way certain household chores should be done, and can and will go behind Tony and “fix” things if he thinks Tony hasn’t done them correctly.

[geoffreywalton]

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[heresagory-blog]

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[readbookywooks]

2. In my mind, President Snow should be viewed in front of marble pillars hung with oversized flags. It's jarring to see him surrounded by the ordinary objects in the room. Like taking the lid off a pot and finding a fanged viper instead of stew. What could he be doing here? My mind rushes back to the opening days of other Victory Tours. I remember seeing the winning tributes with their mentors and stylists. Even some high government officials have made appearances occasionally. But I have never seen President Snow. He attends celebrations in the Capitol. Period. If he's made the journey all the way from his city, it can only mean one thing. I'm in serious trouble. And if I am, so is my family. A shiver goes through me when I think of the proximity of my mother and sister to this man who despises me. Will always despise me. Because I outsmarted his sadistic Hunger Games, made the Capitol look foolish, and consequently undermined his control. All I was doing was trying to keep Peeta and myself alive. Any act of rebellion was purely coincidental. But when the Capitol decrees that only one tribute can live and you have the audacity to challenge it, I guess that's a rebellion in itself. My only defense was pretending that I was driven insane by a passionate love for Peeta. So we were both allowed to live. To be crowned victors. To go home and celebrate and wave good-bye to the cameras and be left alone. Until now. Perhaps it is the newness of the house or the shock of seeing him or the mutual understanding that he could have me killed in a second that makes me feel like the intruder. As if this is his home and I'm the uninvited party. So I don't welcome him or offer him a chair. I don't say anything. In fact, I treat him as if he's a real snake, the venomous kind. I stand motionless, my eyes locked on him, considering plans of retreat. "I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other," he says. "What do you think?" I think my tongue has frozen and speech will be impossible, so I surprise myself by answering back in a steady voice, "Yes, I think that would save time." President Snow smiles and I notice his lips for the first time. I'm expecting snake lips, which is to say none. But his are overly full, the skin stretched too tight. I have to wonder if his mouth has been altered to make him more appealing. If so, it was a waste of time and money, because he's not appealing at all. "My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult, are you?" he asks. "No," I answer. "That's what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands. And then there's her family to think of. Her mother, her sister, and all those ... cousins." By the way he lingers on the word "cousins," I can tell he knows that Gale and I don't share a family tree. Well, it's all on the table now. Maybe that's better. I don't do well with ambiguous threats. I'd much rather know the score. "Let's sit." President Snow takes a seat at the large desk of polished wood where Prim does her homework and my mother her budgets. Like our home, this is a place that he has no right, but ultimately every right, to occupy. I sit in front of the desk on one of the carved, straight-backed chairs. It's made for someone taller than I am, so only my toes rest on the ground. "I have a problem, Miss Everdeen," says President Snow. "A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena." That was the moment when I guessed that if the Gamemakers had to choose between watching Peeta and me commit suicide - which would mean having no victor - and letting us both live, they would take the latter. "If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?" he asks. I nod because, by the way he says it, it's clear that Seneca Crane has been executed. The smell of roses and blood has grown stronger now that only a desk separates us. There's a rose in President Snow's lapel, which at least suggests a source of the flower perfume, but it must be genetically enhanced, because no real rose reeks like that. As for the blood ... I don't know. "After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love-crazed schoolgirl bit. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act," he says. My face must register at least a flicker of bewilderment, because he addresses it. "This, of course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl from District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same?" he says. "What is to prevent, say, an uprising?" It takes a moment for his last sentence to sink in. Then the full weight of it hits me. "There have been uprisings?" I ask, both chilled and somewhat elated by the possibility. "Not yet. But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution." President Snow rubs a spot over his left eyebrow, the very spot where I myself get headaches. "Do you have any idea what that would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse." I'm taken aback by the directness and even the sincerity of this speech. As if his primary concern is the welfare of the citizens of Panem, when nothing could be further from the truth. I don't know how I dare to say the next words, but I do. "It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down." There's a long pause while he examines me. Then he simply says, "It is fragile, but not in the way that you suppose." There's a knock at the door, and the Capitol man sticks his head in. "Her mother wants to know if you want tea." "I would. I would like tea," says the president. The door opens wider, and there stands my mother, holding a tray with a china tea set she brought to the Seam when she married. "Set it here, please." He places his book on the corner of the desk and pats the center. My mother sets the tray on the desk. It holds a china teapot and cups, cream and sugar, and a plate of cookies. They are beautifully iced with softly colored flowers. The frosting work can only be Peeta's. "What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that presidents need to eat, too," President Snow says charmingly. Well, it seems to relax my mother a bit, anyway. "Can I get you anything else? I can cook something more substantial if you're hungry," she offers. "No, this could not be more perfect. Thank you," he says, clearly dismissing her. My mother nods, shoots me a glance, and goes. President Snow pours tea for both of us and fills his with cream and sugar, then takes a long time stirring. I sense he has had his say and is waiting for me to respond. "I didn't mean to start any uprisings," I tell him. "I believe you. It doesn't matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem," he says. "Why don't you just kill me now?" I blurt out. "Publicly?" he asks. "That would only add fuel to the flames." "Arrange an accident, then," I say. "Who would buy it?" he asks. "Not you, if you were watching." "Then just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it," I say. "If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm. "Only you'll have to do even better if the uprisings are to be averted," he says. "This tour will be your only chance to turn things around." "I know. I will. I'll convince everyone in the districts that I wasn't defying the Capitol, that I was crazy with love," I say. President Snow rises and dabs his puffy lips with a napkin. "Aim higher in case you fall short." "What do you mean? How can I aim higher?" I ask. "Convince me" he says. He drops the napkin and retrieves his book. I don't watch him as he heads for the door, so I flinch when he whispers in my ear. "By the way, I know about the kiss." Then the door clicks shut behind him.