#vault dwellers survival guide

[thefalloutwiki]

Fallout: BADTFL

Were you previously aware that BADTFL was first referenced in the manual for the original Fallout?

They were referenced again 18 years later in Fallout 4, with the full organization name of the Bureau of Alcohol, Drugs, Tobacco, Firearms, and Lasers.

Their regional office appears as a location in Fallout 4. You can read about BADTFL here:

https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Bureau_of_Alcohol,_Drugs,_Tobacco,_Firearms,_and_Lasers

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Graphic Description of Gore]

[6.1k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼 Chapter 3 "The Vault"

The flickering ceiling lamps only exacerbated the grim atmosphere, but they did slightly help with finding your way. They also hid the majority of the massacre, but you weren’t blind to the horrific scenes of vault dwellers strewn up and skinned and prepared for processing. You’d wretched and convulsed at the sight, clutching at the wall for support and fighting back tears of terror, and if it hadn’t been for your empty stomach you would have most likely thrown up all over the ghoul’s boots. There was so much food around and the raiders still chose their twisted ways and treated the corpses of their victims, human beings, as cattle in need of rationing and preparation. It was engraved in them, you guessed, after living so long in an apocalyptic, hellish world, eating people was as natural to them as breathing. You tried to justify their actions even if they made no sense, but after seeing cut-open bellies and spilled intestines and dribbling blood as the corpses were hung to drain, you couldn’t.

No matter how difficult a life, nothing could pardon such barbaric actions, not when the cans of cram and sacks of tatoes were right there. The raiders didn’t kill and butcher out of need, they did it out of pleasure, they drew with blood on the walls, bludgeoned flesh and bone to a pulp, stripped skin bare, and let bodies dangle like slaughtered pigs.

The more gore was presented to you on a rusty platter, the smaller your pool of empathy became until there was nothing but the screaming aftermath of gunshots sounding right above your head. You still jittered, but didn’t flinch anymore, he had you, you were safe with him. His boots echoed with menace through the corridors, beckoning the raiders to their end, while your delicate bare feet glided over grime and glass and chaos.

He used you as bait once the raiders were close enough to spot you, your history with them causing a sudden urge in them to let go of their logic and self-preservation and charge headfirst into a shotgun barrel. You would have minded, but he was death incarnate with a weapon, and you were so set on restoring the sanctity of your vault, your home, that you were ready to do just about anything. He killed until there was nobody else with a heartbeat except you and him. He killed so casually, that you almost believed it to be normal.

Once his end of the bargain was done, you started searching, straining both mind and vision for that particular room with a false bookcase. You guided him past the vegetable field, through the cafeteria, and rushed past the school because there were too many bodies piled up for you to stomach. He followed with minor protests, but mostly kept quiet and alert, acting as a guard hound while you pursued the location of the emergency storage. It was only when you ended up in the residential wing with a confused noise that he spoke up.

“You’re lost, Darlin’, admit it.”

You shot him an angsty look over your shoulder, arm outstretched in front of you as the white flashlight installed in the Pip-boy illuminated the vault hallway. When you enter the first home, just the structure of it is enough to tell that you’ve got the wrong place, you scowl, but trudge further inside anyway.

“I’m not lost.” you retort, refusing to let his remarks leave a stain on your photographic memory, and pace around the tiny complex. “It should be in this wing, I just need to find the right room.”

“Whatever you say…” he hums in mock and purses his lips, then opens the metal door wider before stepping in after you. He lets you explore, his eyes skimming with disinterest over the homey aesthetic he was so alienated from that it didn’t even ring a bell of nostalgia. His sights lock on the fridge and his feet react faster than he’d thought possible. Bingo.

The self-powered beacons perched over the whey field creep through the windows and it’s enough light to scarcely brighten the complex. It would have been a haunting sight if the ghoul wasn’t with you and a timid part of your consciousness tapped at you, reminding you that he wasn’t going to be present for much longer. You hadn’t planned on dwelling on such a thought for long, but you had no clue what to do once he was gone. Left alone to fend for your life with no skills or experience aside from dry theory accumulated from years of reading, there wasn’t much you could do except live off the remnants of the vault and try to keep the garden alive.

How would you be rid of all the corpses though?

It would take years to restore everything, or at least the parts that were salvageable, you’d never be able to swap the broken windows or replace the shattered light bulbs.

You scurried off the nasty reality of your future and proceeded to kneel in front of a shoe cabinet. Your feet were irritably sore and in desperate need of protection so you sunk your arms to the elbows in the darkness, the flashlight distorting under the pile of slippers and sandals.

“You’re not mad, Mister?” you ask and turn back to find the ghoul waist-deep in the refrigerator, rummaging as a cacophony of clinking bottles and stuttering plates soundtrack his rampage. He looked almost domestic and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Cuz I haven’t found the storage yet?”

He resurfaces at your question, a bowl of mashed tatoes and a platter of grilled cram cradled in his embrace, traces of soy milk stained his lips. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder and tossed the food on the kitchen counter before resting on his elbows while flicking his tongue.

“Plenty of Pip-boys layin’ around.” he shrugs simply and rips his glove off before sticking two thick fingers in the tatoes. “Can make a small fortune outta those.” he offers you a toothy grin before licking his fingers clean.

“Please use a fork, Sir.” you grimace at his tasteless display before turning back to your task at hand.

“Mind your business, Smooth-skin.” he grunts and sinks his teeth in a thick slice of cram, scarfing it down as if he’d not eaten in days. He scoffs at your faint giggle and waves you off, too high on the idea of a proper meal to care for your coquettish snip.

You continue to dig through the assortment of old shoes, relishing his vocal satisfaction as he feasts. He chews hastily, taking breaks every few bites to wash down the food with whatever juice or milk he blindly pawed at on the fridge door. After tossing away a pair of white fluffy slippers and jamming your hand against a leathery surface, you pull out a left-footed cargo boot. It’s stuck, tied by the laces to something crammed deeper in the cabinet and you feel your way until you find its twin. Once freed, you look them over with a tilted chin and a contemplative look.

They seemed remotely your size, with a pair of thick socks they’d probably fit perfectly and they were preserved and sturdy enough to withstand some broken glass.

“You think they’ll miss these?” you raise the boots in display and ask before thinking about how stupid your question was.

The boiled corn cob pauses just shy of his parted lips and he stares at you like you’d grown a second head. The silence that befalls is one of realization with a twinge of melancholy and you avert your eyes as your mouth twitches into a small frown. The shoes are lowered to your chest and you hold them close in wordless mourning, face dimming, shoulders lowering.

“Oh right…frick.”

“They’re dead, Sweetheart.” he speaks softly, a hint of pity hidden beneath the layer of rasp. “Don’t think they’ll miss anythin’ anymore.”

In truth, you didn’t mourn the rest of the vault dwellers. They were strangers who’d shared the same living facility as you, there was no attachment there except for baseline human empathy. What you grieved over was your sanity, the solitude you’d be subjugated to and you’d grown accustomed to being alone, but after knowing the atrocities that had occurred and the reasoning for your lonesome existence, you doubted things would go well. You’d be forced to fend for yourself and there was no guarantee that another wave of intruders wouldn’t end up on your doorstep.

You picked at the soles of the boots absentmindedly, ignorant to the sympathetic stare targeting the back of your head.

You weren’t accustomed to caring for your needs, having been coercively babied all your life and lacking basic skills. The only bond you’d ever had was with your father and the knowledge that you’d eventually stumble upon his corpse riddled you in goosebumps. You dreaded that sight, eyes dampening at just the thought and mind failing to even picture such a sickening image.

You drag an arm over your drippy nose, sniffle and stand.

“Need socks.” was all you managed before hurrying to the bedside closet at the other end of the complex, hiding behind a wall and out of the ghoul’s prying gaze.

This was fine. You’d figure it out as you went. There was no point in worrying over things that haven’t happened yet, right?

You shone your flashlight into the closet's depths after flinging it open, searching for a ball of stretchy material, anything that remotely resembled a pair of socks. Shuffling came from the kitchen area, a throaty grunt, a few clanks, and the shattering of porcelain. Paying no mind to the ghoul’s ruckus, you sift through the clothing hangers, stopping only when an intricate floral pattern catches your eye. You tug at the cloth, pulling it off the bar and hooking a finger around the clothing hanger before straightening it out.

A dress, pretty and frilly at the bottom, littered with small hand-sewn red blooms, sparkling white and in pristine condition. It reminisced of better times when people reigned over a peaceful and bountiful land, when radiation existed only in the confines of nuclear factories and cannibalism was scarce and very taboo. Your dull expression softens with a doting smile as you coo over your new fit before tossing it on the bed.

Your search continues shortly after, rummaging and scanning, digging deeper until you find a small raft overflowing with undergarments. A pair of black tights and heavy woolen socks later, you pass an anxious glance at the edge of the wall separating you from your overly grumpy bodyguard before tugging the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?”

“I’m changing!” you rush to answer, shimmying out of your dirty, torn attire before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling the socks over your feet. After taking note of the now gooey gash on your ankle, you decide to postpone wearing tights until it’s been cleaned and bandaged. You swallow back a lump of anxiety and make disinfecting the wound your top priority…once you find the storage unit that is.

“Hurry up!”

Once the boots were secured, you neatly tied them up and scurried to slip on the new dress in case the ghoul decided he’d had enough of waiting and barged over in his typical unruly fashion. It fit you so well, but there was no time to enjoy yourself, you tossed the tights over the junction of your elbow and patted down the frilly edges grazing your knees.

The world came crashing when the zipper got stuck.

“Freaking fiddle sticks…”

You tried and failed to resolve the dilemma, patting blindly at your upper back, reaching over your shoulder, and coiling an arm behind your waist. Even when your fingers did manage to find the zipper again, it was jammed and no amount of vigorous tugging helped and you didn’t want to apply more force lest you cause a tear. A small whine, dainty and annoyed, bubbled in your throat and you hung your head back and stared up at the ceiling in despair. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a jut at you for daring to find a sliver of happiness.

“Uh…Mister?” you call out, weak with embarrassment as you slowly succumb to the walk of shame. You round the corner slowly, apprehension in every step and boring a shameful visage. “I need help…please.”

Your lovely bounty hunter had sprawled out on the counter, his hands resting on his now full belly, one perched up knee swaying nonchalantly as his other leg kicked dangled leisurely in the air. His hat rested over his face, obscuring his vision as he breathed slowly, in utter bliss for the first time in a long while. The shotgun once secured on his back was tucked under his neck. The empty plates were carelessly chucked to the floor when he’d made room to lie down and now you knew what all that ruckus had been caused by.

It would have been quite the heartwarming sight if you weren’t currently wallowing in self-pity.

He rouses at your beckon, sitting up and readjusting his hat and giving you his best acid scowl for disrupting his peace. Then he notices your pained expression and skittish shifting and quirks a nonexistent brow.

“The hell’d you do?”

Ah yes, the sardonic question a parent would ask their misbehaved child after yet another minor disaster. That’s exactly what you need at the moment.

“I – ” your teeth grit, jaw tightening in discomfort. A sad puppy-eyed stare plastered on your droopy features as you stand next to the counter before reluctantly turning around and brushing your hair out of the way to expose your back. “ – It’s stuck…”

A snort of laughter fills the dim complex and you shrink in utter humiliation, fussing at his reaction like the wimpy thing you’ve been demoted to. He turns in his spot and his knees encase your frame as he slopes closer.

“Can’t even dress right.” his berating smirk nips at the back of your neck and earns a sigh of defeat.

Cooper Howard wasn’t a man to regret many things and he’d done enough awful deeds to have him kicked out of a church if he ever dared set foot in one. Not putting his glove back on, however, would be one of those regrets. When his disfigured fingers dipped beneath the hem of your dress to hold it steady as he worked the zipper free, he brushed against your skin and it was so soft that he nearly missed the feeling altogether. A pang of something awfully warm wrapped around his ribcage like a vine and he was so shaken to the core that he forgot he needed to breathe.

You felt like the past, all lovely and nice and tender, as if ripped from a time he struggled to recollect and let go of both, and you were thrust in his hands and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do with you. All charming smiles and sugary words and naivety that had him torn between hatred and incessant thirst for more of whatever it was you did to him. So addictive yet so detrimental.

He chalked it up to lust, a guttural craving any normal man would feel when presented with a cute little thing like you. But it wasn’t that at all. It had nothing to do with any carnal human craving.

You were a gateway to what he used to have, a walking memory of who he used to be.

It made sense if your story was true. Being tended to all your life while locked in a lab orchestrated to be your private room, it would leave anyone silk-skinned, bright-minded, and burden-free. But that didn’t ease him, it didn’t falter him from feeling like he was drowning.

You were the even tune of midnight jazz, a slice of hot apple pie, and a fresh cup of Joe on a Sunday afternoon; a little piece of heaven he’d never asked for and a cruel incarnation of damnation he’d always feared would catch up to him.

“Is it fixed?” you peep, saving him from the jaws of his mind, and look back, happily unaware of his self-destructive internal dialogue. The darkness hides the strain hovering over his distant gaze. “Did you manage?”

“ ‘Course I did.” he barks and is back to normal in an instant, pulling the zipper up before letting you go. “Done.”

He makes sure to secure his glove back on and cusses out the invasive thoughts.

“Thank you so much!” you grin with glee and throttle away like a victorious toddler. “How do I look?” you twirl with pizazz, then remember the tights dangling off your arm and bunch them up in one hand in case they took away from your dashing performance. “Don’t mind those.”

The ghoul scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at how stupidly charming you are, and slides from the counter before reaching for his shotgun. You take his reaction as a good sign, satisfied with your new, clean look, and brush down the dress with the back of your hand.

“Les go.” he clicks his tongue at you, motioning with his head before fiddling to load his weapon. “Can gawk at yourself plenty when I’m gone.”

His remark receives no pushback. You follow suit, back into the benevolent corridor with hanging dead lamps, stepping carefully next to him with Pip-boy pointed straight ahead. It felt good to not have to constantly worry over a stray piece of debris catching on your feet anymore. Now your footsteps sang in tandem with your bounty hunter’s albeit much lighter and more frequent. With eyes darting from wall to wall, you peeked into each adjacent living complex. The sting in your ankle continued, snapping at your every move and your grip on the tights hardened. Your nails sank into the material for purchase as impatience nibbled at your nerves.

Apartment after apartment. Nothing even remotely resembled the room you were looking for, but it had to be here somewhere. The vault plans didn’t lie and neither did your memory.

You nearly tripped over a stray cable while ogling a bright pink suite layered with fuzzy rugs.

“You sure you ain’t just sendin’ us on a wild goose chase?” the ghoul asks while cracking open another steel door for you to inspect, then dips his hat and lilts “Ain’t gonna shoot you, Sweetheart. Don’t need to lie anymore.”

“I wasn’t lying, Mister.” you look up at him with hurt and he keens, blinking slowly at you and deciding to leave it at that.

Whether it was due to exhaustion or that look, he wasn’t sure.

If you were this set on proving to him there was a storage full of medical supplies and provisions he wasn’t going to stop you. There was plenty of food and drink to stay a while and his current bounty wasn’t notorious enough to top a fresh bed and a full meal. The caps weren’t worth it compared to what you’d offered him and he had enough vials to last him a while before any feral symptoms started poking through.

“It’s somewhere here, I know it is, these are just the wrong rooms. But the map showed it was in the living quarters to the north. It has to be a bigger space and with a bookcase in – ”

A hand clasped gently over your mouth, cutting your ramble short.

The ghoul grips your arm and shines the Pip-boy at the end of the hallway, the tense look on his face making your stomach knot. He takes one step forward, leaving you to linger behind him and you would’ve liked to believe it was to protect you, but it was most likely to get you out of the way.

You hear his gloved hold tighten around his shotgun and bite back the need to ask him what he’d picked up that you hadn’t. You never noticed the almost silent steps that had slowly crept closer and yelped when you were roughly tossed behind him as he spun around. The shot nearly left you deaf and the bloodied kukri barely missed your shoulder, having been a hair away from the strap of your dress.

You shriek along with the gargled gasp, latching onto the bounty hunter’s coat. The loud thump that followed made you duck and wrinkle your nose.

“Oh my jeez. Oh my God!” you glimpse from behind him reluctantly, forcing your tightly shut eyes open.

The raider twitched, clutching his blown-to-bits shoulder as a puddle of blood formed beneath him. He choked for air, coughing out a storm of crimson and it made your knees weak. The smell of gunpowder was sharp and overwhelming and your head spun with a nauseating speed.

“Guess I missed one.” the bounty hunter leers and the absolute insouciance at his actions sent a chill up your spine. He unclasps the hunting knife strapped to his belt and twirls it between his fingers, then tosses you a warning glance. “Look away, Sweetheart. Ain’t wastin’ another bullet on this shit.”

The heels of his boots clinked closer to the raider convulsing on the floor and with a shaky sniffle, you forced your legs to move. The pleas of a desperate man rendered defenseless and feeble, the churring taunts of his merciless killer who squatted over his prey with blade readied. A sickening noise punched you right in the gut, so raw and revolting that you covered your ears the moment you stumbled into another suite and slid down behind the front door. Clutching at the sides of your head, fingers curled and nails delved into your scalp to ground you, you died a little inside.

The reality of your existence, the consequences for being alive hit you full force, ripping you out of the tranquility that had befallen both you and the ghoul. Peace never lasted, and neither did joy, not in a world bathed in chaos and destruction.

The two curt knocks on the door made you flinch.

“Come on out, Scaredy cat.”

“I’ll – ” with a twisted tongue and a clenched throat, you murmur out words to keep him away because you didn’t want to see the blood he was wiping off his knife. “ – I’ll be right there. Just looking…for a false latch or something.”

What a horrible excuse…but he didn’t question it and you were so thankful.

His steps crinkle over broken glass and pieces of discarded metal plates. The tension lifts off your shoulders when he leaves with a grunt. You rub at your face with a timid breath, jaw easing as your lips part to accommodate your forceful inhales. The gloom of the apartment embraced you in your self-indulgent grovel.

To imagine someone lived here only a day ago was to concede to hysteria.

He saved your life again. And still, you were left shaken and bothered and speechless and burdened by what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to rip you away from death’s claws. The possibility of there being more raiders skulking about hadn’t been a thing until this one nearly chopped your arm off. Your arm was still there though, intact and function. All because of him. A dilapidated, volatile guardian angel that looked like a grilled chicken and sounded like a fizzled-out radio station and he meant more to you than anything ever had in your short, secluded life. What were you supposed to do without him when he finally left and you were sealed into a blood-soaked, corpse-ridden underground bunker with just your thoughts as company?

You slapped at your puffed-out cheeks ferociously.

This was fine.

It wasn’t fine, but there was nothing to be done, you’d work with what you had, you’d manage somehow. You had to.

The ghoul whistled you over, loud and clear enough for you to hear even while tucked away safely in your corner. Enough spiraling. You stood and with a determined huff, exited the complex only to see him standing in front of an open door with crossed arms and a tilted head. He noticed you from the corner of his eye and nudged his chin.

“This it?”

You poke your nose inside the spacious room.

It was the vault president’s office, completely untouched and eerily still, made to resemble the quarters of high-ranking officials from the olden days. Thin sheets of wood were plastered over the walls and the floor was carpeted and clean, the large windows overlooked the fields and dining area. An elegant leather chair was neatly set behind the paper-ridden desk in the center of the room, and yellowing files peak from every single drawer and bookcase. Everything seemed organized in spotless order, even the mugs on the coffee table were arranged corresponding to their color. There were so many paintings strewn about, past vault presidents, men and women in distinct white coats, same as the one your dad had always worn, supposedly scientists.

He leaned against the doorframe as you barged inside, watching your newfound zeal with a half-smile.

You pressed the tip of your middle finger to the wall and slowly extended your other arm at a precise angle, then moved it barely to the left. With a calculative spark imbued in your eyes, you take deliberate steps and move your stiff arms mechanically as you work out the location of the hidden storage. It looked ridiculous and you were well aware as you maneuvered about like a possessed puppet, but without any tools to point the way this was your only crutch.

“Three feet to the left, diagonal to the glass case with the cat sculpture. One step back and turn to what should be west. North should be to the right, then. And…”

“There.” you state once your hand points at a particularly overdecorated bookcase. “That’s it. Has to be.” you step towards it with determination, throwing away documents and an old plastic globe until there was enough space to grab at the shelves. It creaks when you give it a solid tug to test its stability. You bite your lip in contemplation before turning back to the ghoul. “Think you can move this, Mister?”

“You better be right, Sweetheart.” he tutted, but complied, pushing himself off the doorframe before joining you. He towers over you and rests his hands against the polished wood. “Move.”

You did as told and gave him some room.

He managed to slide his fingers against the back of the bookcase and spread out his legs before letting go of a throaty groan and pulling with all his strength. Your knee jittered with the need to step in and help, but you hesitated, succumbing to your manners and letting him do the heavy lifting. The last thing you wanted was to insult his capabilities or hurt his man-pride.

The case toppled with a thunderous crash and its contents spilled over the carpet, some trinkets bounced off your boot and rolled under the desk. The wooden planks that had been hidden behind it were slightly caved in compared to the rest. A thick carving resembling a door was engraved in them along with a small rectangular shape just a few inches to the side.

This was it.

“Hallelujah.” he chuckles and kneads his shoulder while flexing it, brows raised and eyes settled on the hidden entrance and glistening with wonder. “Guess you weren’t lyin’ after all.”

You clumsily step over the mountain of books and smashed wood, arms extended for balance until you’re close enough to press down on the rectangle. With a whirling hiss, the wood slides to the side and a hole perfectly shaped like a Pip-boy appears. You stuck your hand in without a second thought, beyond impatient and on the verge of crying because your ankle was burning so intensely you wanted to just rip it off.

The door gave way with a few audible clicks and the storage lit up instantly, you guessed the lamps didn’t depend on the vault’s fusion cores, another little trickery to keep this place hidden. The power management engineers would have most likely noticed the excess electricity being used for a room that wasn’t supposed to exist. A smart move and also for nothing, everyone was dead.

The cynic in you cackled.

You were quick to rip your hand free and enter, spotting the hefty array of medical supplies gathered over a metal cart, driven by pain and discomfort and lacking the self-control to keep it a secret any longer.

“Well, I’ll be…” the ghoul gapes at the overflowing storage, pleasantly surprised and nodding to himself. “Consider your debt repaid, Missy.” he plunges his knife into a sack of tatoes and promptly empties it.

His arm swipes over a metal shelf of stimpaks, greedily bunching them up and into the sack as he licks his teeth at the upcoming profit.

When you don’t reply to his remark he finally takes his gaze off the mounds of supplies and medicine and looks to you.

You’re a mussing mess, abrupt jitters causing bottles of pills and packages of bandages to pile at your feet as you scour for something specific. Initially, he opts to leave you be and focus on his own task, but when a disheartened noise slips past you he caves.

“The hell’s got you scramblin’ about like a cornered rat?”

You wince and turn back with a trembling frown. Your search had come out fruitless, the plan was spoiled at the absence of any antibiotics and you internally cursed for not stopping by the med-bay earlier and checking there first. Then again, you needed a key card and you weren’t fond of checking the pockets of decapitated vault residents just for that. But your open wound didn’t care for your antics. Now your ankle was probably red, still oozing and by how it rubbed against your sock, it was even more irritated and sickeningly sticky.

His stern look was relentless and you sucked in a breath before speaking.

“I can’t find any antibiotics…for my ankle.” you swallow a sob like a child caught red-handed trying to sneak past a broken vase. “The cockroaches – One of them bit me or cut me I think and… And it was fine at first, but then it started getting infected and I thought I’d find something here to help, but I don’t think only spirit will help so I thought antibiotics, but I can’t find any and it hurts so bad now – ”

You halted when his jaw stiffed and did nothing when he stomped close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. The sack was slumped by you and as he glared you simply averted your eyes to the floor.

“Sit.” he commands in a rigid tone, forcing you on your rump as the coldness of the tile floor seeps through your dress. “ ‘N take it off.” the tip of his boot nudges your foot before he tugs his pants up and squats in front of you with elbows resting on his thighs.

It’s only after you slip off your now-ruined sock that he cringes in annoyance and grabs your calf to turn it for a better view. Angry red outlined the open gash and the dead skin that still clung to it was soaked in colorless stickiness. He pressed on the side of the wound, shooting down your attempt at escaping with a scalding look, and more goo was excreted.

Radroaches were clean creatures, he’d seen them grooming themselves more than hunting for food. However, being mutated by radiation did tend to add some spice to their bites and you trudging around barefoot for a good full day had only added to the accelerated decay. Nasty little cut that was.

“Stupid git.” he hisses and stuffs a hand in the sack. “Nothen’ a lil stimpak can’t fix though. And lucky for you, we hit a goldmine.” the large syringe glints under the blaring white lights and he pushes at the base to snuff out any air bubbles before lowering it to your calf. “Now hold still.”

The sight of the needle makes you stiffen, a plethora of memories flashing past your widened eyes, and you’re overtaken by such a raw desire to get away that you nearly kick him off balance in your struggle.

Too many years stuffed full of constant medications and transfusions and scalpels and cuts and taking blood samples and fucking needles. All your life you’d suffered through nothing but medical treatments and the first day spent away from such hell had you realized just how traumatizing it had all been. Obligated to just take it because there was no alternative, you were never given a choice in the matter. You weren’t ready for this again, seeing that stupid needle so close to your skin made your heart drop in your stomach.

“Wait. Mister, wait. Wait!” you grab onto the metal bars of the cart as his grip on your calf tightens painfully.

“Quit fussin’!” he all but growls and pulls you back in place once you’d made some progress in slipping away. His tolerance for your display vaporizes when you land another inadvertent kick to his knee. He lets your calf go and reaches for the back of your head, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair and jostling you still. He’s right in your face and spitting acid. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

“The needle.” you hiccup and wrap your sweet little fingers around his forearm. Tears swell in your eyes from both pain and fear and it does something to him again, but he doesn’t relent. “The needle…I can’t – ” you whimper and plead, crumbling in his hold. “Please don’t, Mister…”

He’s taken aback. The menace drains from his gaunt features, baring snarl gone, and his grip on your hair loosens.

“You’re kiddin’ me.” his eyes roll from you to the stimpak as if you’d said the most mind-blowing bullshit he’d ever heard. He dangles the wretched thing in front of you, watching you follow it incessantly, not even blinking. “You’re scared o’ this?”

You make a noise of displeasure and avert your face when he brings the stimpak closer. For once his mocking laugh isn’t welcomed. When he’s assured you’re not just being a brat and actually hold a crippling distaste for the needle, the ghoul pulls away with a scoff.

He thinks, rubbing his knuckles against his jaw while you sit between his knees, immobilized by his grip.

“Well shit...” he lets you go and you bonelessly slump back into the cart.

He’s not one for comfort, doesn’t know what words to use to help you overcome your dilemma; he can’t just jam the stimpak in and risk striking a bone, can’t slide it in gently because you’ll go into another fit. He could just leave…

“Look at me.” he beckoned and snapped his fingers at you. When that didn’t work, he grabbed your face and squished your cheeks, forcing you to obey by giving you a sharp jerk. He leans close enough for you to feel his breath hit your nostrils and of course, it smells like cram. “I said look. At. Me.”

Your eyes go from dazed to bulging when you feel the needle press back against your calf. A pathetic ensemble of bleats accompanies your heaving chest and you hold onto his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying on the spot.

“Shhhh – shhhh – shhh, ‘s okay Sweetheart.” he hushes you with peculiar softness, stifling your meek complaints and scolding your eyes back to his own when he sees your attention dart down to your leg. You wince briefly at the prickle and his pinkie and ring finger leave your cheek and settle at the edge of your jaw, pressing down and rubbing ever so lightly. With an even push of his thumb, the syringe is emptied. “There you go…” he gives your cheek a good pat and leans away, resting on his knees. The pack of gauze you’d carelessly tossed away in your rampage was picked up and ripped open. “The good news is, you don’t need no stitches…but how d’ you intend to survive if you can’t even use a stimpak?”

“I’ll…” you smile in pain and it’s so crooked it rivals his. “I’ll figure it out.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 4 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl

[vevobly]

Lucy MacLean Falling In Love With Monty Reader! [1]

A/N: You replace Monty from Episode 1 and instead of being killed off like him, you kinda second thoughts about your whole goal so you end up spilling everything out to Lucy instead—turning against your fellow raiders.

Lucy is thrown off guard by your words at first, but then she's instantly filled with confusion and dread once you tell her the truth of who you are along with Moldaver's plan. She reluctantly leaves you be, so she could help her fellow vault dwellers against the other raiders.

After her dad is taken away and she decides to venture out of the vault so she could search for him before taking him back home, she takes you along with her. After some time of Norm convincing her to maybe use you as a guide outside, despite Chet's disapproval, that is.

You guys don't get along that much at first with you being bitter about yourself and projecting it onto her. Though, you guys do eventually manage to agree something—you guide her through the wasteland, and towards the place Moldaver is holding her father captive before she lets you go freely.

Eventually despite your initial tough treatment of her at first, you slowly warm up to her. You guys start respecting each other—she admires you for being adaptable to the harshness of the wasteland while you admire her being optimistic no matter what happens.

Slowly but surely, you guys fall for each other much to both of your obliviousness. Lucy doesn’t understand why she’s starting to feel something other than hate for you. It frustrates her, especially after everything that happened. But there’s something about you now that's making her question everything.

Considering how Lucy is clueless to how things work in the wasteland and etc, you take it upon yourself to teach her the basics of survival out there—how to navigate, how to use simple weapons, and what to avoid. At first, she’s defensive and resistant, but as you teach her more, she becomes very eager to learn what you know.

Like Lucy, you're starting to develop feelings towards her too. Protective feelings, more specifically. Whether it's looking out for her when you guys are venturing or her naivety about the wasteland, you start protecting her. She reminds you of your past self a bit, someone with high hopes and innocence about the wasteland in the beginning.

During quieter moments with each other, the two of you begin to open with each other. Lucy shares stories from her life in the vault, her frustrations, her confusion, and everything else. You, in turn, begin to share parts of your life. A bit before you became a raider and after you did become a raider. She listens intently to you, asking questions curiously about you after.

Since the wasteland is just littered with deadly things, you and Lucy find yourselves in dangerous situations A LOT. And each time you guys do, you’re there to protect her. But after one particularly close call, Lucy realizes she doesn’t want to lose you (much to her surprise). It’s a revelation for her that just makes her question what she feels for you more than before.

After that, Lucy starts to trust you more, and it gives way to a whole lot of other things. She starts letting her guard down with you, and even finding herself laughing at your dark humor or sharing personal thoughts she’d never voiced before. The two of you develop something, which only grows

Lucy starts doing weird things. Well, it's weird for you but normal for her. She's doing certain small but pretty meaningful stuff to show she cares about you. Like, sharing her rations with you even if she’s hungry, or tending to any injuries you get.

Then one night, you get pretty much frustrated with her as the small things escalate to very affectionate stuff with her. You end up telling her that you just planned to finish your part of your deal with her then ditch, leave, forget her. But being with her has changed things so you've decided you'll stay even after she might not want you around. Cue her confessing and kissing you afterwards.

Lucy is a great lover but just like almost every other lover, she can't help yet feel a tiny bit of jealousy whenever other people get a little too friendly with you. Though she tries to keep it hidden or toned down, it just slips through especially with her possessiveness when she insists on sticking close by your side, which leaves you smirking oftentimes.

With how Lucy is, she starts to chip away more at your hardened exterior. She makes you believe, for the first time, that you could be someone better than what the wasteland had made you to be. You start thinking differently about certain things and your place in your life all over again. Somehow in some way, Lucy has you hoping for the better.

And then some things just happen—

[breadandblankets]

here's something no one asked for: bats fallout 4 au

cass: made as an institute courser and the best of the best with a perfect clear record until she was ordered to execute a traitor and she bounced, she drifts for years anywhere and everywhere, eventually ending up in goodneighbor and through Coincidences into the office of one Barbara Gordon

babs: a doctor in goodneighbor specializing in human/machine interface and neurobiology, aka railroad agent oracle she and her partner Dinah run the memory den, part therapeutic establishment part front for synth liberation activities Babs helps deprogram synths and let them lead normal lives

Jason: he was taken into bruce's vault after his parents died, he was born human but turned into a ghoul thanks to a near death experience and a radiation bath, by the time we meet him, he's a drifter blown into goodneighbor hiring out his services as a merc, steadily moving in organized crime through some maneuvering

duke: a psyker (kinda like the forecaster if you played NV), he has the ability to see into the future if he concentrates, however it leaves him with huge migraines, his parents went missing after a raider attack and he joins the minutemen (honestly what is more MM than WAR) to try and find them

steph: both she and her mom are prewar ghouls (all of the cluemaster stuff still happens but he doesn't survive the bombs in jail), they used to live in diamond city until all the ghouls got kicked out, they lived in goodneighbor for a time, with steph working at the local clinic, run by leslie, eventually they both moved north to the slog (a settlement run by ghouls in an old swimming pool) when crystal wanted to get clean, steph works there as basically the town doctor

tim: (spoilers for a ten year old game but:) kinda like synth shaun he is a permanently stuck at the age of like ten, still a tech genius but like.... litol (did I say this just cause I thought it was funny.... yes)

alfred: a fuckin mr handy

bruce: vault dweller that imprinted on said mr handy like a duckling after his parents died

dick: you can literally keep his backstory intact and he makes perfect sense, haley circus is just from new vegas, after his parents murder he joined up with lyons pride and moved east with the brotherhood of steel, when the new elder rose to power after the lyons' death dick started to see the writing on the wall of fascism and jumped ship leaving that life behind, joining up with duke's new and improved MM to protect people from people he swore brotherhood to

damian: obv still bruce and talia's kid, talia is a pre war scientist and businesswoman, keeping herself and her half siblings alive and young as long as they keep their father and his weird artifact locked up. damian grows up in the closest thing to pre war luxury the post apocalypse has to offer. Eventually he wants to go out and see the world, meet his dad, write a guide to wasteland fauna. talia hires jason to guard him so he stops trying to rush down feral ghouls with a sword.

[object-vault-9]

Character Spotlight 1: EMF Meter's History

OOC: I was trying to plan more art or a narrative approach, but with the chaos upcoming in the next weeks in comic and my art program deleting the pens and textures I was using for this several times.... I'd like to go back and refine it better ! Its a little vague and weird in places but I didn't want to put off EMF stuff too much longer Anyway here's a summary of EMF's time at the vault, for people who missed his short duration here, plus his back story! Like always he's open for questions Under the cut since this was really long and wordy

The 18th week after opening the vault, EMF Meter was found with a severe head wound. He was discovered by Red Ball and Push Pin, and brought back to the vault to be cared for by Mousetrap. He wasn't able to determine what happened to him. Week 22 is when he regained consciousness. The exposed portion of his circuitry were still not healing over even as he started to recover. He was back on his feet by Week 24, though still suffered frequent headaches. He reported starting to see and hear things around the vault, but struggled to describe what exactly it was. His original electric field detecting capabilities became less effective, and he got a lot of false positives that messed with his perception. Being a very deeply spiritual person, he interpreted many of these things to be ghosts, and later, possibly demons. Especially after learning of the many losses the vault suffered recently, and prior to its opening. His time in the vault he always came off as quiet and secretive. He was really close with Mousetrap and no one else, and he didn't bring up his past much. He offered to help around the clinic, and to Mousetrap's surprise he was a trained doctor, and familiar with a lot of the pre-war techniques passed down from the vault. The clinic was extremely busy at the time, and some of the vault dwellers injuries were dire, especially Timer's infected leg after she had fallen from a cliff. With supplies dwindling, on week 30 EMF took off on his own to scavenge supplies from the boarded off hospital. To enter the building he climbed to the roof, but slipped on his way back down, surviving the fall but shattering the plastic casing making up his back. Having not told anyone where he had gone, it took the vault a while to locate him after his disappearance was noticed. He luckily made it back to the vault alive and in one piece. He survived a few more weeks due to Mousetrap's careful medical attention, but he wasn't able to make a recovery this time. On his death bed he urged Mousetrap not to blame herself. But how did he get here?

Many miles away from the vault, Emerald City, named after the fantastical city in The Wizard of Oz, is the one of the most stable settlements in the commonwealth. Known to many as simply the 'Walled City", it is notoriously difficult to get in and out of. Though well defended from bandits and wasteland threats, the city is rampant with deep rooted corruption. EMF Meter was born and raised there, and trained as a doctor. If he had stayed he'd have become an affluent figure, but he was really unhappy. The corruption that poisoned the city was prevalent in his family too, leading to both his success and his depression. Leaving behind his old life, he left the city. His journey led him to a church and cemetery. A huge, old world cathedral, barely damaged, and holding up well with its heavy stone foundation. As a doctor he was able to provide help for them that no one had been able to before. And without any survival skills, he felt he had lucked out finding a more genuine community out here, where he could really make a difference. While he provided the community with medical care, they guided him spiritually, with a strange religion unlike any of the beliefs held by objects pre-war. On the first day he was encouraged to throw everything he owned, besides the things he needed for his job, into the hole in the wooden flooring of the church. Freeing himself from its hold on him. He did so readily, believing fate had led him there. Even after leaving, he still believed deeply in things like fate, and more abstractly, demons.

He spent several years there, where he saw the group take in many more lost souls like him. Though he noticed, that as many people as they took in, the population size remained somewhat stagnant. A lot of his friends would leave without telling him. At night, the foundation of the building would groan, giving him nightmares. He was usually advised against using his electric field detection while there. When he did use it, like when assessing the health of other gadget objects like him, he'd pick up weird readings under the building. Despite being told not to approach the hole without another convert, one night he couldn't ignore it any longer. Layers upon layers of items filled up the floor of the cavernous basement under the floorboards of the cathedral. The bones and flesh of hunted animals, the possessions of the community, and...corpses. The whole church was built on a den of an enormous mutated creature, obscured by shadows. The whole church had been occupied solely to keep it dormant, at the expense of the resources, possession and even the lives of the people around it. The people who benefitted most were the high priests that took him in...and people like EMF who could provide rarer services. EMF's skills gave him a value the other passerbyers couldn't afford. He left that night.

EMF Meter was not a man built for survival in the wasteland. Generations of almost stable city life, even if the city was nothing like a modern one, and then further years where he was taken care of at the castle, he struggled a lot with finding food and fighting off beasts. He suffered a severe injury, and fell into a near coma. When he came to, he was a lot quieter and more solemn of a man. He was suspicious of the vault's intentions, and stayed mostly close to his fellow doctor and the person who remained by his side all that time, Mousetrap. For a final fun fact, in game they shared a mutual crush

[falloutoz]

Wasteland Field Guide: Wastelanders

Like many other creatures, humans too have undergone rapid evolution due to ambient radiation and the environmental pressures of surviving in the wasteland, leaving the average wastelander distinctly different from prewar or vault dwelling humans.

Many wastelanders have distinct, sharp canines and incisors, a change in dentition pointing to the changes in diet—rather than the typical hunter-gatherer omnivorous diet of pre-war man, rich in plants, sugars, and processed foods, wastelanders lean towards a more scavenger-omnivore diet, with meat taking up a much larger percentage. Teeth are not the only change to accommodate the change in available food sources, however; wastelanders are also more able to digest raw meat, and on a general level have heightened immunity to food-borne contagion. Many things that would be toxic to prewar humans find a regular place on the dinner plate.

Vision, too, has changed, with keener night vision taking precedence over detailed color; a trait that served ancient hunter-gatherers well when identifying ripe fruit was important, but now awareness of the dangers that lurk in the dark takes precedence.

A strengthened immune system developed as a response to 'superbugs' created by ambient radiation, leaving vault dwellers at a distinct disadvantage during cold and flu season. Genetic mutations are common, however there also seems to be a greater resistance to typical radiation effects, including cancer.

Overall, the average wastelander is a hardy creature, well adapted for the difficulties of post-war survival in the harsh environment of the wasteland, but no less human for it, as our legacy is one of adaptability.

[greyborn2]

The Vault Dweller's Survival Guide - An Unofficial Fallout RPG Unofficial

In a absolute burst of unprecedented brain workability, went and made a whole ass fallout RPG. Had been planning on releasing it on the same day as the show but took a lil' bit longer to finish it up - ah well, its here now! Link down below:

[burtreynolds-esquire]

Asking the Important Questions.

Female Sole Survivor x Piper Wright oneshot.

In which Blue asks a question and for once, Piper doesn’t have an answer.

Rating: Teen

Genre: comedy/fluff

CW: mild mention of sex.

“So, I have a question,” a voice to Piper’s right broke the comfortable silence they had been sitting in.

“Shoot,” she replied as she continued to type away at her terminal whilst Blue was perched on Piper’s bed, flipping through an issue of Wasteland Survival Guide.

Her new friend had been relentlessly trying to learn all she could about this new post-war world that she’d woken up in, reading up on whatever she could and continuously asking questions to anyone friendly enough to answer. Which was usually Piper.

Not that she minded in the slightest. Blue had been through a hell of a lot in her two months out of the vault and Piper was willing to help in any way she could.

Piper stopped typing momentarily to take a swig of Nuka-Cola and look over at her inquisitive friend, prepared to answer whatever she needed to.

“If you have sex with someone who has two heads, would it count as a threesome?” Blue asked completely nonchalantly, not even looking up from her magazine.

Piper almost spat her drink out of her mouth, evidently not prepared to answer whatever Blue needed.

“Uhh… I- um,” she tried to speak, her words completely failing her as she wondered how Blue’s train of thought had even got to that point.

“I just mean,” the vault dweller started as she finally looked up at Piper, “excessive amounts of untreated radiation obviously affects limb growth on humans, and nowadays seeing an animal with two heads is normal.” She pointed to the crude illustration of a Radstag on the cover of the magazine. “And then I got to thinking, would it be so far-fetched for a human to grow two heads given the correct conditions?”

Piper’s eyebrows slowly rose, her cheeks a little flushed as Blue continued down the mental path that had led her to the weirdest sex theory she’d ever heard of.

“And if you had a human with two heads, would it be a duplicate head of the original person or would it be more like a conjoined twin kind of thing? And that’s what got me thinking, would it be a threesome because they had separate brains or would it not count because there’s only one body?” Blue finally stopped, looking at Piper curiously as if the reporter held all the answers.

Not for the first time since she’d met this enigma of a woman, Piper was left speechless. She opened her mouth to try and form a sentence but her brain couldn’t even form a coherent thought, let alone actual words.

“I… Jesus, Blue! I have no fucking clue,” Piper managed to get out finally. She took another swig of her drink, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. “It’s too early to be asking me something so philosophical.”

Blue chuckled as she glanced down at the Pip-Boy, the light from the screen making her face glow an unnatural green in the dimness of her bedroom.

“It’s barely 3am, Pipes.” Blue placed the magazine down on the mattress and came to stand just behind Piper, bending down so their faces were level as she perused what the journalist had been working on. “You’re doing an article on the Minutemen?”

It took a second for Piper to remember to reply, what with Blue’s face so close to her own that she could feel the vault dwellers breath on her ear. She silently thanked whatever lord above that the room was too dark for Blue to notice the darker shade of red her face had no doubt turned.

“Oh, yeah. I figured I could help get the word out around these parts. You know me, whatever I can do to help,” Piper responded. “I got a quote of Preston last time we were up at Sanctuary and honestly, it’ll do the paper some good to publish something positive for a change.”

Blue didn’t respond to that with words but instead placed a hand on the reporter’s right shoulder and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Piper all but died right then and there.

“Thank you,” Blue’s voice was barely above a whisper now as she expressed her gratitude. “That means a lot, and I’m sure Preston will be over the moon with this. Anyway I best turn in for the night, I’m meeting Nick bright and early in the morning. I’ll be at the Dugout if you need me.”

She gave Piper’s shoulder a quick squeeze goodbye before descending the stairs quietly as not to wake Nat. Piper waited until she heard the front door to Publick Occurrences open and close softly before she placed her head in her hands and groaned.

This woman was going to be the death of her.

[twosides--samecoin]

13 & 23 pleaase

What pre-war thing do they miss the most/what pre-war thing in magazines looks the most interesting to them?

Olivia was born in 2265 (postwar)! She moved from Vault 150 in Banff National Park to Boston and misses just about everything about her former life. Everything is culture shock as a vault dweller, let alone immigrant. The former United States has a new lesson every day. The Taboo Tattoo magazines are a highly prized possession of hers; she sees magazines like Islander's Almanac and Wasteland Survival Guide as gospel - I kinda play a joke on her there; assimilating and adapting to life in a new location is not something you can learn from a book. There is no 'guide' you can follow when you are faced with a different culture, you just have to get used to it day by day.

Jack just misses Nora, cliche though it is for FO4. She was a guiding light. In some ways, the bombs dropping meant problems being solved, but Jack without Nora is incongruent. He watched her and learned how to act around people from her. In Jack's mind, the flowchart goes "what would Nora do" before "what would I do". He misses creature comforts and certain foods, but those are meaningless compared to the loss of his best friend and spouse.

Both Jack and Livvie are in-between people; they're mid-air just after the rug is ripped out from under them. How do you move on when shit wasn't supposed to go sour, yet it did in the worst way? How do neurodivergent people handle life without the structures they were used to?

What did they do about Pickman?

I had to think about this, I was not thinking of covering Pickman in my story! Suffice to say there is a lot of disagreement in the room on how to handle Pickman, and grasping for "what would Nora do" doesn't necessarily help Jack make a decision. Hancock and RJ are present and have opposite ideas. Through a successful enough self-defence on Pickman's part, Jack's opinion is to let him live. The MemoriesTM of the building are in the way, his decisionmaking and judgment are clouded. It's early in his experience in Boston and Olivia is not on the radar yet.

[d-lynx]

Going to reblog this again to add a little neat context; the guy named in the recipe, Tim Cain is a well known game developer whose biggest claims to fame are the original two Fallout games as well as Pillars of Eternity and The Outer Worlds.

Hiding recipes in games/their manuals is a favorite thing of his to do! Odds are, if he worked on it there'll be a recipe or two up for grabs.

This has also resulted in there being a little vault boy styled caricature of Cain in the Vault Dweller's Survival Guide (Fallout 1's game manual) along with his recipes which you can see for yourself!

Show up at work like hi boss sorry I'm late my I was helping my mother track down one specific 90s dungeon crawler for the purposes of obtaining a muffin recipe the developer hid in the files

[thefalloutwiki]

Do you guys have any info about what exactly Future-Tec is? I remember seeing some stuff in the 76 Atomic shop about it, but I can't really find any good info on what it is and what role it plays in the lore.

Heyo, thanks for the ask! I'm happy to answer anything I can!

So first, let's establish every game or publication Future-Tec is mentioned in (to my knowledge). Future-Tec is mentioned in the Vault Dweller's Survival Guide (Fallout's manual), Fallout 76 and lastly, Fallout: The Roleplaying Game!

In the Vault Dweller's Survival Guide, Future-Tec is stated to be a division of Vault-Tec, and presents an advertisement for the Garden of Eden Creation Kit (mind you, this is before the GECK was in a game too).

In Fallout 76, several Future-Tec Atomic Shop C.A.M.P. items appear, all with unique descriptions. The description for the Future-Tec Week Flag states the following:

Future-Tec was once a secret branch of Vault-tec tasked with investigating top-secret and alien technologies. Fly their flag in your C.A.M.P. with the Future-Tec Week Flag.

Additionally, the terminal entries for Vault 51 show that ZAX 1.3c copied Dr. Stanislaus Braun's writing and speaking style, in order to obtain a Hellfire Prototype Power Armor unit. The entry reveals that Braun was the department head of Future-Tec!

//SEARCHING: Hellfire Prototype Power Armor //SEARCHING: Future-Tec //SEARCHING: Department head //SEARCHING: Dr. Stanislaus Braun //ANALYZING: Dr. Stanislaus Braun published research and speaking history //COPYING: Dr. Stanislaus Braun writing & speaking style ........ Success; Probability of direct match 99.6% //SENDING: Hellfire Prototype Power Armor Requisition Request ........ Success; message delivered.

In Fallout 3, we also learn that Braun is the creator of the GECK!

Lastly, in Fallout: The Roleplaying Game, we get this short blurb about the GECK:

Devised by Vault-Tec’s Future-Tec division, this terraforming device uses matter recombination technology to transform irradiated or otherwise polluted earth into fertile soil. It also included force-field schematics and 3D printing arrays to make everything from buildings to clothing from the raw materials of the earth.

Now that we have our sources put together, let's piece together all that we know about Future-Tec, as a division of Vault-Tec.

Future-Tec was a division of Vault-Tec, headed by Dr. Stanislaus Braun. Described as a secret branch of the company, the division was responsible for investigating "top-secret and alien technologies." The Garden of Eden Creation Kit was devised by the department, with Dr. Braun being responsible for developing the device itself.

Hope this helps! Of course, sometimes I do miss a source or two, but I'm confident that that is all the info we have on Future-Tec. This was a nice little writing exercise, so I'd love to answer any more asks people have! :D

With this post, all info I've stated has been added to our Future-Tec page, which you can check out here:

https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Future-Tec

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Dean Winchester's Perfect Wasteland Survival Guide

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Y4RwJ0p by ravenetric 2077 was the year that the world ended. Nuclear warfare broke out all over the world on the 100th anniversary of the Geneva Convention outlawing mass nuclear weaponry. Nobody is really sure of which country launched first, but any country that had nuclear weapons used them. Nobody held back, there was no mercy. This warfare did not come as a surprise to most people though, as nuclear fallout shelters, underground vaults, started popping up all over the world. The Winchester family was known for their military service and that granted them access to vault 666 in the event of nuclear fallout. 278 years later, year 2355, Dean and Sam Winchester are the only remaining Winchester's inside the vault. Dean works in vault maintenance just like his father did while Sam is one of the few teachers that teach children about the history of the world, and why they grow up in a hole in the ground instead of above ground. Overseer Ellen has decided to shut down the vault for good. Technically, the vault doors were supposed to open 178 years ago but each Overseer kept denying it, until now. Opening the doors and sending the dwellers out into the real world was their only hope for survival. Words: 3300, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), God | Chuck Shurley, Eileen Leahy, Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Rufus Turner, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), Garth Fitzgerald IV, Benny Lafitte Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Praise Kink, Post-Nuclear Warfare, Vault Dweller Dean Winchester, Maintenance Technician Dean Winchester, Vault Dweller Sam Winchester, Teacher Sam Winchester, Vault Dweller Bobby Singer, Retired Maintenance Technician Bobby Singer, Vault Overseer Ellen Harvelle, Vault Dweller Jo Harvelle, Vault Dweller Benny Lafitte, Maintenance Lead Benny Lafitte, Vault Dweller Garth Fitzgerald IV, Maintenance Lead Garth Fitzgerald IV, Wasteland Bounty Hunter Castiel, Wasteland Bounty Hunter Eileen Leahy, Wasteland Military Michael, Wasteland Military Lucifer, Wasteland Trader Gabriel, BoS/Minutemen/The Enclave/The Institute/Vault-Tec/etc. does not exist in this fic!, Yes there will eventually be a dog companion, Chuck Shurley is an irradiated asshole, One of your favs previously mentioned is also secretly irradiated, I'm bad at tagging and summaries bare with me please, Light Dom/sub, Gentle/Soft Kink Only, Stoner Castiel, Cas spends all his caps on weed, Also it's Cas not Cass get it right, Dean has undiagnosed anxiety read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Y4RwJ0p

[somekndofpeople]

Fallout Verse Spit-balling

I've mentioned I got that fallout itch since the show dropped and been revisiting the games. So I got to thinking about verses for all my goofs and been jotting ideas and thoughts on notes the last few days. This is what I got so far- ya'll tell me what you think?

Hal- Dear god…The possibilities… On one hand- if he can’t get in a vault ( which I really dot think he'd even try.) he would probably survive if he is far enough from a blast zone. Become semi-ghoulish somehow bc the radiation prolly does damage and kill him a couple times over, but part of his immortality In the death like state is regeneration. Depending on how severe the damage and how long he goes between deaths he could develop scarring and/or a ghoulish appearance. If he did get into a vault for whatever reason (he'd have to be forced.. I really cant see an end of the world scenario where he would take a survival chance from someone)- it would only take a few years before someone surely gets suspicious of him and his lack of aging. God forbid there was an incident, or experimentation, depending on the vault. He dies and comes back and even more crows raise. What if he’s the only survivor of his vault bc of the immortality?

Jack- Is this just modern au Jack but the divergence 50s timeline? Did the whole Wildwest and gods auxiliary but was released from his duty nearing the 1940s- only for the world to go to shit (in his opinion) from there on out? He wouldn't and probably couldn’t vault. He would survive the blasts being immortal entity the way he is. Lone wanderer type material. Maybe a new guiding spirit like how Peder was. People probably think he’s irradiated bc of his eyes and all and he just let them believe that. Probably thinks he was released from his job bc the gods knew the world was going to crap and took the matters out of their own hands.

Peder- Speaking of… Same circumstance as Jack- he’s just more human like? Lone wanderer- maybe a courier work here and there. Definitely returns to being a guiding and protective spirit. Like Hal, he wouldn't take a chance of survival from a mortal.

Joel- A Mamma Murphy type figure, but talking to the dead? Residing in some settlement somewhere? Maybe someone's side showing him in some compacity and taking majority the earnings for themselves?

Raymond- Would be an obnoxious vault dweller- a terrible raider- and a lone wanderer bc no one can stand traveling with him. In all realness, I don't think I'd give him his power in this verse. Just a rough n rowdy dude. He would survive solely on spite and roach like tendencies. He would be resourceful and probably thrive in the environment honestly. Bit of a cling-on if someone were to cross his path and give him the light of day.

KANE- Made for this shit. Made this character for apocalypse plots. I can see him being a raider. But I can also see him being a lone wanderer doing oddball jobs here and there. Vault 111 cryo survivor from concord maybe? Like the idea that he was a mechanic at the red rocket truck stop just outside sanctuary hills. After leaving the vault he makes home base there?

Thats all I got atm- some of my muses I either cant see in this universe or I have to let them bake a lil longer.

[until-the-brahmin-come-home]

In the early spring of 2215, the Elder of Arroyo had a child. The child was healthy and well cared for, and survived their first year. When it was time for them to be named, it was remarked upon by all how similar the child appeared to their grandfather, the great Vault Dweller, and so they were named Alex (later, Alexandria).

Two years later, in the fall, the Elder had a second child. He, too, survived his first year, and was named Kaga.

Although the two siblings were close, it was obvious to all who Arroyo's golden child was. Alexandria only grew to ever more resemble her grandfather, and displayed great skill with speechcraft, a mastery of the spear, and a quick mind well-suited to making decisions. Kaga, meanwhile, constantly tested himself against the standard his sister set - and constantly found himself falling short.

When the two were young adults, Arroyo was ravaged by a plague. The Elder herself fell ill, and during this time Alexandria stepped forward to guide the village.

Kaga, meanwhile, spied opportunity. He entered the Temple of Trials and, when the time came for him to face off against a fellow villager in combat, he broke the rules. In the middle of the fight, he pulled out a knife he had hidden in his boot, and gutted his opponent on the temple's sacred grounds.

When he exited the temple triumphant, expecting to be greeted with newfound respect, he was instead met with horror at his actions. Alexandria disappeared into the Elder's tent for many long hours to decide Kaga's fate, while he was held in his own tent by a set of guards.

(It is rumored that, furious at the betrayal of her son - who was supposed to set an example for the rest of the village - the Elder demanded his execution. This would have forced Alexandria, as the acting Elder, to take her own brother's life.)

Kaga, at his sister's spearpoint, was forced from the village. As he went, bitterly angry, he swore revenge on both Alexandria and the whole of Arroyo.

He left behind his mother, slowly recovering from the illness and the loss of her son; his sister, heart-broken; and a sweetheart who, within weeks, would find out that she was with child.

He would not be seen again for five years.

[littleatombomb]

VDSG Catalogue No.4609

“Some of the synth refugees in Acadia are Institute escapees who refused to get their memories wiped by the Railroad. Others underwent the process, but the memory wipe didn’t take... or started to unravel.”

[kittinkanin]

Got this today! Yay!