#it broke down in goodsprings

[vault81]

Had the geck reinstalled for 5 minutes, and I'm already making the twins a player home in goodsprings lmao

#oc; jack #oc; eliza #cookehome #fallout #fallout new vegas #the bus is what they used to get to the mojave before the game started #it broke down in goodsprings #and they just left it there for a year or two #they're attempting to get it all fixed up again so they can get around the mojave faster (my little headcanon for fast travelling #but they're also just setting up camp around it so they have someplace to stay for the time being #i'm adding more to it atm but i just wanted to make a post about it!! #i'll give it a tag too so i can find it later lol #or maybe i'll just keep posting here and make it a thread

[ghoulhusband]

i’m going to bed early (well not early but early for me) but before i do i was thinking about the 2000 cap entry fee to vegas and how much i love mods that make everything worth a very, very small amount of money. because the mojave economy being absolutely fucking wrecked is something that i don’t think gets touched on enough. sure, you as the player are making money hand over fist in the base game, but everyone else is so, so broke in all the small towns you visit along the way. good armor for a whole town is a 1000 cap investment according to chet, who’s pretty obviously exaggerating, but say he’s right?

that means the bighorner hides, the most valuable thing these people have (aside from water,) AFTER being processed into leather, which is an huge amount of labor hours, is worth 111 caps, if we use the 9 npcs in game.

but say you used a higher number, like how many people there probably would be in a really really small town. 45-60 people, let’s say. 22-17 caps per armor. and the credit check to get into vegas—not even to have a good time, to be able to afford everything, but just to get in—is 2000 caps. now sure, maybe the people in goodsprings have more caps saved away, but this is one of their main exports. they maybe have two or three times that much money lying around, if they’re lucky. if we can extrapolate that to the other towns (which are honestly probably worse off because most of them aren’t producing anything anywhere near as valuable as food, water and leather,) that means that in most of the mojave, the people actually doing the labor have between 17% and .09% of the money needed to get into vegas, depending on how big we inflate the number of people in each town.

so if no one has much money, then the towns are probably operating on the barter system, and then it’s 5 caps for x thing if you really have to pay. which is great for them in theory, i’m very pro bartering, but there’s a lot of resources in the area they’re clearly not benefitting from. where are they going? well, quite a lot of the ncr soldiers, even with the shitty caps to paper money conversion rate, have enough money to pass the credit check. they take their paycheck and they hit the strip. now maybe they get a special exemption, but i’m inclined to think they don’t, because that makes no sense. house is in it to make money, he wouldn’t make an exception for most of his customer base. so if the average soldier in the ncr saves their money, they’re making upwards of $5k per paycheck (ncr dollars are worth about 40% the face value of caps.)

that’s SO crunchy. like i’ve thought about this before because it’s a key part of the narrative, but i never sat down and did the math before. like if we use 2k caps as a sort of middle class line, just to do some real world comparison, let’s say that 2k caps savings makes you middle class, which is about consistent with real world usd figures, then you probably make about 60k caps per year (that’s the median middle class salary per person in the u.s. right now.) so all these people from the ncr are making $150k a year in ncr dollars.

if the ncr dollar ever became worth 100% of the face value of a cap, the average person in the ncr (who aren’t part of the prison labor system, or the other exploited classes in the imperial hub, which is a separate point,) are equal in wealth to upper middle class people from the u.s., today, by our scale. now, maybe that number is skewed because only the middle class ncr citizens can make it to new vegas. totally possible. that still means the foot soldiers of an occupying army are making an insane amount of money compared to their real world counterparts (in the u.s. enlisted soldiers make between $24k-43k.) while the average person from the mojave has between 17 and 333 dollars in the bank account. those are really specific numbers but you know what i mean. if you have under $1k in savings in the real world you’re in economic jeopardy. much less if you have $17. if we extrapolate yearly income from those numbers, the people with the largest amount of money saved (333 caps or thereabouts) are making 10,200 caps per year. which is below the severe poverty line in the real world. the person with $17 would be making about 566 caps per year. vs. 150k. the ncr is just destroying the fucking economy and house is so complicit in that. it’s such a killer detail that the amount of money that’s being extracted from the region is astronomically high compared to the living costs of every day people, and the only one who’s really seeing any of that money without tons of strings attached is house. who can’t fucking use any of it for anything beyond exerting more control over the region and finding the platinum chip. see: he spent 812,545 caps looking for it in one year alone.

#also really adds depth to how much money chet must be making. he’s gone to vegas twice and lost most of his money both times which means #he’s clearly one of the only traders who charges people from the ncr what everything should be worth #it makes me like him more like it’s such a small detail that’s so good. or trudy (who clearly has a ton of money she rarely uses) paying you #what is really an exorbitant amount of money to fix her radio because she feels bad for you and it’s worth it to her to get her radio fixed #some of my math might be nonsense here because i’m tired and i have dyscalculia but i’m generally pretty good with money math #idk that’s just such a good detail that this game mechanic can actually tell you the whole story of exploitation and resource extraction if #you do the math problem with the numbers they give you

[papakhan]

wonder what would go down if you could go up to papa to tell him one of his boys took a job from a guy in an ugly suit who made them dig you a grave and watch him shoot you and they didn't even get paid for it. OR you ask around the Khan camp for the khans who were the guy who shot you

I know you can already ask melissa if she knows anything if you get to her before starting the main quest

Which is pretty neat I like how you can't really tell if she did know about them and is lying or if she legit didn't know they were there. I think she's probably telling the truth tho she seems the type.

It does then make it kinda weird that Red Rock is So close and literally the first non-hostile area if you do go north from Goodsprings and its Filled with guys who look like the people who helped murder you that you can't like Say anything

Oooh it could be like an evidence-building thing like you have to do with Swank but with Papa. Or maybe it'd make more sense trying to report it to Regis he is like the law guy I'd trust him as a detective.

I could write a whole dialogue tree tbh and i WILL

Courier: I'm looking for some Great Khans who tried to kill me in Goodsprings

Regis: I'm not going to help you hunt them down, if that's what you're asking. But if they broke any of our laws I'll deal with them myself. What did they do exactly?

Courier: One caught me and tied me up and the other dug my grave. They both let a man in a checkered suit shoot me in the head.

Regis: I see. Well that doesn't break any law of ours but it is unusual. I remember seeing a man in a checkered suit around here not long ago.

Courier: What's usual about it?

Regis: A few Khans have taken to mercenary work, especially those who disapprove of the chem trade. But Khans don't kill for Vegas caps, especially after the war we had there. The man in the suit seemed like a Vegas type.

Courier: What can you tell me about the man who shot me?

Regis: Not much. He's probably from either Vegas or Reno, more likely Vegas because it's nearer. I thought maybe he was a friend of uh-- never mind.

Courier: A friend of who?

Regis: I said never mind, I'm not giving you their names to add to a hitlist. I'll look into it anyway, and I'll let you know how it goes.

#txt #long post / #yayy regis dialogue #anonymous

[asleepyb0i]

Lupus companion quotes (part 1)

Just gonna yoink @thebigolbee ‘s companion dialogue for Chard real quick

Don’t worry, I’ll give it back… maybe

Lupus companion dialogue-

(Receiving stimpak): “Hmm… much better.”

“Got anymore for the road?”

“Can’t make this a habit.”

“Hmm. Thank you.”

(Getting back up without help): 

“My back…”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

“Ouch…”

(Getting hurt by an enemy): 

“Asshole!”

“You’ll regret that!”

“You’re dead! Hear me? Dead!”

(Getting hurt by falling/poisoning/etc.):

“I think I broke something…”

(Getting ragdolled):

“Gah!!”

“Shit-”

(Fight engaged with enemy): 

“I’ll handle this one!”

“Food for the vultures!”

“Eat lead, cadaverosa comedentis!”

“Pathetic wretches!”

(Courier pointing gun at him):

“Mind pointing that somewhere else?”

(Courier accidentally hitting him): 

“Ow- asshole!”

“Watch it!”

“I’m right here!”

(Fight engaged with Courier):

“You’re gonna regret this…”

“I’m just warming up…”

“I’ll tear you to pieces.”

(Entering Goodsprings):

“I’ve been to Goodsprings before. It’s a nice little place. Good people, too.”

(Entering a vault):

“They’re quite ingenious inventions that pre-war humans made. I read in a book that they reinforced the walls with solid lead to protect against against any potential radiation coming through.”

(Entering a vault 2/encountering vault skeletons):

“What wasteful fools. An unopened vault is the safest place in the country- no, the continent. To throw that all away for human stupidity and greed-…”

(Entering Nipton):

“They… they had it coming.”

(Entering Novac):

“I read in a book that actual living creatures at one point were even bigger than Dinky. Reptiles with reaching necks to grab leaves and fruit. I can’t exactly remember the name, it’s been so long. Brevi-something-saurus.”

(Entering Freeside):

“Careful with the alleyways. They’re full of drug addicts and freaks…”

(Entering The Strip):

“Hmmph. Rich people irk me. Posh, condescending pricks.”

(Asking him to pickpocket/steal):

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Nope.”

“You first.”

(Asking him to go somewhere inaccessible):

“Nope.”

(Asking him to carry items):

“You paid me to shoot people, and you want me to carry your stuff as well? Ugh, just get on with it.”

“Fine, but if you make this a habit, you’re better off buying a pack Brahmin.”

(Asking to see his inventory):

“Sure.”

(Courier drinking alcohol):

“No thanks. I’m not a drinker.”

“You shouldn’t drink while on the road. It does nothing but fog your head and make you careless.”

“Can smell that from here.”

(Courier using chems):

“As long as you’re careful with your shit.”

“Be sure you can handle your trips. I don’t want to have to haul you to the nearest doctor.”

(Courier jumping from a tall place):

“You expect me to follow you down?”

“Nice one, Icarus.”

“Ouch…”

(Courier goes into crouch mode):

“Lean forward and keep a steady weight on your toes. Should the enemy see you, you’ll be able to have a fast start to run.”

“What do you see?”

“Be ready to kill.”

(Dark environment):

“Could use a few torches to brighten things up.”

(Dangerous environment):

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea…”

(Smelly environment):

“Ugh.”

(Scary environment):

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll kill anything that gets too close.”

(Quiet environment):

“*incoherent mumbling*”

(Irradiated environment):

“Make sure you have some rad-x. Radiation poisoning isn’t fun.”

(“Here’s the caps. Follow me. *give 500 caps*” Hiring for the first time.):

“Alright. Lead the way.

(“Follow me, I need your help.”):

“My gun is at your word.”

“No need to pay me again. I’ll follow for the thrills.”

(“Use Melee”):

“Fine. I’m not very good at it though.”

(“Use Ranged”):

“My pleasure.”

(“Stay close”):

“Alright.”

(“Keep distance”): 

“So be it.”

(“Be passive”):

“Fine, but only as long as the enemy is.”

(“Be aggressive”): 

“They’ll be dead before they see us.”

(“Wait here”):

“Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

“I’ll keep watch.”

“Yell for me if there’s trouble ahead.”

(“Follow me”):

“Lead the way.”

*This is with low/starting friendship. His quotes change as time goes on. Will add a part 2 for high friendship.*

#Jfc this took forever #my time is being occupied by original works and the start of school pls be patient with me lol #FNV #fnv #fallout new vegas #fallout oc #lupus singulara #Please ask me stuff I crave interaction smh

[nightingaelic]

Do you still do reacts?

If so, NV companions react to just waltzing into the tops and blasting Benny without a word

Yep, still do!

TW: Gunfire, violence, death

Of course, the Tops took the courier's apparent weaponry as soon as they entered the casino, but they handed each piece over gladly. Their eyes were fixed on the man at the far end of the casino floor, across all of the roulette wheels, craps tables and blackjack semi-circles that were seeing healthy use for a Tuesday afternoon. The man in the checkered coat with his back to the front entrance, surrounded by bodyguards. The man they had been chasing since Goodsprings.

"Come on," the courier said with barely-contained excitement to their companion, nearly skipping as they wound through all of the fancy, hardwood, green-felted tables that House must have dug out of storage to make his utopia. The scorned messenger's hand was already reaching for their concealed weapon, but their companion didn't notice until it was too late to change their mind.

Benny Gecko didn't notice it either. When he heard their footsteps approaching, he turned. It was a casual, smooth movement that was abruptly interrupted by realization. "What in the goddamn...?"

That was all he got out, really, before the courier put a bullet straight through his head and all hell broke loose.

Arcade Gannon: "Oh, fuck," Arcade swore. His face went very white, and he barely got his plasma pistol up in time to fire off a shot at the man who was rushing him with a knife. His attacker roared and flailed into the nearest roulette wheel, but he went down out of arm's reach of both Arcade and the courier, who dove for cover.

"Six, what the hell?!?" Arcade yelled around the solid pool table at the courier, who was locked in battle with two Chairmen who were smart enough not to engage in hand-to-hand. They had upended a few tables and chairs to slow any advances, but they were poking their heads up far too frequently for the courier not to play whack-a-mole.

Sure enough, the Mojave's latest instigator put a bullet square through one of their necks before turning to answer him. "I got the checkered fuck!" they shrieked jubilantly. "Let's see him get up again!"

Even though he was in the middle of a firefight, Arcade couldn't help putting his face in his hand, if only for a moment.

Craig Boone: Cover. Boone's mind was going a million miles a second, as it usually did when gunfire broke out near him. Cover and line of sight. The craps table he'd ducked behind was good enough for now, but it wouldn't hold long. There was a balcony overlooking the room, but the stairs up to it were nowhere to be found. No use risking a run to a spot he wasn't even sure how to access.

"11 o'clock!" he called to the courier, who'd managed to upend a pool table next to the stairs that led up from the sunken casino floor. They fired over the barrier and laid out a Chairman in a striped suit with some kind of SMG.

"Roger!" they barked back, two beats too late. Boone couldn't help smirking at their tardiness. He peeked around his own cover and found another of Benny's guards, who clearly hadn't noticed the NCR sniper within his range. Boone's rifle was up in an instant. It would be the man's last mistake.

Lily Bowen: Taking cover wasn't really an option for the grandmotherly nightkin, so she waded into the chaos as she usually did. It would have been quicker work if she'd had her vertibird blade handy, but her fists made for pretty good weapons, and Leo began to take hold of her as soon as a few bullets found their way into her limbs. Lily let the familiar feeling wash over her, and she tried to distance herself from the pain that crept in. Stinging pain, dull pain, sharp pain, lonely pain: It all rolled into the same thing, and it brought her back to the surface again when the noise around her stopped and the courier's hand grasped hers.

"Lily?" they called to her, squeezing her big fingers tightly. "Lily, come back to me."

Lily smiled. "Grandma's here, pumpkin."

There were tears in the courier's eyes, of relief and the satisfaction of something laid to rest. "It's over, Lily. Let's go home."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul had already ducked behind the nearest blackjack table by the time the courier had their gun up to blast Benny, and he pulled his own revolver out in anticipation of the fight. The lights of the casino drew his eyes for a second, and he looked up to see that they were embedded in an enormous, hanging art installation of a chandelier that spanned the entire length of the gambling floor. Raul squinted. Sure enough, just there and there were the wires suspending this end of it, barely visible through the artistic holes that had been punched in the middle to give the whole thing the appearance of depth.

Raul aimed his gun, let out the breath he'd been holding, and gently squeezed the trigger. The nearest support wire snapped, and the whole light display shuddered and tilted. "Abajo!" he yelled to the courier.

The courier glanced up at the noise and dove under a pool table just before the chandelier ripped its other support loose and crashed down atop the Chairmen assailants in a spectacular shower of sparks, drywall and metal beams.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "You tell 'em, Six!" Cass whooped, crushing her hat further onto her head as she whipped her shotgun around. "Who's next? Who wants a kiss from my 20 gauge?"

The next Chairman didn't get any words out before she nailed him in the face with a shotgun blast, and his friend took the same treatment before she had to duck behind a roulette wheel to reload. She had almost gotten herself back into the fight when a third suited bastard brought the fight to her, and the two sprawled out over the carpeted floor wrestling for her gun.

"Should've... bought me... dinner... first," Cass grunted, punctuating each part of the sentence with a punch to the jaw. The Chairman wasn't easily put off, though, and Cass shrieked when he got a hand up in her hair and yanked hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. She dug her fingernails into his neck in response, and this finally dislodged him long enough to give her an opening and bring her gun back around. Before she could give him what he deserved, though, he fell back with a new hole in his chest courtesy of the courier.

Cass looked up at them with a grin. "I had it under control."

They smirked. "You sure did."

Veronica Santangelo: "Oh, this is happening." Veronica spun around, trying to spot any latecomers that might try to attack from behind. Sure enough, there were a few straggling Chairmen running in from reception, awkwardly reaching for concealed guns beneath their suits as they did.

"You're on your own, Six!" Veronica announced, abandoning them and the four other doomed Chairmen that surrounded Benny's corpse. "Try not to die!"

"You too!" The courier called as she raced away. The first Chairmen had only just gotten his gun out before the Scribe hit him with an uppercut so hard it sent him flying into his colleague right behind him. Veronica rolled, dodging a stray gunshot from the mess she'd just left, and popped up next to a third attacker. She sent him thudding into the wall, eyes rolling.

"Okay, I'm warmed up now," Veronica joked, shifting her weight like a professional boxer. "Anyone else?"

ED-E: ED-E began blasting the triumphant music it had prepared for the occasion and fired lasers at anything in the courier's way. The Chairmen yelped as its energy beams found their joints, hands and centers of mass, burning enough to distract them at the exact worst moments. "Take out the bot!" one of them yelled, just before ED-E nailed him right in the ear.

Gunfire turned toward the eyebot, but the order came too late. The bullets only served to pinpoint the Chairmen's locations for the courier, who finished each one off with gusto. As a final flourish, ED-E dove straight into the face of the last man standing, leaving him out cold with an impressive goose egg forming on his forehead.

The courier wiped their hands and put their gun away. "Don't do that," they scolded the robot half-heartedly. "You'll knock your circuitry loose again."

ED-E chirped and tilted its speaker up toward the courier's own forehead scar, somehow managing to sound sarcastic.

Rex: The next man that reached for the courier went down with a cyberdog's teeth in his throat, and the courier's gun finished him off as well. The pair moved like a well-oiled machine, Rex immobilizing each attacker until his companion neutralized them. He wove expertly between table and chair legs to get to the last man with a gun out, knocking him flat on his back and growling into his face.

"Wait, boy," the courier ordered softly. Rex continued to growl, but he remained square on his victim's chest. Blood dripped from his metal jaw onto the quivering man's chin.

The courier set their gun against the Chairman's temple. "Benny's room key. I need it."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv companions #fnv companions react #fallout new vegas companions #fallout new vegas companions react #benny gecko

[screenviolense-a]

@daggersandsparks​ sent: “I think I broke something..” [to Victor? cuz apparently you have him and I never noticed?]

          it wasn’t really a secret that he wasn’t human and his shack on the outskirts of goodsprings only proved that, filled more with old machinery and scrap he used to keep himself in good shape and a bit of space for him to power down or flip through a few pre-war westerns he’d dug up. still, there was plenty to get into and mess around with.

          letting out a small groan of a noise as he moved to pick up the pieces with a creak of his joints, he swept away some of the dust. ‘ don’t worry ‘bout it. most of this stuff is just junk anyway. ‘

#he's a relatively recent addition i think #victor / ic. #victor / v.001. #daggersandsparks

[jepsxyhn]

Family

Hello there, another wonderful whumptober post :))) hope yall had a good day today

“Tell me about your family, Charlie.”

“Well, there’s Raul,” Charlie put a finger to their chin and leaned back in the office chair.

“He’s like a tio or something, he’s an ass but deep down he has a kind heart. Then there’s Arcade, he's really smart, and kind, I think he may be a little too kind for his own good.”

The psychiatrist nodded and wrote down notes in her book as she listened to Charlie ramble on and on about their companions.

“And then there’s Veronica-”

“No Charlie, tell me about your real family.”

“My real family?” Charlie pushed up their glasses and cocked their head, their loose bun falling to the side.

“Yes, tell me about your mother.”

Suddenly, all train of thought stopped, the silence inside Charlie’s mind was deafening.

“Well, I could tell you about Lily, but she’s more of a grandmother.” They stammered, folding their hands in their lap nervously.

“Charlene. You need to talk about them sometime.” The psychiatrist pushed up her glasses and sighed, looking up at Charlie from her notebook.

“They aren’t important.”

“Have you maybe considered, all your problems may stem from them? What was wrong with your relationship with your parents?” 

“I think all my problems stem from being shot in the head,”

“Is that what you think?” Charlie gulped and looked down at the ground before exhaling and nodding confidently. 

“Yes, I have nightmares about being shot every night, I let him live even after he’s caused all this emotional stress to me, and I think I secretly regret that.”

“Who else is in these dreams?”

“What?” They were starting to feel irritated, they had paid this woman to help them get over that godforsaken night in goodsprings, not delve deeper into their past.

“You’ve told me about your nightmares, you’ve gone into detail, and you’ve pointed out specific things, but you never tell me who else is in these dreams.”

“It’s me, and it’s Benny.”

“No audience?” Charlie went silent at that, staring at the ground as they tried to think of something to say.

“Can you tell me what these people in your dreams looked like?”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me why Charlie, is it because you’re afraid?”

“No!” their throat tightened as they held back tears, “I can’t tell you because, I don’t know what they look like.”

The room was silent except for the occasional squeak from pencil as she wrote in her notebook.

“What did your mother look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was her hair long? Did she have dark skin? Freckles?”

“I don-”

“What about your father? Do you have his nose? What about his eyes? Was his hair short or long?”

“I can-”

“Why don’t you tell me about your little brother?”

“No!” Charlie stood up suddenly, sending the chair falling backwards. 

“I can’t, I can’t! I don’t know what they looked like! I don’t remember my own family’s faces,” they had started to choke by the end of the sentence, tears threatening to escape from the corner of their eyes. The psychiatrist kept a blank face, sighing and closing her notebook. 

“Of course you don’t, if you did, that would make them real, wouldn’t it? If you remembered the way your mother would hold you before you went to bed every night, or the way your father would sing corridos to you when he would wash the dishes, it would remind you that they were real people that you left behind. And Doctor Charlie Garcia can’t have that, no, they can’t feel guilt, no no, not Doctor Garcia. You’re perfect aren’t you? You found your perfect family, meanwhile, your parents and your little brother had to find your bed empty one morning, not even a note,”

“No-”

“They weren’t even deserving of that, were they? No, all they did was hold you back. Is that why you spent so much time at the university? Is that why whenever your little brother would show you a cool rock he found, you would throw it away, so he would never find it again and have something to bother you about? Is that why you refuse to remember what they looked like?” Charlie broke down and fell to the floor, covering their mouth as they sobbed loudly. 

“Is that why you secretly hope that they’re dead? So you don’t have to deal with all the stress that comes with knowing there are 3 people in this world that you abandoned for some, dream?” The psychiatrist went quiet again, and the only sound that echoed throughout the room was Charlie's crying. 

“When will you come to terms with the fact that the Bullet didn’t strip you of all your memories of your family, but you did that? You subconsciously forced yourself to forget their faces, and blamed it on a bullet that did nothing but give you amnesia for about a week, just so you could have some kind of excuse that isn’t ‘I can’t handle the guilt I feel over ripping apart my own family’.”

“I-” Before they could even begin to defend themself, they felt someone grab their shoulders and gently shake them out of their nightmare.

“Boss?” Charlie choked as they sat up, gasping for air and looking around frantically.

“Raul?”

“I’m sorry Boss, I know you’re not supposed to wake the person with a gun in their holster, pero it was getting really bad.” Charlie touched their cheek and quickly wiped the tears away, their cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“I, Uh, thank you. I’m sorry if I woke you.” He just nodded and walked towards the door, glancing back at them before walking out of their room. They were in the Lucky 38, and not in some psycho psychiatrist's office. They laid back down and stared at the ceiling fan as the blades slowly spun, trying to remember any of their family’s faces. Charlie covered their mouth as they started to cry again, muffling any sound that might escape and bring Raul back into their room. They still couldn’t remember. 

#my writing #whumptober2020 #found family prompt #Oc: Charlie Garcia #this one was fun to write #i struggle with remembering faces #and i dont remember faces from my past #so this do be kinda based on that #depression and trauma can also affect memory when it comes to other ppl #so like #yeah #also i decided to just post this whenever #it isnt a specific day

[gold-and-rubies]

I’m Not an Angel, Baby - Chapter 8

As of right now we are completely caught up with this fic. Benny POV.

Benny leaned against the railing that circled around the floor where the gamblers sat playing their games. He had his back to them, his mind buzzing. Earlier that day someone had been let into the Lucky 38, had left, and had reportedly entered again with their friends. No one had ever been allowed in the Lucky 38. Not even him when he was Mr. House’s so called prodigy.

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind him. He turned to find the source of the noise, and his eyes landed on one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was lithe and on the taller side. Her long, black hair was perfectly curled like the pre-war photos. Her lips were painted ruby red. Her bright blue eyes were darkened. Black glasses sat on her nose at a sultry angle. She was drop dead gorgeous, even despite the ugly scar above her right eyebrow. There was something familiar about her, though, and it was throwing him off.

“What? You don’t recognize me?” the mystery woman purred.

That was when it hit him. She was that damn courier he had shot in Goodsprings, and judging by how clean she was and the quality of her clothes, she was also the one who had been let into the Lucky 38.

“What in the Goddamn…” he muttered in surprise. He blinked dumbly at her a few times before he composed himself. He cleared his throat, “Let’s keep this in the groove, hey. Smooth moves. Smooth like little babies. Hello. The broad they let into the Lucky 38 was you? Well, shit.”

She took a step forward, and leaned on the railing of the stairs, “I’m getting better, though, not completely. Because I couldn’t recall your name. Unless, when you shot me, you ran off so fast that I didn’t get it.”

Did… did she just flirt with me? he thought, What the fuck?

He narrowed his eyes at her, “You making a pass at me sister? Because, I am out of your league.”

That was not completely true. When it came to looks they were on pretty equal ground in his eyes. Her flirtatiousness was making him deeply uncomfortable, which in turn made him more uncomfortable as he was not the sort to turn down a pretty lady.

She seemed to lean in closer, and her voice sounded too innocent for the words that came out, “What? Is it wrong to want a guy who’d shoot me in the head?”

He hated how much of an effect she was having on him, but he could not just turn her away. He had a reputation to uphold. The last thing he needed was the other Chairmen making fun of him behind his back.

“Did those bullets scramble your egg? Or have you always been a naughty broad?” he managed to retort.

“What can I say? Girls like bad boys, and you… you’ve been downright awful,” she laughed. She took a step onto the first stair. She had definitely leaned in closer, trying to get into his personal space.

Benny started to panic internally. He knew that whatever she was trying to do was wrong. He was not that bad, but it was working, and if it were not for their history he would have gone along without hesitation.

He tried to insult her again in hopes it would get her to back off, “You’re one sick pussycat, baby. There’s quins and then there’s… I don’t even know what to call you.”

“I’m saying I dig you, despite it all. What do you say?”

His discomfort with the situation finally broke through, “I hear ‘dig’ from you babe, and all I can think of is a shovel. How can this be? This ain’t forgiveness, it’s something… wrong.”

She leaned in close, “I’m a courier, remember? Don’t you want me to handle your package?”

How that line had managed to work on him, he would never tell, but it did. He had a feeling he was going to regret what he said next, but he did anyway.

He sighed, “All right, honey baby. This is all kinds of wrong, but to my suite it is. Thirteenth floor. Don’t… don’t keep me waiting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said as she followed him.

He led her to the elevators. He had to shove his hands into his pockets, so she could not see him fidgeting. He was not just uncomfortable, but he was also… nervous. Something about her made him deeply nervous.

A woman in a pink dress with short brown hair got onto the elevator with them. He could have sworn he saw the Courier wink at her. He ignored it, blaming his overactive mind.

They stepped off of the elevator, as did the other woman, but she wandered down to the other end of the hallway.

He could feel the Courier right behind him as he unlocked his door. They didn’t make it very far into the room as she cornered him up against the wall near the door.

“Eager, are we?” he joked leaning forward to kiss her. It was easier to stave his nerves now that he thought things were going somewhere.

“Not so fast,” her voice was completely different as she pushed him back towards the wall, “I want to ask some questions first.”

He looked at her face. Seduction had given way to seriousness. He cursed himself. He should have seen this coming. At least she was not gunning for revenge, not at this point at least.

“First?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She did not look amused, “Some people think information is a commodity.” “Why did you shoot me?”

“I didn’t want there to be any loose strings, but apparently that didn’t work.”

“No shit,” she said flatly, “You need to work on your aim. Why did you hire the Khans?”

That question confused him, “Why do you care?”

No reaction.

“Fine. Don’t like doing the literal dirty work myself. Why dig a grave when you can hire someone else to do it for you? And I didn’t know how much trouble you’d be.”

She nodded before asking her next question, “What the hell is this chip, and why is it so important?”

He snorted, “Oh come on, Doll. You talked to House didn’t you? He didn’t tell you what it is?”

That was when it hit him. She was not exacting her revenge, not because she just wanted a chat, no, House had put her up to this. She was here for the chip. He needed to leave with it as soon as he could.

“All you need to know is that it’s a piece of very powerful tech.”

“Do you actually know what it does?” She placed her hands on his hips causing him to swallow hard. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he hated himself because it was working. That is until he realized her hands weren’t traveling over his body to feel him up. Instead they were headed for his pockets.

He started to panic. He would not let House get the chip back, so he did the first thing he thought of, which was to punch her in the face. She stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. He stepped over her quickly, and ran to his bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him to create some space. He then ran to the closet door, and did the same. He ignored Yes Man as he ran past. The robot didn’t need to know where he was going.

He ran through the hall to the secret elevator. He heard her heels clicking against the tile floor. She was a lot faster than he had realized. He barely managed to step into the secret elevator, and lock the door behind him before she caught up to him. He heard her banging on the door as he leaned against one of the walls.

He fished the platinum chip out of his jacket pocket. He ran his thumb over as his mind raced. If House sent her, which he believed, then he was going to leave New Vegas. He needed to get to the Fort. Even if he did not have a plan to get past the Legion.

#fallout #fanfiction #fanfic #fallout new vegas #new vegas #fnv #fallout nv #bridget o'donoghue #benny gecko #courier six

[the-hoarse-bard]

Eventually, ED-E and I tracked down the boiler room. In the gloom, I made out the same shimmer of a stealth boy using nightkin, holding something big, and with a flame at the end. A flamer. ED-E and I edged as close as we could in the shadows. I took aim at the beasts flamer, hoping to destroy it before it lit us up.

I heard ED-E's laser whir to life, and we opened fire. The nightkin roared as a stray bullet broke his stealth boy into bits, rendering him fully visible. ED-E's laser hit a vital component of the flamer, and it's fuel spilled all over the floor. The nightkin pulled the trigger of the flamer, but was met with a hollow click as the last of the fuel drained from the tank. He roared as I reloaded Lucky, and swung his fists down at me, knocking me to the floor, and sending Lucky falling through the safety netting to the boilers below.

The nightkin towered over me, and just as I was sure I was sunk, ED-E fired a volley of lasers into his back. He whirled around at ED-E, and started to swat at it like a fly. This bought me enough time to draw the old 10mm I saved from Goodsprings, and fire it into the nightkins head, and at last the battle was over. Searching his body, I found a key to the boiler room below us, so I headed down and retrieved Lucky.

Unfortunately, I also found the ghoul I was looking for in one of the side rooms. Hope it's not too great a loss for the guy holed up in the storeroom. Also hope Davison isn't too torn up about me murdering his buddies, but that's a bridge to cross when I come to it.

#Fallout: New Vegas #Will #Story post

[courier-sux]

About the Character

Tagged by @its-sixxers, thanks!! Because I’m stuck at home I’m probably going to be doing a lot of stuff like this lol

Your muse’s name: Jackal

One picture / faceclaim of your muse: (picrew by @ummmmandy​)

Two headcanons you have for your muse?

1. Jackal will pick up various odds and ends and put them in her pockets without really even thinking about it. Golf balls, coins, bottle caps, shell casings, figurines, flowers, buttons, bits of glass, cool rocks — nothing is safe. If you wake up and find a gecko claw or a marble next to your bed, then you know Jackal must like you.

2. All of her guns have names, and they’re all from old western movies. Dallas and Ringo, her revolver and repeater, are both from Stagecoach (1939).

Three things your character likes doing in their free time:

1. Fixing stuff. Usually broken radios and old guns, it gives her something to do with her hands.

2. Playing guitar. Her dad taught her how; it was something she still knew how to do even after losing her memories.

3. Watching old movie holotapes. Jackal was legitimately excited for the midnight showing at the Mojave Drive-In. Having her organs stolen was disappointing for multiple reasons.

Seven people your muse loves/likes:

Her twin brother, Jace. When Jackal remembers that she has a twin brother, everyone’s reaction is “oh god, there’s two of them”. Luckily for the Mojave, Jace is very different. He’s kind, bright, and an overall good influence on her.

Boone. Neither of them had expected to care so much about each other. After almost a year of watching each other’s backs, they realized that they were the only people who really know one another. Boone could see past the facade Jackal showed to the outside world, and in turn he could share his guilt, regrets, and inner conflicts with her. They inspire each other to be better.

ED-E. Though not technically a ‘person’, ED-E was Jackal’s first real friend after losing her memories. It was also the first time she broke down after realizing how truly alone she was. Both of them had been shot and left for dead, and both had no idea if anyone would even miss them once they were gone. ED-E brought one more first for Jackal; the first time she had a good night’s sleep.

Arcade. He starts helping Jackal after she asks if he can help her ‘do stuff’, and the two end up making a good, if unusual, team. She helps him loosen up a little, and he shares his braincells with her to keep her out of trouble.

Raul. He’s ‘viejo’ to her, and she’s ‘lobo’ to him. They bond over their love of fixing things, and he’s the main reason that she’s so good at it. He has tried and failed to re-teach her Spanish.

Veronica. Jackal has a huge soft spot for Veronica, as she had a huge crush on her when they first met. Eventually she gets over it, and helps reunite her and Christine. 

Cass. She’s Jackal’s preferred drinking buddy, and the two of them get shit done when they work together. The only downside is that they tend to leave a mess behind.

A phobia your muse has:

Taphophobia, specifically the fear of being buried alive. Jackal isn’t afraid of much, but she still has nightmares involving the Goodsprings incident.

Tagging:

I never know who to tag in these, so I invite anyone reading this to do it and TAG ME so I can see!!

#oc: jackal #oc memes #i really need to draw a good ref for jackal lol

[brainsdivided]

Shattered Hearts and Broken Dreams - Chapter 1

Trigger Warnings: Vomiting, Parent death, Child endangerment/sickness

15 August 2293

Nearly motionless laid a young boy. Bundled in a faded green blanket, he laid on his back with his hands by his sides.

Watching from his desk was an old man, bound in full-body bandages and dressed casually, minus the SWAT vest that shielded his torso. The rhythmic clicks of .45 magazines being removed and reinserted into place made up for the silence. His eyes, while focused on his work, often fell upon the sleeping child. He mentally recalled the boy’s arrival.

A couple days ago, a scout had carried the boy into their camp, reporting that he and the kid’s backpack were fished from a little ways away from near the Eastern Virgin river. When the child had arrived he was soaked and unconscious. Sunburned, blistered, malnourished, and dehydrated. Thankfully, the defacto leader of the Sorrows tribe was familiar with medical treatments. After a thorough medical assessment, it had been determined that the boy was terribly ill, having been suffering from radiation poisoning for at least a few weeks. He was given all of what remained of their radaway stock, and yet it didn’t seem like it was enough. The Sorrows leader had changed the child into dry clothes and left the backpack in the cave in which the Dead Horses often guarded. The older man sighed knowing that the child had practically been asleep for a couple days, barely waking up enough to take care of his needs himself.    

A hefty breath escaped the boy, bringing the man’s attention to the child.

The child gasped for air for a moment and brought his hands to his chest, the blanket folded in his grasp. Opening his eyes slowly, he couldn’t see much at first. As he regained consciousness his eyesight grew less hazy. His skin felt hot and he felt a nauseated lump in his throat. As his vision cleared, he glanced around the cave. Briefly, he made eye contact with the figure at the desk. The bandages covering the man’s face and the menacing environment made him feel uneasy. He responded with a troubled whine.   

"You and your belongings are safe and being looked after.” The voice of the unknown man was rough and deep.

The boy’s voice broke into a frightened and meek cry, "How do I know that I am safe? Where am I?"

"You are the safest you could possibly be. The home of the Lord and his worshipers, Zion Canyon. We are peaceful people, traders, hunters. We follow the path of God here, and helping those in need is something we try to engage in." The pistol in his hand was placed with the others on the table. He moved over to the field bed, taking the backpack with him. Sitting by the bed on a stool, the backpack rested in his lap. "We did not look through it, son. Whatever secrets you may hold within, they are yours to keep, or reveal."

The child narrowed his eyes up at the bandaged man. “Am I really safe here?” He questioned, “Home of the Lord? Dad believed in that stuff, too. But, when they came…if God were real, he wasn’t there for us. Not then.” The boy’s dark eyes watered. “I’m not safe here. No one ever is, and neither are you.” 

"We have driven the demons from our valley. We have had our blood, our wars. We may be peaceful but we are not resting upon it. Tell me, son, who are you?" The mysterious figure scooted the stool closer to the bed.

The boy coughed into his arm. "Ezekiel Cassidy. I’m 11 years old and I have a twin brother. His name is Isaac Cassidy, but he was captured. I'm from Goodsprings..." Ezekiel's voice went quiet for a moment then he continued, "... My parents…They were so great. My father would tell us stories and call himself a Mojave legend. Now, he really is one, I think. A ghost story.”

"A legend, hmm? And from Goodsprings? Reminds me of a man I once knew. A good, God-fearing soldier I served with. But it is very unlikely that we are speaking of the same person." The older man took a long look at the boy whose face looked tired and pale. Dark circles lined Ezekiel’s eyes and his lips were dry and cracked. His hair appeared copper even in the dim light but it too looked faded and lifeless.

His own eyes followed the boy’s hand when the child leaned off the side of the bed to reach for his bag.

"Dad’s gun... He always kept it on him. Dad... told to find Joshua Graham, the Burned Man." His eyes beaded tears as he pulled a pistol from the canvas bag.

 The old weapon was taken from the boy and the inscriptions on the side of it were read aloud. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." The magazine was pulled out and taken a look at. The bandaged man spoke smoothly towards the boy, "You say your father has been slain?"

Ezekiel was silent for a moment, his tired eyes falling upon what visible skin there was on the man’s face. "Both my mother and father. I don’t understand…” His voice began to quiver as he thought of his dad. “My dad would take us shooting and he'd hit every target, would look Fiends in the eyes. Fearless and strong, sure. But when the bad men came, it's almost like he froze and couldn't act the way he said he did in his stories. What if they weren’t true?" Ezekiel started to cry and he put his hands over his eyes, "His stories were just made up. What if the Burned Man isn't real, what if I ran away for nothing? I should’ve just let myself be kidnapped, too!"

A bandaged hand was put on the boy's shoulder. "Your father was a lot of things, but he was never a liar. I knew him. The Courier. A good man. Together we fought, bled and killed in the name of our tribes and our God. You see, what he told you, it was not a mere bedtime story. I am what they call the Burned Man. Joshua Graham, ex-Legate of the Legion... and a nightmare of an enemy."

The boy's body twitched with the start of a dry heave and Joshua responded with swapping the bag in his lap out for a nearby bucket. Once the twitches stopped, Ezekiel rubbed the tears from his eyes to look at Joshua. He almost couldn’t believe it. Ezekiel felt a surge of relief. “You… you are real?”

"As real as night and day. I am saddened by the demise of your father but... for now, I am worried about you. We do not have enough of the medicine you need.”

Ezekiel sighed, his body feeling heavy with exhaustion. "I need to save my brother…” He heaved again and Joshua held the boy’s head towards the bucket as he wretched into the container.

When the boy finished and laid back down, the bucket was set aside. "Do you know who attacked your family?” The bandaged man was holding the boy's hand between both of his to comfort him, but his eyes displayed a deep seated rage.

Ezekiel wiped his mouth with his other arm and cleared his throat, "I think it was the Legion? They wore skirts. Like, leather skirts? A lot of red. But if Dad's stories were true, wouldn’t the Legion be defeated?” 

"Defeating a nation in one or two battles doesn't mean winning the entire war, son. It sounds like the Legion. Small groups penetrate deep into enemy territory, wreak havoc in the rear, exhaust people of the war. It is a tactic I devised for them, a long time ago. It also sounds like an assassination party. We will find out who's doing it was, son."

"I'm lucky to have found you." Fatigued, Ezekiel began to quiet down "I miss my Dad.."

"We shall avenge your father and rescue your brother. We will deliver every single one of those heathens to God and let him judge them accordingly." Joshua had his fist clenched as he glared at the boy, then at the dusty cave wall behind Ezekiel. 

The boy's pale hand gently pat his guardian's arm. His mind grew foggy."You aren't too old for that are you?"

"I will never be too old to perform my duty for the Lord." He took the pistol once again and held it up. "Do you know how to use this?"

Ezekiel nodded. "I had to use it a couple times to get here."

"Very good. I will clean it and take good care of it for you. I would like to look into making a few additions."

"You would? That's nice of you..." Ezekiel’s eyelids fluttered, as though he were falling back asleep.

"You have some rest now. I will take care of your pistol." Joshua turned away from the bed and went back to the table, the Courier was in his thoughts and a mental prayer went through his mind for his old friend. To himself, and to the Courier, he promised he’d help to finish his job in looking after Ezekiel and help him grow into a fine young man just as the Courier once was. 

#shattered hearts and broken dreams #the title is a work in progress #fallout new vegas #By Me and Igelfish (Not a tumblr user) #ezekiel cassidy #joshua graham #open for questions #open for critiques #Child Endangerment #Vomiting #Parental death

[bearcina]

Fallout OC Seven Day SPECIAL: Luck

Welcome to the seventh, and final day. Today I’ll be giving a long fic, and some good Q&A

Gonna miss Elisavet and her shenanigains? Here’s the fic. 

All entries in the series will be posted to the fic as soon as this goes up.

Q&A

What is your OC’s unmodified Luck stat? Another perfect 10. She’s born of four-leaf clovers, upright horseshoes, and good fortune. 

How fortunate (or not) overall is your OC? Very, very fortunate. She’s never lost her life savings, she stumbles upon what she needs when she needs it, she never really loses prized possessions, and she’s very fortunate at the gambling tables. 

Do they seem to stumble upon necessary supplies easily, or do they never seem to find what they need? She can always find what she needs and usually right when she needs it. Need a few more caps? That filing cabinet conveniently has just enough to fill her pockets to get it. About out of ammo? Well, looks like there’s a convenient ammo stash right there. Need some chems and liquor? Looks like that desk has some hidden away in the drawers. 

Have they survived an injury that, had it been someone else, would have been fatal? She’s survived countless deathclaw maulings, and ov fourse, she managed to get back up after Benny tried to execute her and leave her in a shallow grave. 

Do good things or bad things happen more around them? She definitely brings good luck eveywhere, plants tend to produce more, battle spoils are plenty, and her companions have even noticed how much better their luck is- whether it be having an extra pair of socks or a whole new stimpack when they need it. 

--

Ficlet 

Elisavet's eyes were wider than a full moon. Her hands were bound, a filthy cloth had been shoved in her mouth, and she was kneeling at the foot of what was about to be her grave. Sylvia was going to kill her. The man in the checkered suit stubbed out a lit cigarette. The weight of a once-familiar platinum chip was gone- her chest was heavy in its place. Sylvia, her bright red hear flashed in her memory, her heavenly laugh rang in her ears. She almost couldn't hear what the men were saying. This really was going to be it, wasn't it? She committed the scene to memory. The man in the checkered suit, the impatient men with shovels, and the glint of the top of the platinum chip. Sylvia's quilt was visible just out of the corner of her eye, and she started to cry. Shit, she was done for. She knew she shouldn't have taken the job. Sylvia had said she had an awful feeling about it. No, Elisavet needed to bring home those caps- she thought it would have been better than this. They almost had enough for their own brahmin to go with their shack they had built. A shuddering sob raked through her body, she looked the man in the eyes, pleading to just let her go- she wanted to go home and see Sylvia. She'd stop doing courier work just to go home and see her partner again. She would give up anything to just see the red hair of her wife once more. It had been a whole month since she had seen Sylvia in person, now she never will see her again.

"Maybe Khans kill somebody without looking them in the face-" Oh no. This really was the end of the line. "-but I ain't a Fink, dig?" Silence was heavy. She was paying attention, but she could only let the tears run hot down her face. "You've made your last delivery, kid." The man seemed to scowl for half a second, as if he had an ounce of regret. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene," A shiny silver gun was drawn from his jacket. It was the end of the line. She wasn't ready- she still had a ring to give to Sylvia. The light caught on the shiny gun as it was aimed at her head. She stared up at the checkered coat, then to the eyes of the man, envying the well tailored suit for only a second. She was filled with sorrow, fear, rage. "From where you're kneeling, it must look like an eighteen-karat run of bad luck." The finality in his voice shook her to the core. She had never had bad luck like this before, never in her worst moments. There was no escape, she stared the man in the eyes, hoping to make it a haunting scene. She was scared, yes. She didn't want to look the man in the eyes. She would at least face her death with enough dignity to look the man in the eyes and watch it come for her. "The truth is," The gun was cocked. "the game was rigged from the start."

It was only a second of blinding pain. Elisavet had fallen back into the shallow grave without grace, blood splattering on the ground, and on her quilt.

The light was bright. She hissed in pain, twitching as she tried to pull a blanket that didn't exist over her eyes. The voice of a man cut through the tense silence. "You're awake. How about that." He was shocked. She coughed a few times, before trying to sit herself upright. Pain broke out all through her head, everything going into white as she groaned. She had to have been dead- but the dead don't usually feel pain, right? She felt arms helping her get into a sitting position, leaning her against a wall. She kept coughing, her throat and mouth felt like she had hot mojave sand all in it. A cup was eased into her hands- but her eyes were still clamped shut. Still too bright. Curtains were drawn over the blinds, and she could finally bare to open her eyes a fraction. Everything was blurry- where were her glasses? Did she wear glasses? She squeezed the cup in her hands, it didn't feel familiar at all, not even like one she would get at a bar. She looked at it, before spilling some on her lap- where were her pants? It felt like water anyways, so she took a cautious sip- completely missing her mouth the first three or five times. "Where the hell am I?" She muttered, scanning the room, before settling her vision on an older man, dressed up sort-of like a cowboy. She then realized she was being spoken to, or well, more like at. "You've been out cold for a couple of days now." He sighed, looking at her with confusion. A couple of days? Does it take that long to pass? Everything was too bright to feel like the afterlife, though. Way too damn bright. "Why don't you relax for a minute- maybe drink that water. Get your bearings." She could appreciate that he was being gentle, and not ridiculing her for wearing most of the water. Felt like she didn't have much of a shirt on, either. Real fucking cold with the water seeping down her chest.

"Let's see what the damage is." Damage? "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?" He inquired, looking like it would take a miracle to know her own name. "My name." She sighed. She knew her own name. "My name is," Wait what was her name? "I… My name…" She squinted in thought, and took a half-sip of water again. "Think it starts with an E." She took another sip of the water, this time managing to not spill any of it. Her brain felt like sand, worse than sand, like hot sand mixed with radio static. "You.. You sure you know your own name?" He asked again, looking more defeated. "No! I. I know my name." She hissed, before getting sad as she didn't remember it. "I know it's got an E at the front," She sighed, and tapped the glass with her fingers a minute. "Ah. Right. Elisavet." Elisavet smiled, the realization of her own name finally giving her clarity. "Elisavet. Only Elisavet, I think." "I'll take that as a win… Knowing your first name is good enough for now." The man sighed with relief. "Can't say I would've picked that for you, but if that's your name, that’s your name." He nodded. "I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings." Doc Mitchell finalized, before standing up. She was real fucking lucky to have managed to have not met her fate in a shallow grave.

#fallout oc seven day special #fallout oc #fallout new vegas #courier six #eliavet

[caffeine-cowboy]

OH YEAH SO LILY BELL CONFRONTED BENNY... MINIFIC TIME

She steeled herself outside the gates to the Strip - it was dark, there was a light rain pattering down, and still in Freeside she turned to Boone. Trying to get her head into the space where she might have to walk up to the man who stood above her as she knelt, hands tied, at the edge of her own grave. She wanted to tell Boone she had a plan, but she didn’t. Truth be told, she didn’t have a damn clue what she was going to do when she got to the Tops. Kill him? Look him in the eye and tell him the game was rigged from the start, shoot him just like he did to her? Or demand answers, demand the chip he stole, demand some kind of repayment? Lily Bell had no idea. None at all. She sat in the rain, hat pulled low over her face. E-DE beeped quietly.

Boone said, he’d been thinking. Maybe he should go back to Bitter Springs. It seemed as good a time as any to tell her, and she agreed. There was an unspoken if I don’t make it out between them; who knew what would happen on the other side of those gates? She smiled unconvincingly back at him. 

“Maybe you’ve still got your demons. But if it’s redemption you’re after... thanks for helping me see to mine.” 

The Strip was too bright, too loud - she practically pushed Victor aside. His mysterious presence not just everywhere she seemed to go but also apparently at the Mojave Express outpost as she was hired was a mystery she wanted to get to the bottom of, but not tonight. If she let anything else distract her, she’d lose her nerve completely. 

First obstacle was being told to relinquish her guns. They cast a wary eye over the eyebot, but didn’t seem to consider it a threat. Even so, the thought of facing the stony faced killer unarmed turned her stomach. But best not to be suspicous. She handed their weapons over and wandered through the theatre, through the restaurant - slipping quickly and quietly into the kitchen and grabbing a kitchen knife. Not totally defenceless. Good. She shoved it inside her jacket and left. 

Main floor. Checkered jacket. Panic rising. What in the goddamn? Smooth moves. He caught her off guard. She couldn’t just lunge at him, not with so many bodyguards around. But his offer of drinks in the suite? A chance to get him alone. A chance to get answers. Her little mysterious smile and tilt of the hat did the trick, as usual. They walked up together, in silence, no bodyguards. He really lives here, like this, she thought as they rode in the elevator. Rolling in caps, more booze than he could drink in a lifetime, people to attend to anything he could ever want. But he had to go to Goodsprings and shoot a tied up package courier in the head, and for what? More caps, more booze, more cronies? 

He said he could sleep easier now he knew she wasn’t dead. 

“Aw, did you feel bad about it? Lost sleep over it? Cry me a fucking river,” she snapped. Did he expect his admission of a guilty conscience to soften her up? It was a bit late to be having second thoughts about what he did. She wanted answers. 

And she got them. It really was for more caps, more booze, more cronies. To be king of the hill, head honcho. Because what he had wasn’t enough? She hadn’t touched a drop of the drink he poured her, but her stomach burned. How dare he. How dare he. She had stared down the barrel of a gun, far too young to die even by wasteland standards, more scared than she’d ever been, hands tied in front of her, trying to form words, tasted blood and dirt as she fell into an open grave - for this? 

She felt the weight of the knife in her jacket. No bodyguards, and Boone was sat across the room, E-DE floating beside him. He wasn’t wearing a weapon openly, and that headache of a suit jacket didn’t suggest the shape of a gun to her either. And yet - 

she couldn’t do it. Even - or especially - once he’d given her answers, she hated the clean, shiny man in front of her, hated him so much it felt like she was burning from the inside out, but she couldn’t lean forwards and stab him. Her hands were shaking, and even with adrenaline coursing through her veins she didn’t think it would be enough to drive a kitchen knife through sinew and bone. What if he did have a gun and killed her? What if she didn’t finish it and he brought every Chairman in the place down on them? Part of her, the cynical, watchful part of her brain that had often kept her alive, said this is all a ploy - the sitting at the bar, sipping a drink, looking tired and done and harmless? It’s all because he’s worried you’d bash his brains out right here otherwise. And maybe that part of her was right, but it wasn’t enough to carry her the couple of steps that would take her to Benny and put a knife in him. 

“You’re a selfish scumbag, Benny. And you’re stinking up my suite. Get out,” she said, and her voice didn’t tremble. She watched him like a hawk until the door shut behind him, heard his footsteps fade down the corridor, then collapsed against the bar and burst into tears. Boone got up and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed a hand on her shoulder. She sobbed for a bit longer, then raised up her head with a sniff. Went behind the bar, found one of the unopened bottles of whiskey, cracked it open and took a swig. She offered it to Boone, who followed suit. 

“I don’t know if that was the right thing to do. I let him go but I couldn’t do it - I couldn’t kill him, why couldn’t I just do it?” Boone stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable as ever.

“So you couldn’t kill someone in cold blood. That’s not something to be ashamed of. Hold onto it.” And she knew what he meant by that. She didn’t think showing up here and planting lead in Benny’s skull would be as bad as what he did to her - and who knew how many others? - but the fact she couldn’t look him in the eye and just end his life was still one less thing in common with him, and she was fine with that. 

Lily Bell saw Boone tense. 

“Footsteps in the hall. At least four. Get against the wall.” He stepped so he was by the door, and Lily Bell stood so she’d be behind it when it opened. She readied her knife. True enough, the lock clicked and it opened. The click of a silenced pistol was the first thing she registered, then Boone’s grunt, then she was wrestling a Chairman coming at her with a straight razor, ducking two swings, viciously biting the arm that grabbed her and stabbing behind her with the kitchen knife. Hand slippery with blood, she launched at one going for E-DE, stabbing him in the back. The knife handle broke. She swiped his pistol and levelled it at one attacking Boone, whose white shirt was soaked with blood. Click, it went, eerily silent. Click click. And the last attacker was still. Boone slumped back against the wall. 

“Boone? Boone!” she yelled, skidding up to him and kneeling down. He’d been hit in the shoulder and the chest. Scrambling, Lily Bell unfurled the roll of medical supplies she kept, pouring alcohol onto cotton and cleaning the wounds. Being such small bullets from a low power gun, they at least hadn’t gone in deep or done too much damage, but he’d still lose blood. Suppressing a shake in her hands, she used tweezers to remove the bullets, then got a Stimpack in his system. As she administered it, the rage in her chest overtook the fear. 

I’m going to catch up to you, Benny. And next time, you’re not gonna get so lucky. 

#alex plays fnv #oc: lily bell #caffeinated writings #HOO BOY!! #fallout #fnv #fallout: new vegas

[wastelandgoat]

The Courier

[Authors Note] First of the ‘Goats’ i was ever able to collect solid information on, the first i was able to radio in and speak to. He special to my Research and his story still goes. Sadly I say I am bit late getting his information into the system, but it was a bit hard to find time to do it ever since the Prisoner showed up. My hypothesis leads me to believe some big things will become of their development. [End of Note]

The Courier, a once happy hard working Mailman delivering around the Nevada area.

Claims to have grown up on a secluded farm house in the waste with his parents until he had to leave home to find a job for himself. with a stroke up luck took on the mail man Job and the title of Courier 6. happy to help and get the job done.

He changed after the events at Goodsprings. Bad luck brought the platinum chip and what might as well have been a big red X drawn onto the Couriers back. 

Entering the Mojave from the west, Six was ambushed and chased through the desert by the Tribe known as The Geckos and their leader Benny who seeked what the Courier unknowingly possessed. 

The events led to an epic fight in the night, only the people of good springs could have heard the gunfire over the cooled empty desert, and no one could have prepared the traveler to the land he would traverse to escape the Geckos. 

In the escape Six entered the Goodspring area and fell right into town. in the dead of night he fell from a cliff and depending on who you asked, could say he was lucky to have survived. 

having broken his leg and nearly torn his face off in the tumble, he was then dragged up the hill to the Goodspring Graveyard where the Geckos would shoot the Mailmain, take his package and bury him. 

The only thing to have saved his life that night was a Mechanized savior sent by the devil and a doctor stationed in the town.

He was awoken days later, his right eye hardly able to open, his leg still unusable, and his face full of stitches. 

He was broken. Could almost be called mute during his months in Goodspring, he stayed to heal and kept to himself. only giving his trust to the Doctor of Goodspring and only a few words given to others when he needed to speak.

When he was told he was fully recovered the left for the empty lands before them. He wanted to be alone and far away from the place where everything went so wrong.

He survived alone for a awhile, but being alone can only last so long. His travels took him to the old NCR correction facility. Gaining the trust of the Powder Gangers he set up his home in the safety of their buildings, eating the free food and fighting off the NCR who would come to try and reclaim the building. 

The Courier, now having changed his look, his hair and name, a new man, a stranger to himself. He didnt care for ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, supposes he knew the Powder Gangers were in the wrong but he couldn’t care, he was safe and had a place to sleep at night and no one gave a shit about who he was.

Hardly even two months of living in the facility Goat was evicted, a larger group of NCR soliders, more than they'd ever dealt with before arrived. everyone was slaughtered if they were to stand their ground. Only those who ran lived, and Goat ran for his life.

He ran all the way to Novac, where he once again tried to make a home. living in Novac was somehow different, Goat starts talking to his neighbors and helping people who needed it. he was warming up and even felt like a part of his past returning to him. 

However, not a man to keep a home long Goat soon took off, with only a half hearten promise of return. This venture came when he overheard a group of merchants traveling through town mention the Geckos, how they seemed to be cooking something up and if you were smart you'd move yourself out of the strip and freeside. 

Goat knew his target and set out into the desert. 

he began to help people along the way, small things usually with stomping out invasive animals on peoples homes or fixing their water structures or electricity when it was broken.

he travel far to be reunited with the man who ruined his life. 

He arrived in Freeside. he didnt pay much attention to anyone but the ones who were begging for attention. The Kings, big flashy lights and big attitudes. once Goat entered Freeside they all wanted to know his game. 

[Authors Note: by my guesses my theories on the ‘Goat Myth’ have reached far, and it seemed by this post a good bit of the Mojave knew The Courier before ever even seeing him]

Goat, surprisingly took to The Kings, maybe he liked that sense of being in a gang he had once been used to, maybe it was the welcoming vibe the King himself gave off. The Kings became like his family. Goat and the King were close. The King trusted Goat with his dog and important work that were integral to helping Freeside. the two shared much together, their secrets, alone time and hopes for New Vegas. However, Goat claimed that, even if it wasn't ever said they both knew no matter what they wanted of New Vegas their journeys where destined to fall apart and that Goat simply enjoyed the time he would have with The Kings until they knew it would end. 

In Goats work to improve Freeside under the lead of the Kings, he managed to finally get a way into The Strip. Ignoring all distractions he headed straight for Benny.

When the two met Goat, while still angry with what happened months ago, gave a moment of forgiveness. He heard out Benny and knew what he spoke about House to be true. Though He still have great fury for what Benny had done, he agreed to help him, to make a deal to take out House together.

But Benny only once again turn the tables again Goat and ran off with the Chip.

Goat would spend over a week none stop locating and chasing down Benny. Listening to no one else he was filled with anger, a want for revenge and once again filled with a feelings of being broken. The Courier and Benny’s journey led all the way to Legion. Goat didn't know much about the Legion beyond the bad stories he heard, but to Goat none of it mattered. He had Benny Cornered. Goat Agreed to the Legions terms to fight Benny in an arena for show, and when Benny was done for he was then crucified. [Authors Note: Goat never openly shared it with me, but i believe he felt potential remorse over their story ending this way]

Goat returned to The King, Spoke of what he had done. Goat didn't share further on his week after the events with me. 

He did tell that after this time of recovery The King asked him something of a great task. He asked Goat, with the chip, the trust of House still in his hands the stars aligning in everyone favor, to take out House and restore New Vegas to a better Future.

Goat speaks that, if it had been him months ago before he was shot, or even right before the moment Benny broke his trust and sense of judgement again maybe just maybe he would have told the King, Yes.

But he said no.

This was the dived they both knew would come. Both wanted great things for the future of Freeside and all good people, But Goat no longer trusted himself to make any decisions or to lead people. 

Goat left that night, claims no one was to ever see him again in the Mojave. The platinum Chip left in the hands of the King, and the faith people felt in the Pressence of the man spoken in legends taken. 

everyone believed the Courier was dead, but in the five years before The Prisoner would arrive the King insisted he lived. almost like a special secret he got to happily share when anyone would claim death befell the Courier who turn his back on them.

Few knew where the Courier went that night.

[Authors Note: from the bits and pieces of information iv received on the subject Goat was last scene head toward the Nipton Drive in Movie on a late night]

#Fallout #fallout new vegas #courier six #courier 6 #the courier #fallout ocs #Goat 1 #rex #ed-e #lily #roxie

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

Bluebells- Six, Daffodils-Angel Eyes, Honeysuckle- Blondie

as a rule, i am much more willing to deal out random trivia about Six than the boys bc fun facts about Six are generally not spoiler territory. i say this bc i feel bad about generally writing twice as much for her answers as everyone else’s

Bluebells- Memories headcanon

oof ouch my heart okay

here’s a peek behind the curtain, and the peek is into an empty room bc i haven’t fully figured out what exactly Six remembers from Before being shot in the head. it’s not a lot tho. One of these things is hearing? reading? something about the very dumb grift Blondie & Tuco were pulling (essentially the bullshit they got up to in The Good The Bad and The Ugly) as they traveled the Big Circle, the main trading caravan route in northern NCR territory. Another one of these things is half of the plot of a romance novel she was reading right before taking the job that opens the game. she hasn’t been able to remeber the title or find a copy in the Mojave yet and it bugs her a little.    

Daffodil- Smiles headcanon

lee van cleef does not get to properly smile in movies as often as he should because he has a really grade-a sneer. when he and Blondie eventually settle down into something more stable than apartments on the opposite sides of New Vegas, he’ll smile small and soft and fond under his mustache when he thinks Blondie isn’t looking in the mornings. i think he has a sensible chuckle over certain things in newspapers, or particularly egregious failures of spycraft in pre-war novels. as a former navy brat, i myself often have a sensible chuckle over particularly egregious failures of like. how the American military industrial complex works. or how boats work. anyway I’ve read exactly two of Ian Fleming’s Bond novels and I think Angel would love them but never admit it. 

Honeysuckle- Old flame headcanon

look I know so far it seems like Blondie’s gotten the most action out of everyone but I don’t have a ton to say??? I think Sheriff Meyers was a little bit of a way to get back at Tuco for landing them in jail, bc nothing is ever Blondie’s fault, and a little bit sheer boredom. unfortunately, Sheriff Meyers was a genuinely pretty okay dude and Blondie broke out of jail to avoid dealing with his feelings. unfortunately, this also set the Powder Gangers who were in prison loose on the greater Goodsprings area.

#answered #ty!!! #ain't that a kick in the head #teacupnatasha

[nightingaelic]

I have an idea, the courier coming out to Arcade and/or Veronica because they're gay and the courier needs support and to feel safe coming out to others

By the time they stopped walking, Veronica was about 60 percent sure that the Courier was planning on killing her. They were in the middle of the darkening desert, flat land stretching out in every direction with mountains only rearing up after miles and miles of dirt and sand. There weren't even any cacti dotting the landscape here, suspiciously. Veronica squatted down to touch the silvery ground and pressed the dust to her lips. Salty.

It wasn't until Fox had unpacked the tinder, bundled grass and pine cones and begun a little fire that Veronica blurted out her confusion. "So... What's the job? Is there a Mojave scavenger hunt I don't know about? Why the trip to the middle of nowhere?"

Fox tossed a pine cone onto the meager flame and looked up at the emerging stars. "Ever been out here before?"

"That does not answer my questions."

Fox smiled at her. "I know. Humor me, I'll get to it."

Veronica pouted and laid down on her side, propping her head up in her hand. "Fine. Not for any extended period of time, no, but I'm pretty sure I've passed through."

"Yeah, it's a passing-through sort of place." The Courier looked back up at the sky. "After... everything with House, I came out this way looking for something. I don't even remember what, but I got to here and... I didn't want to leave. I could see everything, waves of heat shimmering on the sand and blue sky all the way up, and for the first time since Goodsprings, I felt... right."

She chuckled. "I wondered if I knew this place, before the bullet. Maybe I did, but that wasn't the important bit. Nothing out here but me and the wind and sun, that fear left in my head finally shut up."

She gestured at the dirt beneath them. "This is where I first felt safe again."

Veronica smiled. "Not afraid of dying in the desert? I am."

Fox laughed. "No. That's one part of the old me that's left, I think. Anyway, I brought you out here because I needed to feel that again tonight."

Veronica sat up again. "Something wrong?"

The Courier took a deep breath. "Not... no. Fuck, how do I... Veronica, you like... girls. Women."

Veronica narrowed her eyes. "Yes...?"

"And..." Fox bit her lip and her eyes flashed around before settling on the fire. "I... do, too."

"You're..." Veronica stared at her, a grin slowly creeping onto her face. "Yeah. Keep going. You're safe, Fox."

To Veronica's relief, her smile proved infectious as usual, and Fox broke into her own smirk. "I like women, and that's okay."

"It's good," Veronica prompted her, shuffling to her knees.

"It's good."

"It's great."

"It's... me."

Veronica let out a squeal and vaulted herself toward Fox, enveloping her in a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you, Six. And honored. Took you forever, though."

Fox hugged her back with one arm. "Thanks. You caught me checking out Sunny's ass, didn't you?"

"Red Lucy's. It's okay, hers is pretty great."

#fallout #fnv #fallout new vegas #drabbles #drabble #female courier 6 #female courier six #female courier #wlw #veronica santangelo #coming out story #desert