#fuck you Tom Preston
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Wasteland Masterlist
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)
Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.
Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)
Word Count: 5k
Chapter 10
Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.
Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.
He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent.
They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news.
The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade.
Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands.
Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility.
“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt.
The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups.
For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that.
Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon.
If ever.
Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault.
In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job.
Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another.
Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie.
“What about your mom?” he asked – challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.”
Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…
Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.
No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular.
Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.”
“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?”
Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far.
Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal.
But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded.
Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.”
Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time.
“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace.
“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day.
—
That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak.
They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine.
It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived.
All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast.
Probably better that way. No distractions.
The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in.
Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school.
“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual.
Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago.
Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle.
He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs.
The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat.
Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers.
“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation.
“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?”
Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.”
His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee.
“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”
“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away.
Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling.
Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled.
Frankie swallowed – shrugged.
“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-”
“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted.
“For the most part.”
“Meaning?”
It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.”
She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion.
“What?”
“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”
Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”
She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?”
“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom.
He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was.
—--
For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel.
The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave.
This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.
Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.
It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place.
The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise.
In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit!
And even worse, he won 90% of the time.
After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again.
But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it.
What did you do? What have you done?
Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?
If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself.
Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies.
You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor.
Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice.
On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf.
For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase.
That night, he hung around longer than usual.
One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it.
He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep.
The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work.
—
You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view.
After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.
As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight.
It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.
During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture.
Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances.
There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you.
You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.
These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.
Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.
“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.”
Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning.
You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe.
“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night.
Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery.
“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.
“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”
“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom.
She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him.
His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you.
“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.
She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive.
You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask.
You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps.
Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”
He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality.
“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.”
Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid.
For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago.
Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training.
She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.
She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off.
For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up.
Shit.
Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands.
When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close.
Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door.
—
All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season.
The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring.
It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops.
Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.
Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants.
Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show.
The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap.
He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.
“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.”
“What? Did you not have anything better to do?”
“Than this?” Frankie shook his head.
He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it.
Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.”
You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”
“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”
“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.”
Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”
“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts.
Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door.
“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.”
Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid.
She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance.
As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you.
“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him.
“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you.
“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.”
Santi?
You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?
Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.
You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith.
You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?
—-
Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged.
“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop.
Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top.
After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone.
The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.”
He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?”
“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?”
“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean?
She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?”
Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship.
His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him.
After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice.
“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.”
“Same with Will and Curie?”
Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t.
Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along.
Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good.
“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?”
She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head.
“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.”
“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended.
“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”
He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries.
“Order 43!”
Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her.
“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite.
Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?”
For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue.
She swallowed.
“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?”
“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything.
She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.”
“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.”
“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.
This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?”
“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.”
For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions.
Dogs or Cats: dogs.
Favorite Holiday: Christmas.
Birthday: August 23rd.
“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water.
“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?”
Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little.
He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself.
Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket.
Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public.
But soon.
If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip.
#pedro pascal fanfiction#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie x reader#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie morales x you#francisco morales x f!reader#frankie catfish morales#francisco morales
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fo4 incorrect quotes
Nick: If looking good was a crime, you'd be a law-abiding citizen.
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Deacon: I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!
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Cait: Ye look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.
Deacon: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.
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Deacon: Danse, we tried things your way.
Danse: No, we didn't.
Deacon: I did it in my head and it didn't work.
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Hancock: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes.
Sole: Wow, I've gotta hear this.
Hancock: I was angry and envious of my neighbor so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share.
Sole: You forgot pride.
Hancock: No, I'm pretty proud of this.
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X6-88/Cait: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.
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Kidnapper: I have your partner.
Sole: What? I don't have a partner...
Kidnapper: Then who just called me a lowlife bitch and spit in my face?
Sole: Oh my god, you have Cait.
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Sole, holding a kettle: Coffee or tea?
Nick: Tea.
Sole: Wrong. It's coffee.
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Danse: Is it still visible? Where Sole slapped me?
Piper: Your face looks like a don't walk signal.
Hancock: Your face looks like a photo negative for the hamburger helper box.
MacCready: A palm reader could tell Sole's future by looking at your face.
Deacon: The phrase 'talk to the hand cause the face ain't listening' doesn't work for you, because the hand is your face.
Danse: ...A simple 'yes' would've sufficed.
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Sole: Bye Deacon! Bye Glory! Bye Tinker Tom! Bye Drummer Boy! Bye Deacon!
Desdemona: You said ‘bye Deacon’ twice.
Sole: I like Deacon.
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Piper: Oh look who got laid last night.
Sole: That’s right chumps, missionary accomplished!
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X6-88: What's this?
Sole, hugging X6-88: Affection!
X6-88: Disgusting.
X6-88: ...Do it again.
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MacCready: Where's Hancock?
Sole: Don't worry, I'll find him.
Sole, shouting: Sole sucks!
Hancock, distantly: Sole is the best person ever! Fuck you!
Sole: Found him.
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Deacon: Wasn't icarly that guy that girlbossed too close to the sun because he was down for Apollo?
Sole: ICARUS?
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Preston: You read my diary?
Deacon: At first I did not know it was your diary. I thought it was a very sad handwritten book.
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Sole: Why cant trees give off something important like wifi??
Codsworth: So fuck oxygen, I guess.
#when i say sole i mean my sosu btw#wasnt gonna add that last one but the idea of cods randomly dropping the f bomb is too funny#fallout#fallout 4#fo4 x6 88#fo4 hancock#fo4 maccready#fo4 cait#fo4 codsworth#fo4 companions#fo4 deacon#fo4 glory#fo4 piper#nick valentine#fo4 nick valentine#fo4 preston#can you tell deacons my favorite?#fo4 danse
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One day companions (Excluding Dogmeat and Codsworth) find a bottle that says, “Devil’s Kiss! Become Too Hot to Handle!”
And when they decide to drink it, they gain the ability to throw fire bombs, although they suffer for a brief moment
How would they react?
Cait: “Oh fuck yes!” Cait was so impressed with her own strength that any fears she had ingested something from the Institute were quickly replaced by how badass she felt burning the scrap around her. She immediately asked Sole if they could stop by a raider camp. Just for fun.
Curie: Curie was used to putting herself through physical alterations for science. Hell, she had transferred her consciousness into a synthetic body just to understand humanity a little better. But since she hadn’t expected the effects of the drink, her first reaction was to scream and turn away from Sole out of fear she’d burn her companion. When Curie realized she had gained -- for lack of a scientific term -- fire powers, she immediately wanted test the limitations of her new abilities under the guise of “fieldwork”.
Danse: Danse immediately told Sole he needed rushed to the Brotherhood clinic to undergo testing. He had no desire to try out his new fire abilities. The poor man just wanted a quick cure before other soldiers suspected him of being an Institute experiment.
Deacon: Deacon morphed into a superhero-esque stance; legs far apart, hands close to his body, knees bent. “Sole, hold still.” His partner did not, in fact, stay still at all. They ran straight to Tinker Tom and Carrington for some kind of antidote. And refused to call Deacon by his new preferred Railroad code name: Dragonlord.
Hancock: “I’m just glad I didn’t take this while tripping. I don’t think I’d have believed my own eyes.” Hancock is surprisingly chill about the whole ordeal. He’s seen weirder stuff ingested by stranger people in Goodneighbor alleys. He also refuses to find a cure, insisting he’s officially the hottest ghoul in the Commonwealth.
MacCready: While MacCready usually panicked at every sci-fi or horror element he encountered, he reminded himself of the kind of superheroes in his favorite comics. He immediately asked Sole if he could team up with them on the next mission they pretended to be the Silver Shroud. “I’m basically your sidekick already,” he said. “What’s adding a little flare going to hurt?”
Preston: “Shit. Do you think this is permanent?” Preston was so afraid he would accidentally burn Sole that he refused to take his hands out of his pockets.
Piper: Piper’s first reaction was to panic, but when she realized the drink wasn’t lethal and she could throw fire, the reporter instantly threw a few bombs up in the air. “Look how high I can get them! This is crazy, Blue!” Sole quickly reminded her the fire was going to come back down, and the companions ran like hell.
Nick: “I think this would have killed an ordinary man.” Nick shot another fire bomb at a crumbling wall and watched it explode with tentative awe. “Luckily I’m not flesh-and-blood.” He was unnerved by his own abilities, but not afraid. He knew he wouldn’t abuse the power.
X6-88: “The Institute could utilize this.” X6 acted stoic, but Sole noticed his slight grin whenever he lobbed another bomb down the highway. He was absolutely enjoying having fire powers.
#fallout 4#fallout 4 reactions#did u omit dogmeat because u know he'd be too powerful????#fallout 4 cait#fallout 4 curie#fallout 4 danse#fallout 4 deacon#fallout 4 hancock#fallout 4 maccready#preston garvey#fallout 4 piper#nick valentine#x688#vulcunniko
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- having finished the RANDOLPH thing, as well as (i think) all of P.A.M.’s supply cache missions and all the MILA missions TINKER TOM is going to actively send me on, i decided to try and clear out some of the other side quests that have been accumulating.
- (i picked up the spare MILAS in his shop because they didn’t cost or weigh anything, but i think if they have any use from here it’s just gonna be me seeing a plank and a cinderblock on a tall building and putting one down for funsies.)
- helped that kid i found with the FORGED smooth things over with his parents, got his grandfather’s FLAMETHROWER(?) SWORD in return. i think this would’ve been a MINUTEMEN quest that PRESTON sent me on if i hadn’t just stumbled ass backwards into the middle of it? idk, i reported back to him anyway.
- i can’t remember who exactly gave it to me, but there’s this quest to pick up a BREWING MACHINE? figure i’ll do that.
- got to this PUB, walked through the door all stealthy-like only to have a half dozen MIRELURKS and a squad of BROTHERHOOD SOLDIERS come busting in after me. must be happy hour.
- oh. yeah.
- alright, so “DRINKIN’ BUDDY” wasn’t an officially licensed PROTECTRON variant, the guy who owned the SHAMROCK just wanted a brewery on legs. did he start with a PROTECTRON and modify it or did he build BUDDY from scratch?
- ok now i have questions about brewing technology circa 2077. “PROPRIETARY BREWING HOLOTAPES” seems to imply that bars were brewing at least their brand-name beer in-house as a matter of course - possibly to order, based on BUDDY seeming to need an extremely quick turnaround.
- how would one even quality control that? the company wouldn’t have any hands-on influence in the beer’s creation, the only thing they’d be doing is providing the recipe. beer is about the simplest form of alcohol to make, if there’s a brand name on it it’s probably got some kind of signiature Thing to make it stand out from the rest, a specific flavour or something - with the actual brewing so completely out of the company’s hands, two beers from two bars might taste very different and would vary wildly in quality. the only thing people would functionally be paying for is the name on the bottle.
- oh my god did GWINNETT do to beer what apple did to smartphones???? mother of god on a bagel that’s fucked. kudos to this guy, disregard those copyright laws my friend. will pour one out for you.
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Los Campesinos! Record box project 2009: the winner!!
September 29th, 2009
So here it is…
For four long weeks we scoured the independent record shops of the United States of America for what we deemed the best 7″s they had to offer. We then, selflessly offered them up to you guys to win, in what was, with hindsight, a ridiculously dull final competition question. Please, I assure you, it was just as boring for me to have to go through the 127 (ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN. Seriously guys, we’ve not even sold that many ALBUMS) entries we received. And you lot didn’t even have the decency to present your answers in a HILARIOUS video.
The fruits on offer were as follows:
Xiu Xiu/High Places 7″ Split (includes David Horvitz polaroid)
Lovvers Laughing Man 7″
Casiotone For The Painfully Alone Town Topic EP
BARR The Song Is The Single 7″
Dan Deacon/Future Islands 7″ Split
Cheap Time Woodland Drive 7″
Telepathe/Effi Briest 7″ Split.
Tokyo Police Club Tessellate 7″ (featuring Tom Campesinos! remix)
Zola Jesus Poor Sons 7″
No Age Eraser 7″ (SIGNED!!)
HEALTH Die Slow 7″
Times New Viking Stay Awake 7″ EP
bis Sweet Shop Avengerz 7″
Abe Vigoda Animal Ghosts 7″
Deerhunter Nothing Ever Happened 7″
Big Black He’s A Whore/The Model 7″
Bikini Kill New Radio/Rebel Girl/Demi Rep 7″
Art Brut Alcoholics Unanimous 7″
Q And Not U Hot And Informed 7″
The Smiths William, It Was Really Nothing/Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want 7″
The Hot Puppies Somewhere 7″
The Housemartins Five Get Over Excited 7″
Fucked Up Year Of The Pig 7″
Les Savy Fav Plagues And Snakes 7″ (Wake Up A Snake/Raging In The Plague Age)
Electrelane In Berlin 7″
The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart Young Adult Friction 7″
Preston School Of Industry Falling Away 7″
Dead Science Tomlab Alphabet Singles Series 7″
The Mountain Goats Palmcoder Yajna 7″
Hearts Of Animals Hearts Of Animals 7″
Help She Can’t Swim Hospital Drama 7″
Vivian Girls Surf’s Up 7″
Gossip Gossip 7″
The xx Crystalised 7″
Low Santa’s Coming Over
The Locust/Melt Banana Split 7″
Mudhoney Touch Me I’m Sick 7″
Blonde Redhead Symphony of Treble 7″
Sounds Of The American Fast Food Restaurants – 10 Authentic Field Recordings 7″
Voxtrot Blood Red Blood 7″
Scout Niblett It’s Time My Beloved 7″
The New Trust Dark Is The Path Which Lies Before Us 7″ Album
Vivian Girls Wild Eyes 7″
Parenthetical Girls A Song For Ellie Greenwich 7″
Sleater-Kinney Get Up 7″
Dananananaykroyd Pink Sabbath 7″
Dananananaykroyd Black Wax 7″
Girls Lust For Life 7″
Miscellaneous Badges
A couple of ‘Zines
The box will also include the first signed 7″ of our There Are Listed Buildings single. Kind of puts the rest of that crap into perspective, doesn’t it?
Here is a photograph of Kim and myself holding the record box, just moments after thinking “this blog’s a bit text heavy, best get a picture in there”.
The suspense is killing you, I’m sure. This is just one of the many tricks of the trade I learnt from Kate Thornton, when we used to…well, enough about that. At the end of the day…there can be only one winner, and that winner is:
LOIS HADGRAFT.
What a lucky sod, hey?
Guys, thank you for all your entries and for following the competition. We’ll do something similar but less tiresome, sometime soon. Part of the reason it’s taken so long to announce the winner is because it was breaking my heart that you couldn’t all have a Record Box. And the fact I didn’t want to have to give it up.
Keep it Real,
G-Money.
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So last night i got three of Fallout 4's Endings. Here's the choices I made and my ranking
The Railroad - killed the Brotherhood, freed all the synths that wanted it, let the scientists die, told the kid synth to fuck off but Tinker Tom took him to the HQ
The Institute - killed the Railroad, killed the Brotherhood, told the Commonwealth that we were the future
The Brotherhood - killed the Railroad, let the scientists die, saved PAM, let the kid die
Obviously, because I'm an """"sJw"""" I strongly prefer the Railroad ending. The Brotherhood are self-righteous tech-hoarding assholes, and while the Institue did make good technological advancements, at the end of the day their views towards the synths rubbed me the wrong way.
I will say, I prefer the Institute ending over the Brotherhood ending, because the implication of MY Sole Survivor becoming director would mean no more kidnapping or other shady shit (that's just a HC tho)
Another thing I should note is that I didn't involve the Minutemen at ALL with any of these endings, and for good reason - Prestong Garvey is a prick.
If you side with the Minutemen, there is a chance that you will have to take out the Brotherhood which, obviously, involves killing all of them. Preston has no issue with this. BUT, if you destroy the Institute without evacuating the scientists, Preston will get all pissy, and call you a mass murderer. Within the game's Canon, scientists have defected from the Institute - it is clearly a choice they make to stay within the Institute. They are just as valid a target as any Brotherhood Scribe, but because they don't pose an IMMEDIATE threat to Preston or the Minutemen, Preston acts all high and mighty.
Anyway, fuck Preston, if I could kick him out of my settlements for good, I would.
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The Audacious Merc
Original Character | FC: Joseph Gilgun
NAME: Thomas Matthew Hartigan (assumed)
AGE: mid 20s to late 30s
SPECIES: fae
PROFESSION: mercenary
Short Bio [Urban Fantasy Setting]
When his fae parents decided to kidnap a human baby, Tom was left in their place to be raised by humans. It took seven years for the Hartigans to figure out the child they were raising was not theirs, and that he was certainly not human.
At the age of 11 Tom was sent to a military facility where he was trained to use his fairy powers to the benefit of Queen and country, turning him into an obedient super(natural) soldier.
Eventually Tom manages to escape the government facility and ends up fending for himself, becoming a mercenary.
Relationships
Rosalyn van Grayson > [Tag]
Penelope > [Tag]
Lucy Preston > [Tag]
Abraham King > [Tag]
Katelyn Miller > [Tag]
Playlist
Dumpster to the Grave by Star Fucking Hipsters from From the Dumpster to the Grave (2011)
I Walk The Line by Alien Sex Fiend from I Walk The Line EP (1986)
Incomplete by Bad Religion from Stranger Than Fiction (1994)
Die for the Government by Anti-Flag from Die for the Government (1996)
Bored to be Wild by Sleaford Mods from Austerity Dogs (2013)
Detailed Profile
FULL NAME: Thomas Matthew Hartigan (assumed)
KNOWN AS: Tom Hartigan
NICKNAMES: Tom, Tommy (if you have a death wish)
~~~~~~~~~~~~
GENDER: male
SPECIES: fae
RESIDENCE: always on the move
PROFESSION: mercenary
~~~~~~~~~~~~
AGE: mid 20s to late 30s
DATE OF BIRTH: November 30
PLACE OF BIRTH: Elfhame (the land of the fae)
NATIONALITY: British
~~~~~~~~~~~~
BIOLOGICAL PARENTS: unknown; fae
“PARENTS”: Elizabeth Hartigan & Andrew Hartigan
“SIBLINGS”: William Robert Hartigan (older brother) , the real Thomas Matthew Hartigan (same age)
~~~~~~~~~~~~
FACE CLAIM: Joseph Gilgun
HEIGHT: 6ft 0 (1.83m)
NOTABLE FEATURES: he’s tattooed all over his body; sometimes sports a short mohawk
STYLE: prefers darker colours as it’s easier to hide the blood stains; very happy with basics such as t-shirt, jeans and hoodie, but his steel-toed combat boots are always a must
~~~~~~~~~~~~
LANGUAGES: English (native)
SPEECH MANNERISM: Tom’s speech comes across rather coarse, tainted by a vaguely Northern English accent and his frequent use of cussing and rude expressions. He’s none to engage in overly sophisticated discussions, nor does he have the vernacular to do so, but he makes an effort to pronounce foreign words and names correctly.
STRENGTHS: proficient magic user; knows his gun fu; cooks really well
WEAKNESSES: pure iron nullifies his ability to cast magic and will burn his skin upon contact; iron alloys, such as steel, still make great weapons against his fae nature as wounds derived from a weapon of this kind will take much longer to heal; iron aside, Tom is erratic with a strong fear of commitment making it hard to find and keep love
INTERESTS: Tom loves punk music and cooking and is a bit of a gun nerd
VICES: smokes and drinks frequently, not opposed to harder stuff
~~~~~~~~~~~~
NSFW
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heteroromantic
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual
PREFERENCE: dom | switch | sub
ROLE: top | vers | bottom
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Andy on Asian Animation or SYAC: The Master Review 2
Let’s talk a bit about anime and Dobson’s work relation with it.
I think we can all agree, that starting from the late 90s and early 2000s on, anime and manga became extremely popular in the western world. Sure, Japanese animation was nothing completely new to us (Speed Racer, Nadia-Secret of Blue Water, Samurai Pizza Cats, Sailor Moon, Kimba and Akira e.g. come to my mind as properties already known in the west before 1995) but it really was around this time that thanks to “mainstream” stuff like Dragon Ball and Pokemon people became aware of how different Japanese animation was from western. Eventually resulting in the really good shit (like Cowboy Bebop, Black Lagoon, Kenshin and Heat Guy J) coming over and enriching nerd culture for more than just a few people who knew of it as an obscurity at that point. Now, if you know anything about Dobson, you likely know that his relationship with anime is rather… complicated to say the least. Or, to let him explain it with his own words…
Dobson essentially likes silly and wacky 90s anime. But later on he hated anime in general, because it got too popular and a bad experience with an anime club in college soured his enjoyment of it. Furthermore, he put the blame on his lackluster art style and storytelling capabilities as seen in the likes of Formera, Patty and Alex ze Pirate, on anime in general, while also claiming that Disney pulling the plug on 2D animation is the result of the “anime inspired” Treasure Planet, meaning anime in a sense deprived him of his chance at working at his dream job and “ruining” western animation.
Which to me has always been ignorant as fuck. For starters, I can understand not liking certain stories or genres, either for objective or subjective reasons. But to hate on an entire nation’s form of entertainment (not just individual shows or genres), depriving yourself of the chance of potentially watching a lot of good stuff while also being rather insulting to these other works and people enjoying them? Especially when the stuff you can supposedly “stomach” has been rather simplistic compared to other things?
Second, blaming Japan for “poisoning” your art style? What, did the ghost of Osamu Tezuka possess you and FORCE you to put sweatdrops on your characters forehead while also going for the rather simplistic character style of Rumiko Takahashi, as well as emulating the slapstick of the likes as Slayers and Ranma ½?
Next, if he had emulated them successfully, I say he would have actually managed to tell decent enough stories worth to read online. Not create Uncle Peggy aka “Discount Happosai” or the bland proto-Isekai known as Formera.
I mean, let’s give some context here: There have been people who successfully managed to emulate certain anime and manga aesthetics into western animation and make it work. Otherwise we wouldn’t have gotten the likes of Avatar-The last Airbender, Samurai Jack, the Animatrix, Thundercats 2011, Super Robot Monkey Hyperforce Go, Kim Possible, W.I.T.C.H, Megas XLR and Wakfu. You know, shows that are actually awesome as hell.
Heck, Dobson’s favorite animated show of the last decade, Steven Universe, is heavily inspired by anime aesthetics to the point of being embarrassing.
But Dobson… well, he emulated anime aesthetics in his work the same way as these crimes against animation did.
Combined with his general shortcomings as a storyteller it is no wonder his initial comics did not do well.
Lastly, and sorry for digressing here a bit, but if the Wikipedia entry on Treasure Planet is something to go by, there was no real inspiration by anime involved in making this movie.
Supposedly the idea of making an animated Treasure Planet in outer space movie was already pitched by Ron Clements WAY BACK in 1985 but only came to be after Michael Eisner greenlighted stuff in the late 90s. Design wise the movie was supposed to look 70% traditional and 30% sci-fi inspired and people took inspiration for the art style by illustrators associated with the Brandywine School of Illustration. A western style of illustration established in the 19th century, that had a big impact on the illustration styles for many 19th and early 20th century adventure novels and short stories.
What, is anime supposed to be the only form of animation allowed to have sci fi elements or steampunk in it? Fucks sake, The Lion King and Atlantis, which came out one year earlier to Treasure Planet, were likely more inspired by anime. Don’t believe me? Watch Atlantis and then a certain anime by Studio Gainax called “Nadia-Secret of Blue Water”. Or read up on the controversy surrounding the two.
The truth is, it is not entirely clear what caused Disney to shut down 2D feature film animation in the early 2000s. In fact, if anything, most people put the blame on Michael Eisner and a certain change in the publics taste in movies in general, combined with Disney trying to turn almost every movie they had into a franchise via cheap follow up movies on video and DVD.
And even if Disney did not shut down, are we really supposed to believe that a certain guy with fedora would have made it big at Disney to the point Alex ze Pirate would have been made into a feature film?
But Dobson could never quite understand this and instead of “reinventing” himself properly, he would rant about anime and its fans in one form or another…
And on the peak of his hissy fit create this little art piece he baptized Anime Sux. Alternatively “West vs East”. Or as I like to call it, slap a jap.
Now, the pic was done in 2008 and Dobson claimed sometimes in the last decade, that he no longer holds his old opinions. Unfortunately, by that point he would also more or less use the chance to vent in his webcomic about anime (or rather its fans), which brings us finally back to SYAC.
While Dobson never outright thematized in more detail WHY he hates anime and manga in SYAC (likely cause if his comic reasoning was even slightly like his reasoning in his blogs, people would have torn him apart like a bag of paper) he did use the format to punch down on anime fans and their preferences.
For example, for someone who has a 4chan story going around of having been rather arrogant towards others in college for not liking Ranma ½, Dobson has THIS little college related comic to show off, where he portrays an aspiring manga artist as a delusional jackass.
Then in this strip titled manga, his manga fan is essentially portrayed as a young woman dressing up like a very stereotypical high school anime girl, who is in the wrong for even just DARING to draw her comics in the direction manga are read.
On one hand, I get Dobson’s point. She could be at risk of alienating a market of readers as she is obviously drawing for a western audience. Then again, if she doesn’t draw a traditional western comic but a manga, why shouldn’t she? I mean, as long as she enjoys it, which I assume she does as she seems genuinely just happy when stating that she likes manga, why not let her? Plus, this comic was drawn in the late 2000s. I think by then most people kinda knew how to read from right to left, so Dobson’s claim she would alienate or confuse people is kinda redundant. If anything I find a) Dobson getting angry at her just very petty (just let her have fun) and b) portraying a western manga fan as someone who would be confused by the sheer idea of reading stuff from right to left is also in itself just really dumb and insulting. What is Dobson trying to imply? That anime fans are so stuck in the way they consume certain media, they can’t act according to “western standards” again?
Then there is this strip where yet another female anime fan is essentially portrayed as the embodiment of how “ignorant” manga fans are of the idea of different art styles...
Which becomes rather laughable once Dobson describes his style as a mixture of European, American and Japanese. Why? Because he is the one oversimplifying things, rather than the anime fan.
You see while anime and manga of all sorts do share certain aesthetics (like the black and white art style, emphasize on the eyes of characters, the way hair is drawn, recurring tropes within certain genres and so on) style wise (both in art and storytelling) there can be severe differences, depending on the artist alone. Akira Toriyama’s style differentiates significantly from the likes of Eichiro Oda, Rumiko Takahashi, Kentaro Miura, Tezuka, Kaori Yuki and so forth.
The same also goes for many western artists. Herge had a significantly different style from Uderzo and Goscinny. Don Rosa has a different style in which he drew Scrooge McDuck than Carl Barks did. Rob Liefeld and Jim Lee draw mainstream superheroes differently compared to how Jack Kirby, George Perez and others did. Heck, Ethan Van Sciver and Jim Lee were closely associated with Green Lantern in the 2000s and look how they differentiate.
Which btw is the kind of skill level Dobson would have needed to have, to make it in the mainstream industry
So when Dobson says “I draw in a combination of American, Western and Japanese” all I can think is the following: THAT DOESN’T NARROW IT DOWN! WHAT THE HECK HAVE YOU LEARNT IN COLLEGE ABOUT COMICS? WHICH ARTISTS, WORKS AND STORYTELLERS DO YOU TRY TO EITHER EMULATE OR HAVE BEEN INSPIRED BY?
Then there is this little thing…
Where do I even begin? How about the fact that Dobson’s hand in the last panel looks like he has lost a thumb? The fact that the little boy, anime fan or not, is aware of Sae Sawanoguchi, a character from a short lived OVA and anime series from the 90s, which considering his age, I kinda doubt he would be aware off. Unlike Dobson, who got into anime in the 90s and admits in fact within the posts I loaded up earlier, that he had watched the anime in particular, known in the west as Magic User Club.
Then there is the implication by Dobson, that anime is so “corruptive” as a medium, little kids don’t even know the most basic characters in western animation because of it. I expect in a next panel, that all of sudden some 50s PSA guy comes along and lectures me that if I want this kind of thing not to happen at MY convention, I need to teach little kids more about the GOOD western animation, instead of the BAD eastern one.
Then there is this rather unflattering portrayal of a shonen ai/shojou ai fangirl…
Which makes me laugh cause honestly, even some of the worst shonen ai and shojou ai can do better in portraying a “realistic” gay relationship than Patty if you ask me.
Also, as much as I think fangirls can be extremely thirsty (I have read my fair share of extremely stupid yaoi and yuri fanfics) I think that in hindsight Dobson is really not anyone to complain about shipping obsession and sex when he himself has KorraSami, the Ladybug fandom and a certain rat pirate under his floppy belt.
As you can imagine, Dobson would get heat for those comics, considering how he himself has been greatly inspired by anime and manga for his major comics. And while I don’t have any explicit deviantart posts of him reacting to criticism in that regard, I do have this comic which addresses it directly.
And yeah, if I were schoolgirl number 4, I would just sigh and walk away after telling Dobson that his mistakes and shortcomings are not related to having consumed anime, but rather by what sort of anime (and other stories) he had consumed and the amount of effort he had put in creating his stories instead of emulating just something more popular. Plus, if you really want people to draw more from life, how about drawing more from life yourself down the line? And no, tracing Star Wars movie frames does not count.
Finally, Dobson, considering how very little most people think of your work, I say mission accomplished: People have learnt from your mistakes and know not to be a Dobson.
And at last, there is this comic, which kinda wraps up Dobson’s “vendetta” with anime and manga fans within the pages of SYAC.
By trying to mock anime fans and make them look just as shallow as he is. I at least suppose. Honestly, the message of this comic is rather muddled. On one hand, I would say the strawman accusing Dobson hates anime just because it is popular is very simplified. After all, Dobson has made his reasons for not liking anime clear in a few more details.
It’s just that the details in and on themselves in real life are still rather shallow and boil down to a lot of personal bias rather than an objective criticism of actual flaws. Which I think is worth pointing out.
But frankly, what is Dobson trying to say or point out here? That the strawman is not so different or even dumber than him, because he hates Justin Bieber for “shallow” and superficial reasons too?
Okay, this doesn’t quite work as well as Dobson wants. First, the argument Dobson’s strawman makes is in huge parts based on some verified statements Dobson made for not liking anime. Second, he just says a name and that triggers the guy to express his hatred for Bieber. We don’t know why the guy hates Bieber and you could make in fact the case, that he hates him not because he is popular, but because he has a genuine issue with the artist, his work or his behavior as a human being. Third, if you want to make yourself look like the better person Dobson, try to argue with the guy and make solid arguments why you don’t like anime. Instead you just deflect the criticism by changing the subject and then try to make yourself look like the “smarter” person in the room by mocking your critic in the most condescending manner.
Which as I think about it, sounds like your modus operandi on twitter and tumblr.
Weirdly enough, that more or less marks the “end” of Dobson tackling anime fans and the beef he has with them within the pages of SYAC. Despite how much Dobson’s negative reputation especially in early years was build around him hating on anime and belittling its fans, he didn’t really do more afterwards in the Dobson focused pages of SYAC. And mind you, those strips were also separated by other strips in-between, focused on Dobson just being at conventions.
Unfortunately for him, the strips didn’t really help in any way to diminish that negative reputation and instead just confirmed for many, that Dobson can’t handle criticism about his flawed opinion on anime. If anything, it just made people think even less of Dobson, as the strips just painted him as someone who would rather portray his critics as strawman he can be “rightfully” annoyed at, instead of fellow humans with slightly different tastes in entertainment, who are still worth listening to.
So, now that we have the anime fan related “annoyances” out of the way, what other sort of silly problems in making webcomics would Dobson cover in his strips and are “relatable” to everyone?
Lets see some of these examples in the next part.
#anime / manga#manga#Andrew Dobson#fuck you Tom Preston#Tom Preston#syac#so...you are a cartoonist#so you are a cartoonist#review#webcomic#comic#adobsonsartwork#adobsoncomic#adobsonartworks
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Fo4 and Fo3 crushing!companions (and related) being asked by Sole/Lone if the companions (and related) think they're pretty? You can do them in separate posts if that makes organization easier.
*I will make a separate post with the fo3 reactions to this <3
Companions-
Cait
“Ye’ bet yer sweet arse I do.”
Codsworth
“Only as beautiful as the day we met!”
Curie
“Hehe, of course, madame/monsieur! You are just magnificent!”
Danse
“Why, uh, y-yes. You’re very pretty.”
Deacon
“Now what kind of question is that? Of course I do, pumpkin-wumpkin.” [cue Sole’s eye roll]
Gage
“Like ya need the affirmation, Boss. But sure, I’ll give it to ya. You’re damn gorgeous. Good enough?”
Hancock
“Heh, like somethin’ straight out the magazines, Sunshine.”
MacCready
“Oh, uh, yeah. Heh, what’re you asking me for? Don’t you know it already?”
Nick
“Absolutely gorgeous, doll.”
Piper
“Oh Blue, only the prettiest!”
Preston
“Hm, you know it.”
X6-88
“Yes.”
Extra NPCs-
Desdemona
“Yes. Next question?”
Edward Deegan
“Pretty? Well, yeah.”
Glory
“Aww, that’s cute, really. Yeah, babe, you’re so pretty.”
Jack Cabot
“Oh, so very pretty!”
Magnolia
“You know it, honey.”
Mags Black
“Pretty is the word you want to use? I could come up with a few better ones, but sure Boss, you are very pretty.”
Mason
“Well, you sure ain’t ugly.”
Maxson
“If you must hear my affirmation, then yes. I do.”
Nisha
“Pretty deadly. Fine, you’re pretty too. You can be both.”
Sturges
“Heh, yeah of course doll. Stunnin’ even.”
Tinker Tom
“Well, yeah. That wasn’t such a tough question.”
Travis Miles
“Uh, y-yeah. How could I not? Heh heh.”
William Black
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
#fallout#fallout 4#fallout companions#fallout fandom#fallout fanfic#fallout 4 cait#fallout 4 codsworth#fallout 4 curie#fallout 4 danse#fallout 4 deacon#fallout 4 gage#fallout 4 hancock#fallout 4 maccready#fallout 4 nick valentine#fallout 4 piper#fallout 4 preston#fallout 4 x6 88#fallout 4 maxson#fallout 4 mason#fallout 4 mags black#fallout 4 jack cabot#fallout 4 sturges#fallout 4 travis miles#fallout 4 william black#fallout 4 nisha#fallout 4 magnolia#fallout 4 desdemona#fallout 4 glory#fallout 4 edward deegan#fallout 4 tinker tom
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How would the companions +others react to Sole being able to breathe fire, and then saying “if you want, I could teach you how to do it. It’s pretty easy once you know the trick to it.”
Sorry this one also took me over a year to get to! Still chipping away!! Enjoy! :)
FO4 Companions (+Others) React: Sole Breathing Fire & Offering to Teach Them How
Nick: [sarcastically] Sure, then I can be both a barbecue and a toaster.
Preston: I think I’ll just stick to guns General. Appreciate the offer, though.
Sturges: [amused] Heh, yeah show me. It’ll be kinda funny. Instead of using a blowtorch I’ll just weld stuff using my breath from now on.
Cait: Ye, show me. I’d love to melt some faces!
Codsworth: I can already do that!
Curie: Ahhh I am not zo zure zat would be safe vore my my inzides…
Danse: Unfortunately, I don’t think fire-breathing is a Brotherhood-approved method of combat. I’m going to have to pass.
Rhys: No. That’s stupid.
Haylen: [shrugging] Sure, why not? I’m always looking to learn something new.
Maxson: Why would you bother breathing fire at an enemy when you have unlimited top-notch weapons and ammunition available at your disposal? It would simply be a waste of time and energy, Knight.
Deacon: Um. Yes! I’ve always wanted to roleplay a dragon.
Desdemona: Seems pointless but…I suppose it does look cool. Alright. I’ll give it a try.
Glory: Uhhhh…no thanks. Think I’ll stick to the big guns.
Tom: [excited] Hell yeah! Show me Show me!
Longfellow: Fire-breathin’s for chumps.
Gage: Awe, hell yeah. [snickering] Aw man, I can’t wait to scare the absolute shit outta everyone back at Nuka World.
Mags: I’d rather not.
Mason: Fuck yeah! And then maybe I could teach the animals how to do it too. Heh heh cage fights gonna get a hell of a lot better.
Nisha: I prefer skinning, but I guess burning a person alive could be equally as entertaining.
X6-88: No.
Father: What would be the point of that? Seems ridiculous to me. Wouldn’t you agree?
Piper: Er…as interesting as that looks, Blue, I think I’ll pass.
Strong: STRONG HAVE NO USE FOR FIRE. STRONG USE HAMMER OR FIST TO FIGHT.
Ada: If you install the proper modifications, I should be able to do that as well, [sir/ma’am].
MacCready: [holding a cigarette to Sole’s flame breath] Melt people’s faces and light a cigarette all in one go? Hell yeah.
Hancock: [breathes fire right back at Sole] I figured out how to do that on a X-Cell trip one time. Shit was wild.
#companions react#fallout 4#fallout#fo4#danse#paladin danse#deacon#maccready#hancock#desdemona#glory#tinker tom#mags#nisha#mason#gage#maxson#haylen#rhys#father#x6 88#sturges#preston garvey#piper#cait#curie#nick valentine#longfellow
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desperados [arvin russell x reader smut]
➽ pairing: arvin russell x fem!reader
➽ word count: 4.0k
➽ summary: arvin gets revenge against the man who wronged the girls he loves.
➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. smut, explicit language, fingering (f!receiving), graphic violence, is getting to third base in a church parkling lot a warning? probably, excessive mentions of tom’s abs
➽ a/n: make sure to check out the sequel to this on my blog!! thanks for reading!
I saw Arvin’s hands shaking fiercely. The sun was nearly lowered over the distant mountains and people in this town were sure to talk about how the orphan Russell boy had come and picked me up this close to night, but I knew Arvin. He wasn’t very talkative, so his affection (and I use that term lightly) came in other ways. He always let me have his last cigarette, even though I barely smoked. He had saved a seat on the school bus for me, back before we graduated. He was kind, just not in the ways that Coal Creek knew. I knew, when I heard Arvin’s old ‘51 Chevy in front of my house, that he needed me; I jumped in his car before my mom had time to tell me to get dressed decently.
“Arv,” I whispered. “What’s going on? Where’re we going?”
Arvin took a deep breath, but he didn’t answer. He looked out his window before returning his gaze to the front windshield, and his fingers began to tap on his steering wheel. “He killed my Lenora,” he mumbled finally. “Light me a smoke, would ya?”
It took a moment for his words to register. Ever since Lenora died, Arvin had become distant, nearly a whole different man. He went to work and went back to his grandmother’s house. He barely made time for me anymore. That was alright, though; he had lost the only person he had ever really loved. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t much to him, other than someone who tolerated him.
“I thought Lenora…” I began and swallowed my words. He had requested a cigarette. I reached into the backseat where his jacket was slung and tugged out his crushed box of cigarettes and a matchbox, and I lit him a cigarette. I passed it to him, and he carefully took it between his fingers.
“Ain’t you gonna take the first gasp?” Arvin asked, managing a weak chuckle. His eyes were dark and focused, and there was nothing behind his smile. Levity, I assumed, to make me feel better about whatever was happening.
“My mama would skin me if I came home smelling like smoke,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “Go ‘head, Arv.”
Arvin lifted his hand to his mouth, his thin lips wrapping around the end, and he took a deep pull at it. He blew the smoke out of his nose, and he said, “Lenora did it to herself, yeah, but he made her do it. He drove her to it.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Did that Teagardin son ova bitch ever lay his hands on you?” Arvin asked quickly. His gaze flicked to me, curled up next to him, still wearing my house shoes and pajamas. No makeup, no cover-up; I would be the talk of the town the next morning, I knew it.
“Pastor Teagardin?” I clarified, and Arvin nodded. “No. He tried, though, I think. Once.”
“Ya think?” Arvin repeated. “God damn it, Y/N, what he’d do to you?”
“He didn’t do nothing,” I said quickly. “He’s old enough to be my daddy, ya know how sick that is?”
“You said he tried,” Arvin rebutted. “Tried to do what?”
I huffed out a breath. “I stayed after a service on Wednesday night a few months ago to help Mrs. Teagardin gather up hymns and stuff. She went off to do something, and Brother Preston approached me. Said he… Said he saw me hanging out with you… Saw us drinking and smoking… And he said I gotta repent for my sins. Jesus, the man thought we fucked. He made me get down on my knees to pray, but I heard his belt ‘fore anything happened. Told him I’d call the sheriff on him if he tried anything like that again.”
Arvin breathed deeply, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “That’s three,” he said. “You, the Reaster girl… and Lenora.”
My heart sank into my stomach. As much as I loved Lenora, she was naive. From the day that she was born, she trusted everybody. If she had ever been with someone, they took advantage of her. Maybe not with violence, but advantage nonetheless. “No,” I mumbled. “He didn’t… Not her.”
“Coroner said Lenora was pregnant,” Arvin told me. He situated his cigarette in his mouth, and his hand floated down to rest on my knee. “I just know it was him. Who the fuck else would it be?”
“Arvin, what’re you doing?” I asked. “Where’re we going?”
“I’m going down to that church,” Arvin began. “And I’m killing that son of a bitch Pastor Teagardin.”
“Arvin!” I yelped. “You’re not! You can’t-- How--?”
The car rolled to a stop in front of the small church, the gravel crunching under the tires. Arvin squeezed my knee, shutting me up, and he leaned forward and dug around behind him for a moment. Slowly, from the back of his pants, Arvin pulled out a small revolver gun. My breath caught in my throat; Arvin was rough around the edges, sure, but never did I think I would see him with a gun in his hands. My Arvin looked so unsure of the weapon, but his thumb clicked the hammer back, readying it to shoot, and I saw something behind his eyes change. He wasn’t vindictive, but revenge was a choice that had to be made. Arvin made his choice.
“A German luger,” Arvin mumbled, his cigarette still in his mouth. “My daddy told my uncle Earvell that it’s the gun Hitler killed himself with.”
I couldn’t manage any words. My lips fell open in shock, my brain struggling to make any coherent thought out of what was happening. “Arvin,” I finally choked out. “You ain’t really gonna kill Pastor Teagardin, are you?”
“He killed my sister,” Arvin said, his voice low in his chest. “He tried to hurt you. Who says he won’t try that shit again?”
“Arvin, you don’t need to avenge me,” I said quickly. My hands grasped his, and I fumbled with his fingers to release the gun. “Lenora wouldn’t want this.”
“How do you know?” Arvin asked. His eyes, the color of dark West Virginian molasses, locked on mine, and his hands came up to capture my face. He was shaking violently, and I wasn’t sure that he would even be able to hold his gun. “None of us will ever know what Lenora would want. I knew her better than goddamn anyone else on this earth, and I think I know. I know, Y/N. And even if he didn’t manage to hurt you, it’s the thought that he would try that-- I don’t know how many other girls he’s got to. I’m doing this whole damn town a service by getting rid of him.”
I gulped in a breath, trying to stop myself from crying. “What’re ya gonna do once you’re done?” I asked. “You can’t stay here.”
“I’m not,” Arvin said. “I don’t know where I’m gonna go, but far away from fuckin’ Coal Creek. I want you to come with me.”
“Arv, I got my family here,” I said quickly. “My momma and my daddy, I can’t just leave them.”
“Y/N,” Arvin sighed heavily. His eyes softened and his thumb pressed into my cheek kindly, and he said, “I can’t leave you here. I love you too damn much.”
“Arvin Russell, I love you too, but I--” I began. “I can’t.”
“Y/N,” Arvin said firmly. “I love you. And I want you to come with me.”
This was different. Arvin had told me that he loved me before, but I always thought he had meant “as a friend” or “as a sister”. Had I been mistaken this whole time? Did Arvin care for me differently than he could ever care for Lenora? “You…” I started. “You love me?”
“I’ve loved you since the day I laid my eyes on you,” Arvin told me. “Fucking seventh grade, your hair was in these little braids, you offered me a seat on the school bus. I thought it was… A crush. But Lenora showed me real love, and I know that I love you. I have always loved you, Y/N. Please, wherever I go, I can’t go without you. I need you, love.”
Tears were welled up in Arvin’s eyes, and he sniffled back his emotions. I hated that. Arvin always tried to hide his emotions and, ever since I had known him, he had only cried in front of me once: the night Lenora died, he came to my house, eyes puffy, and he buried his head in my chest and heaved sobs into me. The strangled sounds of anguish had stayed with me and haunted me in the night, and I never wanted to see Arvin hurting like that again. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll come with you.”
Arvin nodded slowly. The tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip as he looked behind me to the small church, Pastor Teagardin’s fancy Cadillac parked in front. “Now, I don’t know what’s gonna happen in there,” he began. “Gimme an hour. If I ain’t back by then, leave. Get outta here, you never knew me. Alright?”
“You don’t think you’d…” I started, and the ache in my heart forced me to stop talking. “Don’t die, Arv. My heart couldn’t take it.” A moment passed where the both of us were still and silent, and finally Arvin’s hand carefully moved to the back of my neck. Quietly, he pulled me close to him and pressed his lips to mine, and my stomach flipped around inside of my body. I had never kissed anyone before, but his kiss felt right. Arvin broke the kiss first, his lips lingering just before mine, and I thought about how my momma had told me that boys didn’t like when girls made the first move. Arvin had kissed me first, though, so, if I kissed back, that wasn’t making the first move. My momma was forever concerned with how people saw me, but, if I was going to run away with a man about to murder, I felt like maybe those societal pleasantries could be pushed aside.
I took Arvin’s coat collar in my hands and tugged him closer, and I reconnected our lips. Arvin was on the same page as me, his hands falling to my waist as easily as if he had done it a hundred times before. His kiss was hungry, like a man depraved, and he guided me to lean against the car door. He moved on top of me, one hand moving above my head to brace against the car door, his other hand pushing my shirt up to expose my stomach. I knew he wanted to see more but was waiting for my permission, and I broke the kiss with a laugh. “This ain’t like ya, Arv,” I giggled.
Arvin seemed to almost wake up, and he moved away from me. “Sorry,” he said, his voice rumbling. “Don’t know what got into me--”
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” I told him. “I was saying that you don’t normally ask for permission to do things, you just… Do.”
“When it comes to pretty girls, I always ask,” Arvin told me. He hovered over me again, his eyes drinking in the sight of me, and I pushed the rugged ball cap off of his head to expose his chestnut hair.
“Got a lotta experience with pretty girls, huh?” I asked, and the corner of Arvin’s mouth quirked into a devilish smile.
“Well, we doin’ this now, ain’t we?” Arvin asked. “I’m thinking this is all the experience I need.”
“Shut your fucking mouth and kiss me, Arv,” I scoffed, and Arvin dove back in. His palm rested on my jaw, his thumb on my cheek, and he kissed me like nobody has ever kissed me. His warm tongue was inside my mouth, drawing quiet moans from the depths of my chest, and his free hand pulled my shirt up, up, up, until I was forced to pull away from his mouth to tug it over my head. My mouth felt chapped from his dark stubble, but my breasts welcomed the roughness. He kissed my mouth, then my neck, then situated himself to bury his face between my breasts. He kissed them, then took one in his hand and squeezed until I whimpered, and I felt him smirk against my tender skin.
“Ya like that, darlin’?” Arvin rasped, and I nodded quickly. “I thought so. You’re making such damn pretty noises, I could listen forever.”
Arvin’s kisses trailed down the middle of my chest, then his mouth refocused on my nipple, stiffened with excitement. His tongue circled it and he gave it a hard suck, hard enough for me to yelp and pull at his hair. This seemed to urge him on, because he started to kiss and gently nip all over my breasts. My skin tingled with each kiss, and his knee found its way between my legs. His thigh pressed lightly into my already-soaked core, and I suddenly felt like I was suffocating with the heat inside of the car. “Arv, shit, hold on,” I mumbled and lifted my hips to take my pants off. His free hand came down and helped me, and his warm palm replaced his thigh once I was bare.
Not once had I ever been touched there. The feeling was foreign but not unwelcome, especially since it was Arvin. I panted, trying to sort myself out, and Arvin pressed a soft kiss to the shell of my ear. “You alright there, darlin’?” he asked, his hand melting away from my body. “Need me to stop?”
“No,” I said. “Keep going, Arv. Please. I’ll die if you don’t keep on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Arvin chuckled, and his hand went back to my cunt. The pad of his middle finger massaged my wetness, and he pushed his finger past my folds and carefully pressed just the tip of his finger into me. I moaned at the sweet goodness of it all, and I opened my eyes to see Arvin watching me. He didn’t seem to be studying me-- his eyebrows weren’t drawn together in consideration-- but he seemed to be admiring me. I tugged him down to my lips by his hair and kissed him, and his finger pressed further into me. Arvin’s kiss moved to my neck, and he slowly began to pump his finger inside of me. I never knew anything could feel so good. “More,” I whispered, my head falling back to expose my throat to him, and he nipped at my throat before he pushed his ring finger in to meet his middle finger. “Fuck, Arv, this ain’t fair at all,” I gasped.
“What d’ya mean, darlin’?” Arvin asked, his fingers moving with increasing quickness inside me, massaging something in me that I didn’t know existed. It made my legs shake.
“Arvin,” I whimpered. “Take-- Oh, fuck!” His fingers had pressed right into that sweet spot in my body, and the pleasure made my middle seize up. “T-Take off those goddamn pants, please.”
“Always so polite,” Arvin smirked. His fingers retreated from me and, in the fading sunlight coming through the sweating windows, I saw my wetness glistening on his fingers as he undid his belt. He whipped his belt off and tossed it into the backseat before he started to take off his ripped and dirty work pants. Arvin worked on the roads and I knew that the hard labor had gotten him fit, but, as I pulled his shirt off while he removed his pants, I was faced with his body. His chest and stomach were as hard as a rock, his muscles taut under his skin, and his arms bulged with a tight but lithe strength. His middle came down in a sharp V to his cock, half-hard, the tip flushed, resting on one of his built thighs. I had never really paid attention to how attractive Arvin was-- he had a nice face and gave me tight hugs, but that was about as far as I thought of his body or attractiveness. Arvin was so much more than attractive, though. The sight of his body, tanned and scarred and built like an Italian statue, made me face a truth that might have been hard to swallow twenty minutes ago.
“Arvin,” I whispered, pressing my hand to his face. His cheek was warm under my fingers, and his jaw clenched as he awaited my words. “Fuck me, Arvin. I want you.”
“That’s what I was planning on doin’, darlin’,” Arvin drawled, and his hand went to his cock. He stroked himself a few times until he was fully hard, and, by then, he had a thin sheen on sweat on his upper lip. Maybe it wasn’t our clothes that made me sweat and suffocate; it was hot as the devil in this car. The windows were fogged up against the cool West Virginia night, and I reached up and pushed Arvin’s sweaty curls from his forehead. The moment of tenderness seemed to stop Arvin in his tracks, because his eyes lifted from himself to mine, and he gave me an uncharacteristically-sheepish smile. “Everything alright there?”
“Oh, I’m more than alright, Arv,” I whispered. “Just lookin’ at you.” The sunset, nearly done, cast orange light into the car, right onto Arvin’s face, and it caught the flush in his cheeks.
“I…” he started. “I ain’t ever done this before. Never got this far with a girl before.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I haven’t even been kissed before tonight.”
“You still want to…” Arvin began. His cockiness was gone, replaced with a tender intimacy that I was surprised to see existed inside of Arvin Russell.
“I do,” I said. “If it means I get a few extra minutes with you ‘fore you go confront Pastor Teagardin.”
“That’s not the only reason, is it?” Arvin asked.
“Of course not,” I told him. “I just don’t…” I paused and struggled for the right words. “Don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t,” Arvin said. “Son of a bitch ain’t even got a gun.”
The reminder of what Arvin had yet to do made me feel sick to my stomach. My Arvin wasn’t a murderer; was he? I felt the sick rise in my throat, and I struggled to open the car door and contort myself to vomit out into the gravel and grass. I felt Arvin take a handful of my loose hair and hold it away from my face, and I gasped as I felt the burning in my nose. “I shouldn’t’ve said that shit,” Arvin whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry, love.”
“So!” A man’s voice called, and I lifted my head to see Pastor Preston Teagardin standing a few yards away from the car, but certainly close enough to know what Arvin and I had been doing. “Couldn’t handle him, could ya, girly? Y’all got a little trigger in the back of y’all’s throats, ya know. Might do you good to remember that.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Arvin barked. His pants rustled as he pulled them back on, and he gave me his shirt to pull on quickly. My hands were shaking nearly too hard for me to dress myself, but I managed to put his shirt on my body. I shut the car door behind me as Arvin opened his, and I shoved the gun into the back of his pants quickly. I hoped that Pastor Teagardin hadn’t seen that. “Don’t you talk ‘bout my Y/N like that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Pastor Teagardin drawled, his voice dripping sarcasm like honey. ”I thought y’all were the ones fucking at the church!”
“You gotta lotta nerve talkin’ to me like that,” Arvin shouted. His voice bounced around the empty space, sending a chill up my spine. I grabbed my panties and pulled them on as I listened to the confrontation, and, even though I didn’t care too much for God, I made a quick prayer to protect my Arvin. “After what you did to my sister and my wife.”
Wife. Was he saying that to give himself humility? To add credence to his argument? No matter the reason, even if it was a slip of the tongue, it warmed my stomach and cemented in my mind that Arvin really did love me.
“What I did--!” Teagardin scoffed. “Your sister got in that state with some boy! She was delusional, got it in her head that I was the daddy and that I would provide! I had nothing to do with that bastard child! And your wife! Your wife? Who, the whore of Coal Creek, tryna fuck you on top of your sister’s grave?”
Arvin moved as quick as lightning, drawing his gun and focusing it on Teagardin. I saw the pastor flinch away and he shouted, “God damn it, boy! Put the gun down and we can talk ‘bout this like real men!”
Arvin’s thumb pulled back the hammer and I heard the solid click of a bullet entering the chamber. “I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Arvin said, scarily calm.
“What makes you say that?” Teagardin asked. “‘Cause you’ve got a gun?”
“Any man can have a gun,” Arvin said. “It’s ‘cause I got the balls to use it.”
The gun went off, and the air froze. The second felt like a vacuum, forever expanding. I saw Arvin jolt away from the gunshot, I saw his arm kick up at the force of the gun, and I saw the back of Pastor Teagardin’s head explode like it had been detonated from inside.
I didn’t even realize that I was screaming. It hurt my throat and rang in my ears but I didn’t register it. It wasn’t until Arvin threw the car door open and kneeled down next to me that I became aware of what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop. Arvin’s face screwed up in anger and he slammed his hand down on the roof of the car hard enough to leave a dent. “God damn it, woman, shut your fucking mouth!” Arvin growled. “Someone’s gonna hear you!”
“Arvin,” I gasped. My entire body was shaking and the sick feeling returned. “Arvin, you--”
“I know what I did,” Arvin whispered firmly. “I know… Did you see where the bullet shell went?”
I shook my head quickly, my knees crawling up to press against my chest protectively. “No,” I sniffled. I was crying. “Arvin, we gotta leave here.”
“I know, love,” Arvin whispered. He sat in front of me for a second more before putting a shaking hand on my knee in a meek act of comfort. “You can go home. You can pretend like none of this ever happened.”
“How do I…” I began. “I’m never gonna be able to forget that… Looked like pie filling… And I can’t lose you, Arvin. Not-Not after I just got you the way I want you.”
“You really wanna come with me?” Arvin asked. “Ya sure?”
“Yes,” I told him. “I’m sure, Arvin. Please, fuck, get in the car, we need to go.”
Arvin returned to the car and we quietly put all of our clothes back on. Arvin gave me a bundle of floral fabric to wear instead of my pajamas, and I unraveled it to find a young woman’s dress. My heart sank and I looked at Arvin for an explanation, and he mumbled, “S’not Lenora’s. Found it in a box of my momma’s stuff, looked like your size.”
“You brought a dress along before you knew I’d agree to come with you?” I asked. I slipped off Arvin’s shirt and put the dress on and, when my head emerged, I found Arvin giving me that same tender look from before. “Unless you always knew I’d come with.”
“That’s the thing ‘bout you, love,” Arvin chuckled lightly. “You’re usually so predictable.”
As we left, I gave one last look to Pastor Teagardin’s body, laying in the grass and gravel, never knowing what happened to him. He heard the gunshot; maybe he felt the pain of the back of his skull exploding outward. As I watched his body disappear with the distance, I felt like I knew him well. He was a man-- a wicked man, yes-- but he preached it best. It wasn’t worth much to put up a fight against the sins of the flesh.
I wrapped my hands around Arvin’s free arm as he drove, and I pressed myself into him. Night fell as we drove, leaving our headlights to be the sole light, and it was once I saw a broke-down sign saying that we had entered Ohio that I thought to ask, “Where’re we going?”
“Knockemstiff, Ohio. I wanna go bury my dog and this gun and start over… With you.”
#arvin russell#tom holland#the devil all the time#tdatt#fanfic#arvin russell x reader#arvin russell x y/n#sm:ffh#peter parker#spiderman#mcu#avengers#sm:hoco#arvin russell smut#arvin russell angst#maybe two-parter#we'll see...
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Chapter 9
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (no y/n or physical descriptions)
Rating: E (18+ blog)
Word Count: 4k
Chapter Warnings: language?
Series Masterlist
You watched as Santi tacked five pieces of paper on the wall, one for each member of Council. You would need their stamp of approval like some rite of passage to prove yourself. Without it - well, you didn’t like to think about that.
You watched Santi tack five pieces of water-crinkled paper on the wall, one for each member of Council.
Like some rite of passage, you would need their stamp of approval to get in. Without it - well, you didn’t like to think about that.
Whack.
Santi hit the wall, the middle piece of a paper with a plastic ruler. “Preston Garvey. Mayor of Sanctuary. He’s the one who’ll run the session.”
Benny leaned in and whispered, “Nice guy. Don’t worry about him.”
“Like that’s possible. I’ll be worried even if he’s wasteland Mother Teresa.”
“Who’s Mother Teresa?”
Whack.
“Kasumi, Preston’s right hand and Head of District Planning. Deacon - Trade Relations. Then, Curie, Technological Advancement.” Santi turned to Will with a mischievous smirk. “Got anything you’d like to add about her, Ironhead?”
Santi wiggled his brows, and Will swatted the ruler out of his face. It boinged, but somehow didn’t break. Even though Will was trying to act annoyed, the tiny smile on his face gave him away.
Will crossed his arms. “Curie’s easily the smartest person on that Council. Hell, she’s probably the smartest person in all of Sanctuary.”
“No joke. She’s got it all,” Benny tagged in. “Brains, looks, and funny as shit. I think the two of you will get along just fine.”
Fingers crossed. Hopefully their confidence wasn’t misplaced.
Santi took a deep breath before looking at the last paper on the wall and tapping the crusty edge. “Tom - Military Operations.” His voice dimmed out like a dying light as his gaze swept across the room.
You wondered if this could be the same Tom from their stories. Redfly. If so, why were they acting so weird?
Your fingers drummed against the throw pillow in your lap. “So, what’s the deal with him?”
Will peered up at you. Furrowed brows - ice-blue eyes.
“There’s something you should know about Tom,” he said in that steady, even tone of his. “Tom grew up in the vaults, and it wasn’t good. We’ve been friends with him for a long time, and so we know he’s not gonna be too happy about this.”
“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. This was the same Tom who took down a monster bear, so he could easily squish you like a bug. You cocooned into the musty, dusty and mildewy armchair. The carpet was stained in swirls of brown and green.
“Hey, we’re gonna talk to him, alright?” Frankie’s eyes bore into you. Burnt-umber. Determined. “We’ll deal with him.”
You tugged at a loose thread on the pillow, twisted it around your finger. “Do you think that will help?”
Santi wobbled his head from side to side. “Probably not, but technically - you don’t need his vote. Just the majority.”
You almost chucked this pillow at his head. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you start with that?”
Santi gave a guilty smile - conceded. “My bad,” he muttered with a small chuckle.
“Anything else I should know?”
“Deacon also came from the vaults,” Will added, “But he’ll come in with an open mind. He’s not - he was too young to remember it.”
“Kinda like how Piper is,” Benny threw out casually, as if you somehow would know that.
You blinked, and suddenly your conversation at Fallon’s made a lot more sense. I’m not one of those, you can talk to me.
It was a relief to think not everyone would hate you. At this point, you kinda thought they might, and if they did, you couldn’t really blame them.
After all, your family had done something incredibly fucked up.
—-
After a few days of planning and prepping her, Frankie stuffed his sleeping bag into his pack and swung it over his shoulder. He’d finally get to sleep in his own bed tonight.
Frankie adjusted his cap before walking over to her. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I’m ready to get this over with,” she said, following him onto the front porch.
They were back on the road and headed towards Sanctuary. It was just north of Salem, south of Lynn - a coastal town crowded into a peninsula.
“Does anyone ever go in there?” She pointed at the riled up ocean, murky and brown as boa skin.
“Not unless you got a death wish.” Benny snorted. “Whole things swarming with irradiated sharks and these giant crabs.”
“Well that’s fucking terrifying.”
“Exactly.” Frankie huffed out a laugh. “That’s one of the main reasons they chose this place.”
“And here I thought they picked it based on its charm.” She grinned at him. “I always loved Marblehead. Nora had gone to college at Salem State, so on weekends when I’d stay with her, we’d always come over here and shop and eat by the water.”
“Nora? Is that a friend of yours or something?” Benny asked and her head tilted.
Surprised, she turned to Frankie. “I thought - did you not-”
Frankie shook his head. Even though he told them about her agreement and conditions, he’d left out the part about Nora. It didn’t feel like his story to tell.
Benny eyed him with rapt suspicion before slowly turning away as if he was intruding. Frankie was willing to bet that Benny was gonna hassle him about that later.
She didn’t get a chance to say anything else before they arrived at their destination. A rundown Baptist church.
Santi checked his watch as he stepped through the large double doors. “Patrol should be here soon, so don’t get too comfortable.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she mumbled under her breath as she plopped down on a wooden pew without any cushions and threw her bag on the hard ground.
He dropped down beside her, dug two granola bars from his bags, and offered her one that she eagerly accepted. Before she could grab it, he switched the flavors.
Cautiously, she plucked it out of his hand.
“I’m not trying to poison you,” he said. “Those are your favorite, aren’t they?”
A teensy smile toyed with the edge of her lips as she nodded. “I didn’t think you would know that.”
He shrugged, and maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Silently, he ate his own granola bar.
The sun burnt through the stained glass windows, igniting the room in a burst of jewel tones. He could remember coming to this church in his early days as a lowly private when there wasn’t a lick of stubble on his chin. It was usually Santi and him on this route, their name scribbled over and over in the log book under the gangrene cross at the altar.
“Do you really think this is gonna work?” Her voice was small and timid, her big eyes peered up at him.
“I wouldn’t put you up for this, if I didn’t think so.”
She bit at the inside of her cheek - chewing on it thoughtfully. She glanced at where Benny and Will and Santi were talking, a few rows away. They seemed engrossed in their own conversation. He assumed it was about Tom.
“Is there a reason you didn’t tell them about Nora?”
Frankie shrugged. “Just didn’t feel like my place, I guess.”
She smiled at that. She opened her mouth to say something, but Benny interrupted.
“Guys, they’re here.” He pointed at the shadows passing the windows.
Frankie felt his stomach twist. There was no going back, now.
—
Tom’s relief quickly morphed into confusion as the two guards shared the news.
They were back, but nobody could know.
Immediately, Tom stormed out of the Council building and towards the wall with the two guards trailing behind him.
There were no bells - no family - nobody running from town to welcome them home. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on or why they wanted discretion, but he knew it involved that girl.
The Diamond City caravan had come through town recently and told him about her. They didn’t know who she was or where she came from, and neither did these guards.
As he approached the gates, Sergeant Kessler saluted him. Most of the time, she was surrounded by a small army, but the majority of their soldiers were out doing rounds. Smart move. Less people, less witnesses. It had Santi written all over it.
At his command, the gates opened and they were home. Tom couldn’t help but smile when he saw them intact, every arm and leg accounted for and barely a scratch.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” He gave each one a hug. It’d been too long.
When he finally spotted her, he stepped back and puffed out his chest. His lips formed into a flat line as he crossed his arms. He was fully aware of his size, used it to his advantage as he scrutinized her.
She didn’t squirm like he’d expect. Her expression remained unreadable, but she appeared to study him.
Blue. What a stupid fucking name.
He didn’t extend his hand, neither did she. He checked her finger for a ring - nothing. Thank God, though her nails were surprisingly clean. Enough for him to notice.
“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Tom curled his lips into what could translate as a smile or sneer. “Likewise.”
Frankie blinked - she glanced over at him, uneasy.
“The Diamond City caravan said there was a girl traveling with you,” he explained. “And they sure had a lot to say.”
“How much did you have to pay for that?” Santi scoffed at him.
“Couple bucks,” he lied. In fact, Molly had forced him to sleep on the couch for how much he spent.
The stupid caravan had baited and taunted him like bratty kids: I know something you don’t know.
“Well, I can only hope it was all good things.” She smirked. “Or, at least that you got your money’s worth.”
Tom’s nose twitched - what the fuck did that mean? He squinted at Frankie, who gave a puny smile.
“Why don’t we talk in your office?” Will patted him on the shoulder as if to placate him.
Tom went over to Kessler and stared down each and every guard individually. “Make sure they know one word about any of this, and there’ll be consequences.”
The Council building was a lone wolf aside from the wall. Town was over a half-mile down that dirt road, so they didn’t have to worry about anyone catching them.
Benny dragged a chair from the lobby to outside of his office for her to wait. Then, he closed the door.
“Everyone was beginning to think you guys were dead after nobody spotted you for what? A month.”
Santi sat down in the chair across from Tom’s desk, “Yeah, we got a little held up.”
“A little? I’d say that’s more than a little. I hope it was worth it.”
“I would say so,” Santi said before telling him about the vault, the hall of frozen bodies and Tom could not believe that those rumors were true.
He’d nearly forgotten about the woman outside the room until they mentioned a girl, alone in a vault suit.
Tom’s hands began to shake - his skin felt hot and stiff and too tight over his bones. They had brought the enemy into their home - into Sanctuary.
“You can’t be serious.” Tom spotted Frankie in the corner. The gray t-shirt nearly blended into the wall. He wondered if Frankie wore it on purpose, like camouflage.
“She’s agreed to help up,” Santi stated, too calmly. “But she does have a few conditions-”
Tom could not bear to hear anymore. He smacked his desk with a flat palm, rattling the jars of pens and pencils rattled, the picture of Molly and the girls face-planted. This was not happening.
Santi sighed, “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but we need her help-”
“Fuck her help. We’ll be fine without it.”
Santi’s gaze flickered to the thin stack of files on his desk. Tom almost flung it across the room.
“How long’s it been since we actually found a Vault? 6 years? 7? Come on. We don’t stand a chance without her. Think about it - she’s the answer.”
“Goddamit Santi. Don’t you feed me that bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit, man,” Will interjected. “She’s our best bet. We’re fucking dead in the water without her.”
Tom stared dumbly at Ironhead.
“She’s willing to go against her own family-”
“What’s that say about her?”
“Fuck you,” Benny shot from his seat. His nostrils flared as if he was personally offended. “You don’t even know her-”
“Oh, and you do?” A chuckle twisted Tom’s lips into an ugly sneer. This was insane. None of them knew this woman. She could be a spy or a liar of a fucking lunatic. “Fish, come on. You’re not really going along with this, are you?”
Frankie’s gaze was slightly pained, but sure and steady as he looked at him. It plunged through his stomach - carved out his insides. He felt betrayed. He felt wronged and raw and he could barely stand the sight of him - any of them, in fact.
“I wasn’t sure at first, but -”
“Fucking save it.”
“Just give her a chance.” Frankie’s voice was soft, pleading and suddenly, Tom realized this wasn’t just about the vaults.
No - this was about her. They actually fucking cared about her.
Tom stared at the plaque on the wall - ten years of service. He knew this never would’ve happened if he was still out there with them. She’d be dead or, at the very least, in cuffs.
Tom picked up the knocked over picture frame of his family, and set it back into place. “If you’re looking for my approval on this - it’s not gonna happen.”
“We didn’t expect you to,” Santi answered. “We just thought you deserved a heads-up.”
Curtly, he nodded. There was nothing else to say.
The first person to stand up was Will. He came over and squeezed Tom’s shoulder, followed by Benny and Santi. As they left, Frankie stepped in front of his desk.
“Tom-”
“Do you actually trust her?” Tom interrupted. “Even after everything you know - all we’ve seen - what we’ve been through - you trust her?”
Frankie’s boots scraped over the course carpet when he shuffled from one knee to the next. His hands were firmly latched on his hips, and Tom thought he was about to shake his head. He expected Frankie to say he was overruled - outnumbered - of course he didn’t trust a girl like her.
He waited for Frankie to say no, but he nodded instead. Under the brim of his cap, his eyes were clear as he looked at Tom. It felt like a knife in his sternum.
Tom sniffed, half of his face twitched. His anger bubbled into an uncontrollable rage. “Wonder what your dad would think of that.”
Frankie’s lips parted; his face blanched. The corded muscles in his neck tensed as if he was about to be sick. It was a low blow, but Tom didn’t fucking care. They had carelessly decided to bring her here, putting everyone, Molly - his girls - in danger.
Right now, he couldn’t find it in him to regret what he said. Not even as he watched Frankie silently leave without looking back.
—
The Council building was nothing special, despite the name. It used to be a convalescent home - Chambers was the cafeteria.
The founders of Sanctuary had created this bench by shoving two banquet tables together, casing it with red cloth, then setting it atop a small stage on the eastern wall.
Tom took his seat at the far, right end. The guys went first, Santi as the mouthpiece, and while he went into slightly more detail, it still didn’t sway him. Tom was rooted firmly in the opposition.
The double doors opened and Tom frowned as she stepped in, everyone in the room stared at her.
“Damn, she’s kinda hot,” Deacon gaped and Tom rolled his eyes.
He scrutinized her again. Just like Frankie and them, she had not bathed in days. She’d probably look much better clean because she was not ugly, he supposed. Different - but not someone who would catch his attention.
During her introduction, she added two hundred years to her age and he gagged at her attempt to be cute. Everyone else laughed, of course, but he swore Tess could’ve come up with something better and she was eight.
He tried - really, he did - to give her a chance, but every detail he learned about her only soured his opinion.
Her sister worked for the company, as well. Alice had been involved with figuring how to keep the vaults sustainable in the long-term. Hello - red flag?
Her mom was the fucking lead architect - her dad was Chief Director. One of the top dogs.
“You said earlier, you weren’t very close with your mom and sister, but what about your dad?” Kasumi twirled a pen in her hand. Out of everyone, she seemed to be the only one on the fence, though barely. These people were eating out of the palm of her hand.
Blue frowned. For a moment, he thought she was gonna turn on the water works, but she didn’t. She seemed to swallow it down with as much grace as a shot of bathtub bourbon.
“My dad and I were close. We have - had a good relationship.”
“And he never said anything to you?” Tom had to interject and she shook her head. “And you never overheard anything? Nothing?”
“Trust me, I’ve spent the last few days thinking about the same thing, trying to figure out if I missed something, but nothing has come to mind yet,” she said. “My family was pretty tight lipped about Vault-Tec. I used to think it was because they wanted me to work there - and what they could tell me was pretty limited with their NDA-”
“An ND-what?”
“A non-disclosure agreement.”
Preston cleared his throat.
“From what I’ve read, it basically prevented the person from sharing information with anyone outside the company. If you did, there could be severe repercussions,” Preston clarified for him, and Tom huffed.
Preston spent his free time reading any and every pre-war book that he could get his hands on about law and government and espionage. In another life, Preston would’ve been an attorney - or the fucking president. He was a distant relative of Barack Obama. At least, according to him.
Again - Preston regained control and asked a few bogus questions before one perked Tom’s interest.
“So, why you? Why did you get out?”
She shrugged, seemingly at a loss.
“I wish I could tell you. It had to be some mistake. There’s no other explanation.”
Shit answer. Too bad no one else seemed to think so since Preston moved on to her version of events with the guys.
“-so, once I had a few days to think about it, I decided to help-”
“Why?” Tom interfered - Preston’s eyes seared into his profile.
She raised her chin - her gaze level with his. “It’s the right thing to do-”
“And what makes you say that?” He, again, cut her off. Her head tilted in what seemed to be confusion. He scoffed. “What changed? What happened? You said it took a few days to decide, so what made you-”
“Guilt.” Her voice didn’t waver. “It became pretty clear I couldn’t live with myself if I just sat by and did nothing. It’d make me no better than them-”
“So, you think you’re better than them?”
“Tom.” Preston hissed, but Tom’s eyes remained glued to her face.
She swallowed - her fingers curled at her side. “I’m not perfect, but I’m not a bad person-”
“But you’re not helping us for free, right? Don’t you have conditions?”
As she let out a huff, Preston pounded on the table, a single strike of his gavel.
He pointed the gavel at Tom’s chest and warned him, “Don’t push it.”
Tom’s nostrils flared. There was a bitter taste in his mouth and he grimaced.
Preston nodded at her.
“I do have some conditions, but they’re not what you think.”
“Go on,” Preston encouraged her, then shot Tom a pointed look.
“I’m not just gonna hand over all the information at once. As much as you may not trust me, I don’t trust you,” she said, looking directly at him. “We don’t know each other. So, we’ll start with one vault and go from there.”
“Would you be willing to tell us how many locations you know?” Curie thoughtfully pursed her lips as she twirled one of her box braids around her finger.
She agreed, “Let's say around 20.”
“The exact location?”
“Yeah and I could get you within a mile or so of a couple others. I believe there are two, possibly three more vaults like mine, as well.”
That was a lot of intel, but it still didn’t change his mind.
“Okay, what’s your second condition?”
Her feet shuffled along the gritty cafeteria tile - black and white checkerboard. “Everyone in those vaults will receive a fair trial-”
Tom jolted, nearly shooting from his seat. “No fucking way-”
“It’s not just Vault-Tec employees down there. It’s families - kids - people who might be innocent.” Her jaw started to tremble. She rubbed at the center of her chest as if it burned with acid. Then, she took a deep breath. “There has to be others like me. I can’t be the only one who didn’t know. I can’t.”
“So, you’re leaving it up to us to decide whether they’re guilty or not?” Kasumi asked, her brow arched, pen stalled above her notepad.
“Just as you’re doing for me, today,” she pointed out. He hated that she was actually kinda smart.
“Anything else?”
“I want immunity for me and anyone else found innocent. They’ll get a chance at a new life.”
“Is that it?”
She hummed - nodded.
Preston looked down both sides of the table, and with no further questions, he dismissed her.
“The Council will now convene and we’ll call you back once a decision has been reached.”
—
You were in the lobby, waiting - pacing. Everyone, but Frankie, was knocked out. There was a soft snore coming from either Santi or Will.
For a moment, you lingered around the double doors leading to the Council Chambers. Perhaps, if you got close enough -
“Don’t even try - soundproof.” Frankie leaned forward in the chair that must’ve been taken from a waiting room at a doctors office. It was shocking that he could fit in the space between the armrests. His legs were stretched, open wide - arms draped across the two empty chairs beside him. It was like he was purposefully taking up as much space as humanly possible.
Groaning, you flopped onto the worn loveseat that stank of dust motes and elderly, forgotten ghosts. The ceiling tiles above you were bruised with water stains. After a moment, you rolled over onto your side and traced along the coarse, tufted buttons on the cushion, examined the pattern - maroon and amber florals, olive leaves.
You let out a long sigh. “How much longer?”
Frankie snorted, likely finding you dramatic. It felt like you’d been out here for hours, but it’d probably been somewhere closer to 45 minutes. If even that.
“You’re so impatient.”
“And you wouldn’t be?”
His head ticked to one side - fair.
Behind those doors, there were five strangers who were determining your future; a fact you were trying very hard not to dwell too much on. Easier said than done.
“Would it help if I told you how great you did, again?”
You hummed, slowly tapping your chin. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt.”
The corner of his lips twitched with a smirk. “You were perfect.” His voice dipped low - you couldn’t tell if he was taunting you or not. Either way, it made your stomach feel warm.
Immediately, you sat up and petted your shirt. “I was, wasn’t I?”
He huffed out a laugh, then looked away. For a long moment, he stared at an oil painting on the wall - a lighthouse under a dark, stormy sky. He bit down on his cheek, nibbling it pensively.
You figured he was likely thinking about Tom. Their early conversation in his office didn’t seem to go well.
“What about you, Frankie?”
“What about me?” His head rolled back in your direction.
“How’re you doing?”
He brushed you off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Too late.”
The words had slipped out so easily, it seemed to surprise both of you. His eyes met yours and the double doors opened. It jolted the guys awake.
“We’re ready.”
Again - you entered the room with a pit in your stomach. The Council’s expressions were as blank as the King’s Guard, except for Tom, who appeared annoyed and slightly disgusted. Same as earlier.
Despite the pounding of your heart, you managed to smile. Under the can lights, you wondered if they could see the sweat on your temples. Your hands were equally as damp as they twitched at your side.
Preston rose from his seat.
“After much deliberation and based on majority vote, the Council has reached a decision.” He paused and a smile spread across his face. “Blue - welcome to Sanctuary.”
#frankie morales#pedro pascal fanfiction#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales x f!reader#francisco morales#frankie x reader#francisco catfish morales#francisco morales x reader#frankie morales x reader#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier au
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My fallout hot takes 🔥🔥
1. Fallout 2’s writing is the best in the series, even topping New Vegas.
2. That being said, there should be more ways to defeat Horrigan. Maybe damage his armor beforehand or give him a virus. Just something else.
3. Fallout 4’s slavery metaphor is so blatant as to lose all possible commentary. There is a faction called the Railroad that lives underground and frees slaves. Come on guys.
4. Also the fact that 4/5 black characters in Fallout 4 are involved with that part of the story (Tinker Tom, X6-88, Glory, and Lawrence Higgs, with the only exception being Preston and maybe Kells if you stretch it) isn’t great.
5. The Super Mutants are criminally used wrong in 3 and 4. They should be more then just enemies to shoot.
6. Mercenary ≠ Raider with better armor. Todd needs to learn his definitions.
7. While 4 attempted to justify its lack of any government in the Commonwealth by saying the Institute fucks everything up, 3 gives no justification. The Enclave weren’t even in DC until a short few years before the game started. It’s dumb.
8. New Vegas falls into the same issue. There are literally 0 buildings in the entire game that were built after the Great War, not counting tents. Not a single building.
9. Fallout 4’s Brotherhood were a more believable evolution of the original Brotherhood then 3’s was.
10. Every Fallout 3 DLC is bad or criminally short. The one good DLC (The Pitt) takes less then 2 hours to complete. Point Lookout is fine but the story just isn’t at all enticing.
11. New Vegas has exactly two good DLC’s, Old World Blues and Dead Money. It also has out of nowhere racism and a guy talking nonsense for 12 hours.
12. Far Harbor is the best Fallout property ever released. It is incredibly fun and engaging, has good mechanics, gives the player deep moral questions with the opportunity to be evil for fun, and despite having one flaw (the inclusion of broken blue minecraft) is the best Fallout anything, ever.
#fallout#video games#far harbor#fallout 4 companions#fallout 4#tumblr#fallout new vegas#comedy#fallout 1#companion#fallout 2#fallout 3#evil#hot take#hot takes#bear bull bear bull#vegas#no seriously why is honest hearts so racist#there was no reason for that#Josh Sawyer why would you do this#joshua graham
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I need to put a quote on my graduation cap (my school paints them) and I can’t figure out what quote to use. I really want to use a fallout 4 quote so do you have any suggestions?
This was such a neat thing to ask of me, I powered through my exhaustion to find some. This took me way longer than it should've, hope you like what I picked out!!! And please send a picture of the finished project!!! It sounds really cool
War. War never changes -nate voice actor
I can't wait for the world to end :) -SS
This world can officially bite my ass -SS
I'm here to pick up a diploma? Paper, cap and gown. Name is "Fuck You" -SS (changed from "I'm here to pick up an order? Pepperoni pizza and a calzone. Name is "Fuck You"")
I woke up here. Just me, my underwear, and regret -SS reply to magnolia
Eddie! It's me! Your old pal! Sheamus McFuckyourself -you know where this is from
YOU HIT LIKE RADROACH!!! -super mutants
This is my pile of garbage asshole. Back off -Deacon showing SS how convincing he is
In 100 years - when I finally die. I only hope I go to hell. So I can kill you all over again, you piece of shit -SS to Kellogg
The quaint vulgarity of the common soldier. It warms the circuits -ironsides to rude SS
You can't nuke an omelette without irritating some eggs -Tinker Tom
Whatever caused our fates to intertwine would never let them unravel -Danse
Of the people, for the people -Hancock
The apocalypse? Sign me the hell up! -SS
A ghoul walks into a bar... - Long version is - ... And the bartender says: we don't serve ghouls here! The ghoul replies: that's fine is the human fresh? -Hancock's joke
Broke up with my girl/guy last night. Kept the cap off the toothpaste. You know who does that? A synth -diamond city guard
It was just me against the world...and the world had it coming -Kellogg (should probably be revised to present tense)
Everything can change in an instant, and the future you plan for yourselves shifts, whether or not you're ready. At some point, it happens to all of us -end credits for fallout 4
I felt hope. Don't you understand? I thought I was human, Arthur -Danse
How can we hope to "redefine mankind" if we can't even hold on to our own humanity? -Isaac karlin
Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a Synth?" -dez (last word can be revised simply to say "different" instead of "a synth")
You'll see their humanity when no one else will. You'll be their guardian in the shadows." -mama murphey, about a railroad aligned SS
Humanity is so resilient, to cling to life despite all of this -curie
Nani ni shimasuka? -takahashi
Death has come for you evildoer and I am its shroud! -silver shroud
And deep into the darkness peering, I stood there, wondering, fearing -valentine
A settlement needs your help 🥺 -Preston
OUTSTANDING -Danse
Ad Victoriam -Danse
We're not about saving the world - too big a job for too few. But we're trying to make it a better one -deacon
It was about justice, about doing what's right. And that act of goodness, that's ours. All the good we've done. That's ours and ours alone -valentine
The night just got darker but it won't last forever -valentine
There really is no way to ride a seesaw with dignity -valentine
More stairs? Who built this damn School, a fitness instructor? -valentine (Changed vault to school)
The thing about happiness is that you only know you have it when it's gone -kellogg
#some are more obviously fallout 4 than others#it took me awhile to comb through so many quotes and pick out ones i thought would be good on a cap#i hope you like them!!!#fallout 4#hancock#nick valentine
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Companions React: Sole’s Joints Dislocating (Ehlers Danlos Syndrome)
TW: Medical stuff, injury, etc.
Note: Please let me know if I handled this properly. I did some research but obviously that doesn’t compare to living with EDS, and if I mishandled an aspect, I would love some pointers so I can properly write about it! Thank you!
Cait:
Obviously Cait would be extremely worried for Sole’s wellbeing, however, considering she’d been fighting for a while, dislocated joints were nothing new for her
She worries, of course, about how often Sole’s joints dislocate but she’s great at keeping calm and talking them through the pain of relocating said joint
Just wishes there was something she could do to make things easier
That being said when it comes to other symptoms such as Sole easily getting wounded, she’s determined to armor them up
Can be protective and sometimes crosses the line into annoyingly protective, but once Sole reminds her that they’re still capable she takes a step back
Curie:
We love a fully prepared companion with 10/10 bedside manner
Immediately moves to be near Sole and comforts them and waits until they’re ready to realign their joint
She’s just fantastic at moving at Sole’s pace and staying within their boundaries
She doesn’t infantilize Sole; when they need something they’ll ask, and when they’ve pushed themself too far, she just knows
Overall fantastic and reassuring
Danse:
Great poker face with a sprinkling of internal panic
He knows how to handle visible wounds like gunshots and cuts, and he’s seen and dealt with dislocating joints before, but damn if it doesn’t make him cringe
Really doesn’t want to put Sole through more pain by realigning their joint but knows it has to be done
Apologizes after he’s popped their joint back into place and gets whatever they need like painkillers, water, ice, etc
Definitely goes to Brotherhood doctors to check in with them on how to do it properly and efficiently, causing the least pain possible
Deacon:
“Oh, fuck. You okay, Boss?”
Externally very composed, acts normal and tells jokes to relax them a little bit before relocating their joint
Internally screaming at the top of his lungs
Hasn’t had to pop many joints in but he hates it, mostly because he doesn’t like causing friends pain
Tells funny stories while relocating the joint and after to try and distract Sole
Offers a very rare hug and gets them a cold drink
Requests Tinker Tom makes a suit to protect Sole’s skin so they can get things done without worrying too much about their skin fragility
As long as Sole doesn’t mind, of course
Gage:
“Ah, shit.”
Very much in the “Here we go again” camp
He’s seen plenty of dislocated joints and it doesn’t really phase him
Sympathetic to the pain, but very “Alright let’s get this over with” like
His version of emotional support is getting them a rag to scream into
He pats their back after as gently as he can and gets them some water, but doesn’t make a big deal out of it
Hancock:
Visibly trying to keep the panic at bay
Just doesn’t want a good friend hurt, and the fact that he’s gonna have to hurt them more to do something about it? Not a good time for anyone
Talks nervously while trying to keep both himself and Sole calm
When he relocates their joint he lowkey flinches
Doing his best
He gets used to helping eventually, but it may take some time for him to stop making distressed noises every time he does
MacCready:
Nervous but he’s got soothing while he’s internally freaking out down to a science at this point
Asks Sole how they want to navigate this and listens carefully
If Sole’s okay with it, he just gets it over with so that they can recover sooner and the pain’s over faster
Apologizes softly after and rubs their back
Nick:
He’s not exactly sure if he’s the best candidate for realigning joints to be honest
He’s worried his metal hand will cause more damage somehow, but if Sole reassures him that he can help, he’s willing to try
Definitely has encountered other people’s dislocated shoulders and stuff, but he’s never realigned one himself
Very soothing and great at trying to distract Sole
Once the joint’s realigned he tells them a story about one of the cases he’s been on and gets them water
“You alright?”
Piper:
She’s seen some shit raising Nat but not dislocated joints
Straight up calls in the doctor, she refuses to be responsible for fucking up Sole’s joint even more
Great at bedside manner after it’s realigned, though
May read aloud to them or just generally chat to them about life
She may eventually start helping at the clinic so if someone comes in with a dislocated joint she can have the doctor teach her, just in case they’re out in the wasteland and Sole needs help
Reluctant to cause Sole pain but wants to learn
Preston:
Preston, despite the fact that he manages to keep a positive viewpoint for the Minutemen, has seen some shit
He’s relocated joints more times than he can count and is practically a professional
A little upset that it’ll cause Sole more pain, but he knows it’s a necessary evil so to speak
Not super talkative when doing it but does make sure to check on them and ask how they’re doing after
It’s not new for him and he knows it’s not for Sole either
X6-88:
Pretty similar to Preston
Understands Sole’s in pain but has no hesitation in resetting their joint once they ask, or if he has to, convincing them they need his help
Very straightforward and warns them, but other than that, just relocates the joint
Does put in a note to the Institute that Sole needs a custom suit to protect their skin and potentially prevent dislocating joints if Sole agrees thats something they’d appreciate
Asks how they’re feeling when he sees them next/a couple hours later
#fallout 4#fo4#fallout 4 companions react#Cait#Curie#Paladin Danse#Deacon#Gage#Mayor Hancock#RJ MacCready#Nick Valentine#Piper#Preston Garvey#X6-88#Hurt Comfort
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Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans General Headcanons
Extrovert. Jesse is an extrovert by nature, sure of his skills and abilities, down from knife-marksmanship to filming skills. If we have to give him some characteristics they would be arrogance, God-like complex, and sleekness. He walks with confidence in each step and when he enters a room, he knows none can ignore him. We can see that when he walks down the streets of Hollywood at the ending of the second movie. He has one huge ego that he shows especially when he kills Preston for trying to copycat him. There is only one big badass killer here and his name is Jesse Chromeskull Cromeans. Don't fuck with the original.
Rich/Money speaks louder. Being mute isn't easy to make your presence known, so why not speak with actions; the loud engine of a luxury car, the flash of a pristine designer suit. Jesse learned that you don't need a voice to speak your mind and assert your authority. He is a wealthy man and we see that from the movies; a Chrysler is not a cheap car, hiring a team of doctors to restore your face isn't easy business if you don't have the money. I picture him as having two business; he is the CEO of a huge company (probably into the chroming industry; chroming isn't cheap) which is just a facade to the dark alter-job of snuff films that he possibly sells through the deep web; there are many sick fucks who seek custom snuff movies.
Shy Broke Kid to Sadistic Billionaire. We can see in the second movie a flashback of little Jesse and possibly his grandfather and how the old man urged little Jesse to touch the corpse. Here comes my theory for many other things. I think his grandfather raised him and the old man was a mortician and possibly a necrophile which can put us to question what he did to little Jesse. In another scene, Jesse kisses Princess Gemstones' corpse which gives me the idea that he might be a necrophile himself. What does he do with the body of the women in the coffins? I don't think I need to fill in the scene.
Mommy Issues? Jesse's victims are mostly targeted as female (the males get killed if they interfere with his jobs like Tommy and the detectives or if they try to steal his title as Chromeskull...Ahem....Preston), so that makes me think he might have some issues with the female audience. My theory is that his father left him before he was born and his mother raised him until possibly she died when Jesse was little, leading to his sick and twisted grandfather raising him. Also as a mute, he probably didn't have that much luck with girls in high school, most of them not having the patience to learn ASL.
Insecurities and lots of issues. When Jesse lost his face and he saw it for the first time in the mirror in that bathroom, I think he felt like that shy and insecure little kid he once was, those leading to the outburst of anger and him smashing the mirror. Then we see Spann trying to approach him and he hides his face. Jesse has many insecurities; it's not easy being mute, but now disfigured too?
Manipulative mastermind. I think there are two side-coins to Jesse; the perfect husband (now a widower) and the sadistic serial killer. His wife was so shocked to find out about what really Jesse was doing and she said something about everything being perfect, then she killed herself and the unborn baby. Jesse can play the perfect husband, charm his way into your heart, and make you see what you want. He is really a good actor.
Dark Sense of humor. Jesse isn't unemotional, he shows plenty of it during the two movies. That scene where he taps the knife on Princess Gemstones head and then on his chromed mask 'This little piggy went to the market. This one's stayed home.' Or maybe when Princess tries to save a bounded girl but she runs away only for Jesse to wave her off. I picture him as a cheeky asshole that likes to tease no matter if you are a victim, part of his company, or perhaps his future wife? Just saying...
Handsome and Vain. Before Jesse got his face turned into hamburger meat, I think he was a very handsome man; Princess Gemstone was really mesmerized by him before she got amnesia and knew he was a killer. Maybe that's why he was so anxious when he lost his face, he was confident in his looks and they made up for being mute.
Finest Things in Life. Jesse loves to bask in luxury and makes sure he has the finest things life has to offer. He is picky with everything: his food, which needs to be the best gourmet the five-star restaurants have; his cars, black sleek Chrysler, Aston Martin, Rolls Royce, he has to drive in style; his clothes have to be designer, Versace, Tom Ford, Gucci, Dolce&Gabbana....Get him that Rolex and Expensive Men Cologne.
Inked up, baby. We know Jesse has a tattoo, that skull one with twin knives flanked on his chest, but I also picture he has many more to show. I think both his arms have full sleeve tattoos and his back too.
Filming and Medical School? I picture Jesse as going to filming college, but he gave up for medical one and then ended up having a multi-million company. He has very good recording skills and also we can see how he manages to patch himself up, stitching up his own wounds. You got to have some medical skills in that.
Kill in style. Jesse doesn't rush in his kills, because why do a cheap rushed work when you can finish the kills with a big bang style. Where's the fun if he cannot mock, torture, and then kill his victims? Look at him, he's got the style that you peasant people cannot reach. He had so many chances to chop Princess Gemstones head off, but he didn't. Again, he was too confident and because of his vanity, he lost his face.
Hitman Marksmanship. You cannot tell me Jesse doesn't give off such vibes, by how he handles the knives; how he swung the knife directly into Jessica's friend's head or when he got angry by Prestons killing that female detective, Jesse swung a knife at a makeshift target. Plus, he was wearing a bulletproof vest, you don't see that often at slashers.
Big thanks to @crazygalore for the hitman idea. ❤️👏
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