Fallout: New Vegas (2010)

//well, look what I found here today

*holds out hands* spare some preston garvey headcanons, good sir?

Preston is so underrated, I'm so glad he has some fans out there! I personally don't tend to use him unless I'm running a Minutemen playthrough, but he's severely under appreciated. Poor guy just wants to help the Commonwealth. (Accidentally made him hate me in my last playthrough because I was playing around with Nuka World, sorry Preston </3)

//

Preston Garvey Headcanons

Although they met in unfortunate circumstances, Sturges, Mama Murphy and the Longs are the closest thing he's ever had to a real family, as he lost his biological family at a young age and doesn't really remember them.

He expected to rise up the ranks of the Minutemen easily, but actually struggled at first and fell behind his peers a little. It did knock his confidence a lot, but he managed to work his way up, it just took him a bit longer.

Deathclaws just creep him out, more so than any other creatures in the Wasteland, the one in Concord didn't help that.

It's more or less canon that he has a lot of guilt regarding the Quincy Massacre, which is a big reason as to why he's hesitant to help out more settlements. He's worried about not being able to save people a second time around.

He bought Sunset Sarsaparilla from a trader from the Mojave once and no other drink has ever compared to it since, he's often considered heading out West just to get another bottle.

Piper managed to convince him to do an interview for the Publick once, about how the Minutemen had changed since Sole had taken over as the General. It was inevitably scrapped as he stumbled over his words so many times, there wasn't anything coherent that Piper could write about.

Despite most of the Minutemen he used to know being gone, he managed to track down some of the remnants and makes an effort to see them as often as he can. It's somewhat therapeutic to be able to recount old stories with them.

@goseesunnysmiles continued from (X)

With his free hand, Bobbie reached down to scratch Cheyenne’s ears halfheartedly. Under better circumstances, he could be downright obnoxious about getting dogs to like him. Baby talk, weird noises, the whole nine yards.

“Thanks.” He sat up and took the offered items, though the Sunset Sarsaparilla shook so badly in his hand he had to set it down and swallow the buffout dry. All things considered, he'd gotten off pretty lightly for taking a bullet to the brain. If the only real problems were coordination and fine motor skills, he'd be grateful. "I'm surprised I woke up, too."

Fallout NV characters as Fallout 5 followers.

As some of you may know I made Vulpes Inculta on Fallout 4 and have been playing as him. I made him look pretty close to the NV version and I’m proud of that. (If I could make mods I’d make him into a mod). ANYWAY doing this makes me wish Bethesda added some of Obsidians npcs as followers in Fallout 4. Like, there’s so much potential with that and they didn’t do it. The only references we have of Fallout NV in 4 is Vera Keyes in Far Harbor and Sunset Sarsaparilla in Nuka World.

I hope in Fallout 5 we’ll see our beloved NV characters appear. It can help us draw a picture of what happened after the 2nd Battle of Hoover Dam and all.

(If the leaks about New Vegas 2 are real WE MAY know what happens.)

[Part 1] [Part 2]

“All right, so to recap…”

Arcade whipped out a pencil, sharpened helpfully by Lloyd with a piece of rebar beforehand, and started jotting notes down in a ledger. “Made contact with Repconn, found the source of the radiation leak to the water supply for the NCR sharecroppers - we’re going to have to deal with that later - and you managed to divert water to Westside without the NCR being any the wiser.” Arcade smiled, kind of curiously, and cocked his head. “I was surprised by that one. Not unimpressed, though.”

“I’m surprised you approved,” Lloyd shrugged. He tapped the counter of the bar at Gomorrah, and the bartender nodded at him, working his way down from the end of the long counter.

“Surprised?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd went on, tapping the counter again idly. “You just seem real - I dunno. I guess you’d be more buttoned-up.”

Arcade grinned. “Buttoned up?”

“Doctors are, right?”

“I’d rather do the right thing than be buttoned-up. Even if it means, you know. Throwing things. Occasionally going completely off-script.”

Lloyd looked at him, and there was a slight glimmer in his eye. “Hey, when that guy at the Aerotech place called you an unrepentant anarchist? Was that some kind of dig at the Followers?”

Arcade’s smile took on a vaguely mischievous turn. “The NCR waged that propaganda campaign against us so hard, some people actually believe that. Some of us, though, might harbor some borderline anarchic convictions, if it means helping people survive. Most of us at least lean towards the socially democratic side. Making the world a better place. You know. Standard Follower fare.”

Lloyd looked thoughtful. “Yeah. …Yeah. I’ve been thinking a lot about all that Follower stuff, lately. About what you’ve been talking about, too. I didn’t take you for being so…”

“Ballsy?” Arcade grinned.

Lloyd laughed. “Yeah. Ballsy.”

“Like I said. It’s worth getting in trouble for the greater good.”

“I respect it. I like it.” Lloyd looked up from the counter. “...I think I believe in it.”

Arcade looked surprised. “Really? I mean - you know you don’t have to fake it on my account. I - I’m kind of happy just going on this adventure with you -”

“No, no. I do. I really do.” Lloyd swung his head over, locking eyes with him. “Did I ever tell you I’m from New Vegas? Like, really from there. I grew up just outside the Strip. Little neighborhood of a few clustered houses, kind of like Novac. Didn’t get along with my mom. Never got to know my dad. Left when I was 18 to go do my own thing. Went AWOL for a while. ….Really AWOL. Came back after a few years to see how it was doing. Fiends burned it all down. Makes sense.”

Lloyd’s drink finally arrived, and he took a huge swig. Hateful, warm whiskey. Lloyd frowned.

“I’m so sorry, Lloyd…” Arcade began, softly.

Lloyd shook his head. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not the bad part. Fiends, I mean. Not yet. ….The people that were left, you know, they were hoping they could convince the NCR to protect them when the Fiends came back. If. When. You know.”

Arcade started to frown, too. “Don’t tell me.”

“Yeah. Well. You know the old joke where you could call a guard for help or call for a loan shark on the Strip, and the loan shark’ll bail you out three times before the guard picks up the intercom? Yeah.”

Lloyd looked down into his whiskey. “...I hate whiskey.”

Arcade frowned. “Didn’t you order that?”

“No. I asked for a Moscow Mule.”

“You’re kidding.”

Lloyd looked forlorn.

“...You’re kidding, right? Sunset Sarsaparilla, vodka, something sweet, something sour? That sound about right?”

“I think so -”

“Hey!” Arcade slammed his palm on the counter, much to Lloyd’s surprise. His glass bumped across the table a little.

The bartender turned to face him, still nonchalant. “What?”

“My friend here ordered an actual drink. Are you going to make it for him, or what?”

The bartender looked thoroughly unamused. “Why do you care? He got a drink, s’all that matters, right?”

Arcade frowned. “The service in here.”

“It’s Gomorrah,” Lloyd shrugged, taking another sip of the whiskey, and making a face. “It’s fine. I guess.”

Arcade sighed, and slid up onto the seat next to Lloyd’s at the bar. “Nothing’s fine. That’s why we’re trying to fix it.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd looked right at Arcade, like he was trying to take him all in, just in case he started to sink away. “...The fact you care so much about New Vegas? How you want people to be okay, not under the thumb of Mr. House, or the Families, or the NCR, or anything? Just… the people of New Vegas, actually doing it for themselves? Westside, Freeside, hell, even some of the places here are basically home… you really care about the soul of New Vegas. And nobody outside of here does.”

He looked like he was about to tear up, and Arcade subconsciously shuffled ever so slightly closer to him.

“...I got desert blood in me, Arcade, and you care about that. You care about this place. You care about me.”

Lloyd looked Arcade dead in the eye, and, for a second, it was like both of them tapped into each other’s pain - though they hadn’t uncovered everything, the weariness in the two men’s eyes was like being shoved under a lamplight under an anvil.

Arcade felt his breath catch in his throat.

Lloyd wrapped his fingers around the rapidly warming whiskey glass, then, one by one, peeled them away, like picking petals off a daisy.

“...You wanna get out of here?”

Arcade raised his eyebrows, gulping. “Lloyd -”

“You know how to make a Mule, right? Let’s make one. Let’s make one for real! Find some Sarsaparilla, hell, we could find some ice - some agave nectar - some - shit, we can really do this!”

Lloyd was getting more excited by the second, and Arcade could feel the electricity in the air starting to sparkle. He felt himself smirk, despite himself.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s make a drink,” Lloyd grinned.

Arcade smiled, from ear to ear. “Okay. Yeah! Yeah, let’s see… we’ve got tons of Sunset Sarsaparilla stowed away in our fridge. Er, your fridge. And in ED-E, too. Though that stuff’s probably warm.”

Lloyd nodded, thinking carefully (though the whiskey had started to give him classic Lloyd-brain, and his face began to screw up in concentration). “We can get a vodka from behind the bar,” he went on, nodding to the back of the bar, as the bartender continued to be distracted. “The sweet is gonna be harder. And the sour….” Lloyd frowned. “Babe, do lemons exist after the bombs fell? What about limes?”

Arcade snorted, laughing. “We might have to get creative.”

Lloyd’s eyes glinted in the sparkling barlight. He grasped Arcade’s hand, pulling him to his feet, grinning. “C’mon. Let’s go on an adventure.”

Arcade grinned back. “Lead the way.”

Lloyd pulled on him, by the hand, and Arcade found himself running alongside him, through the bar and out into the casino lobby, through the doors into the cold night air. He wanted, he thought, to be pulled along forever.

i wish sunset sarsaparilla was real

uh also. i have been really into new vegas for the past like year and i followed a bunch of people who post about their OC couriers so i made one and. time to post her! now i can draw her being friends with other people’s OCs and stuff.

that shirt is supposed to be more green but it didn’t really come out in the picture

anyway info under the cut!

General Info:

-Jack, haven’t decided on a last name yet lol

-Cis gal, she/her

-Good Karma

-About 28 or 29, she should look a little older since she spends a lot of time in the sun (definitely has laugh lines)

-Certified Smol, probably like 5′3″

-Independent Vegas (definitely helps the factions set up some kind of democratic council), but friendly with the NCR

-Big gay for Julie Farkas (they get together post-ending as she works with the Followers to set up medical infrastructure and the likes), best bros with Arcade. 

-Grew up in Westside. Her dad was an NCR scientist who left the NCR for pretty much the same reasons the Followers did, and her mom was a member of the Westside militia.

-Pretty easygoing, it takes a lot to get her really mad. Very kindhearted and a bit of a goofball. Tries to solve problems peacefully whenever possible (unless you’re Legion lmao). Has very little concept of “authority” so she tends to just treat everyone casually/like a friend unless they’re proven otherwise (strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet!).  Unintentionally reckless, it’s a mix of curiosity and compassion.

-She’s as close to an electrical engineer as you can get in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, and wants to help bring power to the people of the Mojave (kind of has a bone to pick with the BoS about this). Before becoming a courier, she led a roving band of mechanical-repair-type folks who helped out around the wasteland, before they were mostly wiped out after an unfortunate skirmish with the Legion

Fun facts:

-Obsessed with Hoover Dam and Helios One but like, from an engineering perspective rather than a strategic one. Probably has pored over old diagrams and books of them since she was a kid

-Loves robots. Always nice to robots. Also loves taking things apart, and will do so if left unattended. Fixes/upgrades people’s tech for free (although she won’t turn down snacks).

-High endurance + bad luck = just constantly getting hurt but being fine about it

-Knows all the words to every song on RNV and MMR, and will sing along (that is a threat)

-Doesn’t drink alcohol, but looooves Sunset Sarsaparilla

-Cannot fucking cook. She just eats irradiated pre-war food and random plants she finds in the desert (high endurance, it’s fiiiine)

-Mostly deaf in her left ear, and has migraines and light sensitivity due to being shot in the head (that got annoying real fast since she loves to be outside)

-Western accent yeehaw

-Terrified of nightstalkers

-Preferred weapons are the Q-35 Matter Modulator and the Holorifle, maybe the YCS/186 for special occasions (killing fascists)

INT. LUCKY 38 PRESIDENTIAL SUITE KITCHEN — NIGHT

Boone : so is there a top shortage ?

Arcade : No. the top shortage is a myth created and perpetuated by lazy bottoms who don’t seek out or communicate with sexual partners about their desires

Boone : if there isn’t a top shortage, then why are there so many bottoms

ENT. COURIER 6, SEEMINGLY APPEARING FROM NOWHERE. SIPPING ON A SUNSET SARSAPARILLA

6 : because a lot of people aren’t as giving lovers as they think, or just don’t know what they want, and think it counts for bottoming. The real problem is there aren’t enough skilled and responsible tops or bottoms.

ARCADE AND BOONE NOD ALONG IN CONTEMPLATION YET AGREEMENT. THE KITCHEN LIGHTS TURN OFF. EVERYONE FEELS MORE UNDERSTOOD.

I was woken up the next morning by gunfire not too far up the road. I jumped up as quick as I could, and ran to see what all the commotion was about. It was a man and woman locked in a gun fight. Evidently, I was too slow, as the man soon was shot dead. The woman ran up to his body and took something before she noticed me, and ran over to talk. She claimed the man had just randomly attacked her after stealing her lucky necklace, which she held up for me to see. It was made out of Sunset Sarsaparilla star caps.

I wasn’t buying her story, and asked about the caps it was made of. She claimed that she thought the caps were lucky because they seemed special. I made an offhand comment that she must’ve been pretty lucky to find six of them like that, and she just gloated about her luck. That’s when I knew I had her and pointed out that it couldn’t be hers. The necklace was made of seven caps. She froze. She laughed nervously, and drew her pistol. I responded in kind. Another day, another standoff.

She complimented me on my trick, and admitted that she had been travelling with the dead man in order to steal his star caps. I called her out for murdering a stranger over some treasure that might even not be real, and she shed a tear, yelling that she had to believe it was real, if it wasn’t, then she did all the horrible things she’s done for nothing. I told her that in that case, I had to bring her to justice. She fired first, missing in her emotional state, and knocking my hat off my head. I stared her down, my eyes newly uncovered, and shot her gun out of her hand. She yelled and pulled a knife from her boot, rushing at me. I shot her clean through the throat and she collapsed dead in the sand. Another victim of some old world legend.

I searched the pairs bodies. The man had been shot seven times in the chest and bled out. Nothing I could’ve done without serious medical supplies. I found a fragment of his journal on him. Apparently his name was Tomas, and the woman had told him her name was Jacklyn. They’d been travelling for a few days, and Tomas was beginning to think his luck was turning for the better with the new company in his travels. Poor guy, getting fooled like that. He was just a scavenger, he didn’t deserve this. I gave him a burial in a small grave. He at least deserves to not be picked to bits by buzzards.

As for Jacklyn, I found at least twelve of the star caps on her, not even counting Tomas’ necklace. How many people had she killed in her quest for treasure? How many had she done worse to? And all for just these. No clue where the treasure they allow access to even is. I didn’t bury her. She gave up on that mercy long ago. Besides, Tomas’ kin in the animal kingdom need something to scavenge.

Luck | Benny/Courier[Reader]

Summary: A bit of Benny’s perspective, and what I imagine would’ve gone down with him and my courier

word count: 1330

Benny was a betting man. He couldn’t help it. Even when there wasn’t a wager at all, he liked to take on little bets with himself. Whether or not a nice dame would turn around and glance at him, if Swank would notice his laces were untied before he tripped on a loose tile, if today was gonna be the day he died. 

He did not bet on you clawing your way through the dirt of your shallow grave and into New Vegas. He thought your death was a sure thing, and he’s convinced that for anyone else it would’ve been. He knew now that he would never know what you were like before the acquisition of the starburst scar above your brow, but that was ok. Either way, you were a feral yet sophisticated vessel of retribution, chaos, and justice here and now. When you showed up in the stunning one strapped dress, hair still dusty, lipstick scary in its slight unevenness, Benny was convinced that his luck had finally turned and turned for good. Once your luck goes so rotten that you can’t even kill someone with a point blank bullet to the head with your most reliable gun, you just can’t make it any further. 

When he invited you up, that was his fucked up way of accepting death as it stood before him. Were you a catch? Sure. But you also had the means, motive, and guts to kill him at any time. There was no mistaking that look in your eyes. If you had wanted him dead, then he’d die, and he knew it. He didn’t see the point in delaying the fate you’d decided for him, might as well go out in a good mood. 

Benny smelled like the weird cactus flower shit all the chairmen wore, some cologne equivalent of moonshine out in the wasteland. You smelled like dust and sunshine. Benny had held the platinum chip in his hands— the most advanced piece of pre-war technology ever conceived, something capable of things anyone for the last hundred years couldn’t even imagine. 

And yet, as you nestled your hand into his on the elevator ride to his suite, as his grip rested on your hips when you straddled him, as his arms tiredly wrapped around you and pulled you in a close as he could, Benny felt more powerful than he ever had holding that damned chip. You were the real thing. 

A smart man with any sense of self preservation would probably have killed you before you either killed him, conquered the world, or both. Benny never claimed to be a smart man, but to be fair he did try once. And a man who does the same thing again while expecting a different outcome is an insane one. 

He ran with that chip because he knew if he gave it up, he would’ve always wondered if he coulda pulled off the whole thing himself. Again, not a smart man, but he had his principles. Despite the absolutely mind-bending hey-hey and your apparent mercy for him, he still believed that his luck had turned for good. 

He still believed that when he ran off into the desert to get out of your way after you absolutely slaughtered the legion. He really meant what he wrote about having that date. He really wouldn’t have missed it for anything New Vegas could throw his way.There wasn’t much that meant anything to Benny besides power and persona his entire life. Being raised tribal sentenced him to that way of thinking. And yet, over the course of all those lonely nights in the sticks, nothing seemed to matter like seeing your pretty, uneven face again. He recounted all the different stories he’d heard about you from underlings and passer-by alike, all your feats of trickery and strength, and all the company you kept. A follower scientist, a brotherhood scribe, an NCR sniper, a caravan owner, a ghoul, the king’s mutt, an eyebot, even a fucking supermutant. Before Benny met you again, he’d assumed you to be some master of manipulation, but if just talking to you didn’t change his mind, sharing a bed with you certainly did.

You would think that knowing you’d fallen under the same spell as so many other people would make you feel insignificant and lost to statistical misfortune. On the contrary, getting to know you, even if just for one night, felt like an extraordinary stroke of luck. 

And Benny loved feeling lucky.

—————

The desert wasn’t kind to anyone, and perhaps death would’ve been kinder, but Benny wasn’t the type to just lay down and die when he could keep on clawing his way forward. Your arrival was unexpected, but at the same time, it felt like destiny as you sat by the dying fire and cracked a Sunset Sarsaparilla. Death hadn’t arrived. No, you were something more than death. Something much stronger. 

The way you puckered your lips and sipped wasn’t ladylike, much like the rest of you. Frizzy hair and leather armor, rusty goggles caked in sand and grit. 

“Hey there, pussycat. Long time no see, huh? Shoulda known you’d come lookin’ for another taste of the Ben-man. I’ve got a face broads can’t seem to stop chasing, feels like.” Pretty much any time Benny talked it sounded like some bird squawking, puffing up his feathers to intrigue people. Maybe the fact that you found that charming was the real stroke of luck for him. 

“What’re you running for, Benny?” You said it plainly, like there couldn’t be a more obvious question. 

“Figured I’d overstayed my welcome. Caesar’s place didn’t seem like the coolest hangout, either. Thought I was only spared the same fate as those legion chumps because I was good in the sack, ya dig?” He tries not to sound nervous but it’s hard when he’s confronted with the same pretty face from his dreams, but he can only see his reflection in your goggles and not your eyes. He sees a downright pitiable guy. 

“Any idea why I came out here looking for you when I could be all cozy in the penthouse of the Lucky 38, looking over my strip?” You cooed like it was childish teasing. Like you didn’t hold his dreams in the palm of your hand as if they didn’t matter. You snapped up your goggles and he was comforted for a brief moment by your playful and compassionate stare. It was hard to reconcile the rumors about the terror of the Mojave with the image before him. 

“Couldn’t leave it at a one night stand?” 

“That was part of it.” 

If there had been anything in Benny’s mouth besides his tongue, he would have choked on it. You lie down, chin propped up on your elbows to see eye level with him, as he was resting on his arm on a crude sleeping mat.

“Come back with me. Run the Strip. I can’t ever seem to stay in one place, and I wouldn’t know what to do with New Vegas even if I wanted it. I want you to have it, no strings attached.” You paused for a beat. 

“Of course, if you fuck it all up I might have to step in again. But if you’re a benef-benevelf—fuck, if you’re a good king, and you’re still up for that date you talked about… I’d be interested.” It occurred to Benny in that moment that he really did shoot you in the head. It wasn’t exactly like he didn’t know that, he did, but he doubted that little stutter was natural. You were reaching for something you knew that suddenly was missing. And yet, here you were in front of him, giving him his hopes and dreams on a silver platter and telling him you were into him to boot. 

If that wasn’t luck, he didn’t know what was. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for all the caps in Vegas, pussycat.”

If anyone asks Noose what they miss most about the Mojave they’ll say something like Sunset Sarsaparilla or maybe even steady but that's only because they can’t bring themselves to talk about the real stuff. They can’t talk about Arcades stories about California or the songs Raul would hum while he worked. They can’t find the words to talk about how the stars looked limitless in the desert or how they miss the ache in their lungs after racing Veronica down a seemingly endless stretch of road. 

No they don’t know how to talk about any of it so they’ll reminisce about the bite in a bottle of sarsaparilla.

“Hey Boone? You know those NCR guys that go around, complaining bout wanting a nuclear winter or whatever?” “Yeah?” “Man, fuck those guys this sucks.” I rubbed my hands together, boots trudging after the snipers tracks in the snow.  We had been making our way back to Jacobstown, a small check in after one of the Super Mutants contacted us for help with a sudden surge of aggressive Bighorners blocking paths. Why they couldn’t shoo them away was for anyone to guess but given the option to walk into the freezing mountains or deal with the Chairman asking way too many questions about Benny, to the point where they were breaking windows of the Lucky 38...  well it was obvious. I pushed my face into Boone’s back, the warmth of his jacket melting the layer of frost from forming on my cheeks. “How do you stay warm? Give me some of those survival tips.” “Put your hands in your armpits.” “That’s it?” “You didn’t take the jacket at the casino, so I don’t feel bad if you get frostbite.” He growled, his hot breath forming clouds into air. I shifted my head away from his back, eyes darting down to the untouched snow that sparkled in the the dying sunlight. “Yeah I’ll be honest that was an oversight on my part. I kinda thought we’d be there by now but this path just keeps going.” “Never suspect that something won’t take longer then it should. Always be prepared for hurdles, or you’ll end up dead.” “...Thank you, Boone. Just a real gentlemen just a... a real friend-” My condensing words were cut off by Boone’s hand on my chest, his body moving in front of mine. I looked up toward the soldier, following his gaze to a large brown shape shifting inbetween the trees. “You think that’s one of the weird ones or...” “Better safe than sorry.” he whispered, pulling his rifle from it’s holster and beginning to aim down the sights. It only took a second before a loud bang destroyed the silence, a groan of pain following soon after. Despite the direct hit, the bighorner raised its head high into the air, thick, white strands of spit dripping from it’s mouth. Boone’s nostril flared, his stance becoming ridge as the large beast rushed towards us. Another shot. Blood spattered across the side of the creature’s face as Boone took out it’s eye, it’s speed never slowing. “MOVE!”  I felt the ground disappear from under me, the sight of Boone’s hand pushing me away from the sharp horns of the creature flashing for mere seconds before disappearing into a blur of white. Everything seemed to mix together at that point. Sounds, feelings, sudden waves of pain. By the time I stopped my head from spinning I was covered in snow and half way down the slope we had just began to climb. Boone’s head peaked from the crest of the hill, sliding down the side with surprising speed to meet with me. “You alright?” He asked, his voice showing the smallest signs of concern. “Yeah. No I’m alright. I’m cold, and my whole body hurts but... I think I’ll live. Is the bighorner dead?” “Yeah. The super mutants were right, something’s up with them. Come on let’s get going.”   As Boone tried his best to jostle me from the pile of snow, a surge of pain climbed up my leg, a loud gasp leaving my lips. “Shit Boone wait st-stop somethings up...”  Boone hissed under his breath, his other hand finding it’s place on my back. “Yeah, I see that.” I looked down, seeing the way my leg twisted and dug into the snow.  “Fuck I broke my leg? I never broke a bone before... how the hell are we suppose to get to Jacobstown I can’t walk on this!” Boone shifted his weight, the gears audibly churning in his head. With a quick, confident move he hoisted me on his back, his arms guiding my arms around his shoulders. “Can you... handle this Craig? We still have a long way to go... I’m... kinda heavy.”  “We don’t have much of a choice. Either that or leave you here in the cold with the bighorners and cazadors. I’m not taking that risk.” My fingers pulled against his jacket, arms tightening around him. The cold stung my skin, and the pain in my leg was dull but agonizing. “I owe you big Craig, real big. You can have like... all the sunset sarsaparilla you can drink, even my stash.” “Hmph, guess your gonna lose alot of sarsaparilla then.”  Even without looking at his face I could tell from his tone he was smiling. A small, smile but one none the less. My hand dragged along his taut arm, lowering my face to his head to place a single, solitary kiss against his temple. “Really. Honestly Craig.” I felt his body shutter from under me, breath stuttering for a mere second before returning to normal. “Save your breath. Last thing we need is dead weight. You need to be my eyes.” “If that’s what you need, I’ll try my best captain...”

Can't resist: the hair tonic prompt

 two of the robot types in this video games franchise are Protectrons and Mr Handies. White Cross Drugs is a real place but in the wrong physical location. that’s never stopped me before and won’t now

Might as well loot the abandoned White Cross Drugs. Had a good view down the street where the Courier was poking around maybe-haunted Sunset Sarsaparilla bottling plant. With the ghoul handyman and the dog, of course. Couldn’t do anything without someone to witness it.  

Another percussive thud rattled empty bottles in the coolers, revealing a surviving Nuka Cola Quantum. “Three Mr Handies?” Blondie asked the next aisle over. 

“Protectron, farther away?”

They rustled around in companionable silence for two more explosions. There was a safe behind the counter that someone had tried and failed to open, deep gouges in the lock collecting rust and debri.

“Heads up,” Angel said

Blondie leaned over the front counter to check the bottling plant’s visible doors and almost missed the little tin of hair tonic sailing across the room. He tossed it back.

Angel gracefully sidestepped out of the way and watched it shatter on the floor. “Today not sponsored by Wild Root Cream Oil Hair Tonic?”

Half a stick of dynamite would be too loud, Blondie decided regretfully. “Not my brand.”

i’m bored so rb if you want to w your answers in the tags 2 some fallout questions!!

ncr or brotherhood?

fallout nv or fallout 3?

mr new vegas or three dog?

super mutants or ghouls?

johnny guitar or butcher pete?

mojave music radio or radio new vegas?

when you’ve played through fallout new vegas do you kill mr house or let him live?

dinky the dinosaur toy or the repconn rocket toy?

megaton or tenpenny towers suite?

which would you rather try in real life nuka cola quantum or sunset sarsaparilla?

if you have to fight 100 radroach sized deathclaws or 1 deathclaw sized cazadore, which would you choose?

would you rather eat a mirelurk cake or ruby’s radscorpion casserole?

what is your most commonly used drug when playing (stimpaks don’t count)?

most commonly used alcohol?

and finally- favorite song in either fallout 3 or new vegas!

Meet the Muse

indirectly tagged by @its-sixxers​​ :3c (art by @greywafer​)

|| The Basics ||

Name: Jackal

Nickname(s): Courier Six, Jack, Jade, Jay, Blackjack, Spades, Ace, Lobo

Age: 28 (for most of New Vegas)

Species: Human

|| Personal ||

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Religious Belief: Atheist (it’s kinda complicated; they were raised Catholic and still ‘talk’ to God, but they don’t believe anyone is really listening)

Sins: Lust / Greed / Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath

Virtues: Chastity / Charity / Diligence / Humility / Kindness / Patience / Justice

Primary Goals In Life: Mainly just to stay alive and free, to have a good time, and to ensure the ones that they care about can do the same.

Languages Known: English, Spanish (kind of)

Secrets: Has a lot of feelings despite acting cold and uncaring. Most people don’t even know their real name or where they’re from.

Quirks: Picks up anything shiny and puts it in their pockets, then tends to give them to their friends as ‘gifts’. Names their guns. Talks like a cowboy (genuinely says things like ‘howdy’ and ‘I reckon’). Left-handed. Taps their foot a lot and is usually fidgeting with something.

Savvies: Shooting, lockpicking, lying, fixing things, getting what they want

|| Physical ||

Build: Slender / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other

Height: 5′8″

Weight: 140 lbs

Scars/Birthmarks: Faint freckles on cheeks and shoulders. A circular scar near the center of their forehead courtesy of Benny, as well as a thin line over their right eye. Large scar on their left inner thigh from a Deathclaw. Faded surgery scars on their chest, back, and scalp from the Big Empty. Dozens of minor ones from blades and bullets.

Abilities/Powers: They can talk you into just about anything (Speech: 100) and have the uncanny ability to stay alive despite many close calls. Things just seem to go their way (LU: 10).

Restrictions: ADHD and possibly bipolar disorder, which leads to lack of sleep and some pretty self-destructive behavior. Suffers from migraines following their injury. Lies and says they’re illiterate to get out of reading.

|| Favorites ||

Favorite Food: Gecko steak, mutfruit pie

Favorite Drink: Sunset Sarsaparilla, whiskey

Favorite Color: Gold or red

Favorite Music Genre: Country, rock’n’roll

Favorite Book Genre: Trick question, Jackal doesn’t read (though they do like comic books and magazines — anything with pictures really)

Favorite Movie Genre: Westerns

Favorite Season: Spring

Favorite Butt Type: …All

Favorite Swear Word: Mierda

Favorite Scent: Campfires, rain, pine trees

Favorite Quote: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for I am the meanest son of a bitch in the valley.” —derivative of Psalm:23

|| Fun Stuff ||

“Boss” Theme Music: I was the Sun (Before it was Cool) / Novakid Theme - Starbound OST or Let Me Live / Let Me Die - Des Rocs

Loud Burper Or Soft Burper: Loud / Soft / Neither

Sings In The Shower: Yes / No

Likes Bad Puns: Yes / No / Only if they are relevant to the situation

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it! :)