[ the cooler king. ]

hey, fallout rpc ♥ give this a LIKE / REBLOG if you’d be interested in writing with fallout 4′s best character, THE CRAZY INVISIBLE MOTORCYCLE MAN! i’d like more fallout characters to follow and would love to play around with this verse more. let me know if you’re interested in a starter!

          “Mm.” Virgil chewed at the end of his cigarette and offered Bezi a second. “I’m not. I keep feelin’ like I should still be out there, even though there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here.” His shoulders slacked. “…Are you angry with me?”

     Virgil flinched and his baseball nearly smacked him in the face. He awkwardly tried to catch the ball, but fumbled, sending it bouncing and rolling to the woman’s feet. His hands were trembling.

         “Sorry,” he said, brows arching at her intrusion. “I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d toss my baseball around ‘til I, uh, ‘til I tired myself out.”

         By which he really meant ‘until these uppers wear off’, which he had no intention of allowing to happen. He may no longer have to stay up all hours of the night running or planning escapes, but that didn’t stop him from taking what tablets he had left. Virgil touched at the bottle’s weight in his breast pocket and exhaled.

         “I could ask you the same thing,” Virgil added. A charming smile was quick to tilt his lips as he stooped to pick up his baseball. “Can I help you with something?”

     A smile touched her lips at his response. She gently nudged the baseball towards him with the tip of her high heel. He made a good point, questioning what she was doing out this late.

    “I got bored.” Ann answered. “Sometimes I go on walks at night. My friends always tell me I shouldn’t go alone– I might run into some psychopathic stranger, they say. But you don’t seem like a psychopath. Even if you are, you probably at least deserve a moment’s chance.”

          “Ookay...” Virgil’s mouth split into a laughing grin and he gave an exaggerated shrug. “I guess the celebration’s worn off on me.” His eyes glinted as he looked back to her, bright, but not exactly happy. Not like his smile, which felt more fake than real at this point. 

          “I figured I’d be fine once my feet where on the ground again, but--” Virgil clicked his tongue and jabbed an accusatory finger at the moon. “I can’t get the noise out of my head. War’s over, everybody says, but I still got some of it in here.” His finger lowered to tap at his temple. “Like the bombs just aren’t gonna stop going off, y’know?” 

          Virgil paused. Only then did it strike him as odd that he was pouring out any piece of his heart to a stranger. But she had asked and he supposed if he vented to anyone, it may as well be someone who won’t know him come morning.

We all have ships we don’t like. A lot of us even have ships we hate- but that doesn’t make it okay to tell someone not to ship something, and it certainly doesn’t make it alright to send someone hate/shame them for what they ship!

RAF Squadron Leader Roger Bushell Leads the ‘Great Escape’

24–25 March 1944

RAF Squadron Leader Roger Bushell led the real 'Great Escape’ from German POW camp Stalag Luft III, on this day in British history, 24 March 1944. His ambitious plan involved digging three separate tunnels simultaneously, to give at least one a greater chance for success. After tunnel 'Harry’ was completed, 76 POW’s managed to escape on the night of 24–25 March 1944. Sadly, only three of them escaped Nazi occupied territory. The other 73 were recaptured, and in a reaction that is considered war crime, Hitler ordered 50 of them, including Bushell, to be executed without trial.

          “Call me ‘Captain’,” he said, and almost looked as if he was going to make a move to shake then thought better of it. “Or ‘Cap’, if you promise not to gut me any time in the future.”

          Or the loosest definition of it. ‘Home’ felt so far away now. Intangible. Buried under centuries of rubble and radiation. 

         “Well, I can’t say you changed much,” Virgil said, shaking his head with a chuckle. Still, there was something almost pained in his eyes and the too tight upward turn of his lips. “You don’t need to pick through dumpsters, Hancock. Whatever you need– this house is just as much yours as it is mine.”

       Virgil laughed. It was just an incredulous little snort, barely a cracking chuckle, and it quickly faded when he realized Rob wasn’t laughing with him. In fact, Rob looked dead serious, and Virgil hadn’t any clue how to take that kind of look with a statement like that.

         “Oh man,” he breathed. “You’re serious.”

Rob, who’d continued to look at the other evenly, sighed inwardly. He always hoped for the reaction he’d gotten from Lebau who’d just told him, oh yes, his sister had been sent to Beauxbatons but somehow that glorious moment had never been meant to repeat itself. 

          An odd beat of silence skipped between them and Virgil could only gawk. “Oooh…” he groaned, shoving his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, this is suicide.” But there was no changing his mind, it seemed, and Virgil wasn’t going to let another man die trying to break the fence.

          “Alright, alright. Let’s suppose you don’t sound nuts, let’s suppose I help you. What do I have to do, then?” Virgil crossed his arms. “Theoretically.”