Lex

Bad For Us

(Porter Gage/Sole Survivor)

Prompt #5: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?

Prompt #38: “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I just told you-“

“Yeah, but you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…”

“Well, I’m not.”

“A minuteman? Ain’t those fucks extinct?”

“Not anymore! And, in fact, I was the-“

“Don’t say you’re the one that brought ‘em back.”

“I’m the one who brought them back.”

Gage threw his hands up in the air, eye rolling back. “And you didn’t mention this earlier because…?”

“Sorry, I was a little busy doing your bidding while getting a gun waved in my face.”

Bradberton was a sinister little town nestled between Nuka-World and the Gunner-occupied Bradberton Overpass. The place was crawling with ferals, the repulsiveness of which was epitomized by some which had been left to fester and mold for decades- awakened from a dormant state by Gage and Sole in the otherwise preserved location. When it had gotten particularly quiet and still, Sole had decided to break some news to their second-in-command. The sun was fiery and bright on the asphalt, and Gage was both irked and exhausted.

“You better not let anybody back there know. If they thought you were part of a merry band a’ do-gooders, you’d be filleted before you could blink.” He said through a tensed jaw.

“Oh, I didn’t get that! I was actually planning on telling them right after you. Thanks for the heads up.” They retorted.

“Don’t get snippy with me, you’re the one who just told me you’re a part of the organization that wants us dead.” His lilt dripped with frustration.

“But you’re not dead. And I had to pull a lot of strings-“

“You’ve been in contact with ‘em?” He stopped, boots scuffing the hot gravel.

“I- yes. But it’s not like I’ve been spilling secrets and shit. I’ve just been letting my Lieutenant know where I am and that I’m okay- so there wouldn’t be an army at our door.”

“So then what’s your plan? To keep livin’ on both sides and hopin’ they don’t meet?” They were audacious, that’s for sure.

“No. Maybe at first. I was gonna try to get back, or get help, but… things changed.”

“What changed? So it just don’t matter that you’ve sworn yourself against us?” He was trying to keep his shit together. He’d been betrayed before. And the only person he trusted in the slightest was telling him they’d been living a double life the whole time. One foot in a world of farming and settling, and the other in a world of death and thievery.

“I don’t know, Gage. There’s good people here. It supports a caravan economy.” Sole’s face was troubled, and they looked around. “You’re here. And I earned your trust, and that’s not something I’m willing to lose. So no, it doesn’t matter. I just want to do something good for people. Even if those people aren’t as innocent as others.”

“And who’s gonna help you do that here? Nisha?” He scoffed.

“I don’t need help.”

“You sure as hell can’t ask when you do need it. So why’re you tellin’ me this if you ain’t gonna stick a minutemen flag in this place?”

They didn’t meet his eye. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

Gage blinked, studying them for a minute. That, he was. No amount of bargaining- of telling himself he was here out of necessity- was going to change that. He was still responsible for countless killings, countless times when he took what little someone had when he could have got without it. His iniquity was of his own accord, and as much, their virtue was of theirs.

“Yeah… they ain’t wrong.”

Raider life was a dichotomy. It was either the top or the bottom; a different world where goodness was weakness, and death brought you closer to life. It was self-serving, and malicious. Everything they weren’t. Everything they stood against.

His life hadn’t been fair, and he didn’t give much thought to the fairness of others, but here was almost choking on his shame because he’d forced them to be this. To be everything they weren’t. To be everything they stood against.

“You gonna check out, then?” He asked quietly. They looked at him, face framed by the light set in stark lines from the silhouettes of buildings.

“Listen… I won’t stop you.” He shrugged, his drawl low and gravelly, in a tone of conspiracy. “You got this place in working condition against your will, and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve done your part. I can do a lotta things in bad conscience, but makin’ you take care a’ those fuckers back there ain’t one of ‘em. You can leave.” He swallowed and met their gaze, unable to read them. Sure, he’d cover for them. It was the least he could do. It’d be easy enough in the cover of night- get out through the North entrance and around to the transit station.

“I’m not leaving you.” They said, furrowing their brow. Gage shifted his rifle in his arms. Sole walked toward him, closing the few feet between. “I told you because you’re my best friend, Gage. You’re not the bad guy.”

Gage stared at them for a moment, taken aback at the surrender in their voice, before surveying the streets around them for any straggling ferals. “Well… let me know if that changes. And until then, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” It was the closest thing to a promise he could produce. They smiled graciously, and patted his arm.

“We’re a team.”

“And the only two folks in this place who ain’t shitbrains.”

A Dream of You

(Deacon/Sole Survivor)

Prompt #71: “You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Prompt #76: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Unforgiving, the synth-saving business. Doing what he considered ‘good’ in an avaricious and ashen world scarcely had its perks. Still, nights like this, it all seemed especially taxing. He could barely see the lantern light in the shop window through the pelting rain. He wasn’t going to complain- not with Sole and the Synth, Martin (M5-29, as it were), in his company. He looked back, to make sure they were still close. Sole had their jacket over Martin’s head, left to be washed by the torrent downpour themself.

He pulled at the door to the shop, and held it open for them. Inside, the steady pummeling of the storm was muted, though persistent. Sole worked to dry themself off, and Deacon did the same. The chill would set in soon, he knew, but they had shelter now, and he had a job to do. At this moment, it was entertaining his party so they wouldn’t think about it.

“Rough night, huh?” He prompted, flashing a grin at Martin. The synth offered a sheepish smile, too tired and cold to laugh.

“We’re almost home, Martin.” Sole said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder, in hopes encouragement might seep through the soaked leather of his jacket. Martin blinked gratefully, instructed silence from his previous agent, but conveying his emotions nonetheless.

Moments like that, they made the whole thing worth it. After Switchboard, it didn’t seem like they’d ever be back to business- not without the crippling paranoia, anyway. But here, no matter what he’d done before, this helping of someone lost, someone scared; he was good here. This was merciful atonement. Helping someone who needed it, obsequious to innocent compassion.

The rain eased, reduced to fingers drumming lightly on the roof. They were waiting for an Agent to meet them, and after passing off Martin into safe hands, were likely to return to old North for a modest rest before returning to the field. Deacon sat back, keeping an eye out to ensure that the lantern was still burning softly.

“Sensors indicating concealed organic life form.”

The low, processed voice came from just outside their shelter. He straightened, head snapping back toward the door. None of them moved. The sound of fiber-plastic scuffing concrete was closer now, and Sole reached for their weapon. Deacon didn’t have a slealthboy on him. He untucked the Deliverer from his coat and moved fluidly to a shadowed corner of the room- knowing hiding from Gen 2’s was ardently useless. Sole ushered Martin away from the door, but before they got behind cover, the door, though barricaded, snapped open. Sole shouted something, before pushing Martin from the line of laser shots that illuminated the darkness in azure flashes; finding old wood instead of flesh. Deacon fired from the other side of the room, hitting one bot in the head, and grazing another- which Sole took care of.

From the sound of it, there were more.  Deacon took Martin by the arm and pulled him up a flight of stairs, to the second level of the building, Sole covering the rear.

“Don’t worry. This kinda stuff happens all the time.” He said to the frightened synth with a smile. That was a lie. In fact, Deacon’s heart was racing thinking about Sole on the floor below taking on god-knows-how-many Gen 2’s by themself.

He brought Martin to a window with a fire escape. “Get down there, and go around the Southside of the city until you make it to the brewery. Wait for us there. And don’t worry- you’ll be totally fine.” Something like glass breaking sounded loudly from downstairs. “We’re experts.” He smiled. Deacon patted his back, and ensured he made it safely down the escape, before dropping his confident countenance and rushing back down the stairs.

The lantern had tipped over, and the oil had lit- he was greeted by dancing flames, and a vibrant orange. Numerous synth bodies littered the floor, but Sole was taking cover behind an old shelf. Blood smeared their face, and they had a hand gripping their shoulder, their weapon in the other. Deacon went to them, still hearing synthetic murmurs from outside.

“It’s… It just grazed my shoulder.” They said, with effort.

“Well since you’re fine, would you mind getting the rest?” He said, without thinking, already pulling them up the stairs. They laughed weakly.

He helped them out the upstairs window, and back out into the drizzling rain. They struggled down the stairs, but did well enough supporting themself on ground level. Taking off toward the brewery, he didn’t stop to look back at the flames.

When nearly there, Sole slowed down, leaning on him increasingly as the night grew light with dawn’s arrival. It was more than just a graze, he knew. What wasn’t drenched with water and sweat, was soaked in hot blood. At the door of their destination, they collapsed into him. He didn’t mind carrying them in- he was impressed they’d made it as far as they did. But the weight of wondering if they would get back up again was nauseating.

He spent over an hour cleaning, stitching, and bandaging their wound. By that time, early morning, the Agent they’d been awaiting had found them at their back-up safehouse and picked up Martin, who was hesitant to leave- thanking Deacon profusely. He didn’t think he deserved any thanks. It was Sole who had held off countless Gen 2’s and almost died in the process.

Nevertheless, they were alone now. And Deacon didn’t know what to do with himself; worse, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if they didn’t wake up.

Walking over to where they lay on a worn couch, he took a seat in a chair nearby. Reaching over, he took their cold hand in his.

“Sole,” He said softly. Softly, for his fear that it might be the last time he had the privilege of saying it.

“You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me. And you need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” It wasn’t a lie. When he met them, loneliness lost it’s appeal. Mystery lost its seduction. Lies lost their magic. He’d only wanted them; the subtle nuances in the way they spoke and held themself. He found himself wanting to tell them the truth- wanting to give them that part of himself he’d only ever given to people who were now dead. He didn’t want to be alone anymore; the kind of alone where you’re surrounded by people but not a single one of them has any idea who or what you are.

Pulling himself together, slowly, he sank down, laying his head beside them. Though he couldn’t bring himself to sleep, he closed his eyes. Doc Carrington would critique his suturing skills, but if Sole lived, it was enough.

He had no inkling of how much time passed while he grappled with his fear and existentialism. There was a small movement in the hand he held. He sat up quickly, studying them. Their chest rose subtly, and they swallowed. Finally, their eyes opened so slightly, he almost couldn’t tell they were open. They turned their head to him.

“Hey, buddy. How ya feelin’?” Despite his diction, he couldn’t hide his fear or exhaustion by the wavering of his voice.

“Is Martin safe?” They asked, in nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

He nodded. “Safe and sound. You did a hell of a job, heavy. As usual.”

They smiled. “Deacon,”

“Yeah, partner?”

“You’re holding my hand.”

He pretended to be confused, holding up their arm, and theatrically inspecting it. “Oh, this? I could have sworn this was mine! Thought I lost it back there…”  

Sole laughed, which quickly turned into a cough. They squeezed his hand softly. “We made it, partner.” He moved to lace their fingers with his.

“Yeah. We did.”

No real in-game proof for this one but:

✓  Naturally timid; forced to be not timid for job

✓  Permanent disfiguration on the right side of face

✓ Tactician

✓ Gage said he would make a good soldier if he were one

✓ Parental issues

✓ Big arms

✓ Don’t really like the lives they’re leading but they’re doing it 🌟anyway🌟

oh boy do i

Arthur Maxson Headcannons

He’s a Virgo

Definitely an alcoholic (basically canon atp)

Diction changes drastically if he’s talking to a child. He’s not awkward around kids, and is rather lenient with them and their self-expression. Catch him around a Squire and you’ll see a glimpse of the kid who used to address people with “Howdy” real quick.

Has a cleanliness thing; especially concerning his hands. Prefers to wear gloves, and almost always does. Bad smells or gross sights/sounds disturb him in the utmost. Showers a lot.

He doesn’t hate Owyn- there was just a serious steep in his childhood idolization of him after his death, and he did what most teenagers do when they figure out the flaws in the people who raised them; he overcompensated.

Big nervous around animals. They’re too unpredictable for him. Wouldn’t know what to do with a puppy if you gave him one

Doesn’t like the battlefield as much as he thinks he should- but it’s his glorification of it that makes him ‘enjoy’ it.

His reputation grew a lot quicker than he did. As a result, he froze up. He has trouble deciding how to act in front of other people, how rigid or relaxed to be, because he knows that people’s idea of him is more than he is. Its scary

History buff (also canon tbh) and extremely studious; he’s loved all things pre-war and military since he was a kiddo and likes to find a subject to study and throw himself into (super mutants or brotherhood history for instance)

Black coffee because brahmin milk grosses him out

On that note, he’s also a very picky eater. Can’t help it. Cram? Aka peasant food?? No ma’am. He’s fistfighting another Deathclaw before you convince him to eat something low quality

Would get along with Gage

Mental health advocate (canon!!). He’s seen a bad state of mind break so many soldiers, and been on the front lines of a few dark places himself, he knows the importance of acknowledging and treating mental illness

10/10 comforter bc he’s really empathetic

Naturally a bad shot. Had to put in a lot of extra hours to fix that

Thank u anon I love u too!!💗🌟

Baby, Baby

(MacCready/Sole Survivor)

Prompt #10: “I might have had a few shots.”

Prompt #33: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Prompt #55: “I fell in love with my best friend.”

Mac was a lightweight. No surprise there, despite his long-term love affair with alcohol since he was the Mayor of Little Lamplight. Tonight, the Third Rail was alive with red lights and music you could get lost in- and he’d hit his limit. His limbs were heavy, but his head buzzed pleasantly. Hancock was at the other end of the bar telling his “is the human fresh” one, which surely everyone in the bar had heard at least a million times. Mac set down his glass on the counter. Sole had said they were going to join them, but as minutes turned to hours, they were still nowhere to be seen. The cigarettes in the room created a smokescreen for Mac to slip away from his friend’s flamboyant and grandiose spotlight, and up the staircase.

The air in Goodneighbor was jarringly cold, and pungent of its impoverished patrons, but it was clearer than the bar. Huffing a breath that turned to wreathing smoke in the night, and shoving his hands in the pockets of his duster, he followed the string lights to the Hotel Rexford. It was quiet inside, save for creaking wood. Claire didn’t even look up upon his arrival. Almost tumbling down the stairs at least twice, he finally made his way up to Sole’s room. Knocking as lightly as he could with compromised motor skills, he opened the old door to find Sole at their desk, tinkering with their Pip-Boy. They looked over their shoulder at him.

“Oh! Shit. Sorry, Mac. My Pip-Boy started acting up, and I totally forgot about meeting you guys..” They said, flashing him an apologetic look.

“I’ss fine, i’ss fine. We had fun w’thout you.” He teased.

They grinned at him. “Done in already? That didn’t take long.”

“I might’ve had a few shots. What c’n I say? Nothin’ like a Gooooodneighbor party.” He replied, sauntering over and plopping on the bed. Sole chucked and screwed something into their Pip. He waited out their following silence as they returned to their work for a few minutes before sitting up. Twisting his lip and furrowing his brow, he leaned forward. The movement drew no notice. He hummed a little. No response.

He rose to his feet- albeit with some difficulty- and moved over to inspect what they were doing over their shoulder. They didn’t seem to take notice of that, either.

He poked their shoulder. And again. And once more, for good measure.

“Can I help you with something, Mac?” They sighed lightly.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

They snorted. “I’m busy here.”

“Well, I need t’talk t’you.” He crossed his arms.

“About what, pray tell?”

“Need some.. advice.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well… If, hypothetically… I had this friend, who was kinda ‘mazing in a lotta ways. And we were friends for a while- but then I started t’like… like ‘em a little more than friends… but I didn’t wanna ruin it. What would ya do?”

Sole looked up at him, curiosity washing their eyes. They thought for a moment, standing up, and leaning on the desk.

“Well… The call is yours. But it’s worth remembering that life- especially life out here- is short. I think we all know that first hand. I think that sort of thing has to be worth it. If you don’t make it past tomorrow, the people you love should know you love them. So, if I were you, I’d go for it, tiger.” They said, tilting their head. Mac’s eyes lingered on theirs. The depth of their words reached even through his blurred mind. “So, this hypothetical situation isn’t hypothetical, is it?”

He looked down, and swallowed. “I fell in love with my best friend.” He admissed in a low voice, the gravity of saying it out loud almost too heavy.

“Mac,” They moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder, eyes soft and sincere on his.

“I think he feels the same way about you.”

“Wa- you what? Who?”

They gave him a confused look. “Hancock.”

“I- no, no! It’s not Hancock!” He exclaimed, shaking his head.

“Damn! I totally thought that was it.” Sole put a hand to their chin. “Daisy?” They guessed.

“No! Not even close- she just helped me out with Duncan, I-“

“Well, it has to be someone in the city… Not Marowski, god willing-”

“It’s you.” He blurted out, whether it was by grace of their advice or the alcohol. They paused, blinking at him. They didn’t say anything, so he figured he’d say his piece if they decided to never speak to him again.

“I- I think you’re great. All the shi- stuff you’ve been through, but y’still come out of it a good person; the kinda person I wanna be for Duncan. It’s… incredible. You’re incredible. So, that’s all…” Despite the coldness of the room, his face burned fervidly. He didn’t meet their eyes. He wondered why it was called liquid courage if he was still scared shitless.

Sole moved forward, putting a cool hand on his cheek. Then, with deliberance and affection, placed a kiss on his forehead.

“You know, I think I feel the same way about you, Robert Joseph. But you’re drunk. How about you get some sleep and we talk about it in the morning?” They said sweetly.

“M’kay.” He whispered, without really thinking, on account of the closeness of their faces. Sole urged him to the bed, and gave him a smile, before sitting back down at the desk chair.

He watched them for a little while before his eyes grew heavy.

If you don’t make it past tomorrow, the people you love should know you love them.