Just Another Fallout Author(tm)

You can call me Jafa! // Exactly what it says on the tin. See pinned post for links, and I hope you enjoy my writing!

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Introduction

Nice to meet ya, thanks for checking out my blog! Call me Jafa (Just Another Fallout Author!). They/them.

I write ficlets, drabbles and whatever-have-you to support my Fallout obsession. I do requests, but once a week, I will also post a small piece (less than 1,000 words) based off of a Fallout character. You can find that here on AO3.

Requests are open; be as specific as you would like! The more I have to go on, the more it will adhere to what you’ve requested.

I will not do NSFT. Suggestive themes are okay! I also put the date of each post in the tags, so you know when I have last been active.

Click here for fics and click here for my masterlist!

I am also on AO3.

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

i hope youre ok. youre my favorite author

Your favourite author? Dear goodness, I hope you know just how much that absolutely affected me - I feel like I've done so little writing for this fandom.

I'm holding in there! It's been a bit difficult to write recently; I've been writing a few things over on AO3 but haven't posted in a very long while. I need to get back to it.

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Not dead, I promise!

I finished the 52 Characters, 52 Weeks series over on AO3!

Still working on a handful of other fics, but if anyone has a suggestion or request for oneshots, I'd love to provide.

[lastoneout]

Stealing that last post’s idea but in reverse: FIC AUTHORS!! Reblog and put in the tags which fic you wrote this year that was the most important/impactful/just your favorite!! WIPs/unfinished fics count!!

[queenangst]

idk if this is a young fan thing or new fandom culture but some of yall think fics are abandoned way too quickly. a few months or a year or two is not unusual to go without a fic update. sometimes fics take longer to write, other times writers have rl events, or maybe there's multiple fics and one gets more priority. there are tons of reasons for fics not to be updated every week or every month. it also isn't uncommon for people to come back and update fics after a number of years—ive read updates that took five, or ten years. people's lives change, but they still want to tell their stories. personally, i never consider a fic abandoned unless the author has said so; though if it's been a few years i manage my expectations. but a last update being a year ago is... generally not a sign that a writer has abandoned their fic

[ao3commentoftheday]

Write the bonkers, unhinged, weird idea that you think no actual person will like. Because guess what? You're an actual person, and you liking it still counts.

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Highly specific but if you write for NPCs: the Railroad adopts a cat?

(Thank you for the request! I decided to make this one a reaction - let me know if you want an actual fic, but I felt this question best suited a reaction-style post.)

Reactions: The Railroad Adopts a Cat

Deacon:

Probably not the one who came up with the idea, but will happily take the blame if it means winding up Carrington.

Calls the cat by a different name every week "for security reasons".

Secretly thinks he could learn a thing or two from the cat's stalking abilities.

Tries to give himself a new feline-based nickname and is quickly shot down by Desdemona.

Desdemona:

"Why is this thing roaming HQ? Deacon, do you have anything to say to this?"

Frets immediately over the security risks a loose animal could cause.

She becomes much more open to the idea when she realises how the cat boosts morale amongst her team.

Briefly considers the idea of therapy pets for both rescued synths and Railroad Heavies.

Doctor Carrington:

Is almost immediately aggravated at the sight of the creature.

"Don't we have actual synths to worry about? That thing could carry diseases."

Relents after seeing the various Railroad Heavies taking comfort in the animal after strenuous missions.

Is the one who actually suggested the possibility of therapy pets for rescued synths.

Drummer Boy:

Is the one who lured the cat into HQ in the first place, but is happy to let Deacon take the blame.

Finds the cat a welcoming distraction from the tedious job of being the Railroad's liaison.

Is the one in charge of making sure the cat doesn't bolt from HQ every time the door opens.

Definitely the cat's favourite Railroad member.

Glory:

Briefly annoyed over the tiny tripping hazard roaming Railroad HQ.

She warms up to the cat quickly when she realises just how angry Carrington is over it, though.

"No heart, Carrington? Look on the bright side; maybe you can train this thing to be your little assistant!"

Unless it's to rib on other Railroad members, she doesn't pay all that much attention to the cat.

Tinker Tom:

Deeply concerned over the idea of a cat inside HQ, worrying it could be an Institute ploy of some kind to spy on them.

Constantly scans the creature with every test he has come up with.

Relents a little when it becomes apparent that the rest of the Railroad trusts the animal, but still actively avoids it.

Some members hypothesize he dislikes the cat because it reminds him of his life prior to the Railroad.

Bonus! Railroad Heavy Sole Survivor:

If Drummer Boy wasn't the one to bring in the cat, it was the Sole Survivor.

Reminds them of pre-war times, so they enjoy having it around.

Usually the one to bring back cat food and supplies from the outside.

Revels in teaching the other members of HQ what it was like owning pets before the bombs dropped.

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Not Quite Human

Characters: Nick Valentine, Paladin Danse Series: Fallout 4

TW: None (spoilers?)

Nick Valentine gives some advice to an acquaintance struggling with his identity.

The air inside the Valentine Detective Agency was suffocatingly tranquil. The small double-brick office held a century’s worth of dust in the cracks of the walls, and as Nick Valentine gestured to the faux-leather chair facing his desk that so many clients had sat on in days past, his latest guest hesitated at the doorway. A roll of thunder murmured somewhere in the distance, and Diamond City seemed so far away, the outside world stifled almost to silence by the guarded ambiance within the building.

“Take a seat,” Nick said, once more gesturing to the chair in front of him, “and tell me what’s brought you to town. You must be desperate to be knocking on my door.”

He lit up a cigarette and flicked the match away as his guest took a cautious step forward toward the rusted metal desk he stood behind. Nick watched as his guest took a moment to sweep his eyes over his office, and he huffed when the man’s eyes met his own. If he had the capacity, he would have quirked an eyebrow; instead, he settled on a thin-lipped smile.

“Been a while, Danse.”

Ex-Paladin Danse fiddled with the helmet of his power armour, grasped tight like a vice in his hands. In the wake of his latest discovery, the helmet was a comfort, a shield between himself and the rest of the world.

“A month ago, I never would have thought to employ the help of a synth,” he confessed, his words slow and deliberate, his gaze still locked on the detective. “Yet, with the knowledge that I am a synth myself, I find myself compelled to ask your advice.”

Nick gingerly took a seat in the office chair behind the desk and Danse followed suit, taking the seat in front of him. The detective took a long drag of the cigarette and leaned back in the chair, his gaze roaming over the steel-clad ex-Paladin in front of him. He seemed so much smaller now than when he had first made his acquaintance, all those months ago. With the Brotherhood’s insignia stripped from his armour and his livelihood, Danse appeared almost human.

He remained silent. That thought would bring little comfort to the man in front of him.

Nick snuffed out the cigarette in his ashtray before steepling his hands, elbows on the desk, his chin resting lightly on his fingers. “Must be quite an adjustment.”

“Our mutual friend from Vault 111 says that you experienced something similar,” Danse began, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. He rested his helmet on his lap and wiped away the stray raindrops congealed on the visor. “My identity has been stripped from me, and I don’t know where to begin to come to terms with that.”

The detective nodded carefully, cautiously. Between the man – rather, the synth - sitting in front of his desk now, and the paladin he first met outside Cambridge Police Station, it was almost unthinkable that the two were the same person. Constant jabs at his synth-hood had been carelessly thrown his way by the paladin and his brethren; it was almost karmic to see Danse in front of him now, asking for his help.

“It took me a hell of a long time to adjust to life as a synth,” Nick shrugged as he tugged at the sleeve of his overcoat, “and folks were plenty scared when I rolled into Diamond City for the first time. I won’t lie to you, it’s tough.”

Danse nodded uncertainly, a forlorn look etched on his features. “I understand.”

Nick sighed as he shook his head and rose from the chair. With a grunt and a slurry of protests from his creaking joints, he walked over to Danse and placed a metal hand on the ex-paladin’s shoulder.

“You lost your home and your sense of self in once fell swoop. I did as well, and I carved out a home for myself here. You might find that, in time, you’ll find a home here, too.”

Danse looked up at the synth over his shoulder. “You’re being rather tolerant, considering how I treated you in the past.”

Nick shrugged once more, golden eyes glinting in the dim light as a crack of thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. “You’re our pal, and you’ve been through a hell of a lot. Wouldn’t be right to kick a man while he’s down.”

“Thanks, Valentine.”

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Quick Update

Good morning/afternoon, my friends.

I’ve stopped posting the 52 Fics/52 Weeks Challenge on this Tumblr, but I’m maintaining the pace over on AO3.

I’d like to move this blog more towards requests, since the reason I started this Tumblr was to give back to the fandom.

I’ll post some personal favourites of mine from the 52 Fics/52 Weeks challenge, but not all of them. In the meantime, please send in your requests!

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

The Reunion

Character: Robert Joseph MacCready [#18 out of #52] Series: Fallout 4 Song Inspiration: Forest Sun - ‘Embers’ [#34 of #3000] Word Count: 697

TW: Canon-typical violence.

“Know no-one else can heed the calling That your only heart makes.”

Darkness had long since descended on the south-western outskirts of the Capital Wasteland, slivers of weak moonlight just lightly brushing the outline of the cracked pavement on which Robert Joseph MacCready walked, sniper rifle in hand, eyes darting at every imagined movement that danced in his peripherals. He had walked the same road many months ago - so many months that he had lost count - but his journey to the Commonwealth from the Capital Wasteland held a far brighter atmosphere than the one he was facing now as he approached his hometown. Despite the looming shadows and the ominous clicking sounds of radroaches underfoot, MacCready could not keep his nervous excitement contained as he fiddled with the wooden handle of his weapon.

His only child was just a few hundred feet away from him. 

He could almost see Duncan in his mind’s eye, the young boy just barely old enough to walk, all chubby cheeks and bright smiles.

In another vision, he is covered in blue spots, confined to a bed in the attic of a farmhouse, voiceless, but face contorted in anguish.

MacCready quickly brushed the thought aside. He and the sole survivor of Vault 111 had found the cure together just over a month ago. Duncan would be fine.

Duncan would be fine.

Surely.

He clutched his rifle closer to his chest to quell his racing heart.

-

From the far distance, a Deathclaw roared in the night. The beast’s voice was carried by the wind and MacCready jumped, his weapon at the ready, stumbling backwards over a stray piece of concrete as night blended with the path and he lost his footing in the dark.

The piece of concrete suddenly groaned.

In his peripherals, the world around him began to move. Soft echoes of groans erupted from the shadows as a pack of ferals rose to their haunches, eyes devoid of emotion, but filled with anger.

Visions of a subway tunnel flooded MacCready’s mind as his gaze locked onto the farmhouse in front of him. The foul stench of decay assaulted his nostrils as the memory collided with reality. Specks of imaginary blood danced in his eyes.

He could hear Lucy’s screams echoing in the black.

Quickly, he cleared his throat and turned the barrel of his weapon to one of the shambling ghouls rising to their feet. 

One quick headshot, and the feral was down, but two more had taken the place of their fallen brother as they emerged from the shadows.

The ferals were at his heel now, their garbled voices a cacophony of anguish and primal hunger. One gnarled feral at the front of the pack leaped forward and clawed MacCready’s arm, and he turned around and shot the abomination in one fell swoop. It crumpled onto the grass alongside the visions that fell to the wayside of his mind as he took aim and fired haphazardly into the crowd.

Feral after feral fell before him as he backed away, his back marching to the gate of the farmhouse. Growls and anguished cries penetrated the soft night-time air as MacCready fought with his memory that threatened to take him over. Fear gripped his shaking hands like radroaches swarming over a corpse, and the further he stepped back, the more ghouls appeared. Firing shot after shot after shot into the dense, ravenous crowd, he stumbled, panicked, as horrific visions of before danced unbidden, claws like knives and strength like boulders bearing down on him.

He blinked, and the world fell still.

-

Fighting blind, heavy panic, MacCready burst through the rickety oak door and charged through the dank hallway, taking the stairs two at a time. His lungs burned with exhaustion and the butt of his rifle dug sharply into his hip as he reached the top and he collided with the door to his son’s room, kicking it open with an almighty thud.

At the foot of the bed, a settler greeted MacCready with wide, knowing eyes, gesturing to the boy sitting on the straw-filled mattress. Stray beams of moonlight coated the boy’s pale face, but starlight danced in his eyes as he looked up to see his father at the door.

“Daddy?”

“Duncan!”

*

[Click here for an explanation of this project!]

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Do Cyberdogs Dream of Electronic Sheep?

Character: Robodog [#17 out of #52] Series: Fallout 2 Song Inspiration: The Cranberries - ‘Dreams’ [#1904 of #3000] Word Count: 358

TW: None.

“And oh, my dreams, It's never quite as it seems.”

<CLICK>

  …

 The cybernetic canine felt his mind shutting down long before his body reacted to the command, and in a moment, he was adrift. Electric sparks shone in his peripherals like beacons, calling to him, but every move was a fire in his veins as he tried in vain to swivel his head towards the source.

With insurmountable effort, he looked below him. A sea of peacock blue and teal rose to greet him. Sharp indigo tendrils burst from his paw-pads as he raised them slowly, then lowered them. Pinpricks of fear brushed over his hackles.

Oh, how he loathed this place.

Robodog did not have to breathe in his state, yet he inhaled out of habit. The sharp bitter smell of ozone hit his nose, and the faint buzz of background radiation rang somewhere in the far distance. The faraway hum was a constant reminder of where he was.

 Sprouting from his digitized form, tendrils of bright, burning purple licked his paws, his tail, his muzzle, and each burned patterns of numbers into him in a series he did not recognise. He kicked his legs with as much as he could muster, but they struggled to move even a half-inch under the way the electricity in the air clung to his fur like a poisonous cloud.

He closed his eyes, but the bright sparks were still there, just out of his line of sight. Who knows how much time had passed in the waking world? The last time he had been shut down was only the other day, a necessity as his owner performed a series of repairs to his fragile chassis.

In this body however, floating in the digitized abyss, he was a full-blooded, full-bodied German Shepherd, and every nerve ending burned with new sensations.

He blinked reality away with a painful shake of his head.

It didn’t matter. He would wake up soon. He would regain his consciousness as a cyberdog in the town of the New California Republic. Not this mechanical ghost in a universe bound by these integrated circuits that had taken root in his organic mind.

He would wake up soon.

  …

  <CLICK>

*

[Click here for an explanation of this project!]

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Bureaucracy

Character: Rose of Sharon Cassidy [#16 out of #52] Series: Fallout New Vegas Song Inspiration: Tennessee Ernie Ford - ‘Sixteen Tons’ [#1306 of #3000] Word Count: 498

TW: Alcohol.

“You load 16 tons, what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt ”

The first fleeting moments of daylight danced across the flecks of dust that hung in the air of the Mojave Outpost barracks. The stale dawn pushed through the cracked and pitted windows and demanded the attention of the stray soldiers and civilians still sitting around the barroom counter, all nursing their drinks and dulling their thoughts with comforting waves of whiskey and vodka.

In the corner of the room, amongst the deep shadows that strung themselves over furniture and person alike, Rose of Sharon Cassidy sat on an iron barstool with a whiskey tumbler, cracked and pitted, in her calloused hands. She leaned over the bar and picked at the chipping paint as a sigh tumbled out of her.

A lesser woman might have crumbled under the weight of the whiskey flowing in her veins. Instead, she shrugged away the tipsy blanket that hung low over her shoulders as she blinked the tiredness from her eyes and stretched. Her eyes fell upon the bartender, Lacey, and she gave a polite, thin-lipped smile.

“Coming back around to the land of the living there, Cassidy?” Lacey quipped. Cass could almost see her judging gaze, though her eyes were obscured by her trader hat.

“Don’t be smart, Lacey. I’m spending all the caps I got at this place right now,” Cass retorted. She extended her arm and dropped the empty whiskey tumbler onto the furthest part of the oak counter and gestured to it in a silent request for another round.

Lacey scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. You’re all heart,” Lacey said with a grunt as she leaned below the bar and pulled out another bottle of whiskey. 

She poured half the contents into the tumbler and passed it back to the caraveer with a nod. 

“Thanks, Lacey.”

“Don’t mention it.”

-

Cass took a moment to savour the alcohol as it burned her throat. The amber liquid sloshed down the sides and dripped onto the counter, but she was a million miles away from the NCR Outpost now. Her eyes fluttered closed and she thought back to her dealing with Cassidy Caravans, casting a wish with each sip she took that the roads would clear, or her paperwork would be evaluated and reviewed, so that she might get some closure. That day seemed to get farther and farther with each passing day. 

Cass had spent her entire damn life slaving over her caravan company, only to have it taken from her in the blink of an eye. She was a prisoner here now in the barracks, a slave to the bureaucracy of an uncaring government. It wasn’t fair, and she noted with disdain the way the NCR Troopers that constantly patrolled the barracks were so reluctant to leave the area. They could be helping her - they should be helping her - but just like she was, they were stuck in the Outpost.

She couldn’t blame them though. Still, the reality stung a little.

She took another drink, and reality stung her a little less.

*

[Click here for an explanation of this project!]

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

The Nothing

Character: Dogmeat [#15 out of #52] Series: Fallout 1 / Fallout 3 / Fallout 4 Song Inspiration: Parkway Drive - “The Colour of Leaving” [#881 of #3000] Word Count: 998

TW: Animal Death, Major Character Death.

“I saw Death’s face today As he cast his shadow over me.”

Keep reading

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

The Nothing

Character: Dogmeat [#15 out of #52]

Series: Fallout 1 / Fallout 3 / Fallout 4

Song Inspiration: Parkway Drive - “The Colour of Leaving” [#881 of #3000]

Word Count: 998

TW: Animal Death, Major Character Death.

“I saw Death’s face today

As he cast his shadow over me.”

(For some reason, Tumblr has completely eaten the formatting for this one after a few reblogs. So, click here for the AO3.)

[Click here for an explanation of this project!]

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Is it ok if I request something for a character that isn't like well known?

Of course!

The reason I started this blog in the first place was for the opportunity to write for the NPCs that don't receive a lot of attention - hence why I started the "52 Weeks / 52 Characters" idea. Some characters in that list are very popular, but others are almost untouched.

I would be beyond delighted to get a request for a lesser-known NPC. It might take me a short while to nail down the feel for them if they're really that obscure, but I do this specifically to shine a light on lesser-known NPCs as well as the most popular ones.

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

Homebound

Character: Miria [#14 out of #52]

Series: Fallout 2

Song Inspiration: Vanessa Carlton - "A Thousand Miles" [#119 of #3000]

Word Count: 990

TW: light sexual mention.

“"I drown in your memory,

I don't wanna let this go."

Before Miria and the Chosen One had strolled into the Drunk Cupid Chapel, the world seemed to be aflame with the fires of passion. New Reno was overflowing with life, the bright lights of every casino and brothel beckoning like sirens in a storm. Miria had approached the city with avidity, drunk on the promises of what the settlement could bring to her; so much so that she didn’t even notice when the Chosen One led her through Reno’s West Side and entered the dilapidated chapel, with its neon signs puncturing the dark streets like an arrow through the heart.

The Chapel itself was poorly lit, with only a handful of wall-mounted lights that glowed a soft, if not foreboding, shade of crimson, and one lone neon sign of a heart on the back wall, glowing bright pink amongst the dust. Rust clung to the steel coving and dripped down the walls like an omen from the underworld. In the centre of the room, a dark wooden podium stood proudly, overlooking the scores of pews before it; behind, the substantially less-proud figure of Father Tully swayed, clutching the podium for balance. He muttered to himself, pulling down the sleeves of his burgundy robe. As the Chosen One closed the chapel door behind the pair, the preacher’s eyes snapped forward, wild and startled, before his gaze came to rest on the married couple in front of him.

“Greetings, my children!” He slurred, leaning over the podium. The stench of whiskey was heavy on his breath. “Whatzit that Father Tully can do for y’two on thi’ fine Reno day?”

-

As her spouse conversed with the drunken preacher, Miria wandered through the chapel, gently picking at the peeling paint on the pews and running her fingers through her copper hair, reflecting on how the two of them had met. It was like any other lazy day in Mordoc, the dull sunlight streaming through the curtains of her father’s house as she tended to her daily chores; the attractive stranger knocking on the front door (who even knocks these days?) and striking up a conversation; the way the gossip flowed and emotions grew as the hours flew by; the way their bodies melted into each other that night in a passionate amalgamation of what the day had been building up to.

Then, the wedding was held not a day after they met.

It all happened so fast, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

-

Suddenly, her spouse’s voice cut through her daydream. Did she hear them correctly?  She pivoted and moved towards her companion, silent, curious, unnerved.

“Can you do divorces?” Her spouse whispered low to the preacher. It didn’t matter; she had heard the words, and the weight they carried. Her breath hitched.

Father Tully responded far louder than his conversational partner in a slurred but confident tone. “Of course I can! Reno was th' divorce capital even 'fore the Big One…”

‘Divorce?’

Miria felt her stomach churn as heat rose to her cheeks. The cold night air felt a million times colder against her skin, and the sudden weight on her chest threatened to crush her windpipe. It left her gasping for air.

“Baby, wait! You’re leaving me?” She barely managed a whisper as she clutched her spouse’s arm. It didn’t matter; her companion refused to take their eyes off of Father Tully. “How could you? We were in love!”

If the preacher had any sympathy towards Miria, he did not show it as he peered down at her from his position on the podium. “This th' filly you wanna break vows with?”

-

*

-

Miria stammered and protested throughout the divorce proceedings, though it was over in a heartbeat. Less than two minutes had gone by before Father Tully waved his hand, drained another bottle of alcohol, and announced that they were separated. She was more than blindsided; she was furious, and as the Chosen One slithered past her and out of the chapel, she screamed in their wake until her throat was sore.

“Come back here! My daddy’s gonna kick your ass!”

Father Tully shook his head and stumbled out from behind the podium. Up close, she could see the stains of alcohol on the sleeves of his robes.

“No use in fightin’ it. They’s long gone.” He slurred, not unkindly, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She briefly thought that the gesture was meant to be one of camaraderie before she realised he was only holding onto her for balance.

Miria stared at the drunkard in disbelief, stifling an angry sob. “How could you do that? Why did you break us up?”

“Tha’s the way! Tha’s how th’ game’s played,” Father Tully explained before wiping his brow. Beads of sweat ran down his temple. “Thought you’da known tha’ by now, seein’ as we’ve met, oh, a couple times now.”

The woman wiped a tear from her cheek. “What?”

The preacher chuckled as he gestured to his surroundings. “Th’ game!”

Miria tilted her head, now more confused than despondent. Her eyes, red from tears, glistened in the dull, aching neon light that burned in the back wall.

Father Tully continued unabated. “My child, the minute you walk out o’ my chapel, yer’ gonna vanish. Prolly, anyways. Never end up seein’ ya again afterwards, until next time.”

She let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her temples. It had been far too long of a day, and she did not have the patience to deal with someone's drunken ramblings.

Without another word, she took a step back, then two, then three, and finally, she slunk out of the chapel doors and onto the bustling New Reno streets. Perhaps, if she were quick enough, she would be able to catch the Chosen One as they were leaving New Reno.

Father Tully watched as she left. He shook his head, disappointed, but not surprised.

She would be back in the next life.

*

[Click here for an explanation of this project!]

[justanotherfalloutauthor]

quick question: would you be willing to write for/about npc fallout characters? like non-companions if you know what i mean

Hello, thanks for asking!

Absolutely, I'm happy to write for any in-game NPC through any of the games. I would adore the chance to write about any non-companions, honestly - they don't get enough love.