ᵂᴬᴺᴰᴱᴿᴱᴿ⋅ ☣

[plasmarifles]

Revelation 21:6

[ghoulneighbor-blog]

                                                                                You feel me?

[uncannyfate]

              “Wow, good to know common courtesy is alive and well– I’m fine, it’s just a few cuts. I’ve had worse.” A hand went up to stop the bag and she shook her head. “Most of it isn’t my blood, so it just looks bad.” Laura doesn’t have the habit of cleaning up after getting back to Goodneighbor from a job, so she was planning on spending the evening in the Third Rail in the bloody leathers, though she had discarded the various armors she usually wore.  

[lonegun-blog1]

      “Yea’, yea’ --- you’re big an’ strong, we’re all impressed.” Her own hand quickly snatches away from the others, a reflex to avoid any unwanted physical contact. “Few cuts can get infected real easy, ‘specially in this pisshole. Sorry, Charlie.” She adds after a few seconds of thought, raising a hand in the direction of the now disgruntled Mr Handy. It isn’t long before she returns her attention to the woman, though, wrinkling her nose before she speaks again. “But hey. Bein’ a medic runs in my family. I could take a look, save you stinkin’ up the place.”

[synthsavior]

                            For a moment, Liam could only stare, wondering why this woman would think her language, of all things, was the highest upon his list of concerns. He’d never seen someone like her before, a crude mixture of flesh and metal so unlike that of a Gen 3 synth. “ Sure, I could take a look,  ” he replied slowly, blue eyes glimmering faintly with anticipation. It’d been awhile since he’d gotten to work with any real, Institute-level robotics. Pushing himself out of the chair settled in front of his workbench, he gestured for her to fully enter his workshop. His back was turned to her as he rifled through his tools, all of them makeshift or pre-war, but they would ( hopefully ) do the job.

                            “ Are you a synth? ” The question left his mouth before he could think better of it. Accusing someone of being a synth in the middle of Diamond City was rarely an intelligent idea, but it wasn’t as if Liam was a bigot. If she was a synth, well, that was all the more reason to help her.

[lonegun-blog1]

              S’alright. Cam’s used to staring. She stares back, monotonously at first, then flashes a sharp-toothed grin in his direction. “Much appreciated!!” & she’ll sling her backpack around to her front, dumping it on the chair he previously sat in and moving to limp after him. The scoff of a passing security guard stops her momentarily, though, and she’ll pause to snark at him before continuing. “What’chu lookin’ at, batter batter? Go swing at some balls, will ya’? S’all you’re fuckin’ good at.” 

When she reaches Liam again, his question startles her. She’ll halt in her tracks, hand caught mid-air as it reaches for her lit cigarette. Then she snorts --- a sound that rattles around in her throat, thick with blood. Face crinkles with amusement; a hint of confusion. 

                                                              “Dunno. Don’t think so. I never used to look like this though --- had all my fleshy bits instead’a just some. So, I guess not? Ain’t no one else like me ‘round these parts, so I can’t ask for a second opinion.” ----- that’s cause you killed them all, Cam. “You, uh, want me to sit anywhere particular? An’ can I smoke in here?”

[lonegun-blog1]

@pipboyed

           A trail of gore led to her current position, leading from the base of one of Bostons taller dilapidated towers to the top. A lot of things could have alerted whomever approaches to her presence. The firefight she had been in at the bottom of the tower, the stream of blood tempting them in from the front door, or the shots she’d fired minutes before at the head of a few raiders approaching. She cared very little, though. 

Camden sat, wheezing through multiple holes punched through her lungs by bullets and serrated steel. In one arm she cradled a .308 rifle she’d pilfered from one of the bodies she’d left in her wake and in the other, a lit smoke. Jet canisters, Med-X needles and bottles wrapped in filthy brown paper litter her form, which sits up against a partially blown out wall on a ledge looking over the city. It’d be poetic, scenic --- even pleasant if she weren’t such a state. Breath rattling, rasping in her throat; whats left of her skin is mottled with deep and oozing cuts and her nose foams with red that falls to stain her cigarette. “Evenin’.” She rasps, clicking open her smoking tin to wave it in the direction of whoever approaches. “If you’re here to kill me, have fun tryin’, until I eventually get bored an’ slit your throat. If you ain’t, have a smoke on me to say thanks. Had enuff’a fightin’ for today, I think.” 

[lonegun-blog1]

STARTER CALL.

[lonegun-blog1]

“Why do you keep stumbling over your words? Just how tired are you?”

‘WORRIED STARTERS’ @fidelismiles

                          HER EYES ROLL ABOUT IN THEIR SOCKETS as they search for whomever is speaking to her. It takes a few seconds for them to find the man, however, as she’s currently squinting through a particularly bad chem haze. 

                           “I AIN’T STUMBLIN’… AIN’T EVEN WALKIN’.” Christ, her words are maffled, murmured, mumbled through intoxication, lips barely parting enough for them to tumble from her bloodied and split lips. It’s the only thing she can do to veil the constant pain that simply being alive causes her. The aches, the migranes, the burn of metal against charred flesh. Stimpaks don’t do shit, so she turns to the harder stuff. Jet, booze, even voodoo. She doesn’t even want to know how many addictions she has, but they’re all she has. That’s the problem. 

[lonegun-blog1]

@sycophantiic

Stripped of his ‘immortality’ and grossly outgunned, the

pre-war relic was forced to choose the coward’s option after barely making it away from a deadly encounter with a Courser. Caught without a weapon, he was forced to fight with his bare hands- evident by his enemy’s blood dripping from his hands and splattered across his face. Humbled by how outdated he was against the Institute’s technology- whereas in the Mojave (and everywhere else he’d visited since), he’d been the pinnacle of technological advancement.

  After detecting a telltale signature of more enemies to come (radio static, he’d found), Yes Man decided that the best move was to flee- as horrid as it felt to run. Rounding a corner, he was sure he’d fled too late as he crashed into another person- barely catching himself from falling into hazardous debris. Three shots- he’d registered them, but none hit. Thankfully. It wouldn’t hurt - but he’d already received a few bullets lodged in his torso from the previous fight. Eyes scanning the person he’d toppled over, he was shocked by the sense of relief that washed over him as he realized she was merely an unfortunate bystander.

 “Oh, my gosh- I am so, so sorry!” Apologies began to pour from his mouth automatically, his desire to please everyone taking effect. Keeping his eyes on the shotgun, he decided not to answer who he was running from- that was often just as damning as his enemies themselves. “I really didn’t mean to run into you, I- I feel just terrible. I should have checked b-” His sentence was cut short as the Institute ‘signal’ grew stronger.

   “I know this is even more rude, but I really have to go.” A weak, forced smile- a force of habit.

                SHE LISTENS TO HIM SPEAK, BUT HER GUN DOESN’T LOWER. She is steadily calming, slowing, breathing. He’s no threat to her. Not many are, but those he’s running from? They could be. “Keep your fuckin’ apologies, boy, I can’t do shit with apologies.” And she’s about to repeat her question, more aggressively this time, when the distinct sound of transporters cuts her short. Coursers. The only things in the Wasteland that could overpower her enough to kill her. God, she wishes this ---- wet towelette of a man now standing opposite the barrel of her gun wasn’t here. What an exciting way to finally die this would have been, but she couldn’t just leave him. Those synths would tear him apart, she thought. She’s not sure why she’s having this sudden change of conscience; maybe he reminds her of someone. Maybe not. Maybe she’s just feeling poetically heroic today.  “Fuck sake.” She snarls, snapping her gun back into the harness at her side. “Listen, you run you die. You stay here, we both die.” They needed somewhere to hide. Hole up. Cam could easily rip apart one or two of them, but any more than that --- ... Bunker Hill. It was too risky to attack there, having such a large scale settlement against them would do the Institute real dirty, to say the least. Coursers wouldn’t follow where their masters wouldn’t allow. “You wanna live? You listenin’?” She’ll point to her left as she speaks. “Straight down this road, first left, second right, then straight on ‘till you see a big ol’ gate with an even bigger white monument behind it. I’m coming with you, so don’t argue. Just fuckin’ sprint. Now. Go.”

[angstmemes]

worried starters

trigger warnings apply! ( mental illness, drugs and alcohol use, self-destructive behaviours, and vomiting )

“You haven’t slept for days, have you?” “Are you eating properly? You don’t look it.” “Why do you keep stumbling over your words? Just how tired are you?” “You need to think about yourself every once in a while.” “I know your work is important, but you’re going to end up in hospital if you go on like this!” “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” “You look so… empty. I’m worried for you, please talk to me.” “Are you alright in there? You’re so quiet.” “How did you get these bruises? Please don’t lie to me.” “There’s something bothering you that you’re not telling me and I can see it slowly destroying you. What happened?” “You’re sleep deprived and you haven’t been eating. Why do you think you’re feeling dizzy?” “I can give you some pills to help you sleep. They aren’t healthy, but this is even less healthy.” “If you didn’t just blink I would’ve sworn you were dead, that’s how sickly you’re looking. Go to bed, please!” “Have you drank all of these bottles in one weekend?!” “I know you don’t want this, but it’s for your own good. Sign the papers so they can pick you up tomorrow and you can get clean.” “What the hell are you doing?! Did you do that to yourself?!” “When was the last time you left the house? Or opened the curtains for that matter.” “Here, just keep breathing. It’ll be okay. Better out than in…” “This can’t go on like this! You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, you barely talk!” “I’m sorry. I went through your room and found this. Explain what the hell this is doing in your room!” “I thought you’d quit! How long have you been lying to me?” “I’m only trying to help and right now I think I have a much better idea of what you need than you do.” “Did you take anything? Why are you passing out? Hey! Stay with me!”

[lonegun-blog1]

tokillacourier

    “SHIT, I was seriously thinkin’ of robbing ya blind while you’re incapacitated, beating ya upside the head ‘til your eyes roll back, but now I guess I gotta help ya out ‘cause I’m sure you can fuck me up real good just sittin’ there.” The woman had every intention of helping, of course. She just wasn’t too fond of that attitude right now, though she supposed she could see where the woman would have been coming from. She’d been in the same position countless times.

The Courier’s boots scraped against the dirt as she stepped toward the object which the stranger had described. She scooped up the woman’s detached body part, pausing only because she seemed interested in it, maybe curious. At least it was something she was a little used to by now, something she had some knowledge about from her own experience. Sort of felt nice to know she wasn’t the only one who could face issues like these. The woman returned soon enough and  carefully tossed the woman’s kneecap back over to her. She would still stand and watch though, as she actually wanted to see how she’d handle reattaching that dislodged part; didn’t feel right leaving someone vulnerable like that, anyway.

“Lemme know if y’ need anythin’ else, your highness.”

                 SHE LAUGHS AT THAT. It’s genuine. You can tell by the high-pitched notes laden over her giggles, the scrunch of a nose, the careless baring of sharp teeth. “Keep up that attitude an’ you’ll see jus’ what I can do from down here. Namely only ankle-bitin’ an’ a lotta arm flailin’, but trust me ----- it’s very scary ankle-bitin’ an’ arm flailin’.”

It’s said in jest, which is strange. Camden rarely jokes unless it’s at the expense of whomever she’s japing at. God, she changes moods more than she changes clothes. Of course, she changes everything more than she changes clothes. She’s been dolled up in the same rotten harnesses and shorts for seven years, but that’s besides the point. As the other walks by, Cam gets her first chance to really study the prosthetic that she had. It sparks curiosity, as it always will. The girl rarely ever sees people like her. Briefly, she wonders if the stranger hates her limb as much as Cam hates her own. But it is a brief wonder, as soon enough she’s reaching for her detached piece to swiftly return it home.

“Could do with a drink, actually, but I can provide that. If y’wanna join me, --” and she throws a small, black satchel to the stranger. It’s filled with various chems, drinks and a small revolver, “ -- take what y’want. As a thanks. S’the best ‘thank you’ you’ll ever get from me.” It isn’t long before she goes to work mending her leg, using a screwdriver from her bag to pull apart the wiring and metal around her missing knee in order to slot the piece back in place. “So, who did that to ya?” She’ll ask, absently, voice muffled now due to the harness strap she placed in her mouth seconds earlier. Pointing in the direction of the others leg, she continues. “Didn’t get ‘em same way I did, that’s all I know for sure.”

[lonegun-blog1]

@betterhealing

                     “IS YOUR NAME REALLY ARCADE?” 

She doesn’t rightly know why she cares, or even why she’s bothering to talk to anyone at all while she’s here. Here being some down-and-out, make shift medical centre in some half-assed settlement north of Bunker Hill. Once every few months she’ll spend a night in a place like this --- always does the same thing. Attempts to detach her limbs so she can clean them, bandage them, make a new mould for her sockets that won’t hurt her every time she moves an arm or a leg. She’d been trying to remove her left arm for about half an hour prior to her question and normally, her lack of success would have sent her into a spiralling berserk. Strangely enough ... she was quite calm. Amused, even. This man had been pottering about around her, and the other patients, as she’d been trying. He was funny, from what she’d heard from his conversations with others during her time there. Maybe that’s why she cares, or why she’s bothering to talk to him. Maybe that’s why she’s calm. 

                                “It sounds a lil’ made up. Like --- some kind’a raider name. But you ain’t lookin’ like a raider to me so, you get why I’m askin’. You ain’t your average, run of the mill, boring ass old doctor either. Where you from?”

[deiarma--archive]

i may seem like an angry person on the surface but deep inside im actually angrier

[lonegun-blog1]

@hellsoverseer

              “ ---- YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO TELL ME WHY TH’FUCK YOU’RE HERE, AN’ WHY YOU’RE NOT DEAD IN THAT SCUM PIT VAULT LIKE YOU SHOULD BE.”

                               When she saw him waltz into the Third Rail, it was like she’d seen a ghost. Her complexion paled further, her mouth parted in silent and unbridled shock. She can’t even look at him as she speaks, voice low and threatening. She’s tripping. Surely, she’s tripping. That’s why she’s talking to him so calmly, because she’s tripping, because he’s not real. That’s why she tells herself anyway. He can’t be --- here he can’t be here with her she left them all in the Capital Wasteland to rot and die like they deserved. Vault 101 was dead to her. They made sure of that when they cast her out. Tried to kill her. Banished her even when she returned to help a year later. The girl she was when she was there was dead. So why was it haunting her still?

[anotherrpmemeblog]

❤ Dating Sim Tropes ❤

[lonegun-blog1]

Name: Camden Catherine-James Walker.  Their Profession: Lone Wanderer. Throat Chomper. King Asshole. Where they can be found (e.g. park, café, gym etc): Primarily Goodneighbour, Combat Zone, The Glowing Sea (radiation doesn’t affect her) or wandering the wastes. Favourite food type (breakfast, junk food, veggies, etc): Cam was fed on a diet of raw meat during her time at the Synth Pit as it was thought to come across aesthetically disturbing and would deter assailants from, in her words, ‘fucking with her’. She rarely eats, but when she does, she eats raw.  Favourite alcoholic drink:  Anything and everything. If she had to choose: Absinthe.  Favourite trait (romance, passion, sexuality, talent, flirtation, sentiment, joy): Och. Puns? She fair likes puns. The tooth-hurty joke is her favourite.  Where they would go on a date: On first thought, she’d say going out to kill stuff. It’s how she dodges actual emotional attachment to anyone or anything. But, if she actually thought about it, she’d quite like to just sit on top of a high building and watch the sun go down and come up. She prefers the night time to the day time, so a night date on a high tower with drugs, alcohol, blankets and a fire would be perfect for her. Plus, they could always one-shot sniper kill a few raiders with a rifle if they got bored.  Ideal gift: LOVING HUMAN CONTACT. TEACHING HER TO ACCEPT AND UNDERSTAND EMOTIONS AND LOVE. The only physical contact she’s had in over ten years has been torture and abuse. The perfect gift for Camden would just be someones patience, understanding and love. She has no material desires. How many dates until they go to bed: A lot. Hard to say exactly, but when I say a lot I don’t mean ten or twenty. More than that. She has to get used to not flinching when people go to touch her before anything else.

[screenshotsofdespair]

[lonegun-blog1]

@sanguinariis

             “WHAT’CHA LOOKIN’ AT, BLEEDER?” 

             She’s sitting in the Combat Zone, blood smeared across each inch of her remaining flesh and dripping from her maw. None of it hers. They’re cleaning away the remains of her last and final fight for the night as she addresses the strange figure who approaches her. She can hear them gagging, hear the squish of skull under boot. It’s taken an hour to get it fully clean again. They had to keep re mopping the floor because no one could stand being in the pit for too long without vomiting at the poor slob that went up against the Wanderer. Or, what was left of them. 

No one has dared to approach her as she sits, legs sprawled out on top of the bar, in total disregard of the stools surrounding it. Even the bartender scarpered as soon as she lumbered up to his establishment, so she’s been helping herself to drinks, picking strands of flesh from between her teeth as she does. But now her attention is focused on this ... strange little man that stands now in front of her. 

“If y’wanna drink, get it yourself. If you’re here for polite chit-chat, you’re in the wrong place. If you’re jus’ here to stare, fuck off before I hurt you.”

[lonegun-blog1]

@sycophantiic

      IT’S AN ORDINARY WASTELAND DAY. She’s wandering, as she will --- eyes cast down to tinker on her right arm as she walks. A few wires have come loose in her fingers & she’s working to fix them when a --- figure comes flying around the corner. Smacks into her, sending them both flying and she just ...

... CRINKLES HER FEATURES AS SOON AS the other makes contact, the touch making her skin crawl and itch and her eyes well and water. The gun is out before she knows it, firing off three rounds blindly in the direction of the assumed assailant but --- it is no assailant. It’s just a boy. 

“WHA’ --- WHAT THE FUCK YOU DOIN’?” She wheezes, entire form trembling as she instinctively keeps her shotgun trained on his form. “Who the fuck you runnin’ from? I could’a fuckin’ killed you for that!”