sole survivor.

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 , 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 .

[synthmama]

o-rusted-heart || valentine.

Part of him had expected her to pull away from him, to turn aside and close off and put the vulnerable conversation aside like it had never happened. Locked tight in a box in a basement.

But she didn’t. She grew tense, but her face turned into his shoulder. Nick only held Quinn just a bit closer, their dancing turning into a sort of embrace. Something felt a little tighter in his chest, then in his throat, something human.

But she was talking, and his focus went to that. His cheek rested gently against the side of her head as his feet moved just a bit beneath them. “That’s all I want, Quinn.”

“…Just talk to me. I… miss things bein’ how they were.” 

There’s no pulse or heartbeat to clue her in on where his head might be. No rate of breaths to track or learn. Nick is human, and not, at the same time; a person whose nature will forever be in contradiction to himself at all times. It makes it harder to read him; perhaps that’s why he’s a principled man, choosing to be forthright and honest at every turn. 

Her mouth presses in a line as eyes study the exposed machinery beneath frayed, graying skin. Nick tells her he misses how they were. But the truth is: Quinn isn’t sure they can ever go back to that. Especially with what she has to tell him next.

“After we met DiMa, I had questions of my own. Wanted to do some digging, I guess -- suppose I should blame you for that trait.” Quinn admits. She pauses, now; unsure how to share the rest of the information as her stomach twists in knots. The water now feels cold, everything around them plunging and frigid. This is where she starts to pull away. “-- He told you that he took you and escaped. But the truth was, Nick... That’s what the Institute wanted. It’s not a place you can run from easily. Not without help, or without inside knowledge.” 

[synthmama]

cheatdeaths || six.

There’s the kind of smile that happens sometimes when something isn’t funny or nice or pleasant, but manners still dictate that a smile should be had. It’s a kind of smile that knows very well the answer. One that is modest but grim, and though it’s not unfriendly at the end of the day it really isn’t a smile at all.

“Well now, Miss Quinn, I don’t reckon that’s a war at all, and I don’t think that you reckon that, neither.” It would be innocent people being mowed down. That was why she was quick to talk them down. The Kings and the Followers were just fine working at something that appealed to Robert House’s goals. Once again though, it’s too much credit. She’s only playing the hand she’s been dealt, after all.

The Brotherhood is a minor inconvenience to her compared to everything else. Though she has no idea what Quinn has in mind, in that pause Six hears it, too: for now. Perhaps it’s just because of all she’s had to bury with them that it doesn’t bother her more than it should.

“It’s a right ugly thing, ain’t it?” It confirms that yes, yes she has, and draws a pretty strong line in the sand, “Also heard they were here to protect the people of the Commonwealth, but I reckon they ain’t gonna have to worry about that for much longer. If I may be so candid with you, Ms. Quinn, all I smell downwind of their ship is a load of brahmin dung.”

There is one thing that interests the Brotherhood, and it is the Brotherhood. Time and time again it has proven to be true, and East or West coast, Six is firmly set in her belief that it’s not changed regardless of the distance, “Them Minutemen, for example. They’re doing bang up job of givin’ the people here some semblance of a chance again. Might not be entirely well versed in your politics ‘round here, but I listen to the radio.”

“They called what happened during my time a war too. The Great War. Truth is: war is annihilation, plain and simple. It doesn’t take into account who gets the bad hand of cards in that situation.” And there’s a rare frown from her, something not tamped down or scripted. Her hands clasp before her, the pads of her fingers pressing hard against the knuckles until she feels the joints roll beneath her grip. 

“I visited them after they landed, you know. Met their Elder, too.” It felt reminiscent in the worst of ways of the military and its hunger for power back-then. The soldiers looked to the Elder like he was the solution and everything outside of it is the problem, is a blight. Quinn won’t deny he has the trappings of a compelling leader -- even if she doesn’t agree with him. “They asked for help. And then, they asked me to commandeer food and supplies from other settlements. Like it was a tax, but the people here, the Commonwealth -- they never asked for these people to show up.”

She doesn’t expect the Third Amendment to stand ground in a government that exists no longer, but it still grates her all the same. Her arms fold across her chest, turning to look over at Six.

“The Brotherhood. Are they also where you came from? What were they like there?” 

[lovestereo]

Visit Original Link

[synthmama]

starhaunt || ren.

the urge to leave is overwhelming enough that she catches herself hesitating on the threshold, fingers on the door jamb  like a vice, seriously contemplating just fucking walking off into the distance never to be seen again.   she doesn’t often go against her instincts — it’s rare they lead her astray — and if it was anyone else but quinn she might have listened to them.   but quinn is important, in one way or another she hasn’t entirely determined yet, and that’s what seals the deal on her decision as she takes off up the staircase after the shadow.

Maybe nostalgia’s sucker-punched her on this one, but some days, she can’t help it. Old memories of haunted house attractions during fall, always trying to get a one-up on siblings, friends, others. It’s a bit of brevity, and why Quinn’s hidden in one of the rooms along the hall, door cracked, just enough to spy Ren’s approaching shadow. Eventually, she hears it; boots on the stairs, before creaking on the approach. Ren moves carefully, quietly as is habit to do. As she passes, Quinn carefully pushes the door aside, a hand grabbing at the other’s shoulder. 

“Boo.” 

[synthmama]

isalarevas || inquisitor. 

➹ ||   she sighs & moves to sit, hands folding in her lap gaze hard set toward the ground. she was so much more like her elder sister than she would admit. persistent, stubborn, doesn’t like to take breaks. in truth her muscles ached, bones stiff. mind filled with intrusive memories & thoughts of recent events forever pushed down, down, down to the pit of her stomach. no matter what happened to the two of them, the inquisition demanded leaders that were dedicated beyond measure, to cast themselves aside to focus on the goals ahead. another sigh & her form seems to pick up from the obvious weariness still set within her. ＂ mmm ! but to have come so far so quick is impressive my lady ! i hope i can be as successful as you given time. ＂

There is something that smarts in that statement, like a salt-laced knife twisting jagged teeth in her side. Success can hardly be charted with a family razed and taken from her, could it not? Never mind the riches and power that have accrued in the wake of tragedy ( now a weapon at the extension of the Inquisition’s as any other ). Gloved hands betray none of her emotion, not the paled knuckles from a tightened grip. Orlais requires a firm-set mask, and so Quinn smiles kindly; eyes crinkling. The other has lost so much, and stands to lose more. The fate of the world outstrips a family tragedy. 

“Kindness is a valuable trait in a leader.” Quinn observes. “And so is patience. For others, and for yourself. If you do not offer it to yourself, you’ll find yourself breaking in the face of what’s to come. Promise me at least, Inquisitor, that you will allow yourself that grace.” 

[synthmama]

sagaiisms || gaea.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Nora is definitely not alone in that. Gaea has been to some expensive restaurants , ones with miniscule servings ( but still damn good food ) & some dishes so rich it made her grimace. Some of her favorites are those with good atmosphere & even better food. And yes , she definitely loves some fried food , homemade or otherwise. This conversation also makes her wonder the last time she had had her assistant over. Freyja , sweet girl that she is , has asked after ‘ Ms. Nora ’ quite a few times & it’s about time she stops forgetting.             ❝ I’d like to think you know me well enough to know apologizing is a habit of mine by now. ❞ One she , admittedly , hasn’t put much stock into. Gaea feels , in her deepest parts , aware there are things she feels guilty for that she shouldn’t. It’s far easier for her to take the blame. She waves away the other woman’s words. ❝ And I have no idea why you feel the need to apologize. ❞

“Habits are hard to break, aren’t they?” Quinn relents, agreeing. Patterns formed out of necessity, and what are humans if not creatures that operate on fired impulses and those ingrained patterns? She doesn’t blame Gaea. When she was younger, too, she had been made to apologize for so many things. For not being good enough. For the space she takes in a room. For existing at the wrong place and the wrong time. For her siblings’ crimes against a legacy as well. 

But in time, she grew to love the destruction that came with breaking those patterns. With not apologizing. With coming into her own. Maybe it’s selfish, for Quinn to want to see Gaea do the same with how far she has already risen. But maybe it’s not Nora’s place to say.

“Well -- I am your assistant. If anything, it should be me placing the order.” A sigh. Another swig, and she places the bottle down. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it by covering the tip. Least I could do, right?”

[synthmama]

cottonbelles || cotton.

【 💣 】— She wondered if that jab about laundry was directed at her, too. Quinn was right, of course– Cottonbelle was not a clean person either, but when purified water was hard to come by, you didn’t waste it on washing clothes unless it was absolutely needed… and even then 200 year old clothes often tore apart if you washed too hard.

         “Yeah yeah, identities, right,” the other woman rubbed her chin for a moment, trying to think up something. Truth be told, Cotton used to actually go by another name in her teen years, when she ran with a raider gang calling themselves the Blasted Badgers, so simply using that one would be easy.

         “Okay, my name is going to be Leechai, and uh… we used to be tough-as-nails raider pair from the uh… hmmhmmhmm,” she mumbled the last part, unsure of what to call their made-up raider group. “But it uh, got wiped out byyy…. Gunners? Minutemen? And so we’re coming here to see if we can’t join up…. Hmm… how does that sound?”

There’s twin parts of curiosity and fascination that linger in Quinn’s stare at Cotton’s cover story, paired with a slow raise of the brow; arms folding across the chest while she leans back on her heels and mulls it over. It feels less like improv and more like something familiar. 

“Taking it this is a cover you’ve used before, Leechai?” Quinn asks. Her index finger taps at her chin in thought, before opting for a similar tactic. Cotton’s on the right track: familiar is easier, more natural to revert to for these things. “Alright. I’ll be Nora. Given how ruthless the Gunners are, might be better to say it was the Minutemen that did our crew in.” 

She shrugs on the clothes, before eyeing their surroundings. Crouching down, Quinn scoops a bit of dirt in her hands,before patting and smearing it against her cheeks and forehead to give a more scuffed up appearance. 

“Any other tips on this before we make our way in? Might take some time before we can find where they’re keeping the hostages.” 

[synthmama]

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 ?

touch me with tender truth.

you crave being known and held. you just want the warmth and pressure of another body against your own. sometimes, late at night when you're alone in your bed, your skin aches with the lack of touch. you've tried touching yourself, and it isn't the same. one time someone gripped your shoulder and squeezed it in passing, and you thought about it for weeks after - the ghost pressure of their hand lingering. don't you deserve it? consistent physical love and caring? i think so, i think you do. but i also have to ask - do you fear it even as you want? after all, if you get it then it might also be taken away. i hope that if you fear it, you push through past that fear. that you ask for the touch you desire and deserve. i hope that you get touched with love and kindness, wrapped up in warm arms and rocked from side to side until the tension and pain falls away layer by layer and only you are left.

Tagged by: enccrypted (ty!)

Tagging: @cottonbelles @sfcwilliams @webrunners @o-rusted-heart @cheatdeaths @sagaiisms @orphidian

[synthmama]

kidemcnas || wyck.

“Sounds nice if ya’ve got skin, maybe we should suggest it to the Vanguard.” A quick chuckle escapes him as he shrugs, he didn’t think he’d enjoy it as much as a human or an awoken would, but who knows! He decided to not judge without trying something like that first.

He nods at her explanation, although slightly confused. “Doesn’t sound too comfy, but who am I to judge, eh?” After all, his own idea of body relaxation was different. 

“Maybe there’s some nice golden age things to look at, or maybe it’s infested with something, at this point it’s just a coin toss.” He hoped that it wouldn’t be infested by Taken, at least, he really did not like them. 

At her request, he nods, turning around to watch her back. “Dunno, climbing can be fun sometimes, figurin’ out how to get from a ledge to another, plus it makes ya feel pretty damn cool.” He mused, amused by his own statements.

Gloves off, Quinn Nora makes quick work of the lock. The door sticks on the hinges, unused for some time and creaking loudly enough to let them and anyone else in earshot know. She holds the door open for Wyck before fitting her gloves back on, readjusting them until the clasps seal together with the rest of her armor; seamless and vacuum tight. 

“Wouldn’t that be a kick. Using some spa as a cover to hide important tech.” But -- not unlikely. Certainly not the first that she’s come across that. Not that that’s something Nora should profess to know, let alone mention to Wyck. 

“Typical Hunter,” She responds to his musing, and were it not for the reflective plating of her helm he might just see a playful roll of the eyes. The darkness of the entry lobby swallows them whole as they enter, before Codsworth flickers his light on, illuminating a dusty tile hall, a marble desk; vacant. “Always wanting to find out the hard way to do something instead of the right way.” 

[synthmama]

starscorned || attano.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Pbbt.” Funny how this is the closest they get to joking, but suppose it’s a little too early since they’ve defrosted for full on jokes, not like Corvo has ever been known as funny before. It’s not his style, but sometimes that’s all they could do to get by.

Before she’s even finished the question, his fingertips are prying beneath the bandages slowly and carefully. He doesn’t want to rip anything off the wounds, but it hurts when it gets closer to them and he doesn’t bother trying to clench his jaw through the pain, instead allowing his lips to pull back and mouth to open in a quiet grimace.

“Might want to light a candle before you get at it. I can handle cleaning it up. I promise to take my time, now that I’m not likely to be shot in the process.”

“I’m sorry, are you blowing raspberries at me? Me, the one with the Stimpaks and Med-X?” Were it not for his injuries, Quinn might just nudge him in playful reprimand. Instead, there’s a sharp hum under her breath as she leans down to assist. The Pip-Boy’s light helps illuminate, but it’s not enough. At his suggestion, she leans past him, grabbing a lighter and setting it to a few waxen stubs. 

“Don’t know. How good are you at keeping your word, Attano?” Quinn asks softly. As he pries at the bandages, she helps to loosen them, before setting them aside. It’s hard, at first, to make out the wounds; blood and newly formed bruises obscure, but it’s there. She reaches for the washcloth, squeezing away the excess in the bowl before pressing it over the bloodiest part of his side, moving to let him take over. “Because I’ve seen how you rush about when it comes to taking care of yourself.” 

[synthmama]

o-rusted-heart || valentine.

Nick Valentine could see it coming from afar, like a storm gathering out at sea, stood at contrast to the blue, calm waters of their dancing in quiet serenity. Guilt, it had been there from the beginning with her; guilt from her choices, how it had effected him, shame, and… secrets. Always secrets.

But Nick had worked hard to push his anger away and not let it back in. He wouldn’t be mad at her now. He took the way her hand tightened as a sign, a little plea to weather that storm with something solid to hold onto. “…She doesn’t have to be,” the synth answered quietly.

His hand on her waist just barely turned into her lower back, urging her just a bit closer against him. His voice was closer, quieter, soft at the edges. “You don’t have to keep secrets from me, Quinn. We’re a team. …I want to be a team.”

Nick knows what to expect from her at this point, and maybe that’s why his hand draws taut against her; drawing her in because he knows that at times like these, Quinn always pulls away. She follows the steps of the dance like rote rehearsal, but the once relaxed posture as become more rigid; breaths locked in the cage of her ribs. There will always be secrets. For her sake. For his. But this one, now, that hangs in the air over them, can’t be one that keeps its nature forever. 

Her head bows, cheek pressed against the firm jut of his shoulder. She doesn’t have to be good at keeping secrets. 

“I wish I could agree, Nick. It’d be easier that way.” Words meant to delay the inevitable. She knows when this is over, whatever work had been done to patch the bridge of their friendship might just crumble again. “But there’s more at stake than you realize. However -- since you want to be a team, and since I owe it to you -- I need to... Not come clean, per se, but... I don’t want to leave you in the dark. You deserve better than that. You deserve a helluva lot more than the hand this life’s dealt you, I guess.” 

[synthmama]

sfcwilliams​ || bangalore.

 “Getting to hear you ask, first off,” Anita’s lip curls back in a teasing grin. Navigating this negotiation of sorts takes tact and Quinn’s expression tells her to mind her step. “And secondly?” Slowly, surely, she moves in a little closer to the point - barely a few inches between them, shooting hand at the ready to reach. “I like playin’ a little hard to get.” 

“And where’s the fun in that for me?” Quinn clarifies. She sits up; the distance neither thins nor spans between them but remains in an equilibrium as she angles herself, further blocking the bowl of candy. “Guess you met your match, Williams. So do I.” 

[bifacts]

Fact: Today (September 23rd) is bisexuality awareness day. Be aware of bisexuals. They are dangerous.

[letmebegaytodd]

Fallout 4 Gothic

You wake up cold. Your son is missing. You return to your home. Is it your home? Yes, of course it is.

You stumble across a town. Covenant? Everything is clean. The townsfolk smile at you. Their smiles stay. You begin to wonder if their faces are stuck like that. You hear faint static. The static increases the harder you look at them. You feel an uneasy sense of dread. They ask you to stay for dinner. You decline and turn to leave.The door won’t open.

Your arm is severed by a deathclaw. You fight back the pain and sleep on a dirty mattress. You awake to find your arm reattached. Your fingers do not feel like your own.

Everywhere are skeletons. Sometimes you hear rattling behind you. You turn and out of the corner of your eye a skeletal hand moves. You don’t mention it to your companion. They already know.

You take a sip of nuka cola. Still carbonated. Hasn’t it been 200 years? Your geiger counter begins to scream. You decide not to drink anymore.

The same songs play over again on the radio. The radio dj is almost always crying. Part of you wonders if he really exists. Most of you doesn’t want to know.

You found your son. At least you think you have. You wish you hadn’t.

[synthmama]

coltdead || rick.

call   it   a   hunch,   an   insinct   of   survival,   cultivated   by   centuries   of   experience   with   rotting   and   falling   flesh   as   a   badge   of   honor.   using   the   nose   of   his   gun,   he   points   to   the   passing   shadow   he   spots   inside.   “there’s   somemone   in   the   house.”   tone   hushed   and   graveled   by   errosion   of   radition.   azure   hues   gaze   to   the   one   beside   him.   “ladies   first?"   

“Hold on. Are you using me as bait?” It’s a mere whisper, but there’s steel in that tone as Quinn shoots him a look just as sharp. Were it not for the fact that they could be walking into a veritable hornet’s nest ( or worse ), she might just offer more a piece of her mind. Instead, mouth presses into a line, weighing their options. “If you're gonna have me ring that doorbell, you better have a good housewarming gift ready. Just in case.”

[synthmama]

sagaiisms || gaea.

𝐆𝐀𝐄𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. That all - consuming , seeing red , unreasonable fury that only comes when someone she loves is in danger. That number is dwindling all the time but there’s no one she cares for as much as her daughter. So the picture laying between her & the Overwatch operative they had sent to speak to her in place of someone more prominent , the one of her daughter caught in crosshairs , is enough for her to speak in a chillingly calm tone. One , perhaps , made worse by all the rubble around her from the attack she survived with Nora ( no , Quinn ). ❝ You know what you can tell your higher - ups ? They’ve got about eight hours before I handle this myself , by any means I choose. I’m asking for assistance & advice. Don’t confuse it for needing it. ❞ // 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 ( @synthmama· ).

Doesn’t it look familiar, the twin parts of rage and fear in Gaea’s eyes? Quinn remains static in the situation, little more than wallpaper or accent decorations to the scene that unfolds; eyes wide, mouth parted, all scripted but the shock that lingers beneath a dark stare is genuine. She felt this once too, what Gaea is feeling now. It isn’t something she’d wish on anyone. 

“Ma’am, we’re working quickly to resolve the situation but you are also a priority. We’re recommending that you be taken to a safe location until this matter is handled.” All. Scripted. Down to the wire, down the soft dip in vocal cadence, the hand pressed to the chest in earnestness. Quinn still has a cover, but that doesn’t mean she can’t buck the lines set in place just a bit. A hand reaches out, gently asking for Gaea’s attention, before Quinn turns to the side. 

“Gaea: I apologize for interrupting but may I have a word with you, if you don’t mind?” The agent stares, expectant, so Quinn clarifies. “In private?” 

[synthmama]

cheatdeaths​ || @ me next time.

                “Howdy, pardner.”