Summary: I wanted to write a drabble where most of the companions were together (with the exception of X6 since this takes place before Nora goes to the Institute). Deacon is my favorite so this is told from his POV. Anyway, here's him missing his wife while everyone has a good time around the campfire. Many thanks to @falloutober for the prompts and for running the event!
Ghost
Though Barbara was gone, Deacon saw her everywhere he went: in the people he'd pass at Bunker Hill, in the frightened faces of a newly liberated Synth, and in all the lives he had taken and all the bodies he had buried trying to make up for all the sins of his youth. She was a ghost that haunted him day in and day out, never quite touching him, but always there.
The only reprieve from his guilt were little moments like these, where they were all gathered around a campfire in the middle of the street in Sanctuary, brought together by a one-woman-army on a mission to save the Commonwealth.
As Hancock poked at the fire, he told the tale of how he had gotten so high he had decided that adopting a mole rat was a good idea, and brought it back to the Old State House. For three days, he fed it Fancy Lads Snack Cakes before Fahrenheit—or Fahr, as he called her—made him get rid of it because it kept biting people's asses.
At that, Deacon cracked a smile and scratched Dogmeat's ear. Preston laughed and shook his head, and Curie started rambling about the proper diet for Heterocephalus glaber before Piper cut in and asked if Hancock was willing to be quoted for a column in the paper. Nick lit a cigarette and shook his head in disappointment, and Danse, in his stupid power armor, rolled his eyes. MacCready and Cait made remarks he had not heard, because once his eyes met Nora's, the laughter and the quips faded until all he could hear was silence.
They were Barbara's eyes, with that old-world look that made him believe that he could be a better man, and for the most part Nora had made him one. Traveling with her, helping people both human and Synth alike—he was finally making a difference, finally doing something meaningful for the benefit of all people.
As a tiny smile crept across Nora's lips, he saw Barbara's smile, and for a fleeting moment, Deacon thought that maybe being haunted wasn't so bad after all.
Yippe! Delilah murder! Extra special thanks to my beloved best friend and editor for baring with me on this one!! It’s basically a written version of the storyboard I made below.
Image/storyboard warning: blood
Story warnings: Blood, torture, genocide, possession, general violence, Fallout New Vegas spoilers
Characters are drawn as cats but written as humans :D!!
Caw! Caw! Caw! The cries of crows filled Cyrus’s ears as he stared down into Cottonwood Cove. His ears rang as he glanced to his allies, an eyebot, ED-E, and a Follower of the Apocalypse, their partner, Arcade Gannon. His ears rang as he felt the piercing eyes of purity on his back. “Cottonwood Cove… we’re here to-” Cyrus held their breath, biting his lip. Why couldn’t he say it? “I mean we have to..”
“Are you alright? You seem.. Relatively shakier than usual,” Arcade asked.
The pure eyes stabbed into me.
“Yes,” I said, sliding into the camp, it was empty, unsettling.
I can feel her presence, but she wasn't threatening me, she was focused on Arcade. She’d never liked him, tried to say she was sure of things that made him (and ED-E) untrustworthy. That she knew better and that it was better to kill them now rather than suffer in the future betrayal. Cyrus didn’t believe her. Why would he? Arcade was a fantastic person, he cared, he was smart and handsome and- Cyrus shook their head and continued forward, only to be stopped by Arcade’s voice.
“I need to talk to you about something, if you have a minute,” He said, there was an odd blue glint in his eyes. Cyrus could see her, the ghost, grinning next to him.
“Yeah? What is it?” Cyrus whispered, turning towards his lover and walking forward.
“I know I'm just along for the ride, but it's made me think about the past.”
The spirit grinned. Cyrus frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I wasn't always with the Followers, or with the NCR,” Arcade walked forward. As he continued to speak there was a strain in his voice, like he wasn’t actually sure he wanted to speak. “I was with the enclave…” Arcade trailed off, before snapping back, as if he was trying not to speak “Memories being short around here, not a whole lot of people remember them. But they did bad things. Terrorized communities, kidnapped people. Eventually, someone stopped them. I was born a few years later at one of their military bases.”
The Enclave. That story roughly sounded familiar to Cyrus. Not from the East, but from wherever he’d come from before. But they didn’t remember. Couldn’t recall where. “Where did the enclave go?” He asked.
“The Enclave went to a lot of different places. I only know what I was told,” Arcade took a deep breath, suddenly talking seemed easier, “Some of them were cut down by the NCR and the Brotherhood, and some of them went east. My mother and I went south with some troopers from my father’s old unit, and integrated into the NCR. When the NCR learned that Enclave personnel had integrated, we had to keep moving to the fringes. It's one of the reasons why I wound up out here. Even so, I've managed to keep in contact with them over the years.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Why would you tell me this?”
“I… just felt you had a right to know..” Arcade hesitated before continuing; this time it felt less forced, flinching as the blue glint was gone, “The Enclave did a lot of bad things, but there were good people at Navarro. Good people with a lot of experience. I know the enclave has a bad reputation, but I think they could make a difference, if we could reach out to them” Arcade’s voice grew shaky, a blue glint returning to his eyes, but this time it was different. Tears. “A-and- and I hope this doesn’t change things between us-“
Cyrus suddenly had their arms around Arcade. “I don’t care,” he told him. “I love you, and I will do it. We’ll get a hold of them.”
The ghost growled, pacing the two. “You heard what he said! He’s part of the Enclave!” She spat. “There’s a reason I killed every single one I came across! There’s a reason I blew them up, twice! There’s a reason I stabbed their colonel. Over and over and over, why I made them suffer!”
Cyrus ignored her, continuing to move forward towards the raft, Arcade’s hand in his. The ghost continued. “They’re the reason my father died! Why the closest thing I had to a mother is dead! They tried to poison the Capital Wasteland! Kill him, Cyrus! Kill him before he could cause harm!”
They ignored her, staring into the flowing water. Cyrus didn’t want to kill the Legion. He wasn’t. He would refuse to. The ghost could tell it by his face, and she knew that she’d have to do it herself.
+
“Stay here Arcade.”
Arcade blinked, a bit confused, not just because of the command, but because of how much Cyrus had changed. Their mood, their posture, even their voice. That and the fact Cyrus started walking alway immediately after. Something… was wrong.
“Okay. Just don't be gone long. I sunburn easily,” Arcade called, a small grin on his face. It was meant to be a joke, but Cyrus completely ignored it. A shiver came up his spine as he wondered, was that really him?
+
Every legionary looked to Cyrus, the courier, as they walked through the Fort. There were talks, whispers, all ignored. The red, the crimson, all blurred together as they made their way to Caesar’s tent. There was already a young legionary, quivering, speaking up to the other side of the room, a place where a man sat as if he were the king of the world. He was unhappy at the legionary, but especially unhappy at the courier’s presence, but the man, practically bald with a gold medal, kept his composure. He seemed calm, yet spoke with anger.
“You're the courier who's caused so much trouble for my Legion, and yet you dare come before me,” If the man was standing he would’ve been pacing. “Vulpes Inculta, the best of my frumentarii, is dead. The garrison I established at Nelson has been wiped out. Years of meticulous scheming to place a mole at Camp McCarran - wasted.” The courier stood still, not saying anything. “So tell me this, because I really want to know. I am feared - with good reason. But you - of all people - dare to come here and stand before me, the mighty Caesar. What were you thinking?”
The courier held back a laugh. “You know, when I killed every single slaver in Paradise Falls, Eulogy was the first to go. He didn’t get to see his world crumble. He died from a bullet to the back of the head. Died quickly. I didn’t get to see his face. I didn’t get to hear him scream. I wonder… how loud will you scream?”
Caesar seemed taken aback by this, signaling to his praetorians to be ready, just in case. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m here, Caesar,” The courier stared into Caesar’s eyes. This time, the courier's eyes weren’t the orange that matched the Mojave, but blue. A pure blue. “The grimreaper herself, killer of slavers, freer of slaves, the lone wanderer… Delilah Crawford.”
Caesar tilted his head. “You’re lying. That person never existed. even if she did, she’s far away, and is beyond dead.”
“Oh, I have my ways,” Delilah hummed, “I was going to come back later, but I had some… inspiration from a little… “old friend” of yours. I bet the Burned Man will be relieved to hear of your death.”
Caesar stood, about to bark out a command, but Delilah pulled out a .45 auto pistol from the jacket of Cyrus’s coat and shot him in the chest. This pistol had been gifted by Joshua himself. It felt fitting.
Caesar fell forward, blood gushing out of his chest. He couldn’t move, but was still alive, and would be alive for a little while longer. Exactly how Delilah wanted it. His praetorians weren’t too much of an issue. Delilah either shot or slammed them into the ground, her strength giving her the key to cause maximum damage. None of them survived, even the one who tried to run got shot. Caesar got to watch this. And he would get to watch longer as Delilah dragged him out of the tent.
“Oh dear Legionaries! Your leader is down, you will all now fall, fall by my hand!” Delilah called over the whole of the fort.
Legionaries looked up at her in fear, in anger, many charging towards her in an unplanned attempt at vengeance. But they all died, slowly, so she could watch the fear in their eyes, hear their pleas for mercy. So she could taste their blood.
Not a single man in red was safe. Some simply had bones snapped, and left to die slowly, some were shot by her gun of justice. A man would scream while she’d crush him underneath a cross. Delilah inflicted as much pain as she could, as much pain as they had caused. Every scream, every drop of blood made her enjoy this moment more. This is what she missed. This is why she stayed. This was the best thing she’d ever done, her entire body covered in crimson. Sweet, sweet crimson.
When the battle had finished, and bodies lined the fort, Delilah caught her breath. Glancing at the now former slaves, she could tell they had a bag of mixed emotions. But she decided to ignore that. She was a symbol of hope, had to be. She waved before making her way back to Caesar. Pure terror filled his eyes as he gasped for air, blood pooling and dripping down the small hill. He was barely conscious, his fear being all that kept him awake. Stepping over him, Delilah reentered his tent, finding something, something quite perfect in the back. A bull’s skull. Removing one of the horns was easy enough. Tossing it in small circles, Delilah made her way back out, looking down at Caesar.
“You thought you would win, but like those before you, you didn’t. In fact, you made the same fatal mistake they did: inviting me into your home,” Delilah laughed, crouching down to see Caesar’s face. “You were so powerful, but in moments? You’re just pathetic,” she grinned, brushing the side of his head with the horn.
Caesar shook, eyes widening more. “You…” He couldn’t even get a word out.
Delilah laughed. “You can burn in hell, burn like your.. boyfriend. Only you won’t be coming back. And the Legion will die,” she readied her arm with the bull horn. “You caused all of this suffering, you were ruthless. And so I was ruthless back.”
“No..” Caesar whimpered weakly.
“Goodbye, Edward Sallow,” Delilah said, emotionless as she shoved the horn into his head.
Caesar was alive for only a few moments longer before his body became completely limp, and all life left his eyes. She dragged his body back into the tent, grinning, imagining the reaction from the remnants when they returned. Delilah then turned to leave, job done. This body was not worth her time. And so she left him to rot, to allow the maggots to pick up every piece. And in their mind it was hope, but the hope would crumble. It would become dust and become one with the sand of the Mojave. Because the Legion was filled with ideals that ruined them from the start. And just like the Enclave, every Legion soldier was evil, deserving every second of pain inflicted in their death. And so Caesar and the rest of the Legion at the Fort would sit there, and rot, and rot and rot, until the Legion was simply a memory.
Hey all! We're finalizing this year's list, but wanted to gather some feedback before we pick the final cut for prompts!
While we try to keep it pretty varied each year, it might be interesting to make a list composed primarily of related prompts that could all tie in to each other thematically this time around. We think this could be a fun challenge/inspiration! But since it'd be a slight change from usual, and change can be scary, we're putting it out to you, the people!
Would you prefer this years prompts be...
MOSTLY all from a similar theme (Religion, Animals, Obscure 50s Slang, etc)
MOSTLY no overarching theme at all (besides Fallout)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Nora tugs on the thread holding the past and present together while MacCready wrestles with his own vulnerability…or lack thereof.
Rating: M for descriptions of combat
Warnings: Somewhat gruesome depictions of violence, nothing beyond what's shown in the games.
--
Notes: Actually not smut for once, but feelings are involved. This is a scene I removed from my long WIP, but lo and behold, it fit @falloutober Day 9 perfectly. Better late than never, right? I don't write nearly enough from MacCready's POV, so I had to do something to change that.
purgatory as in neither hell or heaven. It could be the main menu, where you, the player decides whether to continue or not. There’s no permanent death. But the closest thing that could happen is being stuck in a place out of bounds. Somehow, without cheating, you glitched through the plane and landed in a place you weren’t meant to see. All you can do is either wait for the judgement (reloading the save) or stay here forever.
Maybe there’s no ghost at all. Maybe it was just a person with stealth boy. Stare at that blank space long enough and you’ll see the distorted air. Do you think they’re scared of being seen as much as you seeing them? The closest thing you can get to a ghost is Arin. She’s almost invisible, moves things around the area, quiet weird noise, sabotage stuffs, and you can also feel her presence without seeing her.
