#focca2020

[coriandher]

#FOCCA2020 - May 14th, Role Reversal

Caesar President E. Sallow, the Followers Governor

Aaron Kimball Archon, the Usurper of Flagstaff

[idancewithmolerats]

FOCCA - Day 5:  An Impactful Event In Their Life

"Charon, you were forced to sign your contract?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"No," he answered. "They forced me to make this choice, but the decision was mine. At the time, it seemed like a good idea – to put the remnants of my life into the hands of someone who knows what to do with it. I’ve just wanted to get rid of myself, that's all".

"But it didn't work."

"But it didn't work," he nodded. "I’ve never been lucky, little one."

[moonstone-blues]

#FOCCA2020 May 12: Daily Routine (Preston Garvey)

"Smh Preston is so annoying I mean what does he even do-"

HIS BEST.

On this account we stan a hard working man. Honestly, I really love Preston. If you look past the games fault of shoving the settlement quests onto him, he's actually a really lovable character. Definitely in my top 5.

[bellaciaofallout]

Day 1 - Pre-Game Life Phoenix and Nate ♥

[courier-sux]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

May 3 - Favorite AU

When the courier left the Mojave ten years ago, Boone had to make a decision: stay a husk of a man, or try to change himself.

It surprises both of them when she comes back.

This is a self-indulgent oneshot of a sad AU based off my main Boone/Courier fic. Both of them don't get help until it's too late; she leaves the Mojave, and he doesn't stop her. Enjoy some bittersweet reunions with a 36yo Boone :’)

[teaconsumption]

I decided to hop on the FOCCA2020 :) Here’s the May 5th prompt, an impactful event in their life. Of course I had to do Danse during Blind Betrayal.

@falloutfandomeventhub

[annathescavver]

So here’s something for FOCCA 2020...

May 12 - Daily Routine or Nights

The courser approached. Every move of theirs was measured and planned. The step over the fallen branch, the lifting of their chin, the narrowing of their eyes. In their hands was a rifle, Institute made, and it glowed with a blue light that illuminated the dark mist that surrounded them.

DiMA took a step backward, hands held out before him. “Please,” he said. The word was choked and barely audible. “Stop. Listen to me.”

The courser gave no indication that they heard him. Or perhaps they didn’t care. Their gaze went past him to the person he was desperately trying to hide.

DiMA stretched out one arm to the side, fear twisting his features. No, please, he thought to himself. Not him. Do not take him.

When the courser rushed forward, he met them. Shoving his hand upward, he pushed the rifle away and the shot flashed hot against his silicone skin. Above where they fought, the moon was hidden behind thick cloud cover. Even the stars, usually so prevalent and vivid on this island, were nowhere to be found.

There was a shout. A pained one, filled with worry. Faraday.

“You don’t have to do this!” DiMA said, struggling against the courser. He didn’t want to hurt them. He just wanted them to stop. “You have no right to come here. To attack us.”

He and the courser broke apart. Unlike him, they seemed barely winded. Though, on closer inspection, he sensed the slightest hesitation. An injury, maybe. Or something else.

“We are harming no one. We only want to be left alone, to live in peace.” DiMA held out his hands again, wincing as the spot on his side stung. There was a warm feeling there, too, and he knew it meant nothing good. This fight had to end and it had to end quickly.

Sensing a pause in the courser’s advance, he continued. “We are meant to live out here. On our own, and choosing our own paths. You could do the same.”

Confusion flickered in the courser’s eyes and they stopped. They looked lost. They looked hurt, like a thousand pains were coming forward at once. The rifle in their hand lowered a fraction of the way, and their finger wavered over the trigger.

And then anger snapped in their eyes. The rifle came back up, its barrel pointed towards his chest. “Be quiet and step -”

“No.”

The courser frowned at the calmness in his tone. “No? Who are you to command me?”

“I do not want to command you. I only ask that you do not harm us, or take us away.” DiMA folded his hands before him, regarding the rifle in silence. “We can help you, friend. We can help you break free from their control.”

Their eyes closed. It was such a raw expression that DiMA stepped forward before he could stop himself. He wanted to help, truly. This courser was one of his own people. Made and trained by the Institute, like he had been. And, perhaps like him, this person wanted to escape.

“Please,” he said again. This time his voice was stronger. “Let us help you. Put down your weapon. You are among friends, now.”

[its-sixxers]

May 1 - Pre-game life OR Restart

Preston Garvey enjoying a morning Nuka-Cola at the Quincy Diner. August, 2287