#raiilsigns

[corragain]

@raiilsigns

                                                                                   Portsmouth 14 March, 2288

Dearest Morgan

I have return’d now to England to her rain, which is as miserly as I, and so I find myself in like suitable weather.

The city had thrown as fantastical a ball as one could muster for our return. Very little in the mood was I for gaiety. Miss Collins had come all the way from London to chance a dance or suit with no doubt a handsome chap, Edmund, I expect but instead was unlucky and so was I to be leading her hand. Forgive me I speak uncharitably. She was of very fine company and uncommon light on her feet but very much my thoughts and heart remain fur’thur away in Massachusetts Harbor. Well no more tears, my dear girl. I say and withholding little that upon donning my dress uniform I had lost most shockingly two stones. 

I take my lodgings altho’ hold title of a home. It was unbearably quiet and makes one feel sadly lonely.

Much to do, much to do. There is talk now of sending a pilgrimage to America tho when I do not know but I think soon. I had made rounds in Victoria Park an evening last and witnessed a lady with a large breed for which I had thought of you and Bo but both were too well mannered.

Tell me how goes with utmost honesty or I should know. I regret being so apart but put you in God’s good blessing and my dear girl keep safe, and know that I am

yours most sincerely

AA Corrigan

[treerie]

34. — diary | @raiilsigns​

x/xx/xxxx

i’m high. i lost my mind somewhere in vault 92, somewhere east, i haven’t seen it since leaving, i must’ve lost my mind if i had to leave my entire family behind to pursue my fantasy but i’m doing this FOR them, i’m doing this for all of us… it’s times like this that i wonder if i’m doing the right thing, i’ve suffered a bullet to the head; how easy it can be to kill me out of existence & my family wouldn’t even know what happened to me. i’m a phoenix, i feel like i’m on a cloud.

x/xx/xxxx

no one has seen an asshole in a checkered suit. is it really that hard to miss him? he has a CHECKERED SUIT. why am i even following him again? my package… i want to twist his arm a little. ugh i’m getting so frustrated. i’ve risen from a literal grave & instead of being grateful for the air i breathe, i just want to scream my lungs out. i think i might. but the good people of goodsprings might think there’s something wrong with me, though there honestly is, sometimes i don’t even feel human anymore.

x/xx/xxxx

i don’t like talking about this with ANYONE but when i go to sleep, i still dream about BLOOD. so much blood, staining the walls, floors, & my hair. it’s mostly in my hair & i hate it. i had to wash it out this morning twice as much. there was blood in my hair again, i was thankful that portion of my head was shaved off when i underwent surgery… i didn’t have to remember the crust of it or even the smell of it. i am thankful i ‘died’ before i could feel the blood in my hair again. my own blood.

x/xx/xxxx

hi. i don’t like to admit this especially in front of ben & atticus but i can’t breathe. it’s so hard to breathe sometimes. breathing sucks. it hurts. whenever we’re facing legionnaire or raiders or whatever the fuck, i actually FORGET TO BREATHE… i’m scared, i’m actually really scared. i don’t even know what i’m doing anymore. this never leaves this room, this never leaves THIS PAGE but i can’t stand it sometimes. i hate to admit that i’m not the girl they think i am… but then i remember i can breathe… i breathe breathe breathe. i can breathe. i am alive.

[atcmbcmbs]

@raiilsigns continued from here.

For once the Paladin is without his usual Power Armor and on the inside he feels naked, but on the outside he wears a mask of… Concern? Pity? Something verging on the edge of being gentle - a stark contrast from his usual stern scowl. Regardless of what she may think, he does remember her just as he remembers all of his Brothers and Sisters ( especially those who have passed ) in Steel. He doesn’t need to glance down to know that the holotags are out, the shift in both the air and their demeanors is enough to alert him. If she wished to evoke feeling from the soldier, it worked, though it may not be the emotion she planned for.

Ramhart won’t plea with her or show any mercy, and neither will he be convinced to run away and join the cause she aligns herself with. He will be honest with her, despite how hard and painful it may be because it is what’s right and what she deserves. Fighting in a war, there are always unfair prices to be paid and he knows that well. It’s why he doesn’t consider himself a good man but a dutiful one instead.

“For as long as there are dangers that roam the Wasteland, the Brotherhood will be there to fight them all. That doesn’t matter where we are, it just matters that we do it.” The Commonwealth was not his home, and if it was up to him he would have stayed in the Capital Wasteland. But ever the loyal man, the Paladin traveled for his organization at its orders.

“You know how the Brotherhood feels about ghouls. They are one of the ramifications of the mistake that was the Great War.” Ramhart both believed in and agreed with the notion that the Brotherhood of Steel was preventing yet another devastating war. “Granted they may not be as dangerous as their feral counterparts, but eventually they will all become feral. It may be sooner rather than later, or vice versa, and that’s why they are a threat.”

As agitation begins to claw away at him, he pinches at the bridge of his nose with gloved hand and sighs. The part of him that remembers and holds the past dear wants to say that Morgan is not an enemy, but he knows that there is another part of him that says she very well could be. The most he feels that he can do is give his own word of warning.

“Then you better heed this too, especially if we are going to keep meeting like this. You need to be careful, because the more tense that this war gets the more drastic people will become. That includes the Brotherhood and myself.”

[corragain]

💬

Send 💬 and my muse will say what they really think about yours (Accepting) 

“And as to whom this may have belonged – Miss Reed or the dog" — he waved vaguely at her blanket — “I may never hear of it.” 

“It had been shared, in fact.”

Edmund grinned, his teeth charmingly crooked. “This friend of yours, Christ forbid we be made to endure a conversation — a single word — beyond that of a library, my word.”

“If it is within the page she finds comfort, Edmund, she’s welcome to it.”

It was sloppy, this. This new familiarity. A bottle of whisky, still open, sat over the rickety table, and Edmund was two shots deep on an empty stomach, his cheeks blotchy pink and his coat spread open. Corrigan smiled back, feeling floaty, and his eyes roamed slowly to a strand of fur stuck to his sleeve…

“She would have read until dawn, if she wanted,” he muttered into the air. “And danced with not a pair of eyes set upon us.”

The memory dripped from him irrevocably, without realization. Regret hit him, and Edmund’s crooked smile faded.

“Andrew–”

He stiffened. “I am fully aware.“

In truth, he didn’t know what Edmund wanted to say. But he was afraid. Afraid the words would have started with ‘she is not…’ Afraid of realizing that’s how he saw her. Afraid, mostly, of being confronted with a truth he could not bring himself to look at, and that was the thing about truths, he had found — they were painful. Even when they had the same freckles and love of books. Even when they were both light enough to float from his hands when they danced.

“You love her.”

There it was: the long and short of it, laid bare. Andrew said nothing. 

“You– Christ. She’s here, you’re here. She has lost, you have lost. You are both miserable, Andrew, exactly what the other may need, and yet neither of you will say it.”

He should smack the table, boiling at the sheer presumptuousness. A year ago, he would have. “Is that how you see it?” he rasped.

Edmund leaned back. “It is.”

He closed his eyes. In his mind: a girl reading in the chair across from him, her hair sopping wet with a blanket stained black with mud, a dog beside her. Corrigan wet his lips and tasted bitter malt. “I do,” he confessed. Then, ironically, “If you’ll believe it.”

Edmund’s eyes had softened, he thought. In the coming dark, his head half-hazy, it was hard to tell.

“There, then,“ he said. "We are in agreement.”

The whisky did not burn going down.

[atcmbcmbs]

"Waging war against good people is bad for the soul. This may not seem important to you now, but it’s the most important thing I’ve said." [[Ramhart]]

JOSHUA GRAHAM CRACKER STARTERS

@raiilsigns

“The Brotherhood would never wage a war against good people, not when we’re trying to better the Wasteland.” It almost felt… Wrong to be having a conversation with her, but Ramhart supposed it was necessary in the end. There was a need to know why the two ended up here, their lives taken down two different and drastic paths. It was their shared history that left him acting civil rather than headstrong as usual. 

“Your words are something to live by, so trust me when I say I am doing just that- The Brotherhood is doing just that. You could be too, you know.”

[vorcotec]

"Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda."

         Jane struggles, face pinched, lips pressed hard into a flat line. When she thinks it’s safe, she takes a breath, opens her mouth, and blurts, “No, they’re not. People are alive. Words aren’t.”

         Words are just things you pass back and forth. They’re nothing. They’re tokens, no cash value. People hunch over black-and-white boards and say this is a checker, or this is a queen or a rook, and move them around inside a little cage of rules that everyone agrees on–that’s what words are. Just game pieces.

         She digs her teeth into the inside of her mouth, frustrated; she didn’t want to disagree, or not in her own voice–if she sounds like herself, she sounds rude, unlikable, she doesn’t make friends, people have told her that. If words are living things, waiting inside people to be said, with their own secret goals and purposes, then she must have a swarm inside her, like she’s the hive and they’re the bees, and it’s up to them, not her, whether or not they come flying out and sting.

         “That’s just what I think,” she says, trying to gentle it. “People use words. Words don’t use people. It’s different.”

prompts from bryan fuller’s emo phase ∴ @raiilsigns.

[mojavcmoved]

“you can’t carry it with you if you want to survive.” (Sheila)

it wasn’t often that sheila found someone she could trust with her history. 

the whole reason she now resided in the commonwealth was to seperate herself from her past, from the mojave, from vegas. while some said that her accomplishments were incredible, overseeing a complete change in management over the new vegas strip and keeping legion and ncr’s paws away from controling the desert for themselves. 

but the bloodshed at her hands and as a result of her choices had haunted her. with vegas safe in the hands of yes-man and a pre-determined vision, she left the desert behind her. 

morgan’s words are met with silence for a moment, fingers of steel and flesh clasped tightly together. she knows she’s right. she’s always right.

“ i know… it’s hard to p-pretend it never happened though, like it never happened. ”

[treerie]

@raiilsigns | my muse talks about her past | (ACCEPTING) 

“WHEN I FIRST SAW THE SUN, I WAS EIGHTEEN, I came out covered in grime & blood. I could taste it on my lips, my hair was covered in it. My mother held me in her arms, I held my cat in mine, I accidentally got her fur covered  in blood but she didn't care, she purred so softly & it felt so real, so fucking real, I knew I wasn't in a dream anymore, it was that purr that GROUNDED me. But with that, I came to realize this harsh reality in which my entire vault was dead & I had killed just to survive. That is my cruel harsh reality, what is yours?”