portrait practice that turned into drawing all the vault 101 kids (+ my lone ovb) bc i love them all and everyone needs to get more into fallout 3 please
Prompt: It's prom night, and Felicity (unintentionally) makes a bet with Butch that she's not prepared to cash in. *eyebrow waggles* Eventual plot, but let's be honest, it's an excuse for me to write smut while I rewrite my currently unfinished fic with this same pairing *shrug*
Excerpt: “Come onnnn. Tell me what it was like. Vault-shattering? Toe curling?” His voice raised to a higher, mocking pitch when he continued, “Oh, Butch! Don’t stop!”
Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content
Tags: Slightly canon divergent, enemies to lovers, Lone becomes a sugar momma, Butch has a plan but he falls in love, there will be plot i promise
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
i like to think susie figures out she’s a lesbian in the wasteland and she runs into butch in the wastes and is like damn i was fucking this guy? then she looks at gigi and was like DAMN i wanted to fuck her…
noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment
The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.
XI
December 27, 2277.
My mistress’ peers surrounded her and they’re either hugging her or asking her how her life has been since she went out in the wastes. Something stirs in my chest. I feel… happy seeing people care about the mistress. I’m certain that there are people who care for her in the Wasteland; Gob, Nova, Simms, Moira, Three Dog, the kids in Big Town, everyone else she has helped… and me. But there are people who wanted to hurt her too. Here in this vault, she is safe. I won’t be surprised if she decides to stay here after she’s done with her father’s project.
Seeing these teenagers joke around and catch up with each other makes me wonder if I could have experienced that too.
I follow Percy as the other teens her age led her to a jail cell, where they set their former teacher free. He seems proud of them. Percy introduced me to him, Mr. Brotch, and after the initial surprise due to my appearance, he shook my hand. We gathered back in the clinic, where the old lady who gave me a sweetroll held a prayer for James.
Just when I thought the mistress could finally catch a break, Amata drops a bomb on her.
“Percy, on behalf of the vault, I thank you for everything that you’ve done,” she starts, an apologetic tone in her voice.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Percy half sighs, half laughs. “Let me guess, I can’t stay?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry. But there are a lot of people who still blame you for everything that happened.”
There’s a clamor of protest from her peers. “Wait, but Percy saved all of us!” Gomez’ kid interjected. “Yeah, we can’t just kick her out,” a girl spoke up. From her resemblance with Wally, I suppose this one is Susie. “Percy! You can’t just accept that,” another girl interrupts.
“It’s fine, Christine. I can’t say I’m surprised. I always did stir up trouble in the vault, didn’t I?”
Amata laughs, bittersweet. “You shake things up, and often for the better. But the situation is too delicate for you to stay…”
“I know, Amata. Hell, I met Wally earlier. He’s too taken in by your father’s and his father’s lies. No offense.”
“None taken, Percy.”
“Can I go around the vault, one last time?” Percy asks, her voice cracking. I stand close to her, reluctantly placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Of course.”
And so, I followed the mistress around once more as she explored her home for the last time. I’ve learned her history from the places we went through. The place where she would stash her comic books. The place where her class would sneak off to so they can drink in secret. The place where Stevie hurt her. The place where she would hide and cry. The place where she would practice shooting. I learned so much about the mistress that night.
Our last stop was her and James’ living quarters.
Everyone stopped at the doorway, save for the dog, who still followed her inside. She looks over her shoulder, gesturing for me to follow, and I did. Looking around felt like a violation of her privacy, but then the realization dawned on me. Percy’s sharing this part of herself with me.
My mistress drags her fingers through the surface of a coffee table, dust collecting at her fingertips. “This is where dad used to read his books,” she almost whispers. She moves on to her sleeping quarters, a small room with a bed, a dresser, and a few items lying about. Percy picks up a teddy bear, old and worn with use, a soft expression on her face.
“Mr. Bubbles.”
Percy gives it to Dogmeat, which he happily carries in his mouth. She jumps on the bed, landing face first. “I can’t remember the last time I slept on a soft bed.”
After spending a few minutes on the bed, she finally stood up, shaking the dust off her armor. “Time to grow up, I guess.”
We went back to the clinic and my mistress collected her father’s things, one of which was a picture frame with something written inside. I still have difficulty reading the words, despite my mistress teaching me, but I can read the numbers just fine. 21:6.
A pair of girls her age went to me with apprehension. Christine and Susie.
“Hey, Charon was it?” Susie asks me.
I give her no reply.
“Take care of our friend, won’t you?”
I nod. “It’s what I’m here for.”
The group of teenagers, the old lady, and the teacher accompanied us on the way out. Gomez gives my mistress a nod, taking his place next to his son. The vault door opens, and my mistress takes a step.
“See you on the outside?” Percy tells them.
“One day,” Amata replies. “Goodbye, Percy.”
Percy doesn’t look back. The corners of her eyes are wet.
As soon as we’re out of the trap door, she lets out a sob she’s been holding in for fuck knows how long. And I held her again. I placed a hand behind her head, pressed her to my chest, and she cried.
Dammit.
She doesn’t deserve this. I want to make her feel better. Percy deserves better.
“Percy, remember what I told you earlier?” I speak up, my voice rumbling through my chest.
“Yeah?” she sniffles. A snowflake lands on her hair. It’s getting colder and colder as each day passes.
“I mean it. Contract aside… I’ll stay by your side as long as you will have me.”
“Thank you big guy,” she mumbles, wrapping her arms around my waist.
When we broke from the embrace, the mistress looked me in the eyes. “You’re the best thing that happened to me in months, Charon.”
I swallow thickly, preparing myself for what I’m about to say to her.
“...you’re the best thing that happened to my life,” I tell her.
Percy looks at me with wide eyes, filled with… what is this feeling? Whatever it is, I liked it.
“Charon, I…” the mistress stammers, taking my hand in hers.
We were interrupted by a damn cough.
“Uh… am I interrupting something?” It’s fucking DeLoria. God dammit all.
“Wait, Butch?! What are you doing out here?” Percy asks him, stepping away from me. Dogmeat looks up to me and whines. Even the dog is disappointed.
“I told ya I’m getting out of that hole, didn’t I? Now-”
“You can’t tag along,” my mistress interrupts.
Sometimes, I wish my mistress would be more selfish, because now, this loudmouth greaser is settling on the couch while my mistress is rubbing her face. He’s bunched up in blankets, looking uncomfortable.
“One day, Butch. I help you for one day, and you’re out on your own,” she tells him, sternly, a hand on her hip.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get outta your hair as soon as I can pick myself up. Thanks, Perce,” DeLoria tells her, propping his head up with an arm. “You sure you don’t want me next to you?”
My mistress groans. “No. Now go to sleep. Rivet City’s a long way from here.”
Dogmeat, still holding Percy’s old teddy bear in his mouth, followed us as we went upstairs. I pull Percy aside.
“Percy, are you sure about this?” I ask her. I don’t trust the greaser.
“Yeah. Helping him get to Rivet City won’t hurt. I’m heading there to trade for ammo before we look for Vault 87, anyway,” she tells me.
“But what if he’s just taking advantage of your kindness?”
“What if it works out? Ease up, big guy, Butch is harmless. Compared to what’s after me in the Wasteland, anyway.”
“I just don’t want any harm to come to you, Percy.”
“I know, big guy. But Butch is what’s left of the life I had in the vault. He’s like family now. I can’t just abandon him,” she tells me, placing a small hand on my arm.
A small twinge of guilt blooms in my chest. Right. It’s not even an hour since she was exiled from her home. Of course she’d still be attached to her previous life and the people in it.
“I understand. Good night, Percy.”
“Good night, Charon.”
As I lay on my mattress, my mind wanders to my youth. Seeing where my mistress, no, my friend grew up in made me wonder what it was like when I wasn’t groomed to be the killer that I am yet.
I try to remember what I can.
March 18, 2065.
A little boy was flying to see my aunt on her birthday. I was that boy.
Looking out an airliner window, clouds were breezing by while Mama sewed and Papa was finishing the last of his lunch. I was holding a handmade doll Mama made with me, that I was going to give to my aunt. The sky was still bright and blue, not the ruined, green-tinged one I know today. “Are we there yet?” I asked Mama, impatient. My voice was small. A child’s.
“Patience little one,” Mama tells me. “We’ll be there soon. Excited to see Auntie Katya?”
I nod at her. I can’t even remember my mother’s face and my memory is struggling to fill the gaps. All I know is she had blue eyes, like mine.
“You know, Artyom, we were visiting her when your mama had you,” said Papa. His hair is red like mine. “Your Aunt Katya was there when your mother gave birth. She chose your name, too.”
So that was my name before… before...
“I can’t believe we’re finally back in California after all those years, Ilya. Sometimes I wonder why we stay in Alaska,” Mama said.
“What does California look like, Mama?”
“Hush now, I’ll let you see for yourself when we get there. Get some sleep,” Mama tells me. I remember pouting at her.
“Lullaby, please,” I ask her.
“Oh, fine, fine. Come here, love.”
I settled in my mother’s lap. She’s warm, soft, and smells of baked goods. Like a sweetroll.
“Spi mladyenec, moi prekrasniy, bayushki bayu...”
That lullaby always made me feel better. Sadly, I cannot remember the rest of it.
I’m taken back to the present, more than 200 years later, when the dog whines outside my door. I crack it open, and see Dogmeat outside, the teddy bear still in his mouth. I let him in. I lie back down on the mattress and Dogmeat lies next to me, sniffing his new toy before drifting asleep.
Through the thin walls of Percy’s home, I can hear her soft cries and sobs.
It went on for hours.
I can’t take it anymore.
Three months ago, I would’ve scoffed at the idea. I would’ve told myself that I’m a mercenary, not a babysitter. But I want to make my friend Percy feel better.
“Do you think we should get her?” I ask the dog, who was awakened by her sobbing when it started almost two hours ago. Dogmeat licks my face and sits patiently in front of the door, waiting for me to open it.
We quietly step outside my room. I look over the balcony, and Butch was already fast asleep. Good. I knock at my mistress’ door, and after a few seconds of silence, she opens it, her eyes red and raw.
“Hm?”
“I can hear you crying through the walls,” I tell her, holding my breath.
“Oh. I’m sorry-”
“Percy, you have nothing to apologize for. Do you need company?”
“I- yes. I can’t sleep. Stay with me, please?”
Please. I will never grow tired of hearing her say that word.
I step into her bedroom. Her only bedroom now, as far as I’m concerned. There are sheets of paper neatly stacked on the desk, and a repainted tin can holds her pencils. Her bed sheets smell faintly of Abraxo detergent and a human scent, unmistakably Percy’s. I sit on the bed and she immediately huddles into my chest, face pressed against it. I gather the blankets and wrap it around Percy, stroking her hair. I felt like a depraved old man, cuddling down with a nineteen-year old in her bedroom and touching her hair, but my feelings do not matter at the moment. Percy needs all the comfort she can in this shithole world.
Her sobs slowed into soft breaths.
“Better?”
Percy nods. “Thank you.”
“Anything for a friend, Percy.”
She looks up to me. “Friend?...”
“Is that not what you call me? Don’t overthink it.”
Percy nodded and rested her head against my chest. Dogmeat comes over to give Mr. Bubbles back, and she takes the bear, while the dog lies over our legs. We’re a cozy little pile.
I try to remember my mother’s lullaby, but my brain is failing me. I still remember the melody, however.
I start to hum.
Even in her sleep, she’s crying for her father.
Only when Percy settled comfortably did I allow myself to close my eyes.
??? ??, 2070
There’s a plate of pancakes on the counter, but I can’t have some yet. I look at my fingers, thin and bony, thumbing the page of a book while I sit in the kitchen. Mama is getting frustrated at me. I’m doing my best to understand what is on the page.
Then, we heard knocking at the door.
Papa is in the living room, so he answers it. I go back to learning how to read, but Mama isn’t looking at the book anymore.
“Artyom, keep reading. I’ll just make sure your Papa’s okay.”
She stands up and leaves me in the kitchen. I didn’t stay put. I hid behind the door frame to spy on them, and I saw two men shoving a piece of paper in my father’s face.
“You have the right to remain silent, Mr. Volkov. Anything you say-” one of them tried to say, but Papa interrupts him.
“This must be a mistake. We are not Reds nor we are harboring Reds-” said my Papa. He was interrupted by the men, who attempted to put him in handcuffs, but Papa is big and strong. He didn’t let them touch him.
“Mr. Volkov, please cooperate. We must investigate all reports that go through our 1800-REPORT-RED Hotline. You’ll be tried in court, and should you be proven a Red supporter or ally, social services will take your child into custody in an attempt to rehabilitate him from any indoctrination you might have-”
Papa pushes one of them.
“Do not touch my son. I am not going. That warrant isn’t even authorized! I am not coming with you over an accusation made by some paranoid idiot who called your damn hotline. Annika, call Katya. She’ll know what to-”
I hear a loud noise and flinch, then Papa falls to the floor.
Mama screams as she falls to her knees to make sure he’s okay. He’s not breathing.
They killed my Papa.
Author’s Notes:
I was listening to Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood as inspiration for this chapter. It'll probably be the inspiration for the next ones too.
I headcanon Charon to be of Russian descent and I'm not the first one to do so, IIRC. His grandfather was a Russian diplomat in Los Angeles, and his father and aunt moved to the USA along with him as children. I wrote this as a shoutout/homage to one of the possible pre-made player characters in the first Fallout, Natalia Dubrovhsky. Stay tuned to find out how he ended up on the East Coast!
If we were to follow traditional Russian naming convention (first name + patronymic + surname), his full name would've been Artyom Ilyich Volkov.
The lullaby Charon's mother sings to him as a boy is called Cossack Lullaby, written by Mikhail Lermontov in 1838.
Also, Auntie Katya will show up in future stories! -wink-
