Fuck Mother Nature + Stuff I Am Totally Not Doing
So TC Yasi has decided to come fuck shit up, because north QLD totally needed the biggest cyclone ever to potter along right now. We're in the destructive zone but not the direct line of it, touching wood and keeping fingers crossed it doesn't track too much further south in the next 24 hrs. Had my flights cancelled but luckily only delayed for one day hopefully, but that's all dependent on how much damage this monster of a thing actually doles out. Hopin' and prayin' it doesn't dump too much more water where it's not wanted or do too much damage; poor Cairns and Innisfail were destroyed by the last big one to come through and it would really suck for them to cop it again.
In other news, have some random stuff I am totally not actually writing.
This first one is a Fallout AU drabble I did for loobeeinthesky . That I keep adding little things to and wanting to go back to and plot out into a proper fic that would involve h/c and suturing and bamfery. BUT NO. I WILL REMAIN STRONG.
Arthur hunches lower behind the rusted wreck of the car and tries to ignore the way the ground is shaking with every lumbering step the behemoth takes.
He shouldn't have taken this fucking job, he thinks, as he rips open a stimpak and jams it into his arm. A simple in and out, Dom had said. No need to worry, Dom had said.
Of course, Dom hadn't counted on the buyer they'd lined up for the information selling them out at the last second, leaving Arthur with a bullet in his shoulder and a fucking behemoth breathing down his neck after he ran right past it. Stupid to forget that there are far more dangerous things wandering the wasteland than trigger happy sell-outs.
He pulls the makeshift bandage around his shoulder tighter with his teeth and upends his pack, wincing at the sound of the behemoth's club scraping along the broken blacktop. Arthur knows he's out of ammo, but he checks anyway, because fuck it he's smarter than any bloody mutant and he sure as hell doesn't want to die this way.
"Shit," he grits out, hefting the one grenade left in his arsenal. Even with the pip boy to do the hard work for him, one basic little grenade isn't going to drop a super mutant. Not a behemoth.
He tightens his hand around the grenade, squeezes his eyes shut briefly with a useless prayer to a God that abandoned America a long time ago, and scrambles to his feet.
The behemoth roars when it sees him, breaking into a point blank run, ground trembling beneath its feet.
Arthur sets his jaw, stands his ground, and throws the grenade.
The force of the explosion knocks him off his feet, debris and gore stinging his face. It takes him a few seconds to realise his ears are ringing so hard he can't hear shit.
He gets up, slowly, and blinks at the scattered remains of the behemoth. His grenade sure as hell hadn't done that.
"Watch out, sweetheart," a voice says behind him, muffled through the aftershocks still ringing in Arthur's ears. "I don't think he wanted to say hello."
Arthur turns. The owner of the voice has a cocky grin and a toothpick between his teeth, retrofitted grenade launcher slung casually over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing. The scruff along his jaw does nothing to take away from the obviously handsome lines of his face.
"I'm Eames," the man says, reaching down to scratch at the ears of the dog that's pressing itself up against his legs. "This is Dogmeat."
Arthur contemplates telling him that's a stupid name for a dog, but decides it wouldn't be very sporting to insult someone who just saved his life. "I'm... Arthur."
Eames looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the blood soaked rag tied around Arthur's shoulder. "Well, Arthur. I've got a safe house just over the ridge. I can see to that," he nods his head in the direction of Arthur's shoulder, "if you like."
Arthur hesitates. Nothing comes for free in the wasteland, anybody knows that. But he's hurt, with no supplies, not even a gun or any rad-x. It's not like he has a choice.
So he nods, once, and follows Eames over the ridge.
This other one is a Jurassic Park/Inception crossover wherein the team is hired to extract the secret of the dinosaur genome and cloning tech from Hammond once it becomes apparent that Nedry probably needs some collateral. Arthur and Eames go in undercover on the island and of course get cut off from the rest of the team when the park goes offline. They then spend the next forty-eight hours bamfing it up in the jungle, getting dirty and cut up and wrecked and fighting off dinosaurs and their own ridiculous lust for each other (which is only exacerbated by observation of aforementioned bamfiness) while trying to make it back to the visitor's centre. AND THEN ARTHUR FACES OFF AGAINST VELOCIRAPTORS AND THEY MAY OR MAY NOT CONSUMMATE THEIR RIDICULOUS UST WITH A DIRTY, ROUGH QUICKIE IN A LOCKED CLOSET OR SOMETHING. YOU KNOW. JUST IN CASE THEY DIE.
Totally not writing it though. TOTALLY NOT. TOTALLY WRITING BB!GENIUS ARTHUR BEING ~GENTLY TAUGHT TO TOP BY PROFESSOR!EAMES.
Eames manages to corner him eventually, amidst the dust and shouting and intense glare of the floodlights. And of course, of fucking course Arthur manages to take a non-descript jumpsuit and make it look like a million bucks.
“Dom should have Hammond in position in a couple of days,” Arthur says, close to Eames’s ear. The space between the shipping crates is narrow enough to press them together, the butt of Arthur’s rifle digging into Eames’s hip. “What do you think of Muldoon?”
Eames licks the sweat from his upper lip. “Bit of an arsehole. Sharp though. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got natural militarisation.”
Arthur snorts, leaning to check the hubbub outside their hiding place. It shifts him closer, and Eames bites his tongue. When Dom told him he’d have a whole week on a tropical island with Arthur, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.
“I don’t think he knows anything that’s going to help us anyway,” Arthur continues. “The contract is specific; the genome and replication technology, nothing in there about how they’re handling the animals. Extracting from Hammond should be totally sufficient.”
There’s more shouting from the pen, louder this time. The dinosaur shrieks, and the sound chills Eames right to the bone. “It should be,” he says, fingers curling around the grip of his gun.
Arthur just looks bored. “I’ll get a message to Dom and meet you back at the hotel tonight to debrief.”
Eames nods right as a man screams and chaos erupts.
They shove against each other, wriggling out of their hiding place. More men in jumpsuits are rushing past.
Across the dusty ground, at the pen, the cage is thrashing, flashes of claw and feral yellow eye visible through the gaps. Eames has seen a lot over the years, done even worse, but the bottom still drops out of his stomach at the sight.
“Shoot her!” Muldoon shouts, and Eames notices the failing grip he has on the worker being dragged into the crate for the first time.
Beside him Arthur shoulders his rifle, calm as the eye of a storm, and squeezes the trigger.
In other news, have some random stuff I am totally not actually writing.
This first one is a Fallout AU drabble I did for loobeeinthesky . That I keep adding little things to and wanting to go back to and plot out into a proper fic that would involve h/c and suturing and bamfery. BUT NO. I WILL REMAIN STRONG.
Arthur hunches lower behind the rusted wreck of the car and tries to ignore the way the ground is shaking with every lumbering step the behemoth takes.
He shouldn't have taken this fucking job, he thinks, as he rips open a stimpak and jams it into his arm. A simple in and out, Dom had said. No need to worry, Dom had said.
Of course, Dom hadn't counted on the buyer they'd lined up for the information selling them out at the last second, leaving Arthur with a bullet in his shoulder and a fucking behemoth breathing down his neck after he ran right past it. Stupid to forget that there are far more dangerous things wandering the wasteland than trigger happy sell-outs.
He pulls the makeshift bandage around his shoulder tighter with his teeth and upends his pack, wincing at the sound of the behemoth's club scraping along the broken blacktop. Arthur knows he's out of ammo, but he checks anyway, because fuck it he's smarter than any bloody mutant and he sure as hell doesn't want to die this way.
"Shit," he grits out, hefting the one grenade left in his arsenal. Even with the pip boy to do the hard work for him, one basic little grenade isn't going to drop a super mutant. Not a behemoth.
He tightens his hand around the grenade, squeezes his eyes shut briefly with a useless prayer to a God that abandoned America a long time ago, and scrambles to his feet.
The behemoth roars when it sees him, breaking into a point blank run, ground trembling beneath its feet.
Arthur sets his jaw, stands his ground, and throws the grenade.
The force of the explosion knocks him off his feet, debris and gore stinging his face. It takes him a few seconds to realise his ears are ringing so hard he can't hear shit.
He gets up, slowly, and blinks at the scattered remains of the behemoth. His grenade sure as hell hadn't done that.
"Watch out, sweetheart," a voice says behind him, muffled through the aftershocks still ringing in Arthur's ears. "I don't think he wanted to say hello."
Arthur turns. The owner of the voice has a cocky grin and a toothpick between his teeth, retrofitted grenade launcher slung casually over his shoulder as if it weighs nothing. The scruff along his jaw does nothing to take away from the obviously handsome lines of his face.
"I'm Eames," the man says, reaching down to scratch at the ears of the dog that's pressing itself up against his legs. "This is Dogmeat."
Arthur contemplates telling him that's a stupid name for a dog, but decides it wouldn't be very sporting to insult someone who just saved his life. "I'm... Arthur."
Eames looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the blood soaked rag tied around Arthur's shoulder. "Well, Arthur. I've got a safe house just over the ridge. I can see to that," he nods his head in the direction of Arthur's shoulder, "if you like."
Arthur hesitates. Nothing comes for free in the wasteland, anybody knows that. But he's hurt, with no supplies, not even a gun or any rad-x. It's not like he has a choice.
So he nods, once, and follows Eames over the ridge.
This other one is a Jurassic Park/Inception crossover wherein the team is hired to extract the secret of the dinosaur genome and cloning tech from Hammond once it becomes apparent that Nedry probably needs some collateral. Arthur and Eames go in undercover on the island and of course get cut off from the rest of the team when the park goes offline. They then spend the next forty-eight hours bamfing it up in the jungle, getting dirty and cut up and wrecked and fighting off dinosaurs and their own ridiculous lust for each other (which is only exacerbated by observation of aforementioned bamfiness) while trying to make it back to the visitor's centre. AND THEN ARTHUR FACES OFF AGAINST VELOCIRAPTORS AND THEY MAY OR MAY NOT CONSUMMATE THEIR RIDICULOUS UST WITH A DIRTY, ROUGH QUICKIE IN A LOCKED CLOSET OR SOMETHING. YOU KNOW. JUST IN CASE THEY DIE.
Totally not writing it though. TOTALLY NOT. TOTALLY WRITING BB!GENIUS ARTHUR BEING ~GENTLY TAUGHT TO TOP BY PROFESSOR!EAMES.
Eames manages to corner him eventually, amidst the dust and shouting and intense glare of the floodlights. And of course, of fucking course Arthur manages to take a non-descript jumpsuit and make it look like a million bucks.
“Dom should have Hammond in position in a couple of days,” Arthur says, close to Eames’s ear. The space between the shipping crates is narrow enough to press them together, the butt of Arthur’s rifle digging into Eames’s hip. “What do you think of Muldoon?”
Eames licks the sweat from his upper lip. “Bit of an arsehole. Sharp though. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got natural militarisation.”
Arthur snorts, leaning to check the hubbub outside their hiding place. It shifts him closer, and Eames bites his tongue. When Dom told him he’d have a whole week on a tropical island with Arthur, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.
“I don’t think he knows anything that’s going to help us anyway,” Arthur continues. “The contract is specific; the genome and replication technology, nothing in there about how they’re handling the animals. Extracting from Hammond should be totally sufficient.”
There’s more shouting from the pen, louder this time. The dinosaur shrieks, and the sound chills Eames right to the bone. “It should be,” he says, fingers curling around the grip of his gun.
Arthur just looks bored. “I’ll get a message to Dom and meet you back at the hotel tonight to debrief.”
Eames nods right as a man screams and chaos erupts.
They shove against each other, wriggling out of their hiding place. More men in jumpsuits are rushing past.
Across the dusty ground, at the pen, the cage is thrashing, flashes of claw and feral yellow eye visible through the gaps. Eames has seen a lot over the years, done even worse, but the bottom still drops out of his stomach at the sight.
“Shoot her!” Muldoon shouts, and Eames notices the failing grip he has on the worker being dragged into the crate for the first time.
Beside him Arthur shoulders his rifle, calm as the eye of a storm, and squeezes the trigger.