falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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OH MY GOD YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES YESSS!!!! A!A i love you so hard. Keep on rockin it ma'am!

Vault-Tec Industries
Pip-Boy Model 3000
User Log Entry

∙ Some of the later tapes look like Terry didn’t know the camera was recording.

∙ He also seems not to have left the area, despite the fact he kept saying he would.

∙ We’re almost at the end of the tapes, and we still haven’t seen anything that makes sense of this mess.

[C:GP_06.exe
Play attached video file? y/n

The video began with the camera apparently on the floor. Half of the shot was taken up by a jacket dropped nearby. Terry sat on the floor across the room. The camera auto-focused between him and the jacket, making his features blur in and out.

“I just don’t think I should go,” Terry muttered to himself as he looked at the ground before him. “They… he wants me there, but I’m not going.” His voice sounded panicked.

“Look what happened to those raiders! I’m not going, not going not going. Nothing will get me into that barn again. No no no no no no. It’s open. Anyone can see you.”

His head jerked violently to the side, looking off-camera. He bolted to his feet and began gathering up his things. The video cut out.

Due to popular demand, I have switched it up and instead of Col Hsu, I give you Mcnamara!

Characters: Elder McNamara
Kink: Oral, Stripping?

-

The synthetic yellow lights of the bunker gave the couriers body a golden glow, causing the sun-bleached highlights of her hair shine with definition. She stood in front of Elder McNamara with a playful smile on her face.

"I've gotta surprise for you."

"What kind of surprise?" Nolan asked, genuinely curious at what her actions might be.

The courier neglected his inquiry. She just stood between him and the command console, hips slowly rocking in time with the jazzy tune emitting from her Pip-Boy.

The courier unzipped her leather jacket, with each slow tug more of the milky skin protected from the harsh Mojave weather was revealed. The zipper was left at the bottom of the zip chain, ample cleavage with plenty of room for imagination.

The couriers hips rolled smother as her fingers traveled down to the button of her tight pants. With a dramatic pop, her pants were open, hanging loosely against her curved hips.

With thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her pants, the courier slow shimmied them down her legs, moving her him slightly more than necessary to get the job done.

She look Nolan in the eyes as she unraveled the last of her jacket, leaving her in only a pair of black panties. He let out a surprised but approving groan, prompting her to continue.

The courier ran her hand over the smooth expanse of her abdomen and cupped her naked breasts before turning around and bracing herself on the console. McNamara ran a large hand down her spine, yanking the black cloth down her slender thighs, eager to explore the wonders of the girls body. Nolan moved her to the portion of his desk the remained empty of buttons and controls.

Although the courier was startled by his sudden action, it didn't deter her one bit. She spread her legs for the elder and he kneeled down in front of her. Feeling his breath ghost across her skin stimulated her further.

With both hands holding her thighs down, Nolan ran his tongue along her slit, careful to not give her took much of the pleasure she craved. His tongue slid down and into her entrance, circling the wet muscles before traveling back up to rest on her clit.

The courier let out a lustful moan as two of Nolan's fingers penetrated her, tongue rotating around her bundle of nerves.

Vault-Tec Industries
Pip-Boy Model 3000
User Log Entry

∙ This is the final tape. Something seems to have happened to Terry; he’s acting completely differently.

[C:GP_07.exe
Play attached video file? y/n

Terry stood in a dark room, the camera pointed at his face, apparently held up by his own hands.

“Sheldon, thank you for asking me to come here,” Terry said in a calm, even voice. “I’ll return your camera and the tapes now. I hope you’ll be able to use what I’ve found.”

A ribbon of distortion crawled up the screen as he continued.

“I’m sure you probably wanted a few other homesteads, but this one really had what you needed. What I needed. Thank you again.”

The video ended.

Vault-Tec Industries
Pip-Boy Model 3000
User Log Entry

∙ Veronica and I have decided to go to the farm.

Well, hello, that was quite diverting. And by "diverting" I mean hot, intriguing, well written, and another welcome installment to the TYS series. Cheers!

Dammit, LJ, stop eating my comments...

Well, hello, that was quite diverting. And by "diverting" I mean hot, intriguing, well written, and another welcome installment in the TYS series. Cheers!

Soooo... I'm just going to love all over this, m'kay?

I don't know how to say this without sounding weird but you motivate me to want to become a better writer. I love how fleshed out your stories are, echoing another commenter here to say that your ability to take secondary characters in a video game and give them this whole entire living, breathing, complicated world is just amazing to me. Like seriously amazing.... like borderline witchcraft amazing. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW YOU DO THE VOODOO THAT YOU DO but it's fantastic!

"If you have some sort of fantasy about being a dashing straight fellow ruining a sweet golden-haired bookworm, you're about twenty years too late."

My favorite line. Just...augh. So much implication and back story packed into so few words. Your Arcade is so compelling, but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that! ;) Thank you for the awesome fill.

Sometimes, perhaps, we are allowed to get lost that we may find the right person to ask directions of. ~Robert Brault

Having a coffee in the galley the next morning, Harkness watched the marketplace and the door while idly blowing into his cup when the door opened and a troupe of mercenaries entered, followed by a merchant who went straight for the weapons stall. The mercs, five in all, headed straight for the galley, laughing, grinning and eager for coffee and some serious breakfast.
Harkness watched them, but they seemed well-behaved for such a troupe. Groups of mercs usually spelled trouble, but not all of them were assholes and/or mindless brutes. He hadn’t seen any of the men before and after a glance at each face, shifted his attention to the door again.

This time it was her that walked through the door, together with her mother, and they, too, headed for the galley, waiting for their turn as the mercs ordered coffee and food in ridiculous quantities. By the look of them and the states of their unshaved faces, they had been out on the road for a while now.

The two women ordered their food and coffee too, and as the girl loaded her arms full of stuff, her mother paid. It was then that it happened.
One of the mercs, having been at the stall with the miscellaneous goods to buy some smokes, came back lighting one up without really watching where he was going, intent on getting his lighter to work. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face as dirty and overgrown with a beard as well, and he stepped towards a table the same moment the girl turned around. His footsteps must have been drowned out by the laughter of the others as she hadn’t heard him coming, hadn’t been aware of him until she turned and bumped right into him, her arms full of mugs, and the freshly brewed coffee spilled over and scalded one of his arms.

He emitted a few choices curses as he stumbled back, having lost the smoke that now rested in a small puddle of coffee, but faltered when she looked up into the girl’s dead-white, horrified face.
“Here kid, don’t worry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He absentmindedly and gingerly touched his left forearm. “Was completely my own fault.”
Elisa had already reacted and offered the merc a rag drenched in ice-cold water, and as he accepted this and cautiously put it onto the blistering skin, the girl adjusted her cups again and muttered one helpless excuse after the other while her mother picked up the packed food with an expression bordering on furious.

“Here, I said it was my own fault”, the merc repeated, but she didn’t even look at his face.
Her mother now was muttering something into her ear that made her pale even more, and took her by the elbow to drag her away. The merc followed her with his eyes, a deep, puzzled and at the same time worried frown on his face.

Harkness, who had watched the whole scene, observed her departure as well and wondered if that unlucky accident would have consequences for her. By the look of her face, it was unlikely it wouldn’t.
The merc now sat down at the table with his companions and lit another smoke and the conversation picked up again.

Not an hour had passed before Harkness’ misgivings came to be proven true; the girl and her parents entered the marketplace again, obviously to re-supply now. While the girl carried the cups back to the galley Harkness didn’t fail to notice the bruise showing on her left cheek.
Neither did the mercs, it seemed. They stood in front of the weapons stall, debating about some thing or another, but when she walked past, the conversation ground to a halt for a few seconds before it picked up again, in much lower voices.

The girl passed by them, looked up for a second with a fearful expression, and when one of the mercs, albeit not the one with the scalded arm, gave her what was probably meant to be a friendly, encouraging smile, her father yelled at her at the top of his lungs: “Amanda!”

So that was her name now. Harkness looked at her father and back at her and noticed, to his dismay, that she as giving said merc almost the same look that she had given him. Upon hearing her father call her name like that she flinched, and ducking her head, hurried towards the galley to return the mugs. Harkness tried to get a glimpse of the merc’s face again, but he had his back turned on him now. If Amanda was her, then who could the merc be? Harkness frowned a little as he watched her go… had she looked familiar to the mercenary, too?

Passing by them on their way back, both Amanda and her father cast a look at the mercs, hers a shy one, her father’s an outright furious glance that already burned with the sheen of alcohol in his bloodstream.
“Don’t you dare look at her again”, he snapped at the mercs. “I know your kind! Fuck off!”
“Easy there, old man”, the merc who had smiled at her gave back while lighting up a smoke. “I wasn’t doing anything to her...”
He was a sinewy man with hair somewhere between auburn and ginger, a rascally smile and a goatee. Harkness couldn’t place him, at least not as easily as he had been able to recognise her. And he still wasn’t completely sure if he really had.

“Fuck off!”
The merc was just about to make a nasty reply, Harkness could see his eyebrows draw themselves together, when the girl took her father’s arm and pulled.
“Please daddy”, she muttered. “I’m afraid of these men. Let’s just go.”
Her father huffed and dragged her away, and over her shoulder the girl cast a hasty, haggard look at the merc with a hardly perceptible shake of her head.
The merc, in turn, swallowed what he had meant to say, obviously getting the message: Say anything more and you’ll only get me deeper into trouble.

Harkness followed the couple out and watched them descend the stairs, leaning on the railing before him with a frustrated sigh. But what could he do? He couldn’t go there and tell her to abandon her parents and live in Rivet City. He knew he couldn’t just go to her father and tell him to treat his daughter with more respect. With the man he likely was, that would only worsen her situation. But doing nothing... it was the worst moment of his life to watch her go like that, being dragged at her arm and scolded within an inch of her life for nothing more than looking at a man in passing.

He watched them load their brahmin, watched the two guards check their guns, and he watched them depart wondering if he would ever see her again. If it really was how it seemed to be, if it was her soul, the Lone Wanderer, the Saviour of the Wastes. He still shied away from using her name in this context because even if it was true, it wasn’t Her. She was dead.

Harkness watched them vanish out of sight and into the ruins of D.C, and with a shake of his head, went back inside.

x-x-x-x-x-x

It wasn’t even fifteen minutes after their departure that the door of the marketplace opened again and one of the guards on duty at the drawbridge yelled for help and a medic. All heads flew around, Harkness’ included, and to his utter dismay he saw the guard now help a staggering, bleeding figure down the stairs that he identified after a few moments as Amanda.
He was at her side in an instant.

“Miss Amanda, what on earth...”
She looked up at him, her eyes blank with horror. “Mutants”, she whispered hoarsely. “Mutants. Six of them... oh god, please help. Please help...” Blood was splattered on her face and all over her shirt, she was bleeding from gashes in her arm and on her cheek that seemed to have been caused by grazing shots, her shirt was torn in two places and her hair was matted with blood and dirt. “Please help them, oh god, someone... please...”

The mercenaries, having heard and seen what happened, had hurried over while loosening their guns in their holsters. But as they stood there now they exchanged a few glances with each other and with Harkness before one of them, a tall, lanky man with greying hair and moustache, spoke in a low voice. “Not likely any of them are still alive by now, what with six of those bastards having gotten them.”

“Help them!” Amanda grabbed Harkness’ sleeve, staring at him imploringly, beseechingly. “Please help them! You can’t just leave them to their fate!”
“Miss Amanda...” Harkness gently paced his hand over hers. “The gentleman over there is most likely right. I’m sorry, but...”
“You can’t just leave them...” Her voice broke, and the tears spilling from her eyes washed white stripes into the blood and grime on her face. “You can’t let them be turned into gore bags, being cut into pieces and eaten. You can’t just leave them! Please! Please...”
“Please, Miss.” Harkness spoke as gently as he could. It made his heart ache, even if technically he didn’t possess one, to see her like this. “This is a suicide mission and I can’t order my men into something like it. You have to understand...”
She stared at him, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Into the silence, the mercenary who had spoken before spoke once more after clearing his throat. “Let’s go boys.”
Silently, the other four drew and cocked their weapons and followed him up the stairs and through the door. Alerted by one of the citizens, Doc Hanson now entered the marketplace and hurried over, a worried frown on her face.
Amanda just stared at the door where the mercs had vanished, still as a stone.

Harkness let go of her hand and stood up as the doctor reached her, and after relocating her into the stall at her back, the ones selling meds and other such goods, he left her in the care of Hanson and slowly walked up the stairs again. He watched the mercs head down the ramp and vanish up the path into the ruins and now wondered if he would see any of them alive again. With a shrug, he turned and went back inside to assure the people that the mutants hadn’t followed the injured girl as much as to assure himself that she wasn’t seriously injured and would be all right.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Roughly half an hour later the door opened again and every single pair of eyes in the whole hangar came to rest on the stairs again, to watch the five mercs enter the marketplace again. One of them, the one with the cocky grin and the ginger hair, was pressing a bloodied rag to his left temple, and blood was running down his face and chest. He didn’t seem too impaired, though, as he still had a smoke clamped into the corner of his mouth. Another, the tall, broad-shouldered one who had been involved in the coffee-accident, was being supported by two of his comrades and walked a little doubled over.

Doc Hanson, just having finished with the girl who was now sitting on the sofa that was part of the stall inventory, a blanket around her shoulders and a sweetened coffee clutched in her trembling hands, picked up her bags and hurried over.
“Bullet?”
The red-haired merc removed the rag and nodded. “Graze. Doesn’t even hurt that much, but the fucker bleeds like mad.”
“Head wounds normally do.” Hanson soaked a clean rag in disinfectant.
“I know”, he gave back and closed his eyes with a soft hiss when Hanson applied the distilled alcohol on the wound.
A quickly applied stimpack was all it took to treat the wound to Hanson’s satisfaction, and, for safety’s sake more than medical need, she applied a bandage around his head before sending him to the sofa as well to sit down and take a breather. He followed her orders, lighting up another smoke on the way.

“And what happened to you?”
The other merc looked up with a strained expression on his face. “Got a thumb in the padding with a nail board. Backside, thankfully.”
With a tight-lipped frown, Hanson tugged his shirt out of his trousers and shoved it up to examine his belly that already sported a large bruise in interesting shades of green and purple. She prodded here and there a few times, and then shook her head when all the merc did was twitch with his eyebrows.
“Nothing serious”, she said and jabbed a stimpack into the centre of the bruise. “Just a bruise. Hurts like shit, but will be over in a day or two.”
“Thanks, Doc.”

Hanson jerked her thumb at the couch and the two other mercs who were supporting him manoeuvred him onto the couch as well, dropping him on the last free space on Amanda’s other side.

He adjusted his position with a low grunt. “Gotta smoke, Steve? I lost mine.”
“Sure thing.”
The ginger one produced a smoke, lit it and handed it over Amanda’s lap to his comrade who took it and leaned back into the cushions with a little groan of relief.

Amanda looked back and forth between the two, and although the doc had washed her face she still looked dreadful. At that moment the leader of the troupe, the greying guy with the drooping moustache and sideburns, came over and looked down at her.
She looked up and could read the truth in his eyes even before he spoke. She bit her lip even as he opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry kid”, he said in a low voice. “There was nothing we could do for them. We brought them back, though, so you can bury them. Found the brahmin, even. It’s down in the pen. Sorry for not giving you better news.”
She swallowed but was unable to hold back her tears. “Thank you”, she whispered. “I don’t know... I don’t know how I can...”
“It’s all right, kid. We’ll worry about it later.”

He left her then and as he passed Harkness, lighting up a smoke, the chief nodded at him and gave him a pat on the arm. “Thank you”, he said. “I admit I wouldn’t have expected something like this from guys like you. No offence intended.”
The merc finished lighting up his smoke and shrugged. “None taken. I know the reputation mercs usually have, but not all of us are assholes that people need to be afraid of.”
“I know.”
He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue it further.

Watching him go, Harkness thought back to the other two friends he had had, and lost, a long time ago. Wasteland mercs too, both with a colourful past, and both of them, while still tough as balls, had been men with a strong sense of honour and with hearts of gold.
And as Harkness looked back at Amanda, he suddenly realised what he should have seen before.

They were there. All three of them. Sitting side by side on the same sofa as they had so many years ago. He couldn’t say why he had failed to spot this before, but looking at them now, it was as clear as rain to him.

Then the memories came back, unbidden as usual, but this time, he didn’t send them away.

"Yeah, well, if you can't stand the heat, don't call yourself the Mojave Rapelord."

jfksdjhfakdshfksdjfhsklfhks what is air

Oh wow, thank you so much! I'm super shit at giving thoughtful replies to fantastic feedback, so how about I say you genuinely made my night and leave it at that.

Hey, thank you so much! So glad you liked it :)

Breaking my brain :D
love this

rofl :D
so many nice turns of phrase

"This is good, Valence. You’d make a good woman.”

“No. I would not.”

LOL. Okay, I absolutely adore this story, every letter and period of it. Thank you A!A, this was so marvelous.

oh... shit... is this? Is this what I THINK IT IS?

Since I don't know what you think I can't say yes or no, but the next chapter will either confirm your suspicion or remove it.

Thanks for letting me know someone is actually reading this :)

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? ~George Gordon, Lord Byron: Child Harold's Pilgrimage

They had had sixteen years, sixteen years together with little disagreements and little bad feelings. Sixteen years before things had begun to fall apart.
It had started when Shrapnel had begun to feel unwell, tired most of the time, and short of breath. But first when the other two had found out he had been hiding pains in his chest from them had they managed to badger him into seeing Preston.

He knew beyond doubt the he wouldn’t be given any good news when he put his shirt back on. Something was decidedly wrong with him, he knew that much, and the doc’s facial expression told him all he needed to know, and more than he wanted to.
“So?”
Preston cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news”, he said.
“I didn’t expect any good kind”, Shrapnel gave back slowly and crossed his arms. “So?”
“It’s your heart. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it. I guess the best way to put it is to say it is worn out. It is unusually worn out for a man your age, but considering the life you’ve led, especially your past…”
“The past as a raider, is that what you’re referring to?”
“I’m afraid it is”, Preston gave back and pushed his glasses up. “The drugs do a lot of damage to a body, some immediate, some lasting. It’s widely known that Psycho and Jet abuse can cause a multiple organ failure, but most likely, it’s the heart that will be giving up first. Going off the stuff after a prolonged period of time cannot undo the damage done. The failure is still bound to happen, it just happens slower.”

Shrapnel needed a moment to digest this. That this was his past, coming back through the gap of decades to haunt him. “I guess there’s nothing you can do”, he said after a while.
“No. The damage is done.” Preston sighed and shook his head. “All I can do is prescribe medication; all you can do is give your body what it needs and leave away the things that will burden it. But all that can achieve is to buy you a little more time.”
“How much time are we talking?”
“I guess that’s the worst part of the news. I can’t say. A year, two years. Half a year, or maybe four. But most likely not much more than that.”
“Shit.” Shrapnel sat down on the stretcher again and stared at nothing for a while. He felt strangely numb inside. “Sandy’s going to go insane.”
Preston did not reply.

o-o-o-o

He knew he couldn’t keep a thing like this secret for any amount of time; both Flak and Sandy would have his hide for keeping news like that away from them. But sitting down at the table that evening, facing them to tell them he was going to die was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
The two stared at him with white and tight-lipped faces, both bearing a similar expression of disbelief and denial.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Sandy shook her head and at that moment, her eyes spilled over. “How long?”
Shrapnel swallowed and shrugged. “Doc couldn’t say. Anytime from a few months to four years, but not much more than that.”
“Four years?” Sandy shook her head again and her voice was hoarse and thick with tears. “Only… four years at the utmost?”
“That’s what he said.” Now, a few hours after the news had hit him like a sack full of hammers, he began to feel anger. It just wasn’t fucking fair. Here he had torn out his legs to leave that life behind him, and it caught him and fucked him up anyway now. “Shit. Fucking, bloody heap of steaming shit!” He jumped up from his chair and felt fury wash over him so hot and so violent that he couldn’t remember when last it happened. With a hoarse growl of fury he kicked the table over, then his chair, and would likely have ruined the whole furniture in their cabin if Flak hadn’t taken hold of both his arms to hold him down.

He struggled fruitlessly in Flak’s grip for a while before the fury vanished as suddenly as it had come; only when he had gone limp did Flak let go of Shrapnel again and, with an expressionless face, began to put the table and chairs back into place. Only when that was done did they realise that Cathy was standing in the doorway to her room, eyes wide and lips trembling.

“Oh god…” Shrapnel ran both hands through his hair. “Sweetie, I…”
“What’s happening?” Aged fifteen, she was old enough to understand that something dreadful had been happening, and all three of them knew that she had to know it, too.
“Cathy”, Sandy began, fighting for composure, and held out her arm. The girl hurried over and let her mother embrace her. “I’m sorry. We’ve got some bad news.”
“Has someone died?”
“Not yet, sweetie.” Shrapnel cleared his throat. “But it’s… it’s me. I’m ill. Terminally. Preston said there’s nothing he can do. I’m… I’m afraid I’m going to die soon, Cathy.”
She stared at him, her eyes widening even more. “But daddy… You can’t… there must be something! There must!”
She tore herself out of her mother’s arm and threw herself at him. His face pale, Shrapnel closed her arms around her and held her close as she wept into his chest. “Daddy you can’t die! Please, you can’t die!”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Shrapnel could feel his voice threatening to break. “I wouldn’t hurt you like that if I had a choice.”

He lowered his face into her crown and patted her back, and Sandy now leaned against Flak who closed his arms around her. She was bravely fighting for control over her feelings in front of her girl, but in the end, she failed. Flak buried his hand into her hair and looked up at his friend, their eyes meeting in bleak and hopeless despair.

Sandy had come to Harkness the very next day to tell him and ask for time off, for an indefinite time span. She had been working as a security guard for a few years, ever since Cathy had been old enough to be looked after by her fathers, and had been happy with her choice and very competent to boot. Upon hearing her story, Harkness had immediately cancelled all her shifts he had already put down on the roster, wishing even then that there would be something better he could have done for her.

They hadn’t kept it a secret, which would have been futile anyway. It soon had become clear to anyone who cared to look that something had been wrong with Shrapnel. He had walked like a man two times his age, and he had constantly been short of breath.
But he had fought. He had fought with the determination of a damned man. Harkness was sure that if it had been just the two of them still, him and Flak, he’d have eaten his gun after a night full of booze and be done with it. But he hadn’t. For the sake of his girls, he had fought. He had followed Preston’s every order to the letter, had stopped smoking, had stopped drinking, but in the end, just as predicted, all he had been able to achieve was to buy a little more time. It had gone downhill quite fast after the first one and a half years, and sheer force of will had been the only thing that had made him hold on until Cathy’s seventeenth birthday.

He hadn’t been able to leave the bed by then, and everyone knew that it was going to be over soon.

A few days later Flak had carried him to the clinic because he had hardly been able to breathe. Preston had sent for Cathy then, and the messenger had found her just as she was having a chat with Harkness while keeping things running in the marketplace. She had grown up in the place and had been helping her fathers in running the stall ever since she had been old enough to grasp the difference between a magazine and a clip, and at that time there had been little she hadn’t known about guns and ammo.

Harkness had offered to come with her, which she had thankfully accepted, and Angela, being her godmother, had come along as well, to offer what help and comfort she could.

Entering the clinic, everyone looking at Shrapnel had known beyond doubt that the only reason Cathy had been called was to enable her to say farewell.
He had looked like a dead man already, had been labouring and fighting for every painful draw of breath.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 150 of 257

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Re: The Only Way to Win 6/?

Re: Greener Pastures (6b/?)

Re: Greener Pastures (6b/?)

Baby Is What He Calls Me 7/?

Greener Pastures (7a/?)

Greener Pastures (7b/?)

Greener Pastures (7c/?)

Re: Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Re: Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Re: Greener Pastures (7c/?)

Re: Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Stronger than death itself 2a/?

Stronger than death itself 2b/?

Stronger than death itself 2c/?

Stronger than death itself 2d/?

Re: The Only Way to Win 6/?

A!A

A!A

Re: Greener Pastures (7c/?)

Re: Troop Morale 1d/1

Re: Troop Morale 1d/1

Re: Stronger than death itself 2d/?

Re: Stronger than death itself 2d/? A!A

Stronger than death itself 3a/?

Stronger than death itself 3b/?