I Was Thinking About Height And Names In The Wasteland.

I was thinking about height and names in the wasteland.

Height: I think humanity would slowly evolve to become shorter just like how through the centuries we evolved to become taller.

In the Wasteland, I think, being shorter can help with survival. Or not. But to think about it we started to become taller because our lifestyle became much better than it was before and it, for some reason, led us to become taller means, to me at least, in the Wasteland while struggling with survival the reverse would happen.

Might really do something with survival, like better hiding or something with muscles, someone might know better than me anyway.

Names: Names are pretty important to us. We not only give names to humans, we name... well, just about everything. I think this might be different in the Wasteland. Names might lost their meaning. Some might not even have names. They might abandoned it or was never given any.

And so when you come across generic raider #5 then it might be his entire persona. He might think he is a raider, takes his entire identity as this, and that is all.

Or perhaps they just feel like they don't want to share their names while shooting at... well, anyone.

Also, as a bonus. Many people must have some mutations but not the super mutant kind of. Instead some little ones, what might not even be noticed. I heard somewhere the blue eye and when someone looks into the sun and sneezes is some kind of mutation, I was immediately thinking about it. Even if these 'facts' are not true, for idea they are cool.

Let's say we have Jimmy. Jimmy has, I don't know, thicc skull. The kind you can hit with a damn hammer and the hammer would break. He finds it completely normal because he was always like this, and he just jokes about it with others.

Not every mutation must be a bad kind of mutation because that just makes no sense. To me, at least.

The entire Earth was ravaged through nuclear fire, it become irradiated, many things, if not all, mutated. That amount of radiation caused that. Humans are not the same as they were before the war. They must have changed. In many ways. Those living the longest in the Wasteland, like being the descendants of others who also lived there, means they might have more than those who just recently moved out into the Wasteland.

I’ll be writing eventually I’m not motivated rn !

BABY’S FIRST WORDS

〔 a fluff piece brought to you by yours truly. domesticity at its finest, featuring the rarity of simon joking and we even observe a rare laugh from him. not without his usual cluelessness and blunt nature though. king! 〕

˗ˏˋ i honestly love him just existing as a dad. learn as you go type stuff, his daughter latching onto him when he wanted it least must’ve done him good. our emotionally stunted husband — someone give this man a hug and tell him he’s alr.

⇀ 1k | no warnings

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Of course. Of course it had happened the only ten minutes of the day you had left her — barely managing one foot in the shower before Simon had opened the door with your daughter in his hands. Not arms, but hands. “She spoke.” He provided lamely, holding her out to you as if she contained a transferable illness. 

You grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your dry body before taking her from him, the smile she made was adoring. “She what.” Brows pung upward, your brief frown at his interruption loosening into a warmth while peppering kisses all across her cheeks. “She—“ 

“She said my name.” 

“She said Simon?” You retorted and he scoffed, taking a step backward to the door, forearm leant on the threshold. “Dad?” She reached for your hair, small fingers pulling on it with a smile when you had begun bouncing her from side to side. 

Simon shifted. “Bit like,” His words were lost for a baby laugh, one that echoed against the bathroom walls. Your hand was against your mouth in milliseconds, finding obvious tears welling in your eyes. 

“What the fuck.” You mouthed, smoothing the hair on her head and Simon raised his brows in acknowledgment of your reaction, the faintest of smiles tugging at the side of his lip. “Sorry, what did she say?” You let a breathy laugh go, one that emphasised your emotionality. 

His eyes switched between you and his daughter, leaning his full weight against the door now. “Da.”

You tilted your head at him. “Doesn’t that make you feel whole?” The baby in your arms began flailing her arms in your hold, reaching for her father as if on cue. 

Simon shrugged, pushing off from the door to close the distance between you and allowing her to poke at his tattoo. “Didn’t think much of it.” He admitted, his eyes landing on yours that had narrowed ever so slightly with an understanding nod. 

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” He bit at the skin on his top lip, acutely aware of the flaring of your nostrils. A list of potential worries flurrying your mind, ones you would all deem as irrational though Simon probably wouldn’t. It was valid to worry about his reactions. 

His immediate reaction to your daughters first laugh was, “Oh, shit.” The noise being between a baby coo and giggle combined into something that would’ve burst your chest yet only poked at his. He held her outward, stretched forearms while her small feet kicked in the air. 

Then came her first word, one of demand, a strong “Da!” One Simon had told himself meant dad, though it was more likely a protesting noise to be put down. Whatever the noise meant, he granted her outstretched hands, placing her back down onto his knee and bouncing it up and down gently. 

By no means did Simon Riley know what to do with a baby, he was still learning, very slowly — but surely. “What was that?” He mumbled at her, his eyes boring into hers as if she were an adult who could understand his demanding stare. “Tell dad, eh? Say it again.”

To clarify the noise wasn’t made in anger. 

Instead, she grabbed at his shoulder, bunching up the material of his shirt loosely. “Or that.” He muttered, diverting his attention along with her own to Blue Planet that had been on pause for ten minutes since you had left. 

He tapped his fingers in quick succession of the one before, the sofa armrest now becoming a point of interest for the baby who had watched his hand move. Though, right before she could hike off his thigh, he had then decided to take her through to you. You know, just to let you know your daughter had just spoken her first word (noise) alongside a laugh. 

“Did she say anything else?” You asked, pushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen to his forehead only for it to drop back down. 

“Yeah.” He said bluntly, taking her from your hold and looking down to her. “Quantum physics,” 

A pause for your sigh. “Explained it all.” 

You nudged his shoulder, turning to check the shower temperature. “Go put her down. She’s due a sleep.” Your back was to the man, though his expression was easily imagined. “No, I can’t do it.”

Oftentimes, Simon zoned out when doing anything with the baby. It was something he took through future years too, future kids and all ages, arguments at breakfast? Zoned out. Walking with him? Not there. Even talking to him? Meh. 

He put the baby down in a trance, standing over the cot silently praying to gods he didn’t believe in that she would continue her peace. That no cries would break and his headache would remain in its rest, taking slow steps backward when she had shut her eyes. 

“Can't believe she spoke to you.” You had said later that night, leant against a barstool watching Simon cut up an onion in that one way you just couldn’t master. “And not me, that is.” 

“I have a charm.” He pointed the knife on its end, spinning it on the cutting board before eyeing you. “Obviously.”

“A silent-threatening-mediocre type of charm.”

He shrugged, sliding the annoyingly perfect dicing into a pan. “First laugh too.” It was a mumble designed to entice a reaction, and that it did, your arm barging against his after hearing your baby cry on cue. 

“I’ll get something from her yet.” You picked up washing from the bottom stair, beginning up the stairs to go and pacify. 

“Only got the rest of your life!” He shouted for you to hear, gaining an earnest roll of your eyes. 

“I prefer you when you’re quiet.” You spoke aloud, just enough to gain a laugh from him, one you imagined he had let go without permission while aggressively preparing another onion. 

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123

unedited as usual. gonna go over my dad!simon masterlist this week. reblogs and comments are hugely appreciated!

2 misc deacons i never posted

smth abt your recent 141 post gave me a thought.

somebody need to get these boys into a club, flashing lights, music and dancing, fun drinks and flashy y2k reader who’s lowkey an absolute party animal?? or an ex party animal, teehee anyways,,

imagine how fun it’d be dragging johnny onto the dance floor, drunkenly screaming that “this is my FAVORITE song!!”

i just see fics of them at bars and i just need to see them up in a club😫😫

thank you so much for requesting! i LOVE drunken club energy so much (something about going to a club and drinking a weak rum and coke on a thirsty thursday really does it for me). this totally fit the vibe of a previous request so please enjoy a little cameo of the best 2000s aesthetic character, Storm!

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summary: The 141 decides to allow you to pick the place for some drinks while on leave. You take the opportunity to get absolutely hammered and sing your heart out to some 2000s hits.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x reader (codename: Storm)

warnings: swearing

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"I thought they said we were going for drinks," Gaz shouted to Ghost over the loud 2000s dance music that blared on the dance floor. Gaz had found his way back to Price and Ghost after you had dragged him to the beats of Low by Flo Rida. After the chorus, you and your low-rise jeans and Harley Davis tiny top had disappeared with Soap in hand. He figured you would emerge eventually as he took a large gulp of his beer that appeared to be hot pink underneath the neon lights. "I am never letting Storm pick again," Ghost said and Gaz strained to hear him. But by the look of how drunk he was getting over the sugary drinks, it was clear Ghost was trying to make the most out of the experience.

"Here they come," Price yelled, almost as if he was delivering a warning, as you emerged from the crowd. Sweat coated your face and perfectly complicated the loose glitter from your makeup and the mingling crowd. Soap followed close behind, somehow losing his shirt after the three-minute song. "What happened out there?" Simon couldn't help but ask as you and Soap chugged the remainder of your dirty shirleys. "Met some Scousers," Soap breathlessly answered, "shirt went with 'em." The group laughed loudly as Soap fanned his sweating torso. "How'd you find this place, Storm?" Gaz asked, leaning forward closer to the group. "Went here a lot in sixth form and the summer before enlisting," you answered. You remembered the long nights and the hoarse voices you left with. You also remembered the paracetamol and glass of water affectionately left on your bedside table.

You continued to exchange wild stories about your drunken adventures including the time you threw up in someone's designer Juicy Couture bag. "And you still party like a teenager," Price couldn't help but tease as you threw your head back in laughter. "Don't see you complaining about all the compliments you've been getting, Captain," you quipped back. Almost on schedule, a young woman passed by the Captain and sent an air kiss his way with her glossed lips. You held your drink in the air and shared a toast with the group as you celebrated the woman's flirtations. Before Price could respond back, you could hear the beginning of your favorite early 2000s hits.

You jumped up, sloshing the drinks on the small metallic table. "Oh my god," you screamed, "this is my favorite song!" Unfortunately for Price and Soap, they were the nearest to you and your hands immediately began tugging them to the dance floor. Your sneakers squeaked against the floor as Soap relented but Price remained firmly in place. "I'm too old for this," Price said as he shook his head in dismay. "Whatever," you rolled your eyes, letting him fall back onto the plush couch, "but the next time there's a Britney song, I better see your boonie hat on the floor."