Because nothing relates more to Love and Couples than feeling all alone??
cAN WE STOP TAKING STEALTHY PICTURES OF PEOPLE IN PUBLIC IDK IF HES UR SUBSTITUTE TEACHER UR BEIN A FUCKIN CREEPY PIECE OF SHIT AND U NEED TO FUCKIN STOP
There is an expression in the Wasteland: “Old World Blues.”
It refers to those so obsessed with the past they can’t see the present, much less the future, for what it is.
In the times following the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, however, Old World Blues took on a new meaning.
Where once it was viewed as a form of sadness, nostalgia, it became an expression describing the potential for the future.
With the Courier at the helm, Science became a beacon for the future. There was Old World Blues, and New World Hope.
When the elevator doors slide open, sunlight spills in. Reggie stumbles out of the facility into the bizarre crater, brimming with questions but having lost the thirst for information, feeling an unusual apathy towards the task, a silence, powered by the autonomous will to escape. The loudspeakers crackle to life as he nears, Doctor Mobius giving an warning, a theatrical promise of roboscorpions and deathly pincers. Before he can muster up a weak guffaw to sound a bit more himself, he hears the staccato soundings of a pistol. Ducking the hail of lead, he swings out the cowboy repeater and lets loose two shots at the source. Catching him in his sights, Reggie pales at the sight of the sunbleached man sporting a patchwork of surgical scars, a grim mask, and a 10mm. The gun bucked twice, thrice. But the ‘man’ showed no signs of being affected by the headshots. Finally on the fifth, the lobotomite fell. But before he could let his rifle droop, another charged forth, this one swinging a proton axe. Jerking back, he put two rounds into his.. its? shoulder and arm. It lurched forward, almost in a confused manner as it shambles forward. It swings the axe again, the blade misses but this time the handle hits him hard, knocking him off-balance. The lobotomite tries to pounce, but Reggie’s dropped the rifle, clutched a hand against that mask, that metallic jaw as the other shoots down to his belt, pulls off the 10mm pistol, and squeezes lead into it’s chest until he’s hearing the click of an empty clip. The lobotomite topples away and he falls too, abruptly overwhelmed.
Eleven minutes later, he stands. Checks the two for anything useful. Picks up the repeater. Stumbles back into the Sink, pale as the pair lying outside.
reblog if you ARE gay, if you SUPPORT gay people, or if you like to OPEN people’s WINDOWS in the middle of the NIGHT and put DOZENS of GEESE in their BEDROOMS