The Boltcutters

Monday, September 26th, 2016




Thank you everyone for your stories of Wasteland Weekend! @flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy‘s photos, art, and search for the Boltcutter group among the crowds inspired me to write this story. I’m posting here with Gurdy’s approval.
It’s both fanfic and fandom fic.

You’ll see phrases and moments from Gurdy’s story here, transposed into Mad Max’s Wasteland. Hope you like it – thank you all again, especially @flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy.

He saw the sigil more than once in the Wasteland.

The way his life had worked out, he was a scav. His people had fallen
away. He had the dented small car, his name, Sydney (they all missed Sydney,
his people said) and his keen, hungry eyes. The Wasteland, cruel and beautiful
in its sand and stone, greys and browns, and rare rusted buildings, was his

For all the vast and curving contours of the Wasteland, he craved

Keep reading

I thought I was out of tears after yesterday and the night before. I was wrong. This was just lovely, thank you thank you. (And thank you for finding us @flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy, letting us see you and share with you and drink with you. As was the theme of the weekend: I am glad I got to experience this with you. ♥)

I mean one of you did legit say to me ‘So you’re our Max?’ when I admitted to identity problems and becoming nonverbal when things got too rough and I did NOT tell @thebyrchentwigges that so, man, how?

This is so fucking close to reality it’s not even…I don’t know how to process.

Thank you, Boltcutters, for being welcoming. Thank you for being encouraging even when I wasn’t very responsive. And, you know, thank you for…understanding and respecting certain things. 

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