#Commonwealth^Adventures

[careol]

@gleamingcrowns cont. from here.

               carol   wished   that   he   could   see   how   perfect   he   was.      daryl   was   perfectly   imperfect,   and   that   is   one   of   the   countless   things   she   loved   about   him.      he   may   not   agree   and   may   not   want   to   hear   it,   but   being   superficial   alone,   his   body   was   one   that   was   sculpted   by   the   gods.      the   scars,   to   her,   did   not   take   away   from   his   beauty.      they   told   stories   of   survival,   of   resilience.      he   made   it   through   to   the   other   side,   and   she   was   so   proud   of   him   for   it.      she   knows   that   he   thinks   the   same   for   her   as   well.      she   hates   her   scars,   especially   the   one   carved   on   her   hip   that   is   forever   a   reminder   that   ed   had   damaged   her.      but   daryl   looks   at   her   and   worships   her,   just   as   she   worships   him.

               his   personality   is   what   she   is   truly   in   love   with   though.      he   is   kind,   he   is   gentle,   and   he   has   the   biggest   heart   of   anyone   she’s   ever   met.      he   has   a   fierce   loyalty   to   those   he   cares   about,   and   he   would   jump   in   the   line   of   fire   time   and   time   again   just   to   keep   them   safe.      beneath   that   tough   exterior   is   a   soft,   loving   man   who   deserves   the   world   and   then   some.

               she   sighs,   sitting   up   in   the   bed,   the   sheets   pooling   at   her   waist.      she   no   longer   cares   to   hide   herself   from   him.      he   has   seen   every   inch   of   her   in   great   detail,   he   had   made   that   his   mission   the   first   time   they   made   love.      she   does   not   feel   the   need   to   cover   up   in   front   of   him   anymore.      ❝   you   are   perfect   to   me,   daryl.      the   one   i   dreamed   about,   the   man   i   longed   for   since   high   school.      i   wish   that   we   could   have   met   earlier   than   we   did,   because   i   know   i   would   have   been   happy   with   you.      i   am   happy   now,   and   nothing   that   you   say   will   change   my   perception   of   you.   ❞

[anna-neko]

🔥 HAPPY NEW YEAR 🔥

once again and always: artisanal organic lovingly~crafted card

yeaaaah, heading into 2025 be like....

Here's to another quarter of the 21st century, ~ from ya local Vault Dweller

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[ranger-danger]

Working on the Kane holotapes

[vaas]

does anyone here know how to fucking draw. i want to do a gay little fallout fanfiction but i havent drawn anything in One William Years

[faithandarisadventures]

Welcome to Worcester October 8, 2023 Kenneth F. Burns Memorial Bridge Worcester, Massachusetts

I waited for an opening and ran across three lanes of pretty heavy traffic to get this picture.

[forkingandcountry-if]

For King and Country is an 18+ period immersion fantasy fic which seeks to combine the extensive background work and history associated with high fantasy titles such as LOTR with more ‘realistic’ storytelling and settings. It may contain distressing content like depiction of regressive attitudes (sexism, misogyny and prejudice), major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, abuse and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

Chapter 1 Out Now! (277k words)

Remember those long summer days when the countryside was green and life was still young, when you were but a little culver and all the world was promised for you.

But summer has ended. Amidst the furore and tumult, autumn crept in unnoticed, finding you unprepared, still a greenhorn.

Now, the old order is dead, yet the Empire endures. In this new and uncertain world, what are you willing to do for your King and Country, O little culver?

Ah little tragedies, that you could not remain in the safety of your family's country manor, that they could not shield you once again from this world.

You must take to the capital at once, like all men and women of good birth, for king and country and the glory of the commonwealth! The spirit of progress and change has swept through the nation. The heady days of revolution are long over, and the streets have been washed clean of blood and filth. Invited to serve in the King's Army and attend university as a ward of the king, you must answer the King’s call. Navigate and become increasingly entangled in the web of intrigue, gossip, violence, and ideas that swirl around the nation. Enter a society radically different from the one you were raised to expect. These are the years that will decide your fate and that of your fellow countrymen. Act wisely, for it is not often that the world is within your grasp.

Features

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Assume the identity of a citizen of noble birth and experience the story through their eyes.

Romance one of eight ROs or engage in a polyamorous relationship with a pre-selected two of them. The only possible poly route is the Young King and the Queen Ruler.

Practice and specialise in the skills of the King's Army with the option for swordplay, marksmanship, offensive galderquid and diplomacy.

Define your political leanings on the leading issues of your time.

Debate, engage and make allies and enemies with the various competing factions and interests that flock to the city.

Study at Azma University, earning your lecturers admiration for your diligence, intellect, ambition or adventurousness or cruise through relying on your wealth and ability to hide.

Help to stabilize or sabotage the Empire.

Don't lose your head.

Critical Lore*

Talent

Galder denotes the practice of magic within our nation, a discipline requiring extensive study and mastery. The ability to manipulate Galderquid, the fundamental essence of magic, is a rare and intricate skill, demanding years of rigorous training to achieve even moderate proficiency.

Every individual possesses a basic affinity for Galderquid, but those with exceptional potential are identified through comprehensive evaluations conducted by village or city physicians around the ages of 12 or 13. These assessments determine the individual's capacity for advanced magical education.

Upon evaluation, candidates are assigned a national rank based on their proficiency. Those demonstrating exceptional aptitude are offered state-sponsored education at the Azma Univetsity at the age of 18. Others are placed in various other institutions or may pursue private tutelage.

Galder is often referred to as the "fifth philosophy," characterized by its non-intuitive nature. Mastery requires adherence to rigorous methodologies grounded in reason, first principles, and established precedents. The study of Galder encompasses several specialized fields, each with distinct applications and techniques:

Sympathetic Galder: This field focuses on influencing the minds of individuals or animals. It includes practices such as illusion creation, language translation, emotional manipulation, and sleep inducement.

Transmutative Galder: Involves altering the intrinsic nature or form of objects. This process generally relies on the principle that the original and transformed items must possess equivalent 'worth.' The approximate worth of common subjects of transmutation can be found in any good transmutation book.

Invocation Galder: Pertains to the summoning and manipulation of natural elements, including water, earth, fire, and wind.

Clerical Galder: Associated with the Church, this field is predominantly closed practice. However, educational institutions provide instruction in healing and charming, which are also fundamental aspects of clerical magic.

Archery: Involves the use of Galder to manifest a bow and arrows composed of energy. These projectiles deliver significant blunt damage upon impact but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by bow-masters.

Blade-Use: Similar to Archery, this field focuses on creating blades, swords, or daggers from Galder. These weapons inflict substantial blunt damage but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by blade-masters.

The Second Civil War

The Second Civil War, also known as the Revolution, erupted ten years ago and lasted for two years, reshaping the political landscape of the realm. The conflict ended with the ascension of King Edmund I of House Wynd, following a tumultuous period of unrest and upheaval. The war’s roots lay in years of widespread discontent under King Wulfric I Wynd, whose governance was marked by controversial policies and growing resentment among the populace.

The immediate trigger for the war was King Wulfric's deathbed decision to legitimize his illegitimate son and name him heir presumptive, bypassing his eldest daughter, who was widely expected to ascend the throne. This unprecedented act enraged both the nobility and commoners, particularly in Redeemist regions, where it was seen as an affront to both justice and religious teachings. Protests erupted across the empire, with laborers and yeomanry deposing officials loyal to the usurper in a series of violent uprisings. Martial law was declared as the disinherited princess rallied loyal houses and nobility to her cause.

The rebellion gained a critical leader in Marshal Walthe Courtney, a veteran of the unpopular Eleven Years’ War. Courtney’s military acumen and strategic alliances with peasant uprisings turned the tide of the conflict. Alongside the Princess’s royal forces, his army executed a series of decisive sieges, culminating in the Siege of the King's Seat, where the usurper was overthrown.

The war concluded with a great council of the great houses instituting sweeping reforms. Though the monarchy was retained, it was bound by a codified constitution, the Grand East Code, ensuring limits to royal power. Tragically, the Princess died on the battlefield, leaving behind a will that named her youngest brother, Edmund, as the rightful heir. She bypassed their older brother, Cassian, whom she described as “too choleric and red-blooded in his aspect for the duties of kingship,” appointing him as regent until Edmund came of age at 18.

The post-war reforms sought to balance power and placate the revolutionary factions led then by Courtney:

Parliamentary Restructuring: The previous weak bicameral parliament that had been unable to prevent the amendment of the Act of Succession was replaced by a unicameral National Assembly with expanded suffrage for yeomanry and laborers owning sufficient land. Eligibility criteria were simplified, and elections were set to occur every eight years.

Military and Noble Oversight: Nobles' heirs were required to serve as wards of the king for 24 months upon reaching the age of 18, receiving military training and living in the capital. This was framed as a means to unite the realm but also served to prevent rebellion and strengthen Edmund's legitimacy.

Expanded Education: Azma University, previously exclusive to the nobility, was opened to all individuals of suitable skill, broadening access to education and opportunity.

General Walthe Courtney, hailed as a war hero, was appointed Lord Protector with sweeping powers to some extent by the demand of the peasant army he'd led. He served as Commander of the Armies and a critical stabilizing force throughout Edmund’s reign and Cassian’s regency. The King’s Council was restructured to include the elected Premier, who could recommend cabinet appointments, although the King retained the final decision. Early in his reign, King Edmund has established a precedent of accepting the recommendations of both the Premier and the Lord Protector, balancing the demands of reformists and royalists alike.

The King's Army and Azma University

The King's Army, colloquially known among the common folk as the Small Army or King's Life Guard, serves as a voluntary armed force in peacetime within the Empire. Its primary role is to function as a national guard, maintaining peace and order across the extensive and diverse territories of the Empire and swear loyalty solely to the King.

During periods of peace, the King's Guard is comprised of volunteers who contribute to the stability of the nation. However, in times of war, the monarch is vested with the authority to implement conscription, thereby obligating the great houses to raise men to fight for their king.

Following the Great Council of 421, significant reforms were introduced regarding service in the King's Guard. Those heirs of great houses are now required to complete two years service and training within the King's Army as wards of the king although this time can be commuted upon ascension as Lord/Lady Paramount of their house. This training is relatively light compared to full military training, designed to balance the economic and educational responsibilities of these citizens with their military duties.

Azma University is a theological university founded in the year 262AR by Trista of Azma, a master of theology and galder and was recognized by the King as a royal college in 289AR. It's Faculty of Theology is unrivaled across the entirety of the world and is considered one of the foremost institutions for education in galder, theology and philosophy.

Azma admits its students on the basis of the national ranking system and the census taken each year, those students with a sufficiently high natural affinity for the study of galder are offered a place in which to study it beyond the common extent offered by tutors and hedge-witches.

Azma has in recent years, following the second civil war and the increase in punishment by religious courts for physicians who attribute false rankings, with an increased student cohort particularly from the yeomanry and international scholars though the large majority of the general cohort remains largely consisted of the children of nobility.

Beyond its Faculty of Theology, Azma University is one of the foremost institutions driving forward the development of innovations regarding farming and building, mechanics and the engine'ering class that has developed in major cities across the Empire.

Situated in the capital city, Azma University benefits from its central location in what is often regarded as a hub of youthful energy and societal activity. Its reputation as a center for young nobles and genteel individuals enhances the college's role as a key venue for social introduction. It is frequently heralded as a place where the most advantageous social and matrimonial matches are made, positioning it as a pivotal institution in shaping the elite's social landscape.

The Empire

The Empire, as it is commonly known, is a vast realm governed by the Nine Paramountcies and the Imperial Household, all of whom rule from the King's Seat. This grand structure of power was forged between the years 23 ANU (Anno Non Unitus, or Year of the Ununified) and 1 AR (Anno Rex, or Year of the King) through the conquests of King Adan I, who earned the title "the Unifier."

From its inception, the Empire adopted an expansionist stance, which has characterized much of its history. This policy of territorial growth has been met with widespread approval among its citizens, largely due to the substantial wealth and resources it has brought to the nation. As the largest empire in the world and the unifier of the continent, it has established itself as the dominant lingua franca of common, further solidifying its influence and stature.

Throughout the Empire's history, the Imperial Household and the title of King have primarily been held by House Galagar, reigning from 1 AR to 399 AR, and later by House Wynd, from 399 AR to 438 AR. There have been instances where other houses acted as regents, temporarily holding the title on behalf of House Galagar, such as House Champion (348 AR-352 AR) and House Abbey (9 AR-13 AR & 154AR-155AR).

Despite its vast wealth and dominance, the Empire has faced relatively frequent rebellions in its paramountcies where calls for independence have persisted. Historically, these uprisings have been met with swift and overwhelming military responses. However, recently in 399AR during the Wyndham Rebellion, King Hendrick the Conqueror succeeded in overthrowing House Galagar and replacing it with his own house who have led the empire since.

*The lore detailed here is accurate but also only extends as far as the protagonist's knowledge of these subjects at the present time of the fic, some detail will be lost or may have been withheld from the MC and they may have misconceptions.

Romances

When the advisors are not praising his good sense, nor the bards his mirth, the church his piety or the poor his generosity, the question emerges just who is King Edmund I Wynd?

The young king thrust into a position of power who uses it as well as he knows how, having learnt from the mistakes of his grandfather and father and the long shadow of war that is still cast over the continent?

Or is he merely the figurehead, installed after a turbulent civil war, a king whose true authority has been surrendered to the councilors around him, contenting himself with the trappings of kingship rather than its substance?

Alas who is to know?

Name: King Edmund I Wynd

Age: 21

Height: 6'5

Appearance: Edmund stands at a 6'5, noticeably lanky although his seemingly permanent jaunty posture appears to cut an inch or two of him. He possesses short bronde hair styled in such a fashion that it appears wind-swept and fashionably ruffled with various products used to achieve the effect. He possesses a lean athletic physique although it is evidently achieved through some sort of diet or exercise for aesthetic rather than being muscles created by years of work. He nearly always has a relaxed expression with a smile and his pale face is framed by his grey eyes.

(he/him) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: Life of the Party, Commitment Issues

-

Could it be that she, the queen consort, wields the true power behind the throne, acting as a surrogate for her kind lord, who never could bring himself to grasp the reins of authority?

She possesses the strength and allure of a king in her own right. Under her vigilant oversight, the king’s armies have routed the empire's foes, and now her gaze turns inward, determined to root out the treacherous elements within the realm.

Yet, amid her march towards peace at the end of a sword, there are those who seek to see her order destroyed. How long can it last? A queen consort without an heir, without children, lacking a direct claim to the throne, aging, and some even question her bond with the king himself.

Name: Veronica Abbey-Wynd

Age: 36

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Veronica stands straight at a tall 5'9 although her heels often push her to 5'11 or even 6'0. She has long wavy chestnut brown hair although more often than not it is in an updo of some sort for practicality. She has a healthy physique with faint lines and wrinkles, with an olive skin as well as doe-shaped deep brown eyes. Somehow a picture of beauty and severity, all the soft lines of her body somehow harsh.

(she/her) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: scary hot, masc women

-

Walthe Courtney, Commander of the King’s Armies and Protector of the Realm, emerged as a formidable figure in the Second Civil War. Leading the rebels with unmatched martial prowess, he earned the acclaim of being the finest swordsman in the land. His valor and leadership were instrumental in overthrowing the usurper-king and restoring order to the fractured realm.

In the aftermath of the bloody conflict, he was celebrated as a folk hero—a commoner who rose to lead his people to victory and bring about a semblance of peace. His contributions were rewarded with knighthood and elevation to nobility, an ode to his honour.

Now, as Protector of the Realm, Walthe ensures the continuation of stability with a steady hand. Yet, despite his efforts, a persistent thorn remains, a challenge beyond even his considerable grasp, casting a shadow over his otherwise successful stewardship.

Name: Walthe Courtney

Age: 43

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Walthe has short, practical wavy black hair streaked with grey throughout, reflecting years of experience and hardship. their muscled, well-built stature is a testament to their years of service. He has warm tanned skin, indicative of his heritage being from the centre of the continent. His light green eyes stand out against his rugged features, with a determined, piercing gaze.

(he/him/they) solo-route

Tropes: The Stoic, No Sense of Humour, Heroic BSoD

-

From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers, would be sent away as a ward.

Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend

His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.

Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve. Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.

Name: Lorn of Greenspan

Age: 18

Height: 6'0

Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat

-

The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.

Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.

Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.

For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.

Name: Kent Galagar

Age: 18

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold

-

The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.

Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.

Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.

Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.

Name: Arfryn Caldwell

Age: 20

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine

-

In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and extremely popular amongst all who meet her or have the chance to witness her in action.

She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance.

In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Azma University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.

As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such position.

Name: Dean Champion

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Dean has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her hazel eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour

-

Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who gave her legitimacy, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother.

It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.

True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?

She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.

Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly

Age: 18

Height: 5'7

Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever

Additional

Dashingdon Demo: out now!

Cogdemos Demo: out now!

Pinterest: not yet available

Art: not yet available

Feedback Survey: not yet available

All Asks and Reposts are appreciated, work will be slow but steady and a demo should be ready shortly!

ask me lore questions please, I have far too many notes on this.

[jakface]

My Sole and Nick having very normal Commonwealth adventures

[lxcke]

My Hancock Headcanons

Some of these are a little OOC from the game but I'm rewriting the Commonwealth to have darker and more realistic overtones. 1.9k words.

Can't bring himself to take Daytripper anymore. The euphoric effects hooked him hard for a while and it's one of the reasons why he used to do benders so much.

Doesn't wear the red frock coat while out adventuring because he can't bear the thought of getting it burned up or ruined.

Some hair follicles survived on the top of his head and there are tiny tufts of platinum silver hair that grow in. He lost his hair pigment in the ghoulification process, and they fall out or break off before the strands can get very long as it's very brittle.

Tries to one-hand his double-barrel shotgun like a flintlock pistol and regularly messes up his wrist joint because of the kickback.

His eyes appear pitch black, but if you look closely or shine a light on them, you'll notice that his eyes are actually just a really, really dark red from burst blood vessels (radiation poisoning side-effect). In some areas where the black hasn't taken over, there are broken flecks of grey in there.

Hancock is a caffeine junkie.

He deals with fatigue and arthritis from ghoulification (his bones did not take kindly to the radiation.) The pain lessens during radstorms, where he feels incredibly rejuvenated, and often hyper.

Favors Mentats and Jet because they're "less heavy" chems. He takes the Mentats to help himself properly fulfil the role as a responsible mayor. Long-term use has led to him learning a lot in a short time span, leading to his extremely high INT stat.

He favors Jet because it helps sooth the fire in his brain after overdoing work on Mentats. They balance each other out.

Used to wear a lot of jewelry and had piercings in his youth but found out the hard way that they snag during a fight, so they had to go.

Keeps his switchblade(s) in his boot.

Was taught how to sew by his mom as a kid and is now the guy everyone goes to when they end up with holes in their clothes. He keeps his John Hancock getup in good condition.

Isn't a huge fan of swimming. He can swim but it makes him feel incredibly uneasy. He needs his boots on the ground.

Bad temperature regulation. He gets cold at a slight breeze and hot on a sunny day. His tricorn hat keeps the sun off of him.

Some people headcanon that he has heightened senses, but I beg to differ. The dude has bad vision. He uses a shotgun so it's harder to miss. You'll often catch him squinting at documents and terminals. He knows the smell of specific chemicals like the back of his hand, but he doesn't necessarily pick up scents "better."

E.g. you'll both catch a whiff of something weirdly metallic, and he just pops off with, "ah, yes, Psychojet with a little too much jet saturation and a smidge of black mold in the container. Feelin' bad for whoever just took that; that's some low-quality stuff."

Back in his human days, he was a degenerate junkie back in Diamond City. He was a sleazeball with high charisma; let's just leave it at that.

DC guards would regularly sweep him off the curb near the Dugout Inn or bust him selling chems to the locals behind the stands.

As alluded to in the game dialogue, Hancock would go on benders in Goodneighbor and would often shack up with the locals. He used sex as an escape almost as frequently as chems. He has a lot of experience due to this, but he also has his fair share of "horror stories."

He's now a lot pickier about who he shares a mattress with, but whoever gets lucky with Hancock? Say goodbye to your dignity because he will systematically destroy that shit just because he feels like it.

Gave the player character chems so they'd get hooked and be dependent on him to provide. He was buying insurance so they wouldn't betray him if push came to shove. He also just wanted a smoke buddy for the road.

Hancock is a selfish person. He wears the "easygoing helpful stoner friend" persona to try and make right for his previous sins. "Hancock" is the good guy face. "John" is a cynical bastard.

Only his closest, most trusted friends will ever call him John or see that side of him.

Often can't sit still and has sensory-seeking tendencies (just a smidge touch of the ADHD. Could be a side effect of chem-usage as well.)

As a young child, he grew up in a waterfront cabin with his older brother and mother. His father was a drifter and was rarely seen. John can't remember his name or face well, but his mom is a shining star in his memory.

John falls back into the Daytripper habit after finding out his brother was replaced with a synth. The player character pulls him out of it if they're close enough. If not, he keeps it quiet. Nobody will notice, right?

His eyes are very mirror-like and have that "red-eye glow" effect when a bright light is directed at him. Sometimes, in the heat of battle, one can literally see the fire reflected back in his eyes. It's high-key freaky.

Has the subtle air of inhumanity about him. He sometimes moves in a way that makes you question if he's real or not (e.g. standing way too still, movements too rigid or too fluid.) He's probably just really high when this happens.

Riffing off some dialogue from the game, Hancock has been dealing with hallucinations all his life. He blames it on the chems, but he's too afraid to admit he's probably just a tad psychotic from wasteland living. This is also a known PTSD symptom, which he won't touch on the subject of with a ten-foot pole.

"You see 'em, too?" he says jokingly whilst sweating bullets.

When he gets particularly high, one might catch him listening to some very strange experimental jazz. He'll never admit to this.

Riffing off of Danny Shorago's beautiful musical performances, this dude can absolutely slam out vocals like a pro. Isolation in the wasteland leads to completely useless talents. He absentmindedly sung along to Diamond City radio to himself one too many times and well, one thing led to another...

Took over for Magnolia at the Third Rail on one of her off days. Never did it again. Will never mention it happened.

Attention whore and heavily ashamed of it. He stabbed a guy in the first ten seconds of meeting the player character, but if you tell him he was showing off, he'll deny it.

Will happily bum a preserved cigarette off of the player character if they have any.

He has nine toes and walks a little funny because of it. Jack Sparrow with a limp.

Was not raised in the era of soap. Due to the game labeling soap as junk, Hancock will ridicule the player character for picking it up. He doesn't understand what it is; it just looks like a stick of lard to him.

Doesn't use soap (dirty wastelander behavior.) He keeps two pine-scented car fresheners hanging on the inside of his coat. He calls them "coat fresheners."

The sweat glands in his skin were burned off so he doesn't smell incredibly bad, there's just this weird dusty ozone smell to him... he'll take a dip in the river to get the grime off, but he doesn't like how cold it makes him afterwards.

Standard sex-education does not exist in the wasteland. It's incredibly rare to meet a wastelander who views sex as recreational, and not a clinical way to make as many babies as possible. It's also incredibly rare to meet a wastelander with any kind of clue of what they're doing in bed. This makes Hancock a literal gem, and it's probably why he has so much sway with the people. Per Bobbi No-Nose: "Everyone is so damn afraid of him or so damn in love with him. He thinks he is invincible."

Slams Dirty Wastelanders like they are water. He has a specific taste for mutfruit and sweet drinks.

Fahrenheit is indeed Hancock's daughter, but she was a bastard "oopsie baby" he didn't find out about until she was well in her adulthood. She's not inclined to tell him, nor does he want to acknowledge it. He was never a father to her, and she knows he doesn't want to be... not that she cares. They stick together out of an awkward unspoken need to make sure the other stays alive, though. Neither of them have the willpower to bring it up to each other.

Her mother was a fling situation with a cute ginger in some small settlement miles from Goodneighbor back before he was a ghoul. Count on his surprise when a particularly fierce ginger girl shows up on his doorstep many years later sporting his bright grey eyes looking for a job. What was he supposed to do, tell her to get lost?

Has an under-the-table deal with the Railroad and allows them to operate in Goodneighbor. Has a disdain for Deacon though, because his first language is bullshit, and Hancock's first language is "rooting out bullshit."

Food of choice is wherever the munchies lead him. The few things he can't stomach usually fall into the category of "200 years old." He'll eat bug if it's cooked well enough; anything that can be hunted or picked as a crop is on the menu. Salvaged food, though? Like the dusty remains of Sugar Bombs or unrefrigerated Salsbury Steak? He couldn't be paid to eat those.

Leave it to the player character to introduce him to spices and seasoning. Like any wastelander would, Hancock sort of turns into a rabid, frothing dog at good cooking.

He spends his leisure nights at the Third Rail among his people.

Reliving his memories at the Memory Den has led to some rather intense experiences. His frequent usage of Mentats has led to a rather interesting side-effect of being able to hyper-analyze what he has seen while using one of the machines. He has used this to his advantage by going over encounters he's had with various gang leaders or political interactions with settlement leaders.

He's able to catch details using this method that many others fail to. He is frequently one step ahead of the game.

Liver failure was beginning to catch up to him before he went ghoul. Now, the symptoms have miraculously vanished... he takes full advantage of this.

In a particularly bad moment in his life, Hancock once seriously considered cannibalism. It's made him weary of the dangers of hunger, so he always has some sort of snack on-hand or at least nearby. He's a very, "you do what you gotta" person, but it personally scares the shit out of him when the scarcity of the world corners him.

He made a pact with Fahrenheit to shoot him if he ever showed the warning signs of going feral. It gives him a little peace knowing he won't end up wandering the streets in a confused, violent stupor one day, but the looming deterioration from his ghoulish nature keeps him up at night, sometimes. He knows the day will come eventually.

"No warning, no fuss. Don't tell me, just do it. Got a plan to keep your name clear in the event my peeps want to know why you eighty-sixed their beloved mayor."

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Trick or Treat

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl ain’t scared of nothin’. Well—almost nothing.

Warnings: None

A/N: Happy Halloween!

gif by @dixonscarol

You screeched again, grabbing Daryl’s arm, nearly resulting in toppling him over. The clown laughed maniacally and disappeared back into the cover of the tall corn field. Hand on your chest, you laughed.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

“Right.” Daryl chuckled, walking slowly enough to keep your timid pace.

“Oh, come on! Aren’t you just a little scared?” You emphasized your question with a gentle elbow jab to his ribs.

“Ain’t scared’a nothin’. S’all fake, Sunshine.” He pulled his arm free of yours and draped it over your shoulder. “Y’havin’ fun?”

“Yeah! This is—” You words trailed off into a shout and you latched onto Daryl’s torso to hide your face in his chest when a walker burst onto the path. Daryl’s hand instinctively went to his knife before he remembered you were in the safety of the Commonwealth. “That was a little too real!” When he huffed, you chuckled. “I felt that flinch.”

“Habit.” He shrugged.

Smiling up at him, you could see the end of the maze approaching, both relieved and disappointed. There was surely a chainsaw waiting to chase you out. But there was one more surprise you didn’t expect.

Freddy Krueger leapt from the corn stalks, bladed fingers brandished. Before you could react, Daryl was already jumping back with a yelp, gripping your shoulder. Even the actor had a difficult time staying in character. Your shock quickly melted away into a fit of giggles, stopping you in your tracks. You would need to move on so the next adventurers could continue through but a moment was definitely warranted.

“Freddy is the thing that scares you?”

Daryl hauled you forward, looking over his shoulder to find the actor following. They had scared the infamous hunter and weren’t going to allow that opportunity to pass them by.

“Shuddup an’ walk, woman.”

Shaken by the legendary character, Daryl didn’t expect the man with the chainsaw. Finding yourself over his shoulder as he bolted out of maze, your laughter echoed all the way back to the festival.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I've got female Sole Survivor on the brain thanks to this Deegan one-shot, especially in relation to her grief at all she's lost at the beginning of the game. This may be a touch controversial.

I see a ton of female Soles (both in fan works as well as in general discussions about lore, roleplay, etc.) who are wracked with survivor's guilt in the aftermath, wrought entirely hollow by the loss of their husband and child. This is not a statement of judgement or me implying that it's a subpar creative choice; it's a very natural conclusion to draw. Losing your entire immediate family, on top of surviving multiple mass-casualty events, would naturally leave you wondering why you lived when others didn't and feeling incomplete without those dearest to you.

Personally, the first time I played Fallout 4, I immediately imagined my own Sole as a woman dealing with an immense amount of guilt for an entirely different reason: she feels relief on more levels than one.

Yes, the world ended and everyone she ever knew or really cared for is long dead. But even the horror of that realization doesn't change the fact that there is a massive weight lifted off of her shoulders when she wakes up in that Vault and realizes that she no longer has to be a wife or mother every single moment of her life. It wasn't something she pictured for herself long-term, but she hadn't realized it until it was far too late; very much the sort of person who agreed to get married and have a child before they fully considered all that it would mean (which isn't an uncommon character flaw). But, between the general state of the world at the time and her own hidden struggles, she was eager to feel like she was doing something meaningful with her life.

Nate was the same. It was one of the only things they'd had in common anymore by the time Shaun was born.

I imagine their marriage was struggling (or perhaps simply not as satisfying as either of them would have liked), and having Shaun was an ill-conceived attempt to save things, to find some sort of renewed enthusiasm or meaning. Of course, having a baby to fix your marriage (or yourself) never works. Pregnancy and labor were rough for her, but postpartum was worse; her husband continued to pull away like he had been before, just at a more agonizing rate.

Pretty immediately after the birth, she recognized she'd made a mistake, felt stupid and childish for making such a life-altering decision based on flimsy justifications. But so many people in her life (parents, in-laws, friends who were already parents themselves, society in general) swore to her that having a child would magically end all of her problems through the sheer power of maternal love that she felt selfish not "putting forth the effort" and trying. No one bothered to clarify, though, that if the old 'baby trick' doesn't fix your life, you're then stuck with an inherently needy little person whose existence you may feel indifferent towards more often than not. That realization had been in the middle of literally crushing her to death when the bombs fell.

She's slowly finding herself again as she goes through various adventures and trials in the Commonwealth, helps build community that feels more like a real family to her. Dips her toes into the dating pool eventually. It's not a straightforward process, though, and some days she feels like an uncaring monster and can't even get out of bed. Others, she functions, but with a visible cloud over her, morose and quiet. A tiny, irrational part of her may even feel that she somehow manifested the war, literally brought forth the end of the world with how ardently she begged for something, anything to take her away from what her life had become towards the end.

Her guilt is tinted with anger and shame. She still has lingering health issues from carrying to full term, and her body is changed in ways she knows she will never recover from. Fixates on the changes she notices and it breeds self-consciousness. Part of that fixation is vanity, sure, but she also knows very well that she likely shaved at least a few years off her life span by choosing to become a mother, an endeavor she wouldn't describe as "personally worthwhile" if pressed hard enough.

She also constantly beats herself up for not searching hard enough for her son, but it's unproductive. No matter how guilty she makes herself feel, she doesn't find many leads. Doesn't bring him or Nate up much, unless she's feeling especially vulnerable (or self-hating). The pity people usually express when she says she lost a spouse/child doesn't feel earned to her.

Part of her says her son is likely dead, having lived his whole life without her, and so she'd be wasting her time by dedicating every waking moment to finding him. She finds both peace and sadness in that idea. Another part of her, though, knows she's dragging her feet, pacifying herself with that thought because she doesn't truly want to find him.

[gogogodzilla]

day 19, 69ing

john hancock x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, drug use, sex while high, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, hancock calls reader sunshine kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

To Hancock, getting high was second nature. He was always popping one chem or another on your travels. You didn’t mind. Whatever he had to do to get through the day.

You ventured through the gritty streets of Goodneighbor, looking for your friend. You had a surprise for him, after all. The raucous sounds of the Third Rail on a Saturday night graced your ears, and you found yourself being pulled there. 

You nodded to the security guard and descended the steps. Smooth jazz and the low murmur of voices greeted you as you entered the bar. A grin fought itself onto your features as you spotted, through the cigarette smoke and lively conversations of the patrons, your favorite Mayor seated at the bar, talking to Whitechapel Charlie. 

You sidled up next to him, leaning on the bar, nodding to Charlie as you sat. “Room for one more?” 

“Look who decided to finally show up,” Hancock drawled, pushing his tricorn hat back to let his eyes rake over your form.

“The super mutants trying to kill me didn’t seem to care that I had a date tonight,” you retorted, chuckling a little at your joke. 

You and Hancock weren’t exactly together, but you couldn’t deny that you felt strongly toward him. The lingering glances and semi-sexual remarks while you were traveling were enough of an indication that Hancock liked you too. 

The usual grin on his face widened at your reply. He rubbed his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Date, huh?” 

You leaned into his space, emboldened by his gaze on yours. “Yeah, although it’s a little crowded in here,” you titled your head, glancing around the room and its various patrons. 

“Why don’t you and me get outta here, sunshine?” Hancock suggested as he slid from his stool and offered you an arm. 

You stood and took his arm, “Thought you’d never ask, mayor.” 

You were giddy as you made the short walk to the Old State House. While on your adventures out in the Commonwealth, you’d found a bottle of Day Tripper. It was popular back in your day for those attempting to escape the troubles of their everyday life, and you didn’t think that Hancock had ever tried it before. 

Fahrenheit nodded to both of you as you entered the old building from her usual place at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Her gaze danced between the two of you for a moment before Hancock led you up the stairs. 

You sauntered toward one of the couches in the middle of the room, and Hancock shut the double doors to his room behind him. Your heart rate picked up at the telltale sound of the lock clicking. You took your seat and patted the cushion next to you. 

He sat next to you, eyes dancing across your features. “There’s another reason why I was late,” you mentioned as he reclined and threw an arm over the couch. 

He hummed, turning his head to look at you. You rifled through your bag before your hands wrapped around the blue-green bottle. You pulled it out and handed it to him. 

He took it from you and raised an eyebrow as he read the label. It was white and covered with flowers. From what you’d heard about the effects, you assumed that the label was supposed to reflect how you felt while you were on it. 

“Where’d you find this?” 

“West Roxbury Station, out by University Point. I wasn’t lying about the super mutants trying to kill me,” you laughed, giving him a half-shrug. 

His mouth curved into a smile, “You’re somethin’ else, sunshine.” 

You inched closer toward him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I thought we could try it together,” you divulged, biting the inside of your cheek. 

His grin grew wider, “Didn’t take you for the partying type.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you replied, coyly. 

Hancock kept his eyes on yours as he undid the orange top of the bottle and shook out two small pills into one of his hands. 

He picked up one pill, “Open up, sunshine,” he ordered, smirking. 

Your breathing hitched before you opened your mouth for him, allowing your tongue to stick out over your bottom lip. Hancock held out the pill for you pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. You met his gaze as you leaned forward and you wrapped your lips around his fingers. His thumb escaped your lips to cradle your chin and his pointer finger stayed trapped within the wet confines of your mouth. 

You were a little surprised at the boldness of your actions, but the thought was quickly replaced by much more obscene ones as you swallowed around Hancock’s finger and a soft growl escaped him. 

He retracted his hand and popped the remaining pill into his mouth. He reclined against the red cushions of the couch, waiting for the effects to kick in. Slowly, the world around you began to transform. Color intensified and became more vivid, time seemed to slow, and the air around you hummed with energy. 

Hancock chuckled as you looked around the room, “Welcome to my world. Ain’t it a trip?” 

A laugh bubbled in your throat, and your eyes met for just a moment. Warmness spread throughout your body like the heat from the good whiskey Charlie served on special occasions. Hancock’s eyes were half-closed and the corners of his mouth were turned up in a lazy grin. 

You watched as he slowly sat up and tugged off his coat, also feeling the warmth that felt like it was humming under your skin. His shirt shone like a beacon in the light of the nearby lantern in your drug-induced vision. It was like your limbs were moving on their own as they reached out and stroked the fabric on his bicep. 

His breathing hitched in his throat as your fingers trailed up and over his shoulder to the bare skin of his neck. Something inside you ignited as soon as your fingertips dragged over the column of his throat, and it felt like your entire being was being drawn toward him. 

You crawled toward him, settling yourself on his lap as you cradled his face in your hands. He chuckled as he gripped your thighs, keeping you still. 

“I… need to touch you,” you murmured as you leaned forward and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t enough. 

You moved your face upward, eyebrows furrowed. “Need to taste you,” you practically begged as your lips ghosted against his. 

He leaned forward, and your lips collided. Your movements were clumsy, the drug making your muscles uncooperative. Your senses were heightened, and you could taste a hint of the liquor Hancock had earlier on his tongue. You groaned against his lips, which were rough and marred against your own. You wondered if other parts of him tasted this good. 

You pulled away and a small string of saliva connected the two of you. You moved to press sloppy kisses along the column of his throat, letting your tongue drag over the skin there. Hancock’s hands wandered over your body, squeezing and kneading wherever you could. He probably would’ve ripped your vault suit off of you if his limbs were working properly. 

“Wanna taste you, sunshine,” he rasped out as he grabbed your hips and ground them against his hardened length. You whined at the sensation as arousal coursed through your veins. 

“Lay back,” you ordered, shoving his shoulder lightly. Hancock followed your orders as you stood on shaky legs. You slowly peeled off your vault suit, thankful for the zipper, and Hancock palmed himself as he watched you through lidded eyes. 

You tugged your underwear down and kicked them to the side. You were practically drooling at the sight of Hancock before you. His shirt was open, exposing his scarred chest to you. He had unbuttoned his pants and freed his cock from its confines. He slowly stroked himself as you neared. 

In your drug-induced haze, an idea struck you. You straddled Hancock’s face so you could easily lean down and take his cock in your mouth. You could both taste each other that way. 

His hands moved to grip your thighs as you hovered over him. His breath fanned against your core and you shuddered, rocking your hips slightly. 

“All for me,” Hancock breathed against you, a hint of astonishment in his voice. 

You nodded as you reached down and began to slowly stroke him. “Only for you,” you slurred, tongue heavy in your mouth. You were already drunk on the feeling of him. 

Your grip around his cock tightened as he took you in his mouth. Your thighs squeezed around him as he devoured you, swiping his tongue through your folds before moving to circle your clit. 

He bucked his hips, reminding you that you had a job to do. You pumped your hand slowly before swiping your thumb over the tip of his cock, gathering the precum dripping from there. 

Hancock groaned against your core as you stroked him, sending vibrations through your body. You rutted your hips against his face, chasing your high. 

Hancock dipped his tongue into your entrance, and you leaned forward, moaning. You swirled your tongue around his red-hued tip, and your eyes practically rolled in the back of your head from the taste of him. 

Hancock’s grip tightened on your thighs as he brought you even closer. Moans escaped him as you slowly bobbed your head and clenched around nothing. 

You hollowed your cheeks around him, taking him even deeper than before. Your movements became sloppy as you neared the precipice. Hancock’s mouth wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before, and coupled with the finger he slid inside you, your release was rapidly approaching. 

He quickly added another finger and pumped them inside you while he sucked on your clit. You moaned around his cock before relaxing your jaw to take all of him. 

Hancock’s tongue circled your clit once and then twice, and then you were coming undone above him. Pleasure wracked through your entire body in waves, and your thighs began to shake. Hancock continued his efforts, allowing you to ride out your high. 

He tensed under you before coming with a strangled groan. You pulled away and watched as white tendrils coated your hand. You continued to stroke him until pleasure veered into overstimulation and he tapped your thigh. 

You slowly slid off of him, both coming down from the high of your orgasm and the high from the drug. You giggled a little as you took his sash and cleaned him off. You didn’t expect your plan to work this well. 

“I’m glad we did that,” you whispered as you lay on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Hancock chuckled, “I should party with you more often.”

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Now that the farmer can have a big ass house with all the beds they want, what if the SVE adventurers (plus canon characters like Marlon) and the RSV ninjas used it as a base of operations when they have joint missions? After all, they wouldn't be collaborating if it wasn't for our dear farmer lol Let's suspend our disbelief and ignore the existance of warp totems and relics and magic for a second. Who would treat it as a fun sleepover/slumber party? Who would be the most normal about it? Who would be so fucking annoyed? Who would share rooms/cook/offer to help with the farm? And if the farmer was married to one of the ninjas or adventurers, how would they manage to balance being a good host with getting some privacy? Don't even get me started with children, I'm sure someone would be stuck on babysitting duty 😂 Anyway Mouse don't worry about replying to this asap, take your time and most importantly have fun!!! sending a tight cyber hug your way 💖

With this situation, Farmer can already film a reality show at their house "My neighbour is an adventurer" or something, it would be hilarious 😂

Love your idea so much, thanks a lot Lotus! Sending you hugs as well 🤗

Warning: there's a lot of text here...

_________________________________________

Isaac:

Isaac will be strongly opposed to the temporary cohabitation in Farmer's house with the "neighbours" for two main reasons. Firstly, it's his pride and the old song about "real adventurers". You know, "only nobles weaklings sleep in their beds until noon, while seasoned adventurers get up at first roster call, and don't need separate outposts to live in" *looks in the direction of one of his colleagues*. Isaac will eat bug meat and sleep outside on his cloak just to prove he's a real adventurer. And secondly, his distrust of the Cult. The Guilds and Cult leaders may have made a truce with temporary co-operation, but that doesn't mean Isaac likes it, and he'll blatantly tell anyone who asks and doesn't ask. But no one asked for the scarred man's opinion, as usual, so here he is in the room of the cosy house in Stardew Valley that Farmer has kindly provided.

Despite the occasional barking in the direction of Jio and Daia, Isaac is a actually acceptable roommate. He doesn't need a big space, only a bed and a bedside table, doesn't rampage, doesn't leave trash, respects the host and the rules of the house, and tries not to interfere with Farmer's family life, if they are already married. Help from him, however, is not expected, but not because of pride. Isaac is not used to civil life. Especially since he's only living here temporarily because of the mission in Stardew Valley and working with the cult, so he'll be busy. Farmer's offer to join them for dinner will also leave him in a bit of a stupor, though he will not refuse hot soup. Everything is so strange, different environment, different life, not like in the Castle Village. There's even something about it (though he's not likely to say it out loud).

Lance:

Well, Lance will gladly accept the Farmer's generous offer to let him stay at their home while the totem shortage and commonwealth with the new clan is resolved. It would save him from wasting time travelling and looking for accommodation in Pelican Town and Ridgeside Village. The price is not an issue, just that the gallant adventurer is still not used to walking around town with civilians, the Guilds and taverns are more familiar to him. He wouldn't be too surprised by the neighbours, as the pink-haired man knew that the Farmer had offered both the Guild and the Cult to stay with them. Relations with the members of the Red Tail Lady Cult would also be ok, even friendly, as Lance believed in their good intentions. Although their methods leave much to be desired, and the adventurer communicates and behaves all the same carefully, so as not to provoke conflict.

In terms of being a roommate - Lance is an excellent neighbour: he respects the rules of the house, the room and things are always clean, and if Farmer allows, he will magically help them in some chores, like cleaning the house (he can do it with a snap of his fingers). Helping out on the farm is a bit different, as Lance doesn't know anything about growing crops other than monster plants. However, he won't refuse help if it's related to his adventurer activities: brewing potions, helping with slimes, that sort of thing. Lance is one of the people who might agree to help Farmer look after their children if he doesn't have an urgent mission. And in the event that he is the Farmer's spouse and lives here permanently, Lance is perfectly capable of finding a balance between living a private life with his partner and providing hospitality to his roommates.

Alesia:

Alesia understands that she is in Farmer's house to save time on important tasks, but sometimes the sniper feels like she's on holiday in Stardew Valley. Still, it's great to be back in her native place, to visit the old Guild, to chat with Marlon a little longer than usual. She's very grateful that Farmer let her and the others stay at their house to save warp totems. Admittedly, the neighbours are giving her.... a bit of a hard time. Alesia's relationship with her Cult members would be something between Lance and Isaac, i.e. unwilling to cause conflict over anything, but not looking for friendship either. They all share a business relationship and Farmer, who pointed out the perfectly rational decision to join forces to fight a common enemy and corruption. But she honestly admits that she doesn't trust the members of the Cult with their methods to fight evil. No offence to Jio and Daia.

As a roommate, she's a dream. Not only does she behave herself at Farmer's house, but she can threaten the other roommates if they start become problematic. Even Isaac will shut up at once, because he knows better than anyone that Alesia is not to be pissed off. Sniper will bring groceries, keep the room tidy, even offer Farmer a taste of her comfort food she's made. Sniper won't be able to help with farming, but if Farmer suddenly needed to feed the cows or carry a couple of bags, she wouldn't mind helping. Within reason, of course, as work is work, and she cannot be distracted.

Jio:

Jio sincerely doesn't understand why they should co-operate at all with the Guilds, who will only get in the way with their moralising and constant surveillance of the Cult's activities. Nor does the elf see any reason to stay the night at Farmer's in Stardew Valley. It's one thing to have these adventurers from the Castle Village, since travelling from that region to here without magic and totems is quite problematic, but why would he and Daia want to do that? Half an hour - and they were already in Pelican Town. But his Lady had insisted that he stay in the house of that old farmer's grandchild for now, so Jio silently obeyed the order.

As for living together with him... *Sigh* If the Republic had a nomination for "Neighbour from Hell" (I don't know if the concept is in Stardew Valley Heaven/Hell, but you get the point), that award would be on a shelf in Jio's room. Because he's... not a good roommate, to say the least. How Daia put up with him is anyone's guess. Naturally, he won't be rude to the host, but all his foul language (human and in elven) will fly in the direction of Castle Village roommates, because Jio has a hot temper when something annoys him (most often Isaac). Always leaves dangerous weapons scattered around the room (not his romm, interestingly enough), bottles of strange liquids and poisons for weapons. You can't expect help in farm chores either, as he's always busy and on a mission. The room is relatively clean (but others have his stuff lying around), so what else do you need from him?

Of course, being Farmer's husband, Jio behaves differently and won't throw dangerous things all over the house, especially if he already has children. But his attitude towards the other roommates, like Alesia and Isaac, is unlikely to change, as Jio still doesn't trust them and fears for the safety of Farmer and their kids. What if they become a tool of the Ministry's manipulation? These adventurers sing about honour, but they have their hands full of blood and black magic, he knows for sure.

Daia:

"Oh, we'll all have a party together, won't we? Everyone will get together, bring some goodies and something drink. It'll be fun~" Daia joked, but to be honest, with this woman you wouldn't know if she was joking or not. Out of everyone, she's the one who's most excited about the idea of staying at Farmer's for a while with Jio's other adventurers from Guilds. The ninja has been wanting to get a better look at the farm for a while now, because there's so much to see here! And she wants to get to know her roommates better ("So this is Lance? Hee-hee, what a cutie. How about we do a mission together~"). Daia genuinely thinks she's going to have a great time here (which really can't be said for the rest of the roommates).

As a roommate, she's in terms better than her partner in Cult, the surly elf, because if you're not scattering shuriken on the floor like Lego pieces, you're already better than Jio. Not counting the constant teasing, which makes Isaac's eye twitch and Jio's voice sit up due to yelling at the girl for her flippant behaviour, it's easy to cohabitate with Daia. For her, it's kind of a normal life she never even dreamed of, so the girl lives quietly in the house and helps Farmer with their chores. Even insists that she be the one to cook a communal meal for everyone. May be the initiator to organise a mini party, "because we're all friends!" (no). Well, at least she, together with the Farmer, can always smooth things over if the other neighbours start arguing. However, she is far from stupid and will exercise caution if the adventurers from Castle Village start going overboard and breaking the rules of their temporary truce.

Marlon:

In general, Marlon didn't see the point of moving into the spare room of the farmhouse, since he lives in Stardew Valley, and he certainly wasn't old enough to walk less. After all, the one-eyed adventurer used to carry Farmer and their belongings on his back almost two or three times a month, from the Mines to their home. So he would quietly continue to fend for himself in his Guild, and wait for the next orders from the Order regarding co-operation with the Cult.

That was until part of the Adventurer's Guild burned down under strange circumstances (it wasn't Farmer, they swear!), and now Marlon is temporarily on the farm while Robin fixes the Guild building.

Poor Marlon thought living in a private room would be quiet, except he forgot to consider that in addition to him, there's the Castle Village and the Cult of the Lady and Red Tail members as well. And it's all one explosive mix. The youths were constantly arguing about something, making noise, and sometimes Marlon could hear the sounds of battle magic (yet, all the rooms were not destroyed). All this noise was weighing on his mind, but in a way, it brought back memories of the old days of his Guild, where the members were also constantly talking and arguing from the very morning, but they all lived as one friendly family.... Marlon himself in terms of a roommate is practically perfect. He would be quiet to the point where Farmer would think he wasn't here. At most, an old adventurer can bark at Isaac and Jio to behave themselves, since they're all guests here.

[commonwealthcass]

Hey everyone!

Thanks for your patience. We’re finally home and had a week to recuperate after finally having the pipes fixed and house repaired. I’m so relieved to not have to worry about wading through the house anymore <:D

Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll be working on another fun adventure comic featuring Hancock, Danse and Cass but also a more serious one after - :3 an intro back into Commonwealth Cass!

Thanks again for your patience and hope you’ll all enjoy them!

[shitty-fallout-art]

I like the idea of the sole survivor becoming a god-parent to the ghoul kid in the fridge, visiting them occasionally and telling them about their adventures in the commonwealth. maybe even bringing synth shaun over to meet him. :)

[thebookofcarol]

i'm very much in my caryl feels right now. it's my safe bubble, and i feel very much protected in here. i'm also feeling very hopeful for the future. DISCLAIMER: i've already seen the whole season - the good, the bad, and the wonderful.

WARNING HEAVY FULL TBOC SPOILERS AHEAD-

the whole theme of the show since s1 is Daryl wanting to go home. at first, he doesn't care about anything else but going home. slowly, he starts to care about people, he develops a strong bond with Laurent, and a shockingly surprising romantic connection with Isa, but there's one thing that never changes - DARYL WANTS TO GO HOME. even when he accepts L&I have become his surrogate family, he still plans to take them home to the Commonwealth. his desire never wavers - DARYL WANTS TO GO HOME. he doesn't want to be like his grandpa, who fought someone else's war and ended ruining his family. DARYL WANTS TO GO HOME.

i know i'm going around in circles repeating myself, but what i want to mention is the song that ends the season, the same song that Laurent and Daryl sing together.

🎵You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you might find, you get what you need. 🎵

for Laurent, what he wants is a life with his aunt and his hero Daryl, but what he actually needs is a normal life as a normal kid. and that's exactly what he gets when his new daddy Ash flies him away to the CW.

so when it comes to Daryl, it's fairly obvious to me, what he truly wants is TO GO HOME, but he gets what he needs - CAROL. as they walk out of that tunnel into their new Spanish adventures TOGETHER. he's got everything he needs. that's it.

to find home is to find each other.

despite my dislike and side eye to some of the Daryl narrative/storyarc decisions, i can't help feeling, that like Carol, he is also dealing with his own trauma and abandonment issues. the Isa hallucination is about her telling Daryl he won't die there, he won't be like his grandpa/father as she turns into fireflies.

speaking of fireflies, i don't have to like Daryl's arc, but i think the story they are trying to tell here is Daryl is Peter Pan - he is lost in Neverland, and the longer he stays, the harder it is to remember everybody back home. Isa is his tinkerbell, so he says and she literally turns into fireflies ffs. Tinkerbell (Isa) is in love with him, but Peter loves Wendy (CAROL). Wendy who risked everything to get Peter back. sounds familiar? and there you have it.

and if you're still not convince Caryl is coming, then i suggest you wait for ep 4 when Carol and Daryl meet an older version of themselves, who not only see Caryl's love for each other (thinking Carol was Isa - holy mistaken identity trope!), but also comment on them bickering like an old married couple.

i apologize in advance for my aggressive/toxic Caryl positivity. CARYL ON!

[fallout4-reacts]

Here we go with

Part 2

Hancock - McCready

Hancock: The day he met Sole is still fresh in his mind. They drew nearer, their horns strained as they futilely attempted to squeeze through the doorway to his little town.

Goodneighbor saw many passing, both vibrant and terrible, but this one stood out.

If Flint had been any wiser, he would have noticed that the Mephite creature that was paying them a visit was not one to be foolish with.

Too bad...

* * *

With a subtle smile flitting across his lips, the mayor gently shakes his head.

"Maybe we should wait until you aren't under the influence of alcohol or chems?"

"The harsh rays of the Commonwealth sun will bleach your bones, my dear, and I will surely have long succumbed to my feral instincts if you wait for me to be cleansed."

The alluring curves of Sole are delicately caressed by his nipply fingers. After suffering another terrible reception in one of these insular settlements, the helpless being sought solace at the home of their beloved mayor. Their mental and emotional states were in shambles.

Hancock would like to give a lead shot at all those arrogant people who dismiss this person just because of their peculiar appearance.

And what about judging them? There are worse mutations than these horns.

And definitely no better.

These fantastic extremities cause the mayor to imagine Sole is some fantastical satyr, appealing to his more lower desires.

And his more lower desires are on full display under the sheets, beseeching for his friend's attention.

Caressing the magnificent horns with the same meticulousness as the rest of the body to which it belongs, he carefully lays himself in the bed, reveling in their touch.

All parts of their being—their mind, their body, these horns—are solid as a rock.

Oh, their horns!

When Hancock locks eyes on his companion's unique features, a surge of warmth washes over him. They shift from a troubled expression to a more easy one when he lowers his gaze on them, and a grin forms on his lips.

A small snicker escapes him as he says, "Ready for adventure," but other noises soon replace it as Sole shows him that a tremendous amount of desire is more than sufficient for a lack of expertise.

And the desire of Sole is limitless.

MacCready: Surely the intense relief. Undoubtedly, the deep relief. The seemingly impossible has just been accomplished. Did he seriously mistrust his companion's ability to succeed, though?

Mac leaped to his feet and kissed his friend passionately, completely oblivious of any guilt, as Sole triumphantly displayed the medicine that promised to save his child.

When his mind finally processes what's happening, the other lets out a groan that reveals more than anyone would wish. It exacerbates the mercenary's feeling even further.

“Mac!”

Quickly, he takes a step back and raises his hands in a sheepish gesture.

"Oh, I am sorry! I didn’t want to! Yes, I did want to... but not in that way! Yeah, actually in that way... but..."

He scolds himself right away for his lengthy series of stupid behaviors and remarks. He conducts himself like a complete moron.

Sole just seems completely bewildered.

"Hey Mac, it's just me! That monstrous beast with the terrible mutation, you know... I don’t know where you were, but come back to earth and get out of here.”

For someone who hails from the Wasteland Capital, this young man has experienced rare moments of such profound confusion. Without taking a single step toward the exit, he gazes at Sole for a moment.

"Hold on a second, you believe... Holy cow, you must be kidding me if you believe you're even slightly awful!"

The other's unbelieving pout breaks his friend's heart.

"Stop telling me fairytales; I can sing the chorus in my sleep. I'm a monster; I deserve to be shot like an animal—

The mercenary stops them mid-sentence by embracing them, kissing them passionately, and once again feeling them melt under his caresses. This time, he is completely convinced, convincing, and sincere.

"Never allow anyone to make you believe otherwise; there is no one on this planet who is more amazing than you are."

That's how, on the floor of the Third Rail VIP room, the sniper demonstrates without reservations that he never misses his shot in any field.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co