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(The picnic one was inspired by this 2014 doodle)

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I don't know if you can tell, but it's supposed to be Choi Jiung of P1Harmony, it's a work in progress, as I learn Rebelle 5 once again

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forever cursed to read this post in their voices

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Going to the store with my mom after being raised to be quiet in public spaces and follow my whole life is like reenacting the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice

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Ace Mitchell (Mitch) - Blood Eagles field medic

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I'm very late to this lol

Drew this in my sketchbook and then touched it up digitally

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i haven't finished a drawing of rads in 9000 years. in the meantime she went and got warhammer all over herself

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WIP - Peach and Daisy at the mall! This is my second try doing a drawing with an actual background (The Nick Valentine drawing being the first). I'm having a lot of fun sketching it, but I dread coloring it lol

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Some practice from last year or so :D

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Quick doodles from last night.

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Butlers

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Weathering a Storm

Pairing: Nora/Hancock

Warning for language, Pre-relationship

Catch it on AO3

Prompt: a sudden storm kicks up. Nora had not given much thought to just how severe the changes to the weather could be after the war. She was, unfortunately, going to find out from first-hand experience, much to the chagrin of her faithful companions, John Hancock and Dogmeat.

When you had escaped your frozen prison back in late October, you hadn’t really given thought to how the nuclear apocalypse may have affected the weather during the seasons. Hell, you hadn’t given thought to how nuclear radiation could’ve changed anything at that point.

You probably should have. Preferably before the middle of December, as the idea of combating radioactive snow and the freezing temperatures was now not just a damned idea, you are very much living it. Even with your wool-lined boots and the thick jacket you picked up in Diamond City, the bitterly cold wind whipping against you has long since pierced your protective clothing.

And, based on the constant stream of curses coming not too far behind you, your ghoulish companion is suffering similarly. Even Dogmeat is struggling, his usually high and wagging tail only a mere inch from dragging the ground.

Maybe it’s time to find some shelter…

Just as the thought struck your mind, the wind begins to pick up, and a new contender joins the falling snow: sleet. The horrid mix of ice and rain comes in sudden sheets, quickly drenching you and no doubt your companions, too. Your fingers are already numb as you fumble with your Pip-Boy, desperate to find something close enough to run to…

There!

“This way!” You half-scream over the roaring wind and rain, darting blindly to the right. Your Pip-Boy showed what seemed to be a house (or previously a house) in that general direction, and at this point, you have nothing to lose.

Well. Except your life from hypothermia. Or a fatal tumble to a broken neck. Slipping and landing on something sharp in a not great location.

Those thoughts put a further pep in your step, and thankfully, you can see Dogmeat running beside you as well as Hancock in your peripheral vision. You blindly grope forward as you run, and while it takes what feels like an eternity to find something solid amidst the pouring rain and ushered darkness-

OOF!

The air is knocked from your lungs as you practically clothesline yourself across the railing to the stairs.

“Found it,” you wheeze out, stumbling up the stairs. The door doesn’t budge when you try it, and you let out an exasperated cry as you jerk at it again.

“Move, sister!” Hancock budges you to the side, and delivers a hard kick to the door. The rotting wooden frame gives way under the force, leaving the door to swing open. He pushes against your back to get you inside, Dogmeat eager to follow.

You barely manage to turn the light on your Pip-Boy with your frozen fingers, but once the bright blue light shines through the darkness, you make for a nearby cabinet to push against the door. The door that Hancock has his back pressed against, the only thing standing between the mostly dry inside and the icy storm raging outside. With a few shoves, you have the cabinet wedged well enough that he can make a move to help force it the rest of the way against the door, propping it up on the stairs.

Your teeth chatter so hard, you’re impressed you don’t bite off your tongue when you speak. “W-we sh-sh-should go upstairs-s-s. Warm air r-rises.”

Hancock, breathing hard, nods and pulls out his knife, then waves for you to head up first. “You got the flashlight, might be better for you to head up first, hm?”

“Y-Yeah.” You draw your pistol, though you doubt your aim would be well enough to use it at the moment with how hard you shiver, and head up the stairs first. They are made of concrete versus standard wood, much to your relief; less likely to step on a rotten stair and go tumbling backwards. Dogmeat pushes in front of you, loudly sniffing, followed quickly by even louder sneezes.

A few minutes of checking the two rooms upstairs, and the three of you settle in the room closest to the front door and with the fewest windows. While you peel off your sodden outer clothes, Hancock pushes the armoire in front of the sole window, trying to block the draft and any potential shards of glass, should it not hold up against the storm. Your coat and the pants you had on over your vault suit hit the floor with a nasty shlunk and shlop noise, followed by your boots and soaked socks. Not too far behind, Hancock starts stripping his centuries-old duds off, with similar unpleasant noises.

Still shivering, you get your flip lighter out and light the oil lamps you’d found in one of the hallway closets, then proceed to set up candles around the room. Still, the heat from those were so little, and even your vault suit was uncomfortably damp...

You look at Hancock, who’s back is to you as he rummages in the armoire, looking through the clothes inside. You barely manage to catch the sweater and pants he tosses at you.

“I can still hear your teeth chatterin’ away over the rain, Nora. Get out of that damned suit before you catch your death.”

“What about you?”

He laughs hoarsely as he pulls out a dusty white shirt and slacks. “Covered.”

You stare at him for a moment longer… and you can feel heat start to warm your cheeks, down to your neck. “Do you… mind turning around?”

“’Course not. You just had to ask.” He gives you a wink before turning his back to you, his pure cotton undershirt showing off just how lithe his figure is under that big, red coat. “Gonna ask the same of you, though.”

It takes a second for his words to process, but you chuckle once they do, turning your back to him as well. “I think that’s fair enough.”

Your icy fingers struggle with the zipper for a moment, but you do eventually manage to get the suit unzipped to your waist. Now the fun part: trying to get out of this damned thing when it’s practically suctioned to your skin. You nearly pull your shoulder out of socket just getting it off of your arms and down to your waist, but curses start to stream from your lips as you fight to get it off of your hips and legs.

“You need some help over there?” Hancock teases, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

“I am fine, mind your business, sir,” you huff angrily, nearly ripping the damned suit before almost going headfirst into the bed in front of you. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s no way to talk about your good pal’s mother.”

With a cry of success, you manage to wrangle the last of the suit from around your ankles. “Oh, you are so funny. Is the Mayor of Goodneighbor also known for his astounding comedy routines?”

“Why, of course. Who do you think they get down in The Third Rail when Mags is sick?”

“I can’t stand you,” you huff, shaking out your damp hair. Your underthings and the thin tank top you wear under the vault suit aren’t too bad off, just damp, so you slide the sweater and pants on over them. “Are you ready for me to turn around, or do I need to continue to protect your… modesty?”

“And here I thought I was protecting yours… nah, I’m good if you are, sister.”

“Neato.” You sigh as you turn around and sink onto a patch of dry floor, trying to soak up as much warmth from the oil lamps as possible. You notice Dogmeat has taken residence a ways outside the room, likely because he keeps shaking off so much water. And, well, your other companion sits across the lamps from you, picking through his coat’s pockets, likely looking for a chem of choice to use. “I gotta say, you clean up rather well, John Hancock.”

He laughs as he pops a few mentats out of their blister packs, then dry swallows them. “Why, thank you, beautiful. Gotta say, the old world looks pretty good on you, too.”

You snort, tugging at the hem of the woven sweater. “Well, thank you, good sir. I do happen to be quite a fan of this type of sweater. I… actually think I have a few put away somewhere…”

“...why didn’t you wear one?”

“Well, I… didn’t think the winters would be so severe.”

“I mean, didn’t the term ‘nuclear winter’ get coined in your time, sister?” He teases lightly as he fishes a can of purified water out of his bag and takes a long drink.

You snatch it out of his hand when he offers it to you, huffing. “Yes, but I never thought to take it literally.”

“Hmm. Wonder who’s fault that is then.”

“Certainly not mine.”

“No, ‘course not.”

You sigh and set the can of water between the two of you before snagging a dusty pillow, turning it to the less dusty side, and stretching out on the floor. “How long do these storms tend to last?”

“Should let up in a few hours.” He mirrors your actions, but uses his arms as a pillow instead. “One good thing ‘bout it, though.”

“Nothing’s gonna brave the storm to fuck with us?”

“Yep.”

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Nicks just trying to hold the gang together x3 Tried more animation. Figured it might be a nice change between comics ^^

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Nicks just trying to hold the gang together x3 Tried more animation. Figured it might be a nice change between comics ^^

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Catburglar Art Print by Repecca

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whoops

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I don't know if I'll ever finish this one. Maybe one day I'll revisit it but for now, I figured I'd share this version here :D