#nick valentine angst

[constablequodo]

I keep seeing the trope of "Hancock met Nick as a teenager" in Valencock fics which....huh???

We don't know when Hancock moved to Diamond City , he wasn't born there and theres a big chance he moved there well into his 20s. If we're going off of the fandoms general idea that hes in his 30s-40s, he could have been any age between 18-40 depending on how long you think he was there for before his brotjer became mayor.

I like Valencock, I really do, but why did yall find a way to make it weird???

[draped1ncerecloth]

Hear me out, Nick Valentine x TransMasc Reader

First off, bro is hot. No reason for the robot detective to have my mind in a grip.

SECOND, the disconnect from his own body/personality makes it match with the struggles the reader would also have so erm 😞

Nick Valentine x Trans masc reader

Some good old fashioned fluff since he’s perfect for it.

Warnings: tooth decaying sweetness, mentions of body dysphoria, swearing, ooc Nick valentine.

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“Have you figured anything out yet?” Nick called from his desk, sorting through the paper work as you scanned over your own newly discovered clues. “Nothing. I can’t seem to figure out we’re this bitch could be camping out at!” You sigh in frustration at the current project you had spend days of restless nights, the heat of the summer days and the soaked sweat clothes you’re currently drenched in makes the already tedious task much more daunting. It’s been about a year now since you first met Nick, him helping you with your issues and you of course saving him from people who wanted him dead. You hadn’t really known why Nick had been caught but all that had mattered was that you saved his ass and he was eternally grateful.

“Well, the sooner we are to figuring this out, the sooner we are to finding this man and putting him behind bars.” Nick called back. He never really took much bite of your tone or the way you would grow even more agitated by his words in the current moment. There was nothing he had done wrong but they way your very old and worn binder had been cutting into you after a whole days work, and the way your clothes clung made the whole action of breathing so much more difficult. Pain spreading through your body and the lack of oxygen made the oncoming headache much worse. But hey, in the end at least it was more comfortable and reassuring than anything else.

After some shuffling of the files Nick had neatly written and tucked away had been dropped and the way you let out a loud sigh, Nick finally popped out of his chair and asked if you were doing ok. Unfortunately this pissed you off to no extent. “No! I’m not alright Nick! I and tired I’m hot I can breath and worst of all, I can’t seem to figure this out!” Your hands thrown in the air as you fully turn to him, he watched in silence as he let you express what’s you felt. He knew you weren’t mad at him or whatever he might’ve said but he didn’t understand what had you this upset to begin with. “Hey, calm down kid, why don’t you take a seat and just breath.”

You threw the remaining files in your hand, down on the table and laughed. “I fucking can’t breath, I’m hot, I’m exhausted, I feel like my ribs are about to break, I need to take this off!” He watched in shock as you quickly removed your shirt and revealed your binder, quickly shoving your shirt back down and sucking as much air as you could. The pain was excruciating, and your back cracked from new found freedom of mobility. Then you sat. Only then did you start to cool down. To relax. To focus on breathing and letting the pain wash over you and out. “Forgot to take it off again?” He asked quietly, walking over to your side and rubbing your shoulders. “Mmhm.” He said, taking in his touch. “That’s unsafe, you need to be more mindful about these things, you could get hurt you know?” Nick tried to comfort you. “It’s unsafe but for me, I feel more safe. It’s….” You stopped yourself.

“It’s what dear?” He questioned. Worry washing over him. “It’s not like you really realize just how comforting it is to bind.” You winched at the way you said it, the way you doubted how much he cared made you feel guilty.

“You’re right, I don’t know the full extent of how much you need it kid, but I do know how important the comfort of needing something like that can be.” The synth let out a sigh and moved to sit on the desk in front of you. “Look, you know it doesn’t make me see you as any less. I am not bothered by you needing to take a break from binding. But it can be dangerous if done incorrectly, and you know this.”

“I know. I just don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, without it. I am just. Wrong.” You tried to puzzle your words together but only ending with half made sentences. “You feel as if, it is not who YOU are. That you’re incomplete.” You nodded. “Look kid, I love you, I hate to see you in pain. I can’t say I know how you feel but I myself have my own feelings about myself too.” He removed his coat and took his fedora off, setting them on the table. “A robot programmed to basically be part human. Used for something that I never turned out to fit. There’s no one like me, I don’t know who or what I am. But I do know that even though I can’t be at peace with what is missing, I do know I make peace with what is there.”

Nick and you talked back and forth about your own insecurities and he himself opened up slightly about his. Though things were different for each other, you still found that you felt the same about these situations. Standing up, you wrapped your arms tightly around him and Nick did the same in return. “I love you Nick, thank you.” You mumbled to him.

“I love you too darling. Now, let’s pick up these files and get you cleaned up and relaxed. It’ll all be okay.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Authors note: Sorry this is short, I haven’t gotten much time w Nick valentine yet!! I do wanna explore his companion ship now that I finally got to play with him♥️

[oneacearmy]

Sole Survivor with severe separation anxiety

I imagine a Sole that didn't come out of the Vault as unscathed as they have us believe. At the beginning when they didn't have any relationships aside from Codsworth, they didn't notice much. Even with their first companion they didn't notice.

But after switching companions, they start experimenting nightmares, insomnia, seek of physical contact, chills, shaking, etc. It starts small like waking up in the middle of the night with a heavy heart or a misstep on their traveling while thinking of first companion. Then the chills start and the insomnia. The last symptoms would be night terrors and panic attacks.

Current companion catches on eventually and tries to coax them to talk about it. But even Sole doesn't know what's happening. Current companion offers to put their bedrolls together and sleeping together and it helps. It really helps. The night terrors disappear along with the panic attacks, the insomnia recedes but the waking up with a heavy hearts still occurs.

When they reunite with old companion or when they talk with a Commonwealth doctor, they discovered that these symptoms are from trauma. Their subconscious believe that their loved ones disappear or die if they losses sight or closeness from them. This is because of what happened in the Vault, when Sole woke up from cryo their family was dead, their neighbors gone, their family and friends and acquaintances. Their home and city and country. They are ALL GONE.

Sole has to live with this. He starts coping in different ways like grounding techniques and self taught psychosocial therapy. Mental health is a spectrum, we got good days and bad days, so when Sole is having a bad day, they hold their companion's hand or grabs their arm. Their companion grounds them in different ways like rationalizing their thoughts, delaying their ideas, using physical touch or distracting them. (should I write a companions react with how each companion helps sole through this?)

I imagine a Sole Survivor asking their romanced companion to hold them at night or to sleep face to face because if they wake up facing the wall they freak out. I imagine a severely wounded Sole resting alone in a bed or room and when they wake up alone and in an unfamiliar place, it may trigger a panic attack or a dissociating episode.

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 22 | Nora x Hancock

A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

//

Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

When Nora thought for sure she was going to die too, the pain stopped – and then there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness. Nothing but the grief. Half of her soul was suddenly gone forever. She was dropped in the middle of the ocean, drifting among the waves with no land in sight. Then just as suddenly she had been cast adrift, she found land. The hole was filled the moment it had been created. As she gripped Nate’s vault suit and begged him to open his eyes, Nora found herself battling with the horrifying realization that she had another soulmate; that some stranger had taken Nate's place.

//

[ 1 ] <- [ 17 ] [ 18 ] [ 19 ] [ 20 ] [ 21 ] - [ 23 ]

//

They called it The Slog, and Nora found herself liking the place not long after arriving. The citizens belonging to the settlement, all ghouls, were a welcoming bunch as they invited her to congregate in their common area to share supper. Though a bit hesitant at first, Nora found herself relaxing into the new company. It was hard not to – they all seemed so friendly. As the storm raged outside, the occasional gust of wind blowing rain in through the uncovered opening, but it was hard to pay it any mind as they all fell into conversation. 

For the past several days, Nora had been running on meals that had little to no nutritional value. Old canned food, and snack cakes, mainly. The meal the folks at the Slog served her was savory, thick, with vegetables and meat. Nora was slack-jawed with awe when they passed her a chunk of bread. They offered their food without question. They offered it without asking for anything in return. There was no Marcy Long, demanding that she get her lazy butt up and provide the settlement with a sufficient water supply, and there was no Preston Garvey griping at her to take over some organization that was on its last legs. Wiseman had offered her a place to stay without even knowing who she was, and after all of the cruelty and hardship she had encountered in the Commonwealth, she couldn’t quite keep herself from crying into her delicious meal. 

No one mentioned it, and yet they somehow didn’t exclude her from the conversation. They talked about things – old world things. Things that Nora never thought she would hear mentioned ever again. It was heartbreaking as much as it was uplifting. As she sat quietly, her empty bowl in her lap, and her stomach full for the first time in days, Nora gathered her courage. The more they talked about the old days, the more her curiosity grew. After she stopped crying, she gently cleared her throat to speak.

“So, you were all there? Before the bombs dropped?”

The ghoul Nora knew as Jones quirked a small smile in her direction, “We’re what some of you smoothskins call ‘Pre-War’ ghouls.”

Nora tilted her head curiously. She rolled the information around in her head for just a moment, scooping up some of the remnants of the stew that was left in her bowl with her index finger. She offered the digit to Dog, who licked it up greedily. “Pre-War? What vault did you belong to?”

There was a scoff, a snort.

“Sorry,” she grimaced. “I, uh, just got out of a vault recently.” She gestured to her vault suit, her Pip Boy. “I’m… still trying to figure things out.”

“Got tired of being a lab rat, huh?” The woman from earlier chuckled.

Nora sighed softly, “You could say that.”

“To put it simply,” Wiseman rasped, “We weren’t unfortunate enough to get into a vault, but we were unfortunate enough to live through the bombing.”

Nora’s eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth, because her jaw practically came unhinged. How horrible – living through the bombs, watching as the world around them was decimated, and then witnessing the change in their bodies as it happened. It must have been terrifying. Body parts falling off. Skin rotting away. Nora couldn’t even imagine some of the things these people had seen, and she didn’t want to.

“So, Vault 111,” Deirdre said from beside her, a finger gently tapping against her upper back where the yellow numbers branded her suit. “What experiments did they put you through there?”

When Nora shook her head, no one pressed her for more information, and she was thankful for that. The evening wound down, and despite Nora’s offer to clean up after such a wonderful meal, she was sent off to relax and get some sleep. Wiseman gave her the bottle of Rad-X, in case the storm continued on through the night and she needed some more. She popped two more pills before settling in for the night, Dog resting on the floor beside the mattress she was given. 

-

It was a gentle hand on her shoulder that woke her, immediately followed by the persistent wining of Dog. She was breathing heavily, gasping for air. She was sweating and her cheeks were wet with tears (would she ever stop crying? She had to run out of tears, at some point). One of the ghouls was beside her, his brows lined with worry.

His hand found hers, and he gave it a gentle tug, silently indicating that he wanted her to follow him. Abandoning all of her things near the bedthat they had given her, Nora followed him. There were a couple of lights still on in the poolhouse, but the light was so dim it was nearly useless. She used the light of the Pip-Boy to navigate through the resting bodies. The green light that was cast made their features look more mottled, and rough. They looked like corpses; like she had fallen asleep in a morgue. Only the bodies were breathing. 

The ghoul led her outside, towards the pool, and then around the side of the building. The storms had thankfully passed, leaving a chill to the air. There was another portion of the building, separated from the pool house proper but still connected to the primary structure. It could have been used for storage once, but had since been converted into a work space. Mismatched desks lined the walls, covered with various scraps of junk, old newspapers, and scattered notes.

“You were having a nightmare,” the man murmured once they didn’t run the risk of waking the others. His voice was thin, and coarse. After gesturing for her to sit in a lonely wooden chair tucked into the corner of the room, the ghoul shifted around the work space. He sifted through the junk, pulling a kettle and a hotplate from the mess. The hotplate was turned on, and the kettle was set on top.

Nora rubbed her arms, trying to generate a bit of warmth, “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I don’t get much sleep these days,” the man said, offering a gentle smile. His features seemed so sad. The man remained busy in the space, plucking an old tin box from the junk and cracking it open. Two sachets of tea were selected, and plopped into tin camping cups. Closing the lid, the box was abandoned back to the various items on the desk.

He touched the back of his hand to the kettle after a handful of quiet moments, and then removed it from the hotplate. He poured the water into the prepared cups. The smell of chamomile drifted across her senses, and Nora found herself drawing in a lengthy inhale to commit the smell to memory – and then one of the cups was held out to her. She accepted it.

Nora sipped, and sighed. She had never been one for chamomile, but she would take any old world comfort that she could. The taste brought back memories of her grandparents’ house, of the long hard worked days, and hot summer nights. Nora sank back into the chair, letting the taste coat her tongue as she inhaled deeply. When she finally swallowed, she peered up at the man curiously.

“I don’t think I got your name earlier,” she said apologetically.

“I’m Arlen Glass,” he held out his right hand, and Nora reached to take it, her tea clasped in her left.

Her eyes lit up, her hand still holding his, “Arlen Glass? The Arlen Glass? The toy designer?”

He smiled softly, setting his tea aside so he could clasp his freehand over the top of their joined ones, “And you’re Eleanor Morrison, Prosecuting Attorney.”

Nora was sure her eyes bugged out of her skull as she stared at the old ghoul, with his evening tea, and his kind smile, and his sad features. Before she could ask how he knew who she was, he released her hand, and faced his workbench. 

Nora was suddenly able to spot pieces of a deconstructed Giddyup Buttercup littering the table. And she suddenly couldn’t help but think that there was a method to all of the madness taking over the desk space; a mess to her untrained eye, but he knew where everything was.

Arlen procured an ancient Boston Bugle, holding it out to her.

The headline nearly took up the whole upper half of the first page:

Handsome Johnny Roselli Verdict: GUILTY

Under the headline was an image of the man, wearing handcuffs, looking as though he was in the middle of swearing at whoever was taking the picture. Further into the article was a picture of her, standing in front of the court house, addressing the press after a particularly lengthy trial. And God, she looked good. Clean, put together. Makeup done, and not a hair out of place. At her side was a man in a long coat and hat, his hands tucked in his pockets. There was a natural frown creasing his features. Nora glanced at the small blurb beneath the image.

Eleanor Morrison and Detective Nick Valentine after court proceedings.

Oh, God. Nick.

Her gaze lifted to Arlen. The man was watching her, idly sipping at his cup of tea.

“How did you…” she looked down at the paper in her hands yet again. “How could you even remember…” How could he even recognize her? She felt like she looked like a totally different person. It felt like the Nora in the photo belonged to a whole nother world.

Arlen gave her another smile, then gestured to a crate tucked under the workbench. It was filled with old Boston Bugle newspapers. “I read the paper every day,” he said wistfully, knowingly, “I’ve seen your picture more than a few times, young lady.”

It was too late to deny much of anything. Her shock had given her away. Yet running around claiming that she had slept through the bombs and came out on the other side seemed ill advised, and in present company it felt awfully cruel. 

“Eleanor,” Arlen murmured, calling her from her rampant thoughts. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you, Arlen.”

“Now,” he murmured, turning his attention to the work bench. “You should get back to bed. That is, unless you want to help…” A piece of the disassembled Giddyup Buttercup was lifted, and waved at her invitingly.

She stood, stepping up to the workbench, standing shoulder to shoulder with the old ghoul and he immediately passed her an old wired brush and a few gears. It was better than falling back into nightmares, and who was she to pass up an opportunity to work side-by-side with the legendary toy designer.

//

Tag List: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl  / @yamatra

[whatanightmaregrinch]

Nick Valentine X Fem!Sole Survivor- confessions

"Are you ...sure doll?" Nick couldnt quite believe what he was hearing. She nodded, looking at her feet, cheeks ablaze. She was positioned on the edge of his desk, infront of where he sat on his chair. "I've felt like this for awhile. I understand if-" Nick looked at her in alarm, his better hand going to her knee to squeeze it gently. "-its not that, I just.. I mean, doll you've gotta be blind to-" her head snapped up and she regarded him with an intense gaze that made him feel like he might melt under the aggressive heat of it. "I've got to be blind to what ?" She asked pointedly. "I'm not really everyone's glass of nuka cola, doll. You can't blame me for pointing that out." He tried to keep his tone measured, but he was starting to wear thin. The last thing he needed was adding more emotion to an already charged situation. "You can't blame me for pointing out that asking me if I'm sure and telling me I'm blind for being romantically interested in you is rude, then." She said, and Nick found himself unable to disagree. It wasnt like he'd not imagined this scenario in the deepest parts of his mind. He'd taken a liking to her months and months ago, he'd just kept those thoughts to himself, already deciding it was too much for him to bother her with. He didnt know how to reach out and take hold of the situation, and so they sat in an uncomfortable silence. She noted his hand was still clasped on her knee. "If this is all you have to say about it, maybe we should forget I said anything." She said in a small voice, and it would have broken his heart if he had one. His chest still ached regardless, and he was reminded of the institutes cruel tricks. He'd give anything not to feel what he did right now. How it must have taken her so much to be vulnerable with him after Nate, and he'd made her close right back up again, stomping right on the weak flowers she'd managed to grow in her emotional garden. He had feelings for her too, and he was treating her like dirt. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words he needed fell away from him. His mind was reeling. Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away. She was fast, but he saw them. "Right, then." She tried to compose herself, and the detective sat there in a cagey silence. Moving his hand from her knee, she slid off of the desk, and on her way to the door, she patted him on the shoulder, face turned away from him. "Thank you for listening to my feelings. I'll see you tomorrow." Her voice was strange, and there was no discernable tone to it. Her footsteps were loud in his ears, and he willed his body to move, for him to say something, anything from stop her from leaving. His brain spat out the first thing it could think of.

"Hard." He managed to eek out, turning around in the chair to face her retreating form, and she stopped with her hand on the door knob. "Excuse me?" She clarified. "It's .. hard for me. To talk like this. I feel like I've already messed it up, doll." He stood up, tucking his chair under the desk as he crossed the room to her. "I can understand that." She reasoned, and turned to him, but would not face up to him, instead choosing to look at their shoes instead. "Look at me." He said softly, and she shook her head, hair hanging over her face and covering her expressions from him. His hand went to her chin and he tilted it up for him to pass a look at her face. Her lashes were wet and sticking together from the tears bubbling up and rolling down her face, and she was flushed. How many times she'd needed to cry in silence at such intensity was something he didnt want to think about. He'd not even noticed till he saw them. Cautiously, he wiped the tears away with his thumb. "I dont mean that I'm not interested in you, Sole." He reassured her, and he picked up on her brief expression change. The flash of hope left him raw. "I just.. I don't have all the parts, doll. Some of my face isnt even there anymore. I dont want you to be disappointed." He admitted. There were soft hands sliding up his forearms to his shoulders, up to his cheeks. His eyebrows furrowed in tension at the move, he rarely had people touch him to begin with, let alone like that.

"Oh Nick, how could I be disappointed with you? All of these parts of you and the ones I'm yet to discover, don't you think I atleast deserve to make up my own mind about it?" He felt like drowning in her eyes, her touch was everywhere, he could smell her perfume and he was dizzy from her being so close. The tension he felt before eased after her gentle touches worked them out, thumbs rubbing little circles in his cheeks. "S-suppose you do have that right." He said dumbly. His hands moved of their own accord to settle on her waist, pulling her closer. Nick was pretty sure he'd died and gone to whatever god loved him most when she leaned up on her tippy-toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His eyes closed automatically, and he enjoyed the sensation for what it was. "Can i..?" He asked, and she laughed softly, sniffling a little. "If you like." She replied, and he stopped down, and kissed her cheek. He marvelled the way blood flushed to her cheeks, and for the first time in a long time, he felt warm.

[zirawrites]

what about the fallout 4 companions cheating on sole?

Cait: Cait followed Sole as they packed their bags; an unreadably blank expression making their lover seem more machine than human. “Sole, I dunno what got into me. You didn’t deserve that. At least believe me when I say it wasn’t to hurt you.” When Sole continued to ignore her, Cait covered her face in shame. “I’d forgotten why we fell in love. Or maybe I was ignoring it. Just... please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Curie: Curie wasn’t aware of every social etiquette, but it didn’t take an actual human to understand cheating was wrong. She futilely wiped the hot tears on her cheeks as Sole looked at her with pure astonishment. “I am so ashamed, my love. I cannot even ask for your forgiveness.” Curie let out an undignified snivel. “What we have... I cannot bear to think I threw it all away.  I feel so incredibly, unbearably stupid.”

Danse: Danse was a soldier, and every great soldier knows how to follow rules. Stay within boundaries. Respect their peers. Danse was sick with himself when Sole confronted him about being unfaithful. He felt even less of a man than when he’d discovered he was a synth. He felt like nothing at all. “Sole, forgive me. I was misguided. They were a mistake. You are all who matters.” When Sole turned away, Danse hung his head. “I understand. I was a fool to even consider you’d still want me around.”

Deacon: Deacon had done a lot of shitty things in his life. But screwing over his partner? Someone he considered his best and only friend? He was too cowardly to lower his glasses and expose the tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve lied a lot, but trust me when I say you are the love of my life, Sole. I’ll do anything to gain your confidence again.” But Deacon knew he’d already lost Sole when they crossed their arms and folded into themselves. They were as alone and scared as the day they stumbled into HQ.

Hancock: “Shit, Sunshine. I wanted you to hear it from me.” Hancock knew gossip spread through Goodneighbor like wildfire. He was almost as disappointed in himself for not stopping it as he was disgusted with himself for cheating on Sole; the best damn thing to ever happen to him. “I could go on about how it was chems or booze or peer pressure, but the truth is I was a selfish asshole. I let the love of my life go because of my own fucking actions. Trust me, losing you will haunt me for the hundreds of years I’ll be walking this earth.”

MacCready: MacCready didn’t know why he strayed from Sole. They had chased the Gunners off his back. Saved his son from a horrible, painful death. Took down the Institute and brought the Commonwealth out of its Dark Ages. He’d never done anything half as altruistic, yet Sole saw something in him MacCready still couldn’t recognize. Until they discovered he had cheated, of course. He watched Sole blink back tears, and his own eyes began to well like a small child being reprimanded. “Shit, Sole. I’m so...” He turned away. He couldn’t stomach looking at them. “Damn it. Damn it, Sole. I just... I don’t even deserve you.”

Preston: Preston was the one who admitted to cheating. He sat them down and explained how a drunken celebration at the Castle turned into something steamy and shameful. Then he answered all of Sole’s questions, only starting to cry when they asked if he ever loved them. “Of course I love you, Sole. And I’ll never forgive myself for losing you.”

Piper: “Blue, wait!” Piper chased Sole up the stairs as they walked through Diamond City. “It was a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. And I completely regret it.” Sole was more intent on watching the gates open than listening to Piper’s pleas. “Can we talk about it? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just...” Her voice cracked. “Don’t leave me, Blue.”

Nick: “Breaking your heart will be the biggest regret of my life.” Nick didn’t try to convince Sole to stay. He was mature enough to understand just how badly he’d hurt them. And that Sole deserved better. “Take care of yourself, Sole. You deserve a hell of a lot better than me.”

X6-88: X6 had never been so embarrassed in his life. He knew how important Sole was not just to the Institute, but himself as well. They were his first love, and most definitely would be his only. “I’m ashamed of my actions, Sole.” He took off his glasses in a rare show of affection. “I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Though I know I do not deserve it.”

[kratosnaturals]

The Language of Flowers WIP #1

She always looked his way. Nick could see it from the corner of his mechanical eye. Always passing him glances with an unreadable expression, something between anger and disgust, if he had to guess by her constantly furrowed brows. Nothing unusual for him, really. He had gotten used to it long ago, but something about that look in her grassy eyes sent a shiver down his titanium spine. It was like her eyes were glowing, too, like his. They were so full of life, yet so dead. Those scarred lips opened and told sweet lies, uncomfortable truths and spouted hypocrisy like psalms.

This case would be the end of him, he knew deep inside. In one way or the other, somewhere along the way. Torn to bits and pieces he would be, like his breathren, burned to ash and left for dead himself, like she was. His heart would break and she would be the reason, and the cure. He would kill, and kill, and kill, until he'd choke and suffocate on the blood.

· · ───────────── ·✿· ───────────── · · Nick didn’t exactly ‘dream’ like a human, or a 3rd gen Synth would. It was more so memories that his wires and circuits for brains replayed. Still, it was close enough for him. He didn’t exactly have another choice, having been stuck like that for over a century now, barely a decent copy of a long dead man from before the Great War. It felt like his very existence was mocking that man. An abomination of science. A disgrace to Mother Nature.

Those dreams haunted him still, even after all that time. It didn’t happen every time he ran a diagnostic, luckily, but whenever it did it sent him for a loop anew. Vague flashes of a life never his; childhood days spent in the sun, his first kiss behind a school dumpster, misty faces posing as parents, a fiancé not his own, cigarettes and bourbon that didn’t taste so stale yet. Never enough to really do anything with. Always taunting him.

This time it was Jenny again; she was resting on his naked chest, in the nude herself, arms draped lazily over his middle. A little snore would slips past her lips occasionally, and he’d chuckle every single time, the movement making her shake a little. The heady smell of sex was still thick in the air, now accompanied by her favourite soap and his cigarettes. The buzz of his orgasm was just wearing off as the sun started to go down, leaving the sky orange and pink. Nick sighed and brushed a few loose stands from Jenny’s face, a smile on his lips. The evening light always painted her face in such a beautiful way, like a maestro’s painting, like only the finest art. But, to him, no mortal man could capture such beauty with a mere brush and paint. Nobody could capture those high cheek bones, those rosy lips, that soft, shining hair and those big brown deer eyes, and those thin lines resting on their edges.

This was a pleasant dream, nothing like some of the others; heartbreak and workplace injuries, the day Jenny was taken from the world and from him. It was one he didn’t want to leave again. Nick was content to simply ‘sleep’ for a while longer, maybe just a few hours, and truly rest, in the embrace of someone he trusted. Or, rather, he thought he trusted her. It wasn’t like he actually ever knew Jenny, not really. He wasn’t Nick Valentine. So how could he even love someone he didn’t actually know?

“-ck… Nick…” a voice whispered, lulling him gently out of his synthetic sleep, but he didn’t stir. These memories were too pleasant.

“Nick…” firmer this time. Still, he didn’t react. Not yet.

“Nick. Nick!”

The synth detective startled awake, his diagnostics cut off immediately with a sharp stabbing pain in his head. His ‘brain’ sent him all sorts of errors and warning messages that he chose to ignore, for now, with a resounding groan, cupping his temple. His optics needed a moment to come back online, but he recognized Ellie by her voice.

“I’m sorry, Nick-” Ellie started, pity painting her face, clearly feeling some guilt for ripping him out of his ‘sleep”, “but Garvey called in on the HAM. He needs you at Sanctuary right away.”

Nick sighed, sitting up properly from the bed. The 3rd call this month alone, “another missing persons case?”

“Yeah. Kid this time, and his dad. Didn’t return from a trip to a nearby settlement. No trace of them,” Ellie informed him with a sombre expression. Raiders, Gunners, maybe even some wild animals, Nick guessed. Not a rare occurrence at all, but that didn’t make it any less tragic. One got get used to it, however.

“Not even Dogmeat?”

“He’s gone with Nate. In Goodneighbor, according to Garvey.”

Another sigh, “alright. Can you call Hancock and tell him to send Nate and Dogmeat to Sanctuary?”

Ellie nodded, heading back upstairs, “done.”

“Thank you, Ellie,” Nick said with a wave. The synth heard her call into Goodneighbor as he strolled back into the main room to grab his hat and coat. The dim light in the agency made him a little groggy, but at least he no longer had any stray boxes to stumble over or case files to slip on anymore, not since Ellie and Nate really hounded him to properly clean up his space and fix his furniture. He checked his coat pockets – a pack of cigarettes, his lighter, and another pack of ammo. Then he tapped at his ribs – his gun was holstered in place. As it always was – he never took it off. He was set. By sundown Nick would be at Sanctuary, and at daybreak he could start his search, hopefully with Dogmeat by his side.

“Alright Ellie, I’m going out. Don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll call when I’m at Sanctuary,” Nick yelled. Ellie bade him farewell and to stay safe, and he set off with an ache in his heart, feeling like he had just lost someone important again.

· · ───────────── ·✿· ───────────── · ·

Nick exhaled, shakily, ragged, put a hand over his mouth, fingers digging into his cheek and jaw, then bit his knuckles, mind and processors racing with a million unasked and unanswered questions, a million possibilities. He already knew he couldn’t say no. Not with so many lives on the line, not with people like that running around the Commonwealth and threatening the safety of the innocent. The look she was giving him burned, it itched, it stung, it hurt. Deep inside, on his skin, under his skin, everywhere at once. This was dangerous. This person was dangerous. The people she wanted to maim and hang were dangerous. And once again his sense of duty and conscience got the better of the soft-hearted detective.

“How many are there?”

“Plenty. A whole legion, maybe. They travel in small groups. Have a big one somewhere nearby.”

He wagged his finger as he eyed the notebook again, “how many did you already take out?”

“Each fingerprint is one.”

Counted, and counted, and counted, and counted, and counted again until he got dizzy and shut it again, “you’ve been busy.”

He got to twenty-two before stopping, inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

“They always come back, like roaches. They’ve figured out someone is on their tail.”

A cigarette was lit and put between his lips, fingers crossed on his metal desk, “what’s your plan?”

Everything in him screamed and wailed; stop! This is wrong! Blood money is trouble!

Yet he couldn’t look away, ignore her words and the clear tone of her voice, “have the little roaches lead us back to the nest and take out the big guys.”

It would be the end of him, he knew deep inside. In one way or the other, somewhere along the way. Torn to bits and pieces he would be, burned to ash and left for dead himself. “How many caps?”

“As many as you want. I got plenty to spare.”

“This is going to cost you. A lot.”

“In that case,” Darcy started, rising up from her seat, “I can offer other services.”

There was something in her eyes, or maybe he was just imagining it, the way she looked at him. It was a wicked kind of expression. The detective cringed, his metal jaw creaking and face twisted so harshly he nearly dropped the burning cigarette between his lips. He pushed away from the desk, “I don’t take that kind of payment.”

“Not what I was implying,” the other said with a sour expression. Disgust. “You help me, I help you. Quid pro quo. One hand washes the other – we all need someone to watch our backs out in the wasteland. I can do that for you while you solve your cases.”

A sigh of relief, “you should have just said that. Maybe I could teach you some social cues, too.”

“Maybe you should get your mind out of the gutter. It’s slimy.”

His left eye twitched, just slightly. For a moment Nick regretted inviting her in.

“Do you want my help or not?” mild irritation laced his voice. Darcy frowned.

An outstretched hand, just like when they first met. No hesitation. When Nick grasped it it was just as warm and soft again, pliable in his own iron grip, “eight o’clock sharp. We just got another case in this evening. Ellie will fill you in.”

With a nod Darcy grabbed her coat and backpack, headed for the door but Nick stopped her, “oh, and one more thing – keep your caps for now.”

She turned to look at him, neutral expression, for a few seconds, then left. Moments later a groan ripped from his chest, face buried in his palms.

[swndmehelp]

I know a lot of people piss themselves about this but now it’s my turn. What the hell happened to Kellogg’s voice and shit with Nick after he was implanted?

Like come on, I was devastated the first time I played Fallout 4 and I thought it would be so cool to have this as a factor of Nick for the rest of the game BUT THEN I FIND OUT that it just never happens again, you just never fucking hear about it anymore. It would have been so fucking cool to just have little moments through out the game where Kellogg would just appear a d talk to the Sole Survivor, but no Bethesda is mean and didn’t do that.

Like it didn’t even have to be anything big it could have just been a little thing and like if you interact with Nick or do something Kelloggs would appear and talk to Sole for a sec before Sole called it out LIKE COME ON. Let me heal and just give it to us, I can’t even describe how sad I was when Nick just didn’t have any other Kellogg moments EVER AGAIN.

I know other people are just as sad about this as me and I know it’s been six years since the game came out but ugh, it would have been so cool just to have that every once in a while. Anyways I’m gonna go be sad in my little corner about this because it would’ve been SO COOL if Bethesda actually pit the effort to add onto that instead of just doing it once.

[sassenashsworld]

You know, this story, fanfiction, whatever, which became à kind of... disturbance... an obsession

Each single time I came across His Name For A Love Song, I can cry...

Please, afterlife where ever you are, finish your work someday...

For everyone who want to suffer and never be the same again

After that, my definition of canon fallout 4 have change

[hotboyharbie]

bury me with it: chapter 3

Tw: canon-typical violence and angst

When the dust settled, a distorted groan broke the silence. It was a voice composed of an amalgamation of mechanical vibrations. But Sole recognized the tone very well. It was Nick.

Their head snapped to the source of the distress and there they saw him. His left leg was reduced to circuits and tattered synthetic skin and they could see more of the wires and chips that made the inside of his head than usual. He was poorly operational, but alive. Thank god, he was alive.

They called his name in a despairing panic as they rushed over to him. They nearly fell to their knees as they crouched next to him, shock nearly taking them over. But they had to hold it together if Nick was going to survive this.

"We need to head back to Diamond City."

That was their only thought. Like a mantra that lulled them into a trance, they repeated it over and over again as they lifted Nick with both all of the strength and gentleness they could muster.

[aceforwhatevenisthis]

secret sixth love language: sending your friends fanfictions that made you feel so much because you are so very normal about fictional characters and you need to talk about them to someone

[bookwermthings]

a new fanfic by me! I've been working on it for the past 12 or 13 days and it is finally finished!!!

Many thanks to @gatewaygeek

for all their wonderful help, couldn't have done it without you!!

The summary:

Nick Valentine is a synth. A synthetic person. He feels different, outcast, sometimes like he's not even a person himself. Though, he's got Ellie, and Nate, and he's even got his partner's son, Shaun. Shaun, who is also a synth, but doesn't know it. Nate knows, Nick knows, and through the growing pains of the new family, it's only a matter of time until Shaun does, too.

[assassins-wasteland]

Fallout Haunted Wasteland 2023 - Oct 2

Fog

So this ended up being a lot longer than I was expecting. Original prompts from @falloutfandomeventhub. Link to prompts here.

Word count: 1.6K

~

The crisis in Far Harbor was dealt with. The Harbormen on the docks returned home to their settlements, the Children of Atom were pacified, and the synths in Acadia were safe and free. The island was at peace. A peaceful resolution was a rarity in the Wasteland. Even if that resolution was built on a foundation of lies. She tried not to think about how long the fragile state of peace would last. Especially now.

Today Jadis was supposed to return home to the Commonwealth. She couldn’t. There was one last matter for her to attend to and she needed to do it alone. So she left Nick on the dock with nothing but the promise that she’d come back later and disappeared into the island fog that seemed to swallow her whole with only her rifle and a gallon of gasoline.

The fog was thick. So thick she could barely see past her outstretched hand. Jadis’ only tools she had to guide her were blurry memories from her childhood, the cracked, overgrown pavement that crunched beneath her feet, and an outdated map on her pip-boy that didn’t account for collapsed buildings and rubble and Wasteland critters blocking her path as she hiked blindly through the island. Her island. Her home. The Harbormen may call it Far Harbor but this island will always be Bar Harbor.

In the fog around her memories played. Memories of a time before the bombs. A time when the island was truly alive and thick fog didn’t drive you mad or burn your lungs. Jadis remembers being small, long before her sister was born, sitting in the backseat of a motionless car while her parents complained about the summer traffic clogging up the island. Right here there was the general store where Dad always stopped to get bait for his boat. Here’s where the ice cream shop used to stand that Mom took her to every Friday. This road was the one she took to go to school. That field was where she played soccer every spring. The fog shielded her from seeing the worst of the rot and decay that became of all these spots.

Finally, she stops. The silhouette of the familiar cabin stands before her. For a moment she just stares at it. It felt like she was returning to a family member. In a way, she was. Jadis readjusts her gas mask and continues forward.

When Jadis was born the cabin was gifted to her parents by her grandparents so they could raise her. After her father was drafted to Anchorage and relocated her family to Massachusetts her grandparents held on to the cabin. In her mother’s words, it was in case they ever needed to come home.

Everything about the cabin felt so foreign and yet so familiar at the same time. Somehow, despite everything, despite two centuries of neglect and being picked over by scavengers and pests, the cabin still stood. The wood was rotted and the windows were shattered, but it still stood. Jadis steps through the doorway, the actual door having long since rusted off its hinges. The fog leaks inside the home making everything hazy, like she was walking through a dream. This place seemed so much bigger when she was little.

She paces through it, drifting through each and every room like a ghost. The living room, the kitchen, the laundry room, the storage closet, and everything downstairs had been picked apart for scraps by needy Wastelanders. Jadis climbs the stairs and the wood creaks under her weight. She walks slowly through the hall, taking in every little detail and trying to remember where everything used to be.

She enters her parent’s old room. She used to sleep in their bed every night until she was seven because she was so scared to sleep alone. Now that very bed is collapsed onto the floor, the mattress is rotted and moldy, blankets a pillows gone with whatever poor soul needed them to keep warm. She opens the drawer of the only remaining end table and finds her mother's compact mirror. Her mother would use it to check her makeup before going anywhere. Besides it was her father’s cologne bottle, his favorite from that time that once smelled of musky pine. The mirror is broken and faded and the cologne is empty and has no more smell. Jadis takes the two little treasures and holds them in her hand.

The next room she enters is her sister’s nursery. All that remained of the crib was the wheels. Metal letters that were once pink and spelled out her name ‘CARTER’ once hung on the wall, now only the paint chipped and rusted C and T remained. In a firm grip, Jadis pries the C off the wall and takes it with her too.

Her final stop is her room. The ceiling in this room, though damaged, still mostly holds, but holes have begun to form in the rotting wood. The old polka-dot wallpaper has peeled off over the years exposing the crumbling plaster beneath. The hardwood floor beneath her feet had warped with age becoming uneven. Her old bed was long gone and the shelves that once housed books and toys were empty. Jadis lingered in this room the longest, mulling over foggy memories that don’t feel two hundred years old and yet are two centuries decayed.

In the window, something catches her eye. Her teddy bear sits on the windowsill, threadbare and slouched and it’s color faded, but looks like it’s been waiting for her to find it. Careful not to cause any more damage she carefully picks it up and looks into its button eyes. Jadis remembers forgetting it when they moved to Boston. She cried for hours and begged for days for her parents to find some way to get it back. They never did. She was ten years old after all; far too old to be crying over a missing stuffed animal. And here it was. Like it was waiting for her to find it again.

In her hands, Jadis holds the four little trinkets. A broken compact mirror, an empty cologne bottle, a rusty letter C, and a teddy bear that’s one loose thread away from falling apart. Objects the people of the wasteland deemed little more than trash. She would have too at one point, but now these little trinkets are the only remnants she has from the short time her family was whole that she can take with her. The Wasteland can’t have what little is left of it. She won’t let it.

She shoves the items into her pack, uncaps the gas can, and douses her childhood bedroom in the noxious liquid. Gasoline drips down the walls, soaks the tattered curtains, and puddles on the floor. Then she moves to Carter’s nursery and repeats the process. Then in her parent’s room. Once again, Jadis moves through the house but she is no longer an aimless ghost. Now she’s firm, splattering the gasoline with fury and determination over what remains of her past. She moves through the hall, down the stairs, through the laundry room, the kitchen, and the living room, there was no space in the cabin untouched.

With was few little treasures she was able to save Jadis left the cabin and returned to the fog outside pouring the rest of the gasoline out behind her until she reached the end of what used to be the driveway. The gas can is tossed away. From her pocket, she takes out a lighter and flicks the wheel. It sparks but no flame comes. Again and again, she flicks the wheel but there are still only sparks. Tears sting at the corners of her eyes as her frustration grows.

“Need a light?” Nick’s voice sounds from the fog. He emerges from its tendrils with a warm smile on his face and hands in his pockets. Nick had followed her through the fog. He approaches her casually as if he didn’t see a thing but Jadis knows he saw enough.

She looks at the puddle of gasoline at her feet to avoid his gaze and doesn’t say a word. Her busted lighter stays firmly in her white-knuckled grip. Jadis expects him to ask questions but… he doesn’t. He fishes his own lighter out and with a single flick it holds the flame, and then he offers it to her, a look of understanding on his face. Slowly, she takes it and for a moment she just looks into the tiny flame as if it held the answer to every question she could ever ask.

She lowers the lighter to the ground and touches it to gasoline. In an instant, the flame grew and spread down the path she had left for it and sped into the cabin. One by one each room ignited in a burst of light she could see through the windows. In only minutes the whole cabin was consumed by fire. Black smoke billowed out, merging with the white fog in a dance while the flames licked at the sky.

As she watched her childhood home burn tears began to roll down her cheeks and pool at the rubber seal of her mask. Nick took off his coat and wrapped it around her then pulled her in, hugging her tightly while she sobbed. Her own arms found their way around his waist and gripped the back of his shirt in her fists. He held her the whole time while they watched the fire devour the cabin and the fog carry away the ashes until only smoldering cinders remained.

“Nicky…” she croaks.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thank you…”

Nick just smiles again and pats her hair with his good hand. “Anytime.”

“I think I’m ready to go home now.”

“Sounds good to me.” He tucks Jadis under his arm and guides her back to the road to begin the hike back to the docks. She spares one last look over her shoulder at the glowing coals and watches as the cinders of her past disappear in the fog.

[commonwealthoccurences]

Back To Eden Masterlist

For your reference as to potential content of the fic, this is rated Mature on ao3. I am considering changing this to explicit.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, found family, pining, flashback scenes, noir detective show meets post-apocalyptic chaos, Preston Garvey is a sweetheart, Sole is doing their best and living out of pure spite, slow burn (Nick/Sole), disabled Sole. Tags will expand when relevant.

Warnings: Semi-realistic depictions of illness from cryo-freeze, canon-typical violence, future drug and alcohol mentions (Hancock), anything you may associate with an episode of your average crime show like Criminal Minds (for the flashback part), vomiting mention, PTSD, dissociation, hallucinations, semi-graphic torture (descriptions of aftermath, NO descriptions of active torture). More to be added.

Ao3 Link

Chapters:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

[veshialles]

With a deafening shriek, the Fog Crawler’s carapace slammed on the crumbling pavement with a sickening crunch, releasing Valerie from its razor sharp grasp. Her body tumbled and rolled free of the raptorial claws, leaving a smattered trail of red droplets in her wake. "Well, what are you waitin' for?" Longfellow bellowed, scrambling to reach her. "C'mon! Help me get 'er up, tin-man!"