wasteland-tyrant-imagines

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Fallout 4 Companions + Pokemon master post ♥

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Mayor John Hancock as The Chariot.

-The Chariot: victory, willpower, drive/directionless, off-course, roaming-

(Available on Redbubble)

Keep reading

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

After I’ve watched Casanova randomly on tv one day I got inspired to do this drawing. The way Heath Ledger played Casanova made me think of BIG Hancock energy. So I found a photograph on set with Ledger as Casanova and turned him into Hancock. I liked the shirt and the casual pose, I also gave him rings like in his concept art. 

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Hey!!! Love this blog so much! Can I request a Charon x F!Lone fluffiness??? Like what if she was an amazing fighter but also a kind person when you get to know her. And there was a huge fire fight that she ends up getting hurt in? Idk but I kinda want to see this written, I’m actual Charon trash. ❤️

(*I’m also Charon trash! ;D )

_____________

“Dammit, we are outnumbered!” 

Charon wasn’t sure if his employer heard him over the hail of gunfire that erupted through the ruins around them.  The twisted metal of destroyed skyscrapers and ravaged buildings around them provided plenty of cover — but it also made it difficult to pin-point all of the threats in the area.  The super mutants seemed to be everywhere; some popped out from behind mounds of scrap metal, while others jumped down from the second floor of a crumbled building nearby.  

Over the sound of machine guns whirling, Charon could hear the rapid approach of a centaur making its way toward them.  They always seemed to be with a pack of super mutants, but the abomination was unsightly enough to make even him grimace.  One of its long tongues shot out, hitting the front of their metallic cover, and Charon’s mistress’s geiger counter ticked from the radiation emitting from the creature’s saliva.  

His mistress suddenly popped up from cover, firing toward the super mutants in front of them with an assault rifle.  By now, they had fought together enough that Charon knew she was creating an opening, and he braced his arm up on his cover to put the centaur out of its misery with a blast from his shotgun.  

“Got one,” Charon murmured, more to himself than to her, while she took cover again and the spray of bullets continued.  

“Shit, I hate this place,” she hissed, reloading a clip.  “Shortcuts never work out in my favor.”

“Perhaps if you were looking for a shortcut to hell,” he quipped, and she smiled ruefully, her attention still riveted on the battle.  

“Pffft, we’re not dying today.  These assholes, on the other hand, just found that shortcut.”

She fired again, and Charon was quick to have her back, keeping some of the forces pinned while she thinned out their numbers.  In the months that she had held his contract, they had learned how to compliment one another in battle, and despite the fact that they were outnumbered, they weren’t outgunned.  They had gotten out of much stickier circumstances, and they would get out of this, too.  The vaultie had gotten something of a reputation for being able to deal with problems — problems that even the Brotherhood had trouble dealing with.  It never ceased to amaze him that someone that had grown up in such a soft environment had become so battle-hardened so quick, but it made him respect the hell out of her.

They had almost finished off the brawny mutants when suddenly, the whirl of the gatling gun cut through the clearing again.  It sounded different this time, high-pitched, and she swore at the same time he did.  Charon barreled toward her just as the first laser spurt tore through their flimsy cover, and when he collided with her, he flattened her to the ground and pressed himself over her back, trying to shield her with his much larger body.  The heat from the laser was at his back, and he winced as a spurt singed the back of his armor.  

The second the weapon sputtered, needing to reload and cool down, Charon was on his feet, vaulting over the remains of their cover and quickly closing the distance to blast the super mutant with his shotgun.  When the asshole fell, he double-tapped just to be on the safe side, and then gave the clearing a quick glance to confirm that it was the last of the super mutants.  

At least it wasn’t a Fat Man, he thought, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as the adrenaline rush started to wear thin.  A glance over his shoulder gave him pause, however; he had expected his mistress to pop up, complaining about his rough treatment — and the fact that he had been the one to fell the mutant with the gatling laser.  

“Mistress?”

When she didn’t reply right away, trepidation washed over him, and he rushed back to find her still lying on the ground.  She had pulled herself up slightly, but she was clutching her side, blood clearly staining her fingers, and panic began to rise within him.  He had seen her hurt before, yes, but it was a rare occasion, and it never stopped him from worrying.  She was a smoothskin, after all — not to mention that he towered over her —which made her seem fragile.  He was her protector; that was his role as long as she held the contract.  

And he had failed.

“Don’t get that look on your face, Charon,” she hissed, trying to stand up.  “It just grazed me.  Damn laser weapons always pack a punch.”  

Quickly, he put a hand at her elbow and assisted her, while scanning her for further injury.  Her armor was thick, but not overly-bulky. The laser had melted through and got her in the side, but it had lost so much energy that it didn’t go through her.  He couldn’t assess the wound here; they needed to get into a more defensible location.  

“I am sorry I could not prevent your injury.”  Charon was always formal, she had found, and she hated it.  It had to be a by-product of his brainwashing, and it made him sound so robotic.  There were some occasions (albeit few and far between) when she could get him to speak faster, to put more of an inflection in his voice, and she always reveled in them.  

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be swiss cheese.”

The term seemed familiar to him somehow, but the phrase was lost on him.  Brushing it aside, Charon abruptly scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.  She flushed; he made her feel so tiny by comparison.  Her first instinct was to fight against him, to protest that she didn’t need to be carried through the Capital Wastes, but… the moment she tensed, a pain shot through her side that had her hissing and pressing her fingers tighter against the wound.  

“Do not struggle.  Let me take you to shelter for the night, so I can dress your wound.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question, but she knew it actually was one; he wanted permission. 

“Okay, okay.”

When she first held his contract, he didn’t do anything unless she directly told him to — except when it came to fighting.  When she had gotten hurt back then, he would simply stand there and watch until she specifically asked him to do something.  Now, their dynamic had shifted; he had decided she was a good person, and actively wanted to help her, which was a new sensation for him.  He was accustomed to being used for someone else’s gain — and usually under circumstances he would easily call evil. 

But this badass smoothskin was actually a kind-hearted person, trying to make the Wastes a better place, a livable place.  

And he actually liked having her as his contract holder.

______________________________

Their shelter was a destroyed store with most of its roof still intact and a proximity mine planted in the doorway.  The windows were boarded up, but he still didn’t feel comfortable building more than just a small trash can fire, while his mistress stripped off her mismatched armor.  

Her T-shirt was ragged and torn, and the portion around her abdomen had been seared off.  Slowly, she peeled it up, so the cloth was just below her chest, and hissed again.  “Shit, this burns.  I hate energy weapons so much.”

“You like the gauss rifle,” he commented absently, steering her closer to the light from the fire.  

She scoffed.  “I hate energy weapons when they’re being aimed at me.”

Charon didn’t reply, too busy examining her wound up close.  It wasn’t life-threatening, but it had to hurt.  He dug through his bag and retrieved a stimpak and some Med-X.  

“Med-X?  It doesn’t hurt that much,” she lied, while Charon shrugged.  

“If you want to be in pain, that is your choice.”  

She rolled her eyes, while he readied the needle of the stimpak and proceeded to inject it straight into her wound.  She bit her bottom lip — fuck, that hurt — but almost immediately, it stopped bleeding, and she could see the wound beginning to shrink.  It wouldn’t stop her from having a fresh scar, she was sure, but she wouldn’t need any form of stitches.  

He lifted the other syringe in question, but she shook her head.  “Nah, I don’t need the Med-X.  That stimpak was enough.”  

In truth, it still burned, but she was saving the Med-X for something more serious, like a broken bone, or an instance where one of them would need to fight despite being injured.

Charon dutifully replaced the Med-X, and then began to pour some dirty water onto a rag to clean the wound.  The geiger counter clicked twice, and she sighed and muttered something about ‘Project Purity.’  As he wiped the dried blood away, his fingertips brushed her flesh — accidentally at first, due to his grip on the cloth, but then… he started to do it just to feel her. 

It was so soothing, getting to do this much.  It reassured him that she was alive, that he had really made it in time.  She was a skilled fighter, capable and renowned thanks to the radio station broadcasting her deeds throughout the Wastes.  She seemed immortal and untouchable, like a character from a radio drama.  

But she was just a human — just a young woman that had stepped from a Vault and into an unforgiving world mere years ago.  Even as skilled as she was, she was fallible; she could make mistakes or become overpowered.  

She could die, and the thought terrified Charon.

Doing this much helped assuage that terror.  She was so soft, and he was so close to her, bent over as she leaned back with a palm against the wall for support and the other still holding her ruined shirt away from her abdomen.  He was taking more time than usual, and it took him a moment to realize that her chest was heaving, her breathing heavier than normal.  Abruptly, he stopped wiping the wound with the cloth and glanced up, searching her face for signs of distress.

“Was I hurting you?”

Charon couldn’t tell if her face was flushed or if it was a trick of the dim firelight, but her gaze was unreadable.  She shook her head once and quickly cleared her throat.  

“No, no, I… it was fine.  I’m just feeling a l-...little light-headed.”

“Here.”  Charon instantly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the floor.  Her legs did indeed appear shaky, and he mentally scolded himself for taking so long with his treatment.  “I should have had you lie down before I began.”

“It’s fine.  Probably just blood loss,” she mumbled, while Charon continued to search her expression.  She wouldn’t meet his gaze.  

“The stimpak will take care of that,” he assured her, while he retrieved a piece of gauze and duct tape from their rather lacking medical kit.  He reached to put it on her and saw her belly tense as his fingers smoothed the tape across her skin.  Again, he glanced up, but this time… there was no mistaking the redness that had flared up across her face.  “Are you certain you’re all right?”

His hand had absently dropped to her thigh in his concern, and she finally met his obsidian gaze.  He’d seen many different looks in her eyes since their travels.  There was the glint of determination she got whenever she was focused during a firefight.  There was mirth whenever she cracked a joke or she found some particularly delicious food for them to eat.  There was melancholy when she mentioned her father or came across skeletons in the ruins.  And there were flashes of anger when settlers or members of the Brotherhood made comments about the fact that she was traveling with a monster.

But the look in her eyes now was one that he’d only seen a couple of times.  Once, after she had been feeling hopeless enough that she cried — yes, actually cried — on his shoulder, and then had pulled back to look at him.  And another time when she had been drunk and pulled him by the arm toward the single bed of their rented room because she wanted to be held while she slept.  

Her shirt slipped from her fingers, the ragged ends falling across her bandaged stomach, and she covered the hand on her thigh with her own, squeezing it.  A soft smile curved her lips, and the look changed, that fire in her gaze simpering to a flicker.  “You saved my life today, you know.  If you hadn’t rushed me like that, I’d have much worse wounds.”

Charon turned his hand over to grasp hers, shaking his head.  The terror he had felt over her getting wounded was pushed to the back of his mind.  She could be killed, sure, but the solution was simple.

“If someone wants to try to give you a shortcut to hell, they will have to go through me first.  Always.”

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

In many ways giving us build-able letters was a mistake.

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Custom Nick Valentine doll! This was a fun lil project! :D Never done anything like this before but now I’m just….. custom toy….. fun….

painting his face was a fun challenge i gotta say hahha but overall I’m very happy with him! 

I also altered and weathered the teeny clothes to make them as game accurate as I could! I def wanna do something like this again sometime!

3d printed head/hat/hand by @radbeetle

Progress thread on twitter here!

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Sometimes, you just wanna watch the world burn.

Someone dropped a nuke next to my house, so I did what anyone else would do and pulled up a chair.

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

trade with @skatik

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

I loved that hancock one, he’s my favorite follower. Would you do a nick one shot where his S/O sleeps really peacefully when he’s around (whether he sleeps or not as an old synth) but whenever she’s been gone for a while she looks tired and he somehow learns that when she isn’t with him she has awful insomnia because she doesn’t feel safe enough the sleep in the wasteland? Tysm!!!

(*I decided to combine these because I haven’t been getting much sleep, either.)

“Wow, you look dead on your feet.  What happened out there?  Things go sideways at the southern settlement?”

Golden optics skimmed over the survivor, narrowing at her state.  Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her gaze was rather unfocused.  That raised all sorts of warning flags; if you didn’t keep your wits about you in the Commonwealth, you were destined to get a bullet right between those tired eyes.

She knows better than that, he thought, worry coursing through him.  Something must be up.

“Nothing happened.  I just helped set up some defenses and finalized a supply line.”  She yawned, covering half of her face with her hand.  After a couple of hard blinks, she seemed a tiny bit more focused.  She’d looked determined when she marched back into Sanctuary, but Nick had been around her long enough to tell when she was putting on her General front for the sake of the others.  Around him, thankfully, she felt comfortable enough to drop the act and let him see just how wrecked she truly was.

“Then why do you look like you haven’t slept in a week?”

“Because I haven’t?” she chuckles, and from her tone, she’s only half-joking.  “I figured I did more than enough sleeping in the Vault to last the rest of my lifetime.”

“Fair point, doll, but you were sleeping fine before you left.”

She shrugs, averting her gaze.  “Well, maybe three hours here, an hour there.  It just wasn’t that easy to sleep out there.”  Rolling a shoulder, she moves past him to the living room of the house Nick’s claimed as his own in Sanctuary. 

“Here I thought you helped that settlement get actual beds.  They make you sleep on the floor?”  He arches a brow, turning to follow her as she plops down onto a couch that’s in surprisingly-good condition.  The house doesn’t quite feel as much like home as his office in Diamond City, but it’s close to her.  In fact, it’s directly beside her old house, the one she’s tentatively been restoring with the help of Codsworth.

He couldn’t remember the last time he actually cared about being this close to someone.  His late-fiance, probably.  No – no, that was the old Nick’s memories.  He hadn’t ever felt this way.  Nick didn’t even think he was capable of it until she came along, changing both the Commonwealth and him.   

She sighs, and he’s surprised to notice a soft pink tinge to her cheeks.  “I feel stupid admitting it,” she mumbles under her breath, just loud enough for him to catch it.

“I’ve seen stupid, and it ain’t you.  Humor me.”  Nick joins her on the couch, his smile as gentle and patient as ever.  She always wondered how he could be so expressive while still missing a good chunk of the synthetic skin on his face.  He may be an older model, but even with the machine parts staring her in the face, she’d never met anyone more alive.  

“Okay, but only ‘cause you’re giving me the look, Nicky.”  She pushes his shoulder, and his lips curl higher on one side.  “I just… realized I sleep better when you’re around.”  His brows shoot up, and she hurries to continue, “It just doesn’t feel safe out there otherwise.  I can’t relax.”

Understanding slowly dawns across his features.  “Ah, you have an easier time sleeping when I keep watch, right?”

“Not just that.  It’s that… I trust you.  Don’t get me wrong, I trust the others, too.  And I trust Dogmeat, but I still couldn’t sleep with him there.  It’s just different with you.  You make me feel safe.  Protected, even.”  She lifts her gaze to his, and for the first time, he thinks she looks demure.  “I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly.  Well, it is silly that you went to bolster the defenses and then you didn’t feel safe enough to sleep there,” he chuckles, teasing, “but other than that… you know all you’ve gotta do is ask me to go with you, right?”

There’s a brief pause where it looks like she wants to say something – to argue, perhaps, that he’s still got a business to run – but she just nods instead.  “Yeah, I know.”

Nick isn’t convinced.  “Are you sleeping okay here in Sanctuary, at least?”

“Sometimes, yeah.  Other times… I, uh.  I don’t always like being at home alone at night.”  Well that explained why she spent so much time at his house.  He caught her fidgeting with the wedding band she wore around her neck.  For a while, she kept it on her finger, but after everything with Shaun… she had chosen to wear it as a necklace instead. 

“All right, then.  C’mere, doll.”   

He leaned back against the armrest of the couch, adjusting so that one of his legs was up on the cushion between them.  With his arms open, he gestured for her to move into his embrace.  She didn’t hesitate, didn’t try to put on a front; no, she let him guide her into a comfortable position on his chest and melted in his arms.  Her face pressed against the side of his neck with the most skin, and she stretched her legs out, arms winding around his torso.  Being like this instantly made her feel relaxed. He smelled of cigarettes and something faintly metallic, but most of all, he smelled like home, like safety.

“Maybe I’ll just take a little nap,” she murmured sleepily against the wrinkled collar of his shirt.  He chuckled, trailing his robotic fingers up and down her spine.  She’d never shied away from them, never thought of him as anything less than human, and he admired the hell out of her for it.  

“Sure thing.  I’ll wake ya if anything goes down, don’t worry.”

She hummed her assent and drifted off in record time.  Nick didn’t need to sleep.  Occasionally, he’d space out in safe areas to do maintenance on his programming, but that was the closest thing to it.  However, he still had the old Nick’s memories -- and he could still remember what it meant to dream.

Times like these, when he was holding the woman that had done so much for so many people in such a short span -- and that she had chosen him -- him!  An old synth! -- out of every other shmuck in the Wastes that’d be willing to take a bullet for her, he had to wonder if he was merely dreaming.  

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

ああ〜〜市長〜〜〜

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

So I’m watching the new season of Bojack Horseman, and I wouldn’t help but notice this in a nuclear post-apocalyptic episode.  

They slipped in a Fallout reference.  

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Hi! I just found your blog while I was on the Fallout 3 tag and I just wanted to say you seem pretty awesome! Mostly because I saw headcanons about my boy Charon. Such a sweetie ❤. Oh I do want to ask though, is Fallout 4 good? Like will it be as interesting as Fallout 3 and New Vegas? Okay sorry for rambling. Bye!!

Hey there!  Thank you so much; I’m glad you came across me.  =D  I’m all about that huge ghoul bodyguard; he deserves even more love!

I’ve played through Fallout 3, NV, and 4, and I definitely think Fallout 4 is great.  I’d highly suggest it, especially because I think the price point’s pretty good now.  

I think the biggest flak FO4 gets is that the main character is fully-voiced and has a background that breaks the immersion for some (i.e. your character has a son; I promise it’s not spoilers).  You don’t get as many dialogue options like you did with 3 and NV (you get around four choices), and I’m a supporter that NV has way more entertaining dialogue options. 

There’s also a settlement-building element to it which can go either way, depending on what you like.  You can spend hours collecting scrap to make everything just so, or you can just ignore the mechanics for the most part.  

Or, ya’know, mod it so you can build whatever.

The companions are pretty fleshed out and I felt more connected to them than I did any of the companions in the previous installations.  Most of them have their own missions as your relationship deepens.  Several characters from FO3 return, but older, so that was nice.

And it’s really pretty.       

I definitely think you’d enjoy it if you liked the other two, though, so if you do pick it up, keep me posted about your thoughts on it!  =D

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

*I played around with poses the other day, and you better believe the first thing I did was hug Hancock.  

He approves.

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

I'm not the anon who requested the hancock x f!sole, but I just wanted to say oh my god, that was the sweetest, most well-written thing I've ever read, and you got a big goofy smile out of me. I love how you write both Hancock and Sole, characterisation-wise and prose-wise and I - just - argh, so cute!

*Thank you so much!!  <3  That makes me so happy to hear.  =D  I’m always down for that sweet ghoul.  He never fails to put a goofy grin on my face, too.   

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Hello c: I wondered if you would do a prompt for me, here goes: m!ss goes to the glowing sea alone, but comes back as a ghoul! Would be nice with Hancock, Danse, MacCready and Nick. If that's possible, platonic and romanced. (Also feel free to give Danse some shit if he gets rude :') ) Also, I'd like to tell you that this is the best reactions blog if seen so far, I'm in love xD

*Thank you so much!  I loved the hell outta this prompt; I’ve thought about it for days.  I ended up leaving Nick out, though, because it was getting long.  I hope that’s cool!  

He made a mistake.

He had been warned against the levels of radiation when he’d been told that Virgil was hiding within the Glowing Sea.  It was dangerous; unprotected humans were known to reach lethal doses of radiation within two minutes.  His companions had told him to wait until he found some power armor and better supplies.  

The power armor proved more difficult to find than anticipated.  Danse could have helped, but at this point, he was becoming frantic.  The longer they waited, the more risk came with it.  What if something happened to Virgil?  What if he changed locations?  

Despite the dangers, he went alone; he thought he had enough Rad-X and RadAway to be fine.  Hancock and Nick may have been immune to the rads, but they also would have worried too much and stopped him from being reckless.  

So, he didn’t tell them.  Instead, he affixed a RadAway bag to his shoulder, stuck the IV in his vein, and then popped some Rad-X.  For a time, it worked.  He could hear the erratic tick of the geiger counter on his Pip Boy, but the RadAway was doing its job.  

The biggest problem was the dangers lurking within the Glowing Sea.  Fighting by himself slowed him down--not to mention the Rad-X was making him jittery, and on top of the RadAway, his head was swimming--and Virgil’s hideout proved more difficult to find than anticipated.  By the time he finally reached the super mutant, he was suffering from severe radiation sickness.  

That still wasn’t enough for the ghoulification to take place.  With limited supplies, he insisted on trying to make his way back across the Glowing Sea, and ended up getting turned around after a fight with a pack of ferals.  He reached the Detonation Site and finally collapsed.

When he awoke, he was different.  The radiation wasn’t making him feel sick any longer, but invigorated.  His flesh felt different, and when he looked at the back of his hands, he blanched.

Or... he would have if that was still possible.

He was no longer human.

He was a ghoul.

With conflicted feelings, he ended up making his way back to his companions.

Hancock (platonic)

The moment he returned to Goodneighbor, he was treated like a stranger by the Neighborhood Watch.  He had to admit, he looked different, but surely, his insulated Vault 111 suit gave his identity away.  He supposed it wasn’t every day that someone suddenly became a ghoul -- well other than Hancock, of course.

He made his way to the Old State House, and got hung up by the guards below.  They didn’t recognize him anymore than the others outside.  “Hancock’s expecting me.  Come on, you guys know me,” he insisted, his voice raspier than usual, deeper.  He gave them his name, then added, “I wore the Silver Shroud costume over here for almost a month straight.”

“I think we’d recognize another ghoul in a costume around here,” one of them scoffed.  “Only guy dressed as the Silver Shroud was that Vaultie.”

“You mean a man that wore a vault suit like this?” he pressed, motioning to his attire.  While realization slowly began to dawn on the guards, another voice suddenly came from above, on the stairs.  

“Well, those Mentats must’ve been laced ‘cause I could swear you’re a ghoul now.”

Hancock waved the guards aside, and the survivor climbed the stairs, his smile lop-sided at the sight of his friend.  “I’m afraid you’re not tripping, Hancock.  Well, not that much, at least.”

“No joke?  The hell happened?”  Hancock motioned for the fresh ghoul to follow him toward the couch, where his second-in-command gave the survivor a startled look.

“The Glowing Sea has more radiation than I expected,” the survivor informed Hancock, which made him lean back as he quietly mulled the situation over.

“The Glowing Sea, huh...?  I guess I rubbed off on ya, but you went about it the wrong way.  If you wanted to become a ghoul so bad, we could’ve tried to replicate the drug I took.  Trust me, it would’ve been way more fun.”

“I don’t doubt it.  I wasn’t trying to become a ghoul, though.  I was trying...”  He trailed off as Hancock waved his hand.

“I know.  Did you at least find what you were looking for?”

He nodded.  “Yeah, I know what I’ve gotta do next.”

Hancock grinned and spread his hands.  “Then what’re we doing, sitting around here?  Let’s go.”

He never treated the survivor differently, nor did he admonish him for going in the Glowing Sea alone.  Hancock knew he had his reasons, and who was he to judge?

Hancock (romanced)

When he made his way to the Old State House in Goodneighbor, he got hung up by the guards below.  They didn’t recognize him anymore than the others outside had.  “Hancock’s expecting me.  Come on, you guys know me,” he insisted, his voice raspier than usual, deeper.  He gave them his name, then added, “Dating the mayor.”

“I thought Hancock was with that Minuteman General now,” one of them scoffed.  “We haven’t seen him with a ghoul in months.”

A voice came from above, drawing their attention, “Looks like that’s about to change.”  The survivor glanced up to see Hancock staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief.  

Suddenly, the fresh ghoul felt self-conscious.  He looked rather different now, so what if Hancock no longer felt that sort of attraction toward him anymore?  “Hi,” he rasped, slowly beginning to ascend the stairs as the guards moved aside.

“Hi yourself.  What happened to you?  Get hit by a Fat Man during a rad storm?”

“I decided to check out the Glowing Sea.”  His voice was apprehensive, and Hancock’s gaze narrowed in response.  

“Didn’t we agree to find you protective gear first?  I mean, I would’ve gone with you.  Not like the radiation would’ve hurt me.”

“Sorry.  I know you wanted to come, but it was... something I had to do.”

Even as a ghoul, Hancock could recognize the resolve in those dark eyes.  He shrugged, and then reached out to touch the survivor’s arm.  “I get it.”

It was stupid, but the survivor felt like he had to voice the question that was burning in his mind.  He wasn’t sure if this was the right time for it or not, but the words came tumbling out regardless.  “Do you still...?  Uh, I mean, I’d understand if you wanna cool things down or something.”

It took Hancock a moment to realize what he was talking about, and then he shook his head.  “You kidding?  I’d have to be the biggest hypocrite in the Commonwealth to be mad you’re a ghoul.  If anything, I’m honestly excited about it.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” Hancock grinned, his hands moving to his lover’s hips.  “I’m in this for the long haul, Sunshine, and now... that haul just got much longer.”

Danse (platonic)

The moment he approaches Danse as a ghoul, he finds himself looking down the soldier’s gun.

“It’s me,” he rasps, raising his hands as he supplies his name.  

“There’s only two options here,” Danse replies with a hardness to his tone that he’s never been on the receiving end of before.  “Either a ghoul has taken both my comrade’s supplies and identity, or you’ve turned into a monster and are no longer yourself.”

“What?  No, I’m still me,” the survivor insisted, “I just went to the Glowing Sea alone, and I... I underestimated how much radiation was there.”

Seeing Danse again had honestly been something he had dreaded because he knew this scenario was definitely a possibility given the story Danse had told him about killing a comrade that had become a Super Mutant.

“Why would you disobey a direct order?  I told you to wait until we found adequate power armor and supplies,” Danse retorted, still keeping his gun trained on the ghoul.  

“Because it’s my mission.  It’s something I had to do.”

“The Institute is a threat to the entire Commonwealth.  It’s the Brotherhood’s mission, and you didn’t have to turn into a monster.  You know you can’t be a part of the Brotherhood anymore now.”

“They have my son, which means I’ll do whatever it takes to get to him.  If it means becoming a ghoul, I won’t apologize.  Finding Shaun means more to me than being a soldier.  It’s why I decided to rejoin the civilian workforce after he was born.”

Danse lowered his gun a fraction, his resolve wavering.  “The Brotherhood comes before everything.  Even your life.”

“Not this.  Are you going to shoot me like you shot your Super Mutant friend?”

It was both a low blow and a risky tactic, but it paid off.  Danse appeared stricken and slowly shook his head.  “I stand by that decision.  It’s what he would’ve wanted.  But, I won’t shoot you.  I can’t say the same for the others though.”

Things with Danse become tense after that.  He no longer makes eye contact, and the interactions are curt and even more to-the-point than before.  It will take him a long time to get over his preconceived notions, but the more time he spends with him, the more he begins to see the survivor’s mannerisms shine through his new ghoulish face.       

Danse (romantic)

The interaction goes exactly as stated above up until --

“Why would you disobey a direct order?  I told you to wait until we found adequate power armor and supplies,” Danse retorted, still keeping his gun trained on the ghoul.  

“Because it’s my mission.  It’s something I had to do.  You don’t give me orders, Danse.”

“We’re supposed to be a team,” Danse’s voice is rising.  “We do these missions together.  If I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened.”

He was right, but the survivor was too stubborn to admit it to his face.  Not while his lover was holding a gun to his own face, that is.  “I can’t change what happened any more than you can change what you are, Danse.”

“I didn’t choose this,” he immediately spat.

“Yet you never saw me draw a gun on you for it!”  The survivor’s anger was rising with the fury he saw on the former soldier’s face.  “Are you going to shoot me just because your boyfriend’s a ghoul now?”

Danse grimaced, dropping his aim.  “Dammit, of course I’m not.  I just... I needed to think.  I don’t know if this is something I can get past.”

The ghoul flinched a little; he had been expecting this all along.  Even with the revelation of Danse being a synth, it hadn’t changed the soldier’s personality.  If anything, he was still struggling to get rid of his own self-loathing over it.  It was too much to ask him to accept this while he was still coming to grips with what he was.

“Okay.  That’s okay,” the ghoul murmured, even though it wasn’t.  “I know it’s a big adjustment.  We can take it slow.”

The way Danse looked at him from now on changed, and he couldn’t stand it.  They slowly drifted apart until they inevitably broke up.  

MacCready (platonic)

“The fuck-- er hell -- heck-- happened to you?”  

MacCready fumbled over the words, flustered as he stared at his now-ghoul best friend.  The survivor proceeded to explain what had happened out in The Glowing Sea, while the mercenary slowly shook his head.  

“We could’ve... hell, I would’ve probably done the same.  Does it... does it hurt?” he awkwardly asked, examining the ghoul’s ravaged face.  

“Not anymore,” the survivor admitted, and MacCready nodded, though looked grim.

“You’re lucky you didn’t die.  But, hey, look at the bright side.  Now you can go to the Glowing Sea all you want.  No more Rad-X and Rad Away to worry about, plus you’re practically immortal as far as aging goes.”

“That is an impressive list of pros,” the ghoul claimed, a genuine smile crossing his face -- one that MacCready mirrored.  The fact that he became a ghoul didn’t change anything with MacCready; he was used to their appearances.  

MacCready (romanced)

“The fuck-- er hell -- heck-- happened to you?  Are you okay?”

MacCready hesitantly reached out and touched his face, prodding the trenches seared within the flesh to see if they were tender.  Concern creased his brow, and it was obvious to see that he was panicking.  

“I’m fine.  I just underestimated The Glowing Sea,” rasped the ghoul, trying to shrug off the concern.  He felt embarrassed of the scrutiny -- and the fact that he had gone there alone, without informing his boyfriend.  “I didn’t think this would happen.”

“You could’ve died!  You don’t just go into somewhere like that alone,” the merc insisted, his hand falling.  “I’m here to watch your back.”

“I know, I just... thought it would be okay.”

MacCready sighed.  “I’m still mad.”

“I made it back in one piece, didn’t I?”

He shook his head.  “You’re missing your nose.”

The survivor grimaced; that was probably the part of the transformation that bothered him the most.  It felt strange, having a nasal cavity there instead.  “Oh yeah.  I, uh... understand if this changes things.”

“What things?  Your ability to wear glasses?” MacCready snorted.

“I --” That caught him by surprise, and he chuckled.  “No, I meant between us.”

He looked startled, as if he had never even considered it.  “What, you take me for shallow?  So you got a bit irradiated and lost your nose.”  He shrugged.  “It happens.”  

MacCready moves closer, reaching out to entwine his fingers with his boyfriend’s.  “I’m mad that you didn’t take me with you, but I’m happy you’re okay.  That’s all that really matters.”

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

That one you just did with hancock was bloody brilliant. Im so happy i found your blog, i love that theres still active fallout blogs that are great! Seems like theres hardly any :( x

Aw, thank you so much!!  I’m glad you stumbled across my blog, too.  I’m a bit sporadic with this blog ( I tend to forget I have it because it doesn’t get as much interaction as my others 8D ), but I’m alllllllll for some Fallout!  I’ll try to keep it more active!  

I could really use some more active Fallout blogs to follow myself.