On a wet little island, playing computer games and writing fic. Often wandering but never lost in the Commonwealth, Thedas, Azeroth, Tortall, or Paris in the 1600s. I like an under dog.I like an under ghoul.I like being under a ghoul.
Someone discuss modern AUs for Fallout with me, because they’re my favourite thing to write and I can’t get my head around them for Fallout.
I can’t just ignore the whole ghoul/synth/BoSPoS thing, but I can kinda ignore the end of the world thing? So it’s just the world (as we know it~), in our timeline of 2016, but ghouls are a thing (fairly rare chemical mutation, a very groovy mutation), synths are… idk, commonplace genetic engineering, and the brotherhood knock on your door on Sundays and ask if you’ve heard about their lord and saviour Arthur “to the max” Maxson?
I just want Hancock watching Sky Sports with his feet up, Piper writing her latest article in Starbucks, and Curie taking on every science module she can in every class in every college ever (also Curie in dorms because social studies and just panicking).
I want my typical tropes gdi, give me coffee shop meet-cutes and fake dating stories with texting and netflix and someone please show Deacon Snapchat.
It could be that the bombs dropped but civilization picked back up really quick.
Hancock could’ve created his persona after some act of discrimination and become an open Ghoul ally. Then he became a Ghoul using a special drug because he felt he could never do enough and he felt more at home with Ghouls and other rebels and ‘rejects’ than he’s ever felt around humans.
Piper is a blogger that’s infamous for exposing corruption.
Synths are people who had their bodies and brains altered and enhanced with technology. Nick Valentine accidentally wiped his mind and is only now finding traces of his old memories… So its a modern society but with all the same problems as ours and the Commonwealths.
The BOS are a purist organization who believe modified people are no longer human or people.
The drug John took was like a stimpak for ghouls. Rads to heal them, specially formulated to hold them together well. Hmmm…thats all I got for now…
The sole survivor could still have their "backstory" by being from a place where the bombs didn't fall, where everything is the same as it was - think like Covenant, untouched, but also largely unaware of what happened elsewhere. Air and sea travel would have been minimal after the bombs, especially to a place/country that was free of radiation (a la Madagascar 'shut down everything'). So the SS travels to the Commonwealth, only to find NA as it was... but with ghouls, synths, and the BoS ;)
Restaurants and coffee shops could offer irradiated versions of their food and drinks, to cater to ghouls in need of rads. "Ask your server to hear about our vegetarian and irradiated options!" Tune ups and oilings at petrol garages for older synths, patch updates for newer gens. BoS "we want YOU" posters in bus stops, Children of Atom on street corners, and the odd deformed animal roaming the wastes.
I have a friend who heavily headcanons Deacon as a rock star, the two as headliners, perhaps? They'd both style leather trousers, let's be fair. Hancock just in those and his hat...
MacCready can be on drums. Nick on bass, Hancock as lead guitarist, Deacon on vocals...!
I couldn’t help myself. A Knight’s Tale scene modelled on characters from Fallout 4, and my fic Death in a Duster. (Original gifs here.)
Deacon as Chaucer; smooth, charismatic, tongue gets him into trouble.
Fahrenheit as Wat; brawler, likes a bet, loves punching Chaucer.
Hancock as Roland; tries to be level-headed, can’t resist a challenge.
MacCready as Kate; quiet, deadly, smarter than all of them.
Pen as Will/Ulrich, because she came from a different place, worked her way up, and I find the English line hilariously apt.
- Takes forever to get back to you.
- Inconstant updates.
- Just resorts to memes when ideas are low.
- Stuffs the same character in your face over and over.
- “Soon™”.
I’m sick as a dog with flu, so writing is beyond me.
Pen was whining about all the walking around the Commonwealth, and I wondered what would happen if she showed up with a barely tamed radstag (thanks, Dragon Age: Inq). Hancock was impressed, Fahrenheit just wanted to eat it.
I relate to anakin skywalker because i, too, would get myself into a bad situation and just continue to dig my own grave rather than ask anyone for help
Oh, my bad, anon, I don’t seem to be getting alerted to messages lately.
Oof, what a question. I like the earlier scenes, where Pen’s slowly realising that, actually, that little hitch in her breathing when she looks at Hancock really isn’t normal - and if it’s not a heart attack, then it must be something much worse.
But my favourite is their heartfelt reveal amidst the dogs and the bear yao guai. It initially came to me really backwards, it was all sunshine and sickly sweetness, but it felt all wrong. I had to walk away, come back a few times, and then the bear showed up, and the dogs, and the guns, and their toothy grins over the bloodied ground. Hancock’s shock every time someone says they love him just fills me with joy.
Someone discuss modern AUs for Fallout with me, because they’re my favourite thing to write and I can’t get my head around them for Fallout.
I can’t just ignore the whole ghoul/synth/BoSPoS thing, but I can kinda ignore the end of the world thing? So it’s just the world (as we know it~), in our timeline of 2016, but ghouls are a thing (fairly rare chemical mutation, a very groovy mutation), synths are... idk, commonplace genetic engineering, and the brotherhood knock on your door on Sundays and ask if you’ve heard about their lord and saviour Arthur “to the max” Maxson?
I just want Hancock watching Sky Sports with his feet up, Piper writing her latest article in Starbucks, and Curie taking on every science module she can in every class in every college ever (also Curie in dorms because social studies and just panicking).
I want my typical tropes gdi, give me coffee shop meet-cutes and fake dating stories with texting and netflix and someone please show Deacon Snapchat.
I just went to see Skyrim in Concert at the London Palladium (absolutely fantastic, kudos to the Winterhold Philharmonic and Choir), and I’m listening to this gorgeous music, drinking lovely wine, but they have this giant screen showing videos and stills from Skyrim’s gameplay, and all I can think is…
For @themisanthropiclycanthrope, who requested Porthathos, because we’re trash and very happy in our rarepair pit <3
Very late, quite smutty, and a bit off-prompt, so it’s under the jump.
8. “Come on, dress up in it, for me.”
Porthos brought a box into the living room, frown on his brow as he dug through it, strips of multicoloured fabric tumbling onto the floor. Athos caught one on the end of his shoe, and hummed a question as he sipped his wine.
"D'Artagnan wants one, he's dressin' as Jack Skellington or somethin'... This one?"
Athos watched Porthos lift the bow tie to his neck and look at himself in the mirror, shirt still unbuttoned after his announcement to have a quick shower.
"I'm not sure," Athos murmured, gaze trailing over the bright red bracers and the tailored trousers - he knew those had been a good idea, worth the sexual favours he had promised just to get Porthos into the tailors. "Try it without the shirt."
Porthos' eyes snapped to his in the mirror, surprise lifting a brow. "Yeah?"
Athos tilted his head, settling back into his chair with a sly smile. "You said you needed a costume for this evening."
"What, just the bow tie?" Porthos laughed, thoughtfully turning the strip of fabric between his fingers, his own gaze slipping along Athos’ legs.
"We can add the rest later," Athos said with a shrug, "but for now... Off."
There was a very brief pause, an internal debate, a single heartbeat and one slow inhale, and then Porthos did as he was told.
Athos tried not to show how pleasantly surprised he was.
"You must've had a good day, la Fère," Porthos murmured, grin ever so bright in the relative low light of the room. "Or was it lunch, 'cause I don't think they're gonna let us back in to that coffee place after we were stuck in the toilet all that time--"
Porthos cut himself off when Athos got up from his chair, Porthos' shirt already a puddle on the ground, but when he went to knot the bow tie, Athos stopped him.
"Allow me."
Porthos didn’t answer, just huffed a surprisingly shaky breath when Athos took over, pulling slightly too tight before loosening. Athos couldn’t help but smile when Porthos swore softly, a rare shiver spanning Porthos’ spine telling Athos he should do this sort of thing more often.
If he thought Porthos would let him get away with it, but then they both knew that growled orders and purred demands were a special treat for them both.
Porthos tried to dip his head, but Athos nudged a knuckle under his strong jaw and gave a soft tut, his fingers finishing the knot only to trail down Porthos’ bared chest, chasing a bead of sweat that disappeared into dark curls and tightening trousers.
Athos hooked a finger in the waistline, and tugged very slightly, smirking when it nearly pulled Porthos from his feet. “Perhaps we should lose these, too.”
Porthos swallowed loudly and tried a cocky smile. “Are you turnin’ me into a Playboy bunny?”
“Now there’s an idea,” Athos purred, slipping buttons with practiced ease.
“I ain’t wearin’ a fluffy fuckin’ tail,” Porthos answered, his laugh a distracted thing as he watched Athos’ hands.
“No, not the tail,” Athos mused, and seriously considered taking a pair of scissors to some sleeves. “The shirt cuffs would suit you though.”
A starched, white pair with some outrageously expensive cufflinks, the diamond ones to match his earring, the ones Athos refused to price.
The imagery was heady, as was the hungry look in Porthos’ eyes.
“Could always use the normal pair of cuffs?”
Athos scoffed softly, just louder than the whisper of cloth down Porthos’ thighs. “That is an entirely different scene, mon coeur.”
“Worth a shot,” Porthos chuckled, kicking his trousers away as Athos’ fingers circled his wrists like makeshift cuffs. “You do wanna make me a damn bunny!”
“You’d make a beautiful one,” Athos replied honestly, and his smile was as slow as the upwards drag of his gaze, only to see Porthos’ eyes widening, his chest heaving.
“All right, Hef.” It was a breathless attempt at a joke, and Athos wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Porthos breathless before, not like this, not before, when Athos was still dressed and Porthos only had a scrap of silk around his neck.
Athos tilted his head to the side, teeth in his smile when he felt Porthos’ pulse skip. “You’re enjoying this.”
Porthos deliberately looked down and then up again, brow high, as if pointing at the evidence, as if he wasn’t swiftly turning into a shaky mess with every second Athos looked at him.
“Not this,” Athos continued, and savoured Porthos’ inhale when he slipped his fingers from wrist to something else entirely. “This, the showmanship.”
“I’m enjoyin’ the thought of us doin’ what rabbits do best, yeah,” Porthos growled, and when Athos squeezed a little tighter and bit his own lip, Porthos gave up the fight and groaned, “Fine, yeah, okay, I like you lookin’ at me, an’ tellin’ me what to wear, and the collar-- I mean, cuffs, fuck.”
Athos smirked, and suddenly knew exactly what he wanted for Christmas. “Shall I source some ears?”
Porthos launched at him, and Athos’ dark, delighted laughter only abated for the few seconds it took to get the bunny to bend over the sofa.
He did so very beautifully, and Athos told him so.
For @inkquery who wanted half-naked rockstar Deacon up to his usual mischief in a Hallowe’en-y Goodneighbor. Featuring Pen (my F!SS from Death in a Duster), Hancock, and Fahrenheit.
Three disguises to hand: half-naked rockstar, slick vampire, and one damn good ghoul mask.
He had been making the rounds all evening, picking up drinks on someone else’s tab, stealing snacks from the few traders looking to make some caps on one of Goodneighbor’s busiest nights, and even coming first and second place in the costume competition.
There were a couple of pumpkins around, but most of the carved fruit tended to be of the melon variety – and most of those were being used as target practice in the next street.
Overall, it was a good time, not a single person had recognised him, although he had had to swap masks with a very lovely young lady when a blonde attached to the mayor’s waist sent a narrow-eyed look his way.
Here, amidst the noise and the drinks and the laughter, he was invisible. He was basically the best spy in the world, he was brilliant, he was fantastic, he was invincible—
“Deacon?”
Now, Deacon had often heard his name sound like a threat, as if his very existence was an affront to some people, but then most of those people were Desdemona and she preferred a small pistol in a calf holster.
The memory of a minigun shoved against his spine made him wince.
“Fahrenheit,” he called cheerily, turning on one foot to see a scowl the size of the Glowing Sea. “Lovely to see you!”
“It’s not,” she replied flatly, chewing on a cocktail stick with some glow-in-the-dark dye in her orange hair. “Although, I’ve been meaning to have a word.”
“Huh,” Deacon replied very eloquently, and made a mental note to run for the nearest exit. “Are they of the four-letter variety?”
Fahrenheit tilted her head to the side in thought, and just when Deacon thought he was going to get away with this scot-free, she aimed a very small smirk over his shoulder that said, look who I found.
“Well, well, well, look what the kitten dragged in! Pen’s not here to save you now, Deacs,” Hancock taunted, using the nickname that Deacon would forever maintain he hated – and he did, but only when Hancock used it.
Fahrenheit gave him a smile full of teeth – and when did she start looking so menacing? That was definitely new. Had she grown? That hardly seemed fair. “Well, seems he’s been treating himself all night.”
Hancock tutted loudly. “Bet he’s not paid a single cap either.”
Deacon took a step backwards and found that, somehow, he had been cornered, and the brick wall at his back rudely refused to let him through.
Well, shit.
If they killed him, he was going to be so angry.
Fahrenheit looked past him to raise a brow at Hancock, and Deacon read the expression as clear as day, get it.
“Get what,” Deacon asked, enjoying Hancock’s frown when he could understand their silent conversation. “What is he getting?”
“Stop doing that,” Fahrenheit muttered, glaring when he offered her a smile. Amazingly, she was completely unmoved. Crazy. “I think you’ve pulled enough tricks today, time for yours.”
Deacon managed to get the word trick out of his mouth before a bucket of destroyed pumpkins was dumped over his head. The cold, slick mess sliding down his neck and making him shiver. If that wasn’t it all, Hancock topped it off by putting half a pumpkin on top of his head.
“Make a scary face,” Hancock said, disappearing with a bark of laughter.
Deacon raised unimpressed eyes to see Fahrenheit smirking at him, and then, of all things, she chucked him on the chin and murmured, “Cute, now clear off.”
Deacon reeled back with a vaguely affronted frown when she walked off without a backwards glance, but as he dashed his pumpkin helmet to the floor, he rolled on his heels and hummed.
She definitely liked him.
It was the work of seconds to break into the State House and slip past the few on-duty guards – most of them were celebrating out front, and the others were already a few too many sheets to the wind.
Following the blueprints he had committed to memory, he’d only managed to get his soaked shirt off of his head when he heard footsteps outside the double doors of Hancock’s room, and absent-mindedly congratulated the ghoul and his shadow for having trained their people so well.
Annoyingly well.
“If you’re going to prank him, my side’s next to the wall—” Pen cut herself off with a strangled noise when she saw him, somewhere between aggrieved and amused.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
Pen wouldn’t look at him, hand shielding one side of her face. “I don’t know, seeing you like this feels like looking behind the curtain, it’s all wrong.”
Deacon snorted, wiping the rest of the pumpkin seeds from his head with a frilly shirt, and then pulled his jacket back on. “What’s funnier, me pretending to be you in your bed, or just getting into Fahrenheit’s?”
Pen opened her mouth as if to roundly deny both ideas, but then she saw him trying to get seeds out of his ears. “Both, I’ll stall Fahrenheit. Do you have a blonde wig?”
Deacon pulled his jacket open to expose ten pockets, two masks, and a fake nose. “What do you think?”
germansingergirl
annaxmalina
origamiaround
gummygunk
2087