[kaydreamer]

Ocean Heart

Her name is Merry, and she's a character from my illustrated web novel, Spring Tide Rebellion.

Spring Tide Rebellion

The Thuliv galaxy was named for a flower - a place of harsh beauty, yet flowing with magic. Now the magic is dying, viciously pruned whereve

The courier has called the stars his home for so long he's lost count of the years. Drifting between names and galaxies, he fills his ship w

[kaydreamer]

In the dream, she doesn't wear a uniform. Instead, she dances beneath the moonlight in a white sundress, frilled with a blush of pink, as the hushed ocean harmoniss with the chiming of the stars.

[kaydreamer]

A musical trill chimed from somewhere within a fantasy of sunset clouds, sweet-voiced and bell-like. The dream swirled, sugar-scented, and then he saw her - a young woman with candle-flame hair seated upon golden stairs, the arched doorway behind her opening onto endless stars. A shen'navyre perched above her, white feathers iridescent with soft pastels, carolling into the sky.

Bsky / Cara / Patreon

[kaydreamer]

The dancer was a freckled girl, with hair like a candle flame. Sparks of light fizzed around her as she twirled, an iridescent cacophony of glittering colour.

Bsky / Cara / Patreon

[kaydreamer]

There is a teal-tinted star which shines along the equatorial regions of Aire'lios, visible from every ocean. It is called the Way Star and by its light the first elves mapped the oceans of ancient Aire'lios. It is said to have been hung in the sky by the Keeper of Water, goddess of ships and exploration.

Elven captains from the time of antiquity pray to the Way Star for safe journeys.

This illustration and world building snippet is from my in-progress illustrated novel, Spring Tide Rebellion. If you're curious, please check out my Patreon. You don't have to pay anything to be a member, and you'll be the first to know when the story goes live.

[kaydreamer]

A matching stained-glass Ghoul to go with the stained-glass Lucy! I'm thinking I'll get these printed as acrylic keychains, with one on each side.

[kaydreamer]

I've been doing a lot of stained-glass style illustrations for a book my fiancée is writing, and I thought it would be fun to use the style for some fanart. 💛 Here's Lucy, from the Fallout TV series. ☢️

[yuumei-art]

Inkcap Space Shrooms

timelapse

the rest of the collection~ Find even more on Patreon.com/Yuumei

[kaydreamer]

Mole Rats and Other Delicacies

The morning sun glowed through the windows of the switching tower, landing softly upon Hope’s eyelids and bringing the promise of warmth despite the chilly morning mist. She lay there, cosy and comfortable, smiling as she heard Hancock snoring lightly from the couch. Trying to convince herself she wasn’t being the slightest bit creepy, she peeked out over the lip of her blankets to look at him. The sight made her giggle under her breath, and she felt a little guilty for taking the bed. He was far too long for the couch, his head propped on one arm rest and his knees hooked over the opposite, leaving his feet to dangle in the air.

A toe poked through a hole in his sock.

He looked adorable, but if that had been her, she’d have woken all kinds of stiff. If she didn’t have a giant crush on him, she’d have offered to share the bed… but she did have a giant crush on him, and her self-control, delicate at the best of times, only stretched so far.

It still wasn’t very fair though. They’d take turns, she decided. Next time, he’d have the bed.

Hope didn’t much want to leave the warmth of her blankets, but apparently Oberland Station had other ideas. Given the relative scarcity of alarm clocks in the apocalypse, sunlight had become the universal signal for everything and everyone to wake. Voices rose from the small farm plot and the little row of shops, while louder, more distant voices carried from the far end of the settlement. The bass moaning of brahmin told her that was probably the caravans leaving.

After the comments she’d overheard last night, good riddance to them.

With a small groan, Hope sat up and stretched, Dogmeat thumping his tail from where he was curled up by her feet. She shimmied into her vault suit, zipping it up as Hancock’s gentle snoring stuttered and stopped. He opened his eyes, then quickly scrunched them up again.

“Mrmph… ya catch the brand on the brahmin that stomped my head last night?”

Hope picked up his hat and dropped it gently over his face. “I think that brahmin came in a bottle,” she teased. “Or several.”

He straightened the hat as he stood and stretched, his groan punctuated with several bone-popping crackles.

“Sorry,” said Hope. “It’s your turn for the bed next time we find one.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” said Hancock, stifling a yawn and shooting her a sleepy-eyed wink. “Wouldn’t dream of denying a gorgeous woman her beauty sleep.”

Their first task of the day was the radio. The man Valerie had mentioned, Jed, was already sitting at the desk in the downstairs room of the switching tower. He was the same man who’d invited them back for drinks at the station house, and he hooted with laughter when he caught a glimpse of Hancock’s bleary-eyed expression.

“Thought you ghouls had super-strength and healing powers?”

“Apparently they don’t stretch to fuckin’ hangovers,” said Hancock, deadpan, wincing when that comment earned him another loud hoot from Jed.

“My ma always used to say a hangover was the Devil’s party favour,” said Jed, his moustache twitching. “Never did like the drink, my ma. What can I do for you both this mornin’?”

“I need to update your radio map with Goodneighbor’s call frequency, and test the signal strength,” said Hope. “And radio ahead to Sanctuary as well, so I can tell them I’m on my way back.”

Jed stood up and gestured to the radio on the desk. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Want me to bring you both some breakfast?”

“I like this settlement,” said Hancock, after Jed delivered two bowls of steaming porridge topped with mutfruit jam. He’d perched himself on the desk next to Hope, legs swinging as he lifted a spoonful to his mouth. “I usually head north by Bunker Hill, but this place is way better.”

“What’s out at Bunker Hill?” asked Hope, as she copied Goodneighbor’s call frequency onto a rough, hand-drawn map of the Commonwealth.

“Biggest trade hub outside of Diamond City,” said Hancock. “And almost as far up its own ass. All the caravans pass through there. You’ll wanna know ‘em eventually, but I think the Minutemen’ll be a hard sell.”

Hope pursed her lips as she folded up the map and placed it back into its drawer. “Let me guess. They also have the best security in the Commonwealth?”

“Nope. Bunker Hill pays off the raiders instead of just shooting ‘em.” He looked at Hope, a wry grin on his lips. “Now where’s the sport in that?”

Hope chuckled, grabbing her bowl of porridge and humming at the taste of the mutfruit jam. “So if the Minutemen were to, say… wipe out the raiders?”

“I like the way you think, sunshine.”

They finished their porridge, passing the bowls down to Dogmeat, then Hope tuned the radio to the call frequency for Graygarden, a little further north along the train line.

“Graygarden, this is Oberland Station. General Hope speaking. Anyone there?”

It was answered after a few attempts by a sultry robotic voice. “Why hello, darling, it’s so good to hear from you!”

Hancock smothered a snort.

“Supervisor White, hi,” said Hope. “Can you pass a message along the relay? Destination, Sanctuary.”

“Of course I can, darling. What’s the message?”

“That I’m on my way back up,” said Hope. “I’ll stop in at each settlement along the way. Also, Goodneighbor have agreed to join our radio relay, so our range now covers most of Downtown Boston. I’ll update the radio maps as I pass through.”

“Wonderful! I’ll pass that along right away. What was it they used to say in the old spy films? Over and out?”

“Over and out,” said Hope.

Hancock smirked. “That the next settlement we’re visiting?”

“Yeah. It’s… unique.”

“What’dya think’d happen if we introduced the bot with that voice to Kleo?”

Hope laughed, slapping him lightly as she rose from her chair and offered him the radio. He sat, tuning the dial for Goodneighbor.

“Hey Goodneighbor, this is Hancock. Anyone awake yet, or is all this fresh air and sunshine gettin’ to me already?”

A few seconds passed before a clatter came across the speakers, followed by Fahrenheit’s voice.

“What the fuck, Hancock, it’s the crack of dawn. Again.”

“Yeah believe me, I’m feelin’ it. I’m at Oberland, just wanted to test the radio signal. You got time to jot down their call frequency so Goodneighbor can get in on the fun?”

“Does it have to be right now? I’m in the middle of-”

“Fahrenheit…?” came the very distinct, crooning tone of Magnolia, the Flower of the Third Rail.

If Hancock’s eyes flew any wider, they’d have popped from their sockets. He opened his mouth, shook his head, closed it, then tried again.

“If you’re, ah… entertainin’, I can call back later.”

The silence that stretched between them was both hilarious and excruciating.

“Call back later.” Her voice was replaced by a hiss of static.

Hope, who had clapped her hand over her mouth, removed it to release a peal of giggles. Hancock looked up at her, a wonky grin on his face.

“Magnolia. Fuckin’… Magnolia. I would not have guessed that,” he said, shaking his head. “Not in a million years.” He stood up. “I need a beer. And,” he winked at her, “I need to win back last night’s poker caps by cookin’ ya the best mole rat you’ll ever eat.”

Hope’s giggles snagged in a grimace as she followed him toward the dining shack.

While Hancock cooked, Hope helped. She helped him, and she helped the Oberland settlers. At first, as he was pulling an improbable amount of spice pouches from his over-stuffed backpack, he’d asked her to pick a few mutfruit. A few became all of them when it was clear a number of trees were ready to harvest. She bought Hancock an armful, then ran back to help with the small farm.

Once the picking was done, she returned to a dining shack suffused with the sweet scent of boiling mutfruit, and the gruesome sight of Hancock butchering mole rat flesh, dropping bits of offal into Dogmeats’s ecstatic maw.

She left quickly to help with something else.

Hope found herself oiling rail car doors, fixing a leak in the water purifier, clearing the station house gutters and, at one point, helping to repair an old jukebox someone had hauled in and stowed in a workshop made of shipping containers at the back of the settlement. All things her father, as handy as he was stubborn, had taught her to do.

She tried hard not to think of that, swallowing down a lump in her throat.

When the lunch bell rang, Hope found Hancock sharing the kitchen with Tess, who had set last night’s tato soup back up to warm. They were kneading bread rolls and quarrelling amiably about which mix of herbs should go on roast brahmin.

As the dining hall began to fill with hungry settlers, Tess shooed him out with two bowls of soup and fresh rolls for himself and Hope. They ate with everyone else, before someone asked Hope if she had any experience fixing broken boilers. The appeal of a warm shower saw her inhale her soup and leave Hancock to entertain himself for the afternoon.

Mole rat was delicious, but Hancock knew it was at its best the longer you cooked it. He’d spent the morning carefully butchering the whole animal for the settlement - no sense in wasting good meat when you had somewhere to store it - which left the afternoon free to cook it. He couldn’t wait to see Hope’s reaction. This was going to be the most satisfying fifty caps he’d ever made.

Once the meat was boiling in a large pot of water and brahmin milk, he left it to stew, returning to the radio room in the switching tower. He was itching to speak to Fahrenheit after that morning’s little revelation. He wore a devious grin as her voice crackled over the speaker.

“Hancock. Not. A. Word.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m keepin’ my words for when I can tease ya face to face.”

“Fuck off.”

“Nice catch though, I gotta say,” he said, swinging on his chair. “Where’d ya learn to pull a dame like that? Couldn’t have been little old me.”

“I will shoot you.”

Hancock scoffed. “Not right now, ya won’t.”

“Fine. I’ll hang up on you.”

“Wait! Wait. I’ll lay off.” He chuckled. “It’s just funny. All these years I thought ya didn’t have eyeballs, turns out they were just glued to the hottest woman in all of fuckin’ Goodneighbor. I’m almost proud.”

There was silence for a moment before Fahrenheit replied. “Is this seriously why you called back?”

Hancock chortled. “It’s, like, ninety percent the reason. How’s everythin’ else in town?”

“Still a few mutterings about Bobbi. Nothing to worry about, just the regular bitching from the idiots you’d expect.”

That sobered Hancock up pretty quickly. He dropped his chair back to the floor. “Yeah… guess that makes sense.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing to worry about,” Fahrenheit repeated, stern. She must have caught the change in his tone. “Everyone whose opinion matters knows she crossed a line.”

“Did she?” Hancock spoke quietly. “It wasn’t Goodneighbor’s strongroom. It was mine.”

“And you’re the mayor,” said Fahrenheit. “An injury to you is an injury to Goodneighbor. That’s how this works, you know that.”

Hancock answered with a reluctant grunt. “Guess I just… wish it shook out differently.”

“You offed Finn for threatening newcomers. I didn’t see a guilt trip over that, Hancock. Bobbi making you look weak threatens you, which threatens all of us. Your whole town.”

“I know that.” Hancock was getting annoyed now. “I made the hard call, didn’t I? Sent you out there to stop her, knowing what might happen. I’m allowed to feel bad about it.”

Another long pause. “...Yeah. Guess you are. Sorry.”

“S alright,” said Hancock. “You’re lookin’ out for me. It’s sweet.” He smiled. “Guess that must be what Magnolia sees in ya, huh?”

Fahrenheit groaned, but when she spoke, he could tell by the sound of her words that she spoke through a smile as well. “See ya ‘round, Hancock.”

Something was slightly off about Hancock’s mood when Hope returned to the dining shack that evening, elated by the fact her successful attempt to fix Oberland Station’s boiler had earned them both warm showers. He’d seemed happy enough, teasing her about whether they’d have to share a single shower since she’d done all the work, but something in his smile seemed strained. 

“Are you okay?” asked Hope.

The strained smile fell away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… somethin’ Fahrenheit mentioned. Talk about it later?”

Hope nodded, patting his shoulder and leaning over to sniff the mole rat chunks bubbling in a thick, purple mutfruit glaze. “I have to admit… that actually smells really nice.”

Hancock smirked. “Ya got those caps handy?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s still a mole rat. The sauce smells nice, but the meat probably tastes like baby vomit.”

Hancock looked absolutely horrified. “That’s… specific.”

Hope laughed. “Spend enough time around a baby, you’ll learn for yourself.”

“No thank you,” said Hancock, with a shudder.

Mole rat did not, in fact, taste like baby vomit. 

Mole rat tasted of chicken, but with the tender, satisfying, mouth-coating texture of slow-cooked lamb. And the glaze Hancock had made was exquisite, a perfect balance of sweet mutfruit, salt, and whatever spices he’d used from the small apothecary he’d brought with him. Hope had squealed around her first mouthful, her toes dancing under the table as Hancock beamed at her.

“Guess I owe you fifty caps,” she said between mouthfuls. They were sitting at a table with the other settlers, enjoying dinner as a group. Tess shot Hope a curious look. “I… thought mole rat would be gross,” she explained. “Hancock bet me fifty caps he could make me like it.”

Tess laughed. “Oh, he got you good. It’s one of the nicer meats. Usually a bit gamier than this though.” She looked at him. “How’d you get this flavour?”

“Ya soak it in milk,” he said, looking very pleased with himself. “I used some while I was stewing’ it. Little trick I learned ages back.”

“This is the second thing you’ve cooked for me that’s tasted like absolute heaven” said Hope. “How’d you learn to cook like this?”

“It ain’t much different from cookin’ chems, really,” said Hancock, grinning when he saw a few raised eyebrows around the table. “It’s just knowin’ what ingredients go together and how to work ‘em so they taste good. Daisy taught me most of it. The cookin', not the chems. We made a deal early on, after I became mayor. I let her use the kitchen in the Statehouse whenever she wants, and she’d teach me how to cook whatever it was she was makin’.”

“Daisy’s so sweet,” said Hope.

“When she ain’t actin’ like she’s my damn grandma.” Hancock rolled his eyes, but his smile was as warm as the steam rising from his bowl.

Now firmly convinced that Hancock knew what he was talking about, Hope was excited to learn what other non-obvious animals were tasty. She knew brahmin and radstag were good, and she’d already developed a liking for mirelurk - they tasted exactly like the crabs they’d mutated from, and their eggs, when scrambled, were fishy but pleasant. Now, she was learning that stingwing meat could be sliced up thin and used as a sharp garnish, that radscorpion flesh was slightly sweet, with a unique, numbing spiciness, that yao guai was disgusting, bloatfly was disgusting and would probably poison her, and that while radroaches may have a vomit-inducing texture, they were very rich when boiled down into a thick brown sauce.

She also learned that rad chicken and rad rabbit were highly prized, but uncommon - their small size and lack of meat made them inefficient to farm compared to the bulky, docile, and apparently quick-breeding brahmin.

They were also goddamn escape artists, Valerie had told her, with a look of profound irritation. She’d tried breeding a small coop of rad chickens once. They’d sawed their way through their wire enclosure with their beaks, and their talons could scratch through wooden floors within a night.

"Never again," Valerie swore.

Their evening ended far earlier than the previous night. Whatever was weighing on Hancock’s mood was still there. His pride at the meal had given way to melancholy, and he sat quietly, listening to the conversations around him and rarely jumping in. When he declined the invitation back to the station house, Hope excused herself as well, following him back to the switching tower and flopping lead-limbed onto the couch. The long day of manual labour had taken its toll, and she found herself glad it was just the two of them.

Hancock caught her eye as he sat beside her, all pretence at joviality gone as gloom hung like cobwebs on his face.

Hope angled herself toward him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah... it ain’t anything bad.” he replied, not looking okay at all. He pulled a Tato Hills cigarette from his pocket and lit it, passing it to Hope after sucking in a long breath of mellow smoke. “Just you, taking care of Bobbi. I ain’t proud of havin’ to put you through that. That sort of dictatorial shit… ain’t usually my style.”

His words struck Hope as strange. Hancock hadn’t put her through anything - Bobbi’s actions had been her own, and it was Hope’s own naiveté which had caught her in the middle of it. Why would he blame himself? Something sharp snagged at her heart as she remembered how sorrowful he’d been on the night of Bobbi’s betrayal. How he’d turned his heavy hat in his hands as his roguish charisma cracked, revealing a conflicted man second-guessing his own leadership.

“Hey,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “You seem awfully torn up over Bobbi. Was there… something between you?”

Hancock shook his head. “Nah, nothin’ like that. I just hate seein’ people like me use their sway to do that kinda harm.” He sounded tired. Hope passed the cigarette back to him, and he took another long drag from it.

She tried not to imagine how the burden of leadership might one day place that same weight upon her own shoulders. It certainly seemed to weigh heavy on his.

Hancock leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as the mellow smoke hit his lungs. It was calming, but it did little to loosen the knot in his heart. He glanced at Hope. She was looking at him with concern painted all through her pretty blue eyes, and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. She was so sweet. He liked her so much.

He wanted her to understand.

He sucked in another lungful of smoke, steeling his nerves. He’d heard the people of Goodneighbor tell this tale a hundred times - how their dashing mayor had claimed his title in a blaze of glory after a night of violent chaos. It was a story he let others tell, and rarely told himself.

He rarely told it, because it began with the single lowest moment of shame in his whole, sorry life.

"That sorta bull’s the whole reason I became mayor in the first place," he said. "Some ass named Vic ran the town for I dunno how long before that. Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggy-bank. He had this goon squad he’d use to keep people in line. Every so often he’d let them off the leash, go blow off some steam on the populace at large. Folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters? We got it bad." A shudder ran down his back as his face twisted with regret. "There was one night, some drifter said somethin’ to them. They cracked him open like a can of cram on the pavement. And we all just stood there. Did nothin’."

Hancock hung his head, the memory still vivid as the night itself. Hope said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, too cowardly to face the disappointment he feared must be painted across her face. His breath hitched as she laid one of her hands over his, gentle and steadying. He blinked away a sudden stinging at the corners of his eyes, and continued.

"We were all so terrified, we couldn’t even bring ourselves to move until it was all over. I felt like less than nothing. Afterwards, I got so high, I blacked out completely. When I finally came to, I was on the floor of the Old Statehouse, right in front of the clothes of John Hancock." A small smile began breaking through the shroud of remorse. "John Hancock… first American hoodlum and defender of the people. I might’ve still been high, but those clothes… spoke to me. Told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put ‘em on, and started a new life. As 'Hancock'." He sat up a little straighter and glanced at Hope. She was staring at him with rapt attention. "After that, I went clean for a bit, got organised, convinced Kleo to loan me some hardware. Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins. Started trainin’. Next time Vic’s boys went on their tear, we’d be ready for ‘em."

Hope grinned. "The fact that you’re standing here and Vic isn’t would suggest things went well?"

Hancock leaned back with a smile of his own, sucking in a breath through the . He felt a little more relaxed now he'd reached the point in the story he was actually proud of. "Oh yeah. So, the night of, we all got loaded. Let Vic’s boys get good and hammered… and burst from the windows and rooftops where we’d been hiding. They never even saw it coming. We didn’t have to fire a shot. We didn’t have to…" his smile turned vicious, "but we sure fuckin’ did. It was a massacre. Once we’d mopped up, we strolled right into Vic’s quarters in the Statehouse, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him off the balcony." Hancock took a deep breath, the intensity of the moment flooding back to him. "And there I am. Gun in hand, draped in Hancock’s duds, lookin’ at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say somethin’. The first time I said ‘em, they didn’t even feel like my words. ‘Of the people, for the people,’ was my inagural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day." His eyes met Hope's. "And from then on, I vowed I’d never stand by and watch, ever again."

“That’s incredible, Hancock,” said Hope, her voice breathy. She was gazing at him with what looked like awe. “No wonder your community love you so much. You’re a hero.”

Hancock was, momentarily, lost for words. That was not the reaction he was expecting. He cleared his throat, somewhat abashed. "Dunno about that," he said, rubbing his neck. "I just hope you get where I'm comin’ from. I ain’t out to bring harm to anyone that didn’t earn it."

"You don't think Bobbi earned it?" asked Hope, softly.

"She earned it when she shot at Fahrenheit." Hancock narrowed his eyes. "And for ropin' you in when ya had no idea what she was really plannin'. That's just low. But stealin' from me? That shit ain't a capital offence." He sighed. "I just wish it all went down different."

"If I'm honest..." Hope looked down, fidgeting, "so do I. She didn't seem like that bad of a person until it all went sideways."

"She wasn't." Hancock stood with a long sigh. "I don't blame ya, if you're worried. I'm damn grateful ya took her out before she could shoot Fahrenheit. I'm just sorry ya got mixed up in it." He offered her a hand. "C'mon, lets get some shuteye. I'll feel better come mornin'."

Hope shot Hancock a grin as she stretched out along the couch, just as he'd done the night before. "Speaking of fair," she said, closing her eyes. "Bed's yours. Goodnight, Hancock."

Hancock shook his head. "Oh, no ya don't." He leaned down, scooping her into his arms as she shrieked, then dropped her wriggling body onto the far more comfortable-looking bed. She glared up at him, flushed, a crooked smile cracking through the look of the mock indignation she was trying to maintain.

"That's cheating."

"Nah." He winked at her. "That's just me bein' a gentleman."

Later, as Hope lay unfairly warm and comfortable beneath the blankets, Hancock’s story replayed in her mind. She could picture it so easily - him standing on the Old Statehouse balcony, a fist raised skyward, the people of Goodneighbor roaring below as a tyrant was deposed. She’d been right about him. He didn’t just remind her of the freedom fighters she admired - he was one. And then he’d stepped up and ran the town he’d freed for… did he say ten years? Even though the burden of that responsibility clearly weighed on him.

But was still one thing which confused her. She understood his regret about how things had ended with Bobbi. She shared it. But she didn’t understand why he burdened himself with the blame for her being there.

Unless…

“Did you know?” Hope asked the darkness. “That Bobbi was up to something?”

The darkness was silent for several seconds.

“I did.” Hancock’s confession hung heavy in the gloom. “Knew she’d dragged you into it, too. Didn’t tell ya because it would’a tipped her off. She was shrewd.” He shifted on the couch, the rustling sound quiet in the stillness of the night. “I’m not proud of it.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Hope. “I get it.”

“I won’t be leavin’ ya in the dark like that again.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “That’s a promise.”

First Chapter

Chapter 8

Chapter 10: COMING SOON

[glassfrogforest]

[glassfrogforest]

[kaydreamer]

The Flirting Game

Hope and Hancock were only five minutes along the train line when they heard the telltale snarl of feral ghouls.

The fight was over quickly. Hancock was a whirl of deadly red at close quarters, and while Hope preferred to be a hell of a lot further away from her targets, she was swift on her feet and lethal with her pistol. There was an exhilaration to a gunfight at close quarters, one which swept her up in the rush of combat, then left her dizzy and hollow in the aftermath.

This time was no different.

Hope lowered her gun, breathing hard to quell the nausea, looking grimly at the slain ghouls. When she’d fought her first horde of ferals, mere weeks ago, she’d been terrified. They had rushed her like zombies in a horror movie, snarling monsters torn from nightmare. It wasn’t until they were dead, and she’d noticed one of them holding a teddy, his hand fused shut around it, that the tragedy of their lost humanity struck her.

She wondered if it was the same with super mutants. 

She wondered what Hancock thought.

She looked over at him. He was checking the area, making sure there were no more ferals lurking in any of the rail cars. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned to look at her, frowning when he caught her conflicted expression. He returned, placing an uncharacteristically tentative hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Does it… upset you?” she asked softly, looking down at the nearest ghoul. “You know… having to shoot them?”

Hancock shook his head. “It’s a mercy. They… ain’t who they were.”

Hope nodded, swallowing hard.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

They both jumped as Dogmeat barked, growling at a rustling sound coming from one of the bushes. Hancock had his shotgun up in an instant, pushing Hope behind him as a mole rat burst out, only for its head to explode with an almighty blast a heartbeat later. 

“Would ya look at that?” said Hancock. “Looks like dinner just announced itself.”

“A mole rat?!” said Hope, aghast. She screwed up her face in disgust. “No thanks. I’ll go hungry.”

“You kiddin’? Mole rat is delicious. I’ll prove it.” He turned to her, his expression smug. “Twenty caps says you like it after I’m done cookin’ it.”

“Ugh…” Hope winced. “That means I have to actually eat some.”

“Fifty caps.”

“...Fine.”

Hancock grinned, grabbing the headless mole rat by the tail and hoisting it over his shoulder. “Guess I’m about to be fifty caps richer,” he said, with a confidence Hope had very little faith in. “Let’s take it to Oberland. If they got mutfruit, then I got the perfect recipe in mind.”

It was just getting dark by the time they reached Oberland Station. A chugging generator lit a row of empty rail cars along the train line, each repurposed as a hotel room of sorts. Hope had learned during her last visit that Oberland Station was a common stop for travellers on their way to Diamond City, so the ‘Railway Hotel’ received a steady stream of guests - as did a second line of rail cars which served as a market. The settlement also boasted a small farm for tatos and mutfruit, along with a fairly well-maintained station house which provided communal living for the permanent settlers.

The leader of the settlement was a dark-skinned woman by the name of Valerie, who greeted Hope enthusiastically, and Hancock even more enthusiastically when she caught sight of the mole rat carcass he was carrying.

“We’ve already made a tato soup and bread rolls for tonight, but we haven’t had fresh game for a few days,” she said. “If you’re fixing to sell that, dinner is on us.”

“Oh, I’ll do ya one better,” said Hancock. “Let me use some mutfruit, and some sugar sap if ya got it, and I’ll cook it for ya. Free of charge.”

“Done,” said Valerie. “There’s a cooler bin further in, you can dump it there.” She turned to Hope. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. It’s great to see you again, General.”

“Just Hope is fine,” said Hope, elbowing Hancock as he saluted her. “I don’t suppose you have a room free?”

“None in the Railway, I’m afraid - we got two caravans of traders stopped here tonight. But Tess and I made one up for ‘specially for the Minutemen while you were gone. Got one bed and a couch in it. Let me show you.”

The room was upstairs in an old white switching tower which, Valerie informed her, was officially the Minutemen tower in the past, and was officially the Minutemen tower again. The downstairs portion had a desk, a radio, and some shelves for storing supplies.

“Speaking of the radio,” said Hope, as they approached the tower after depositing the molerat by the dining shack, “I need to update your network map. Goodneighbor is joining the radio relay, and Oberland is the closest relay partner.”

“Is that how you stole their mayor?” asked Valerie, chuckling.

“I guess my reputation precedes me,” said Hancock.

“Not many ghouls around dressed like they raided a museum,” she shrugged, smirking. “Map’s in the desk drawer. Jed’s in charge of the radio, give him the listening frequency and he’ll keep it tuned.”

“Do you mind if we use it to test the signal tomorrow?” asked Hope. “I’d like to radio forward to Sanctuary along the relay as well.”

“It’s all yours, Gener- Hope,” said Valerie, pausing at the foot of the switching tower. “Dump your things upstairs and come join us for a meal.”

The dining shack was a large wood-and-sheet-metal building filled with long picnic tables. A bar sat in the middle, behind which was a kitchen with a wood-fired stove. It hummed with conversation. As Hope entered, a few shouts of greeting were raised by the permanent settlers.

“Aren’t you little miss popular?” said Hancock, as they approached the kitchen.

“I should hope so,” said a dark-haired woman, waving a ladle. “Those damn raiders haven’t touched us since she took care of the bunch out at Back Street Apparel. It’s good to have the Minutemen back.” She poured an extra large serving of soup into two bowls, along with two thick slices of bread. “I’m Tess, by the way,” she said to Hancock. “Val said you bought in the mole rat. You best make sure you clean my kitchen once you’re done with it.” She waved the ladle close to his nose, but the smile on her face belied the threat.

“You have my solemn vow,” said Hancock, a hand to his heart.

“Good. Now get some food in your bellies, before it goes cold.”

Hope found herself pulled into a number of conversations as she and Hancock enjoyed their meal - mostly by the settlers, who were eager to chat. The caravan traders sat in stark contrast, glowering at her from a separate table. Hope overheard a few dark mutterings from their group, which contained the words ‘ghoul’ and ‘shouldn’t be allowed’. But Hancock seemed determined not to let it get to him, and when Tess overheard one particularly foul remark, which sounded to Hope's ears like 'ghoul-fucker', she smacked the man across the back of the head with the ladle and banished him from the dining shack. 

By his hoot of laughter, Hancock certainly enjoyed that.

“It’s ridiculous, anyway,” said Valerie, afterwards. “We get a lot of ghouls through here, and we deal with a lot of ferals, and not once have I seen one turn into the other. But we kick out a drunk human every other week.”

“I hear ya, sister,” said Hancock. “And thanks. Means a lot to hear.”

Eventually, one of the settlers invited them back to the station House for drinks, where Dogmeat received a bounty of belly scratches from a pair of delighted children, while Hancock lost a few dozen caps on several animated games of poker because  - to Hope’s amusement - he had a terrible poker face.

At least, he did where she was concerned.

Poker turned into darts, and when Hancock was drunk enough to decide that darts would be more fun as a game of dodgeball, with himself as the target, she’d finally dragged him away to get some sleep.

By the time they got back to the switching tower, they were both mentally buzzing and physically exhausted. Hancock flopped immediately onto the couch, Dogmeat at his feet, while Hope stood and unclipped her Minutemen chest armour. Hancock whistled softly through his teeth as she removed it, looking her up and down with a crooked grin.

Hope raised a slow brow. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, you bet I do,” said Hancock, his voice a low rumble. “That vault suit hugs all the right curves.”

“Fahrenheit did say you thought I looked hot in it.”

“Did she?” Hancock’s flirtatious expression took on a hint of bewilderment. “Since when does she do shit like that?”

“It was after the thing with Bobbi,” said Hope, shooing him along the couch so she could sit. “I think she was trying to cheer me up.”

“Heh. Did it work?”

“A bit,” said Hope, catching his eye with a smile.

“By the way… about all the comments and shit,” said Hancock, shifting in his seat a little. “I like to flirt, it’s all in good fun. I don’t mean anythin’ by it. But if I ever make you uncomfortable, just tell me to back the fuck off.”

Hope paused at that remark. She felt the weight of it shift something in their dynamic, the unstable ground beneath her suddenly a little more solid. ‘All in good fun.’ Just a game of playful banter.

They were on the same page.

Too bad Hope was competitive.

“Oh?” She straightened up a little, tilting her head, her voice dropping a few notes. “You don’t think I can give as good as I get?”

Hancock grinned as he turned toward her, mirroring her tone. “Is that a challenge, sunshine?”

Hope smirked. “Sure, why not. Let’s see if I can find out whether or not ghouls can blush.”

“Oh, this ghoul can,” said Hancock, leaning toward her. “But you’ll have to work really, really hard for it.”

“What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“A kiss,” said Hope, as her better judgement got up and walked out of the room.

“Done,” said Hancock quickly, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “No take-backsies. You’ll have to try harder than that, though.”

“Who said I was trying?”

“Heh. I like this game. So, what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, so many things.” Hancock ran a finger up her arm, and Hope’s skin beneath the vault suit burned. “But… I’ll settle for a date,” he said, leaning back. “‘Cause I’m a gentlemen.”

“Haven’t we already been on a date?” Hope teased, her face warm and her composure hanging by a thread. “You even bought me dinner.”

Hancock chuckled, soft and warm. “Damn, ya caught me. Alright, I want a second date.”

Hope’s heart did a bellyflop. “Well,” she breathed. “I look forward to losing.”

“Oh, so do I, sunshine,” Hancock purred. “So do I.”

When Hancock opened his backpack and pulled out some Jet, Hope was quick to take him up on the offer. The day had been long, full, and exhausting, and a little mental quiet seemed like an excellent idea. They took their hits together, flopping along opposite sides of the couch, legs tangled over Dogmeat who had curled up in the middle. Hope focused on the visuals this time - not as vivid as Daytripper, but still bright, and so pretty with the sparkling quality everything had. The slowness of the world was pure bliss. She breathed deeply, allowing the momentary serenity to wash over her. As she came back to herself, she felt thoughts began to drift back in. She let them float through, soft and easy.

To learn that flirting was something Hancock did for fun, and not something he expected anything to come of, was a profound relief. Bittersweet, because she felt an undeniable spark. But every time she’d found herself in a casual fling, which wasn’t uncommon in the peace-and-free-love crowd, it had ended in heartbreak. She always caught feelings. Every. Fucking. Time. The last thing she needed was to ruin a blossoming friendship, not to mention an outright alliance between Goodneighbor and the Minutemen, by making the same mistake she’d made dozens of times before, getting herself and her heart tangled around a man whose swagger and charm both screamed ‘no strings attached’.

A crush and a flirting game, though? That territory was safe enough, and undeniably fun. The sting of unrequited feelings, already flickering to life, was something she could endure. Certain friendships were worth that.

And if they ever were requited? If it became obvious he shared her feelings? 

She’d rejoice.

But she’d have to hear it from him. She’d been wrong too many times to trust her own judgement anymore.

Hancock’s jet-clear thoughts orbited around the baffling nugget of knowledge that Fahrenheit had told Hope he thought her vault suit was hot. Fahrenheit did that. Sure, Hope had said the comment was meant to cheer her up, and it’s not like he hadn’t made it blindingly obvious himself, but still - Fahrenheit had never once had anything to say about any of the women he’d taken a fancy to before now. And certainly-the-hell-not to the woman in question. She stayed out of that shit.

Damn girl was far too perceptive. 

It was because he hadn’t slept with Hope. He was infamous as a flirt - damn proud of it, in fact - taking pretty ladies, and the occasional handsome fellow, on ‘tours’ of Goodneighbor which always ended upstairs in his private room at the Statehouse, or in his now-former apartment. Not getting Hope into bed when he was obviously attracted to her was weird for him, and suddenly Fahrenheit seemed to have a lot to say about her.

If Fahrenheit had noticed something was off, the devil only knew what Hope herself was thinking - which was why he’d finally bought up the flirting. He had to let her know he wasn’t expecting anything, that she could tell him to buzz off with no hard feelings.

Instead, she’d decided to make a competition of it, and damn if that didn’t make this whole tangled mess even more fun. He was going to lose that game. He was going to lose it more than once, cursed to spend god-knows-how-long ducking away whenever he felt heat rising in his cheeks, so he didn’t put her in the awkward position of making good on her promise.

Much as he longed to kiss her, he knew one taste of her lips would hook him harder than any chem ever had, and he’d probably combust with yearning in the aftermath.

It was sweet torture, wanting what he couldn’t have.

He kinda liked it.

Hope was wandering lazily around the room in her post-jet afterglow, eyes half-shut, enjoying the tingles along her skin and the slight shimmer which still buzzed along the corners of the world. She watched as Hancock stretched his arms out slowly with a long yawn. “I’m beat,” he said. “You wanna get some shuteye?”

“Sounds good,” she said, through a yawn of her own. She glanced at the bed, then back to Hancock. As if in answer, he kicked off his shoes and stretched out along the couch, pulling his hat down over his eyes. 

“Bed’s all yours.”

“You really are a gentleman,” Hope teased, deliberately angling the zipper of her vault suit to make it as loud as possible as she slowly pulled it down. Hancock breathed out a huff of amusement, hand twitching toward his hat before he let it fall back to his side. Hope flicked off the light and shimmied into the bed. It wasn’t as soft as the one in Goodneighbor, but it was a damn sight better than pretty much anything else.

“Goodnight, Hancock.”

“Sweet dreams, sunshine.”

First Chapter

Chapter 7

Chapter 9: COMING SOON

[virtualyellow]

A shooting star streaking across the sky

[kaydreamer]

It Never Changes

By some merciful providence, Hope awoke the next morning with a far milder headache than she had any right to. She’d lost track of the amount of liquor she’d knocked back by the time she and Hancock had stumbled out of the Third Rail, yelling drunken revolutionary chants at the night sky and giggling like children whenever someone on the street echoed one back. He’d walked her across Goodneighbor, stepping back once they reached her door and sweeping off his hat with a ridiculous bow which nearly sent him toppling to the pavement.

It had taken every ounce of self-control she had not to grab him by the coat and pull him into the elevator with her.

She played out that fantasy in her imagination later, phantom lips dragging along her neck in the shower, his body pressed against hers as she slipped into bed.

It was just the liquor, she lied to herself.

The sun was just beginning to stain the clouds a pale pink through the morning fog as she checked and double-checked her backpack, folded Daisy’s dress neatly, freshened herself up one last time, then descended with Dogmeat in the little elevator to meet Hancock at the gate. He was already waiting for her, leaning against the barricade with Fahrenheit and smoking a cigarette. He waved as she approached. Hope returned the wave, ducking behind the curtain into Daisy’s store to quietly deposit her dress on the counter, a note of gratitude folded on top. When she emerged, he was stooping down to lift his pack onto his shoulders. Hope had assumed he’d be the type to travel light - to take a gun and a chem stash and not much else - but not only was his backpack much larger than hers, he also had an empty duffel bag rolled up and strapped to the side.

“Have you packed half the chems in Goodneighbor into that thing?” asked Hope.

Hancock chuckled. “I’d need a way bigger bag for that.” He gave the straps a tug. “More like a brahmin. Or a herd of ‘em. Nah, this is just shit for the road. With a bit of the fun stuff to spice it up,” he added, with a wink.

“Sounds exciting,” said Hope, grinning. “You ready to go?”

“Sure am.” He nodded to Fahrenheit. “Try not to let this place burn down while I’m out, yeah?”

“Less chance of that with you gone.” She pulled a shotgun slug from her pocket and tossed it at him. He caught it deftly.

“In case you need it,” she said, walking away. “See ya ‘round.”

“See ya round,” he replied, tucking the slug into an inner pocket. He turned to Hope. “Well, then. Let’s get this freak show on the road.”

“What’s the story with that bullet?” asked Hope, as the neon sign of Goodneighbor receded into the dawn fog. They were heading northwest to Oberland Station, taking the riverside route out of Boston at Hancock’s suggestion, skirting the city along the bank where it was easier to spot a potential ambush from a distance.

“This one?” Hancock withdrew the slug from his pocket, flicking it into the air and catching it with a flourish before tucking it back away. “Ya know, I’ve never asked. Bet if I did, she’d spin some bullshit about me turnin’ feral, but we both know that ain’t what it is.” He smiled. “Don’t need to be said, really.”

Hope recalled a rough hand reaching down to her with a lit cigarette. The same hand which had drooped lazily from a couch to scratch Dogmeat behind the ears, right where he liked it.

“She seems a lot sweeter than she lets on.”

“She is, but don’t let her hear ya say that,” said Hancock, leaning into Hope like he was telling her a secret. “She likes bein’ big and scary.”

Hancock popped open a tin of Mentats as they walked, taking two before holding it out for Hope. She took one, enjoying the salty-sweet flavour as it fizzed on her tongue, each bubble tingling her awake as the chem entered her bloodstream. A sense of alert clarity washed over her, tuning her ears to each metallic groan of the buildings, along with distant voices and more-distant gunshots.

A few minutes after they reached the riverbank, Dogmeat stopped dead in the road, his hackles rising with a low growl. Hancock threw out a hand in front of Hope, pausing to squint through the fog at the outline of a footbridge ahead of them. He motioned her over to the shadow of a building. Hope followed, unslinging her rifle and peering down the scope. Large, hulking shapes were moving through the mist.

“Super mutants,” she said, lowering the rifle. Hancock withdrew a shotgun from a holster tucked somewhere beneath his coat.

“How do ya wanna play this?” he asked.

“I’ve got a revolver for close quarters, but when I’ve got cover and range,” Hope patted her rifle, “I like to snipe.”

“Great, ‘cause I like doin’ the exact opposite.” Hancock grinned, a slightly fierce edge to his expression as the adrenaline of combat began to hit them both. “I’ll go cause some chaos with the pup up close, you pick ‘em off.”

“Sounds perfect.”

When Hancock said chaos, Hope realised - as she knelt in the shadow of a building, picking off the silhouettes of mutants between shotgun blasts and the flash of grenades - he meant it. The brutes were so distracted they didn’t seem to realise bullets were hitting them from more than one direction. Hancock’s much smaller shadow wove through the fog and the hulking figures as Hope aimed for headshots, dropping any which seemed to be coming at him from behind. She was so focused on that, and on keeping count of how many she’d taken out, she failed to notice the one running at her until he was almost on top of her.

“Shit!”

The brute had a huge bat with rusted nails poking from it in all directions. She rolled to the side as he swung it down, dropping her rifle and reaching for her pistol as he hefted the bat again with a roar. She sucked in a breath, scrambling back - then the mutant’s vast chest exploded in a spray of blood and viscera. The creature fell to the side, revealing Hancock, shotgun raised and a wild grin on his face. He strode toward Hope, tucking the gun away.

“Now that was fun!” He extended a hand, pulling her to her feet. “Damn, you were poppin’ em off so fast, I could barely get a shot in.”

“From where I’m standing, you just saved my ass,” she said.

“Nah, I shouldn’t have let him get that close in the first place. Slipped the net.” Hancock kicked at a great, green arm with the toe of his boot. “If you’re snipin’, it’s my job to keep ‘em off ya. But hey, we’re both still breathin’.” 

“We’re both breathing, and we made a pile of dead super mutants,” said Hope. “And the sun’s barely even up.”

Hancock laughed. “That’s what I’d call a damn good start to the day. Come on, let’s book it before the chaos attracts anythin’ else. Super Mutants never have good loot.”

He turned to look at where Dogmeat was tearing at the exposed flesh of one dead mutant, his muzzle stained red, and laughed under his breath.

“Unless you’re real hungry, I guess.”

The fog had cleared by the time they reached the outskirts of Boston City, the denser city making way for trees and a cluster of ruined houses. Hope had just suggested picking through them for anything the settlers at Oberland might find useful when the teeth-tingling clatter of a Vertibird reached their ears, growing louder at surprising speed.

“Fuck! Brotherhood!”

Hancock dragged her into the side of a building as the machine swooped overhead, filling the air with a horrendous clamour which set Hope’s nerves on edge immediately.

Even before the bombs, Vertibirds rarely meant anything good.

Especially before the bombs.

Hancock usually wore his billowy white shirt open at the chest, but now he was frantically buttoning it up as high as it would go. Then he pulled off his hat and swept his hair forward to cover more of his face, before placing it back on his head, tilted low. Hope heard the heavy clang of the Vertibird depositing someone wearing power armour, then voices moving through the wrecked houses as the aircraft retreated. She put a hand in the bristles of Dogmeat’s fur as he growled softly.

“Do you think they’ll attack us?” she said.

“You? Nah. Me? Flip a cap.” Hancock grimaced. “They don’t always murder us on sight, but they sure as hell ain’t fond of ghouls.”

Hope clenched her fists, her jaw tensing. Some things were apparently perennial, apocalypse or not, and it infuriated her that stupid, violent prejudice was one of them. She motioned for Hancock to stay put, then peered around the building they were crouched behind.

“There are three of them,” she said, pulling back. “One in power armour, two in some kind of uniform. They’re just picking through the houses.”

Hancock breathed out sharply through his nose. “They’re no better than scavvers and raiders, for all their fuckin’ airs,” he said. “Think we can sneak past ‘em?”

“I think so,” said Hope. “They’re moving further into the houses. Let’s just walk. Stay behind me. You don’t look very… ghoul-y from a distance, and if we pretend to be harmless travellers, maybe they won’t pay us any attention. There’s an empty little shack just down the road, we can bunker up there until they’re gone.”

Hancock nodded, rising to his feet with Hope and staying one step behind her as they passed by the group. As predicted, they were too far away and too occupied with their task to pay more than a cursory glance toward a pair of travellers and a dog. The moment they were out of sight, Hope picked up the pace, making for a small shack with stands of dried, long-since-rotted vegetables out the front. She waved Hancock through.

“Used to know the guy who ran this place,” he said as he entered. “Guess he ain’t around anymore.”

“Oh…” Hope paused, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Hancock toyed with a cigarette box, his eyes downcast. “It’s alright. He was old. Got more years than most. Still… gonna miss droppin’ in when I pass by.” He took a cigarette and lit it, then walked over to a locked door at the back and fished a bobby pin from his pocket. “He told me once that if he dropped off the perch, I should take whatever I wanted from back here.”

The door clicked open to reveal a small chem lab tucked behind the vegetable stall. Hope joined Hancock in fishing through drawers filled with a variety of raw materials, liquids and rotting fungi. She had to muffle a shout of excitement when she pulled open one to find a dozen glass jars filled with Daytripper.

“Ooooh, jackpot!” Hancock leaned over her shoulder to take a bottle, shaking it. “These are homebrew, but ol’ Doug was damn good at it. I know some pre-war ghouls who swear it’s as good as the original.”

“I’d be surprised if the pre-war stuff could even get you high after two-hundred years,” said Hope. “They’d lose potency if you so much as left them in a hot car.”

“Which is exactly why these are better,” said Hancock, winking at her. “You don’t have to eat the whole fuckin’ bottle. Let’s take ‘em all. Waste not, want not.” He opened his bag and began packing the little bottles into it. An idea occurred to Hope, dangerous and enticing.

“Hey, Hancock. I followed the train line down from Tenpines to Oberland. Same route we’re taking back up. Aside from a few wild dogs and some feral ghouls, it was pretty quiet and actually kinda scenic. Be a nice route for some Daytripper.”

The smile which spread across Hancock’s face could light a city. “You’re speakin’ my language, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I’m keen. Word to the wise, don’t take too much on the road. Gotta have your wits about ya… just in case.”

“Oh, I’m well practiced where Daytripper’s concerned,” said Hope, grinning.

“Well then,” rumbled Hancock. “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

The clanging of power armour had receded far enough into the distance that Hope and Hancock were both keen to move on rather than use the shack, its air musty from the rot of the vegetables, as a lunch stop. Hancock lingered quietly at the threshold for a moment, hat held in his hands.

“Rest in peace buddy. Thanks for the gift.”

They walked a little ways further into the forest, stopping at the rail bridge where the road met the train line. Hope dug through her bag, withdrawing some jerky and a jar of what seemed to be tato chutney. Hancock contributed some sharp brahmin cheese and a tin full of crackers - made from razorgrain, apparently - to dip in it. If Hope squinted a little, their lunch was almost like a charcuterie board.

Almost.

“Can you tell me much about these ‘Brotherhood of Steel’ people?” Hope asked, between mouthfuls. ”Nick seemed to think they were bad news as well.”

“Yeah, he would… they’d scrap him for parts. They’re bad news for pretty much everyone, and worse news if you’re not human.” Hancock paused to shove a chutney-laden cracker in his mouth. “They ain’t been seen in the Commonwealth for decades - not in force, at least - but travellers bring news and none of it’s great. From what I’ve heard, they’re some kinda… religious military cult obsessed with collectin’ pre-war tech. If that means rippin’ it outta vaults or settlements, well… too fuckin’ bad for those folk. They say they’re gonna to use it to rebuild civilisation, but everyone knows that’s a load of bull. They’re out for power.”

Hope’s appetite abandoned her.

“You’re saying they could attack settlements?”

“Maybe not attack ‘em, but they’ll expect to be ‘given’ whatever the fuck they ask for.” The look on his face told Hope this ‘giving’ was not likely to be optional. 

“You mentioned they hate ghouls…” she said, darkly.

“They hate all non-humans. Ghouls included.” Hancock pulled a face. “Not like that’s anything new. Ghouls ain’t exactly welcome in a lot of places.”

“For fucks sake, why?” Hope threw her head back. “It never changes, it’s always something. It’s the colour of your skin, or the shape of your eyes, or your fucking political beliefs.” She sighed. “Every ghoul I’ve met - well, aside from Bobbi - every ghoul I’ve met has been perfectly nice.”

“You’ve met feral ghouls, haven’t ya?” Hancock’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah, but-”

“That’s why.” He turned to Hope, meeting her blue eyes with his black ones. There was a deep pain haunting them, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy. “A lot of folk see a ghoul, and all they see is a monster that could turn feral any second. It’s fear. It’s also a load of bullshit - ghouls don’t turn feral all of a sudden, it’s a process - but it’s still what plenty of folk believe. At least, it’s what they say they believe.” He laughed, bitterly. “Some people just like hatin’ everyone that’s different.”

Hope was quiet for a long while. There was steel in her voice when she broke the silence.

“I need to get the warning out, make sure every Minutemen settlement has somewhere safe for ghouls to hide if the Brotherhood show up.”

Hancock’s brows shot up. “Wait, you have ghouls in your settlements?”

Hope nodded. “It’s part of the agreement. Any settlement that wants ongoing Minutemen protection is obliged to offer safe harbour to anyone who needs it, and a home for anyone willing to pitch in and help. That includes ghouls.”

Hancock was very still for a moment, wearing an expression of wonderment. “...I could kiss you.” His voice was wobbling. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in years.”

“Much as I’d love to take you up on that,” said Hope, with a flirtatious smile, “it was Preston’s idea. I hadn’t even met a ghoul yet, feral or otherwise. You’ll have to kiss him.”

“Shame, doubt he’s as hot as you,” Hancock chuckled. “Think he’ll settle for a thank-you bouquet?”

A vision of Preston’s baffled panic at a bouquet-carrying Hancock attempting to land a kiss on him flashed into Hope’s imagination, and she snorted with laughter.

“Yeah, I think he’ll settle for that.”

First Chapter

Chapter 6

Chapter 8: COMING SOON

[remnantglow]

i love when characters don't get to die

[remnantglow]

this is about villains/antagonists/general horrible people who finally face up to what they've done. especially if they try to pull the good ole "Dramatically Does One Good Thing To Redeem Themselves And Dies," but despite their best efforts they DON'T die. like yes motherfucker there's no easy way out for you, there's only the slow, awkward and painful process of learning to live with yourself. of learning to live with the weight of your mistakes. you get a second chance regardless of if you think you deserve it. you get to try to make amends and do good. you get to live.

[remnantglow]

this is also about every self-sacrificial bastard of a protagonist who puts themselves in harm's way again and again and again to a wildly unhealthy and unnecessary degree. see, there's something so compelling to me in the unspoken suicidality of repeated heroic self-sacrifice, and the thing about implicitly suicidal characters is that i want them to live. and that can be used to make a death so much more tragic and impactful - noble sacrifices and last stands certainly can and have been done beautifully - but there's also something special to me in seeing such a character make it. because you'd die for the people you love, yes, but would you live for them?

[kaydreamer]

I feel this in my bones. Death is too easy a road, you want to really redeem yourself? You get a lifetime of painful atonement, buddy.

(Totally not referring to one of my own Spring Tide Rebellion OC's here.)

[alamorteart]

vaultghoul flash (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

[lyonnerileyauthor]

it just be like that I guess

[kaydreamer]

I mean, the stories I pour blood, sweat and tears into, I also write while high at 2am.

I will go to my grave insisting it's an integral part of my creative process.