#f!ss

[realityisforpplwhocantdream]

started a new Fo4 game, and my SS is judging Nate so hard rn lol. Like OMG honey, it's just an atom bomb, don't be so dramatic.

[inkwitch111-fanart]

heres some soft Hancock with my sole, Quinn. Dont ask about his hat and coat. I couldn't be bothered to draw them.

[octopunkmedia]

FALLOUT SANCTUARY CASTING ANNOUNCEMENT

Michelle Iannantuono as Nora (The Sole Survivor)

Click the video to listen to the sample, and get ready for this performance in Fallout Sanctuary!

Fallout Sanctuary is an upcoming 10 episode animated fan series, using the characters and engine of Fallout 4. With over 250 minutes of original voices and storytelling, find out what happens to the female sole survivor and her companions after the events of Fallout 4. The show will hopefully be out this winter from Octopunk Media, the creator of fan film Detroit Evolution!

[daintykeith]

After a lot of work, here’s the finished version of Bluebird from Love Gun! And I’m so happy with the result (o゜▽゜)o☆ 

However I don’t feel like I’ll ever do justice to Bluebird’s tattoo.

She’s the most mysterious woman of the commonwealth, nobody knows her true name or her origins--only her height! 

Below I’ll leave the summary of Love Gun, a F!SSxMacCready story, if you’re interested in reading.

Summary: MacCready gets hired by one, if not the most mysterious woman of the Commonwealth.

No name, no talking. MacCready didn’t even know her name or voice but there were two things he could be certain about that peculiar job: he would be handsomely paid and that his boss carried a heavy past on her shoulders and hid it away in the depths of her heart.

MacCready had a policy of not making questions, but it wouldn’t be long until he would drown in a sea of questions.

Rating: M

And a friendly reminder, if you want to ask about Bluebird or MacCready in Love Gun, you can hit me with questions! My AMA will remain open for anything you want to ask.

Reblogs, kudos and feedback are always welcomed and please, do not repost! 

(pose and main reference by Taylor Lashae)

[ravenbaybe]

my girlfriend is playing fo4 for the first time and i love her sole so fucking much. shes a lesbian himbo who cant get it in and doesnt wear a shirt under her armor her name is robin

[velvet-helvetica]

Fireworks in Goodneighbor

Here's my gift for @falloutfandomeventhub’s #Celebradiation2020, written for @bi-mirandalawson! This scene takes place immediately after Fallout 4′s Dangerous Minds quest. It features dialogue between Hancock and Deacon, with cameos by Magnolia and Nick. There’s also a hint at a Sole Survivor femslash pairing, although the exact pairing is not specified. Enjoy!

It was the fireworks that woke him from his psychedelic slumber. At first he thought the fireworks were in his head—a pleasant side effect of the cocktail of chems he had imbibed several hours before. But the colors, the emotions were wrong. They didn’t stir him the way they should. As he squinted, he realized the fireworks were streaming in from the boarded-up windows.

They were coming from outside, across the street. From the Memory Den. A massive power surge had temporarily lit up the entire building. The marquee lights snaked along their path in a frenzy, lights up and down the building flashed interchangeably. Sparks flew from a previously-unseen Tesla tower on the roof, showering the street below with discharged electricity.

Then as suddenly as the fireworks show began, the Memory Den grew cold and dim. Then the building illumination returned to normal, the marquee blinking its obsolete advertisement for a centuries-old vaudeville act.

What the hell is that doctor up to now? Hancock wondered.

The Mayor stumbled off of his lounger and wandered out of the Statehouse, determined to find answers. But as he stepped outside, the crossing to the Square zoomed back, suddenly seeming very far away. His head wasn’t quite right yet.

He leaned against the doorway of the Statehouse, content to idly observe the ebb and flow of nocturnal street life. Through his hazy drug-addled vision, he glimpsed a private eye with a metal arm staggering past, muttering strange phrases in a low sandpaper voice. Moments later, two women scurried past him—one of them wearing a bright blue Vault suit. Their arms interlocked, they giggled inebriated as they headed straight for the Hotel Rexford.

Heh, they’re gonna get some tonight, thought Hancock. Good for them.

Whatever had happened at the Den, the main players were already gone. Instead of pursuing the mystery any further, he headed to the Third Rail. Hancock casually saluted the bouncer then sauntered down the stairs.

From afar, Hancock spied a lone man seated at the bar, nursing a half drunken glass of scotch. Strange to find him here before happy hour, the Mayor thought.

Hancock slipped onto the empty stool beside him. Deacon popped up his sunglasses and regarded the ghoul seated next to him.

“Well hello, Mister ‘Of the People, For the People.’’’

“Hey my man. How’s my favorite secret agent?” 

They exchanged a series of friendly fist bumps, then Hancock ordered his current favorite, a gin and Quantum from Whitechapel Charlie.

While he waited for the robot barkeep to mix his drink, Hancock eyed Deacon’s latest disguise. He was bald today, with a threadbare plaid shirt and a beat-up pair of old jeans. The sunglasses, which looked custom-molded to his perfectly square eyebrows and weathered features, threw off what would otherwise be a spot-on drifter impression.

“I thought you agents were all about tailored suits and tuxedos rather than that bum get-up you wear all the time. Live a little, man! Dress up! Have some pride.”

“This from the man wearing the ruffled ascot of our Founding Father—one who lacked the modesty to leave enough room for the co-Fathers to sign.”

“Exactly. Why go half-ass when you can be as fabulous as this?” Hancock gestured his arm down his body with a flourish.

Deacon laughed. “Hey, I can be fancy when I want to be. This particular mission required a little more subtlety, that’s all.”

Whitechapel Charlie set Hancock’s glass on the sticky bar top, which emitted an eerie blue glow. Hancock picked up his drink, threw his head back and downed the cocktail all in one go, then exhaled a satisfied sigh.

Deacon raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you get all fancy with the gin and Quantums? I thought you were all about ‘keepin’ it real’.” Deacon added air quotes with his fingers for added emphasis.

“I’m still keepin’ it real, man,” Hancock insisted. So what if his drink choices lately were a step up from the moonshine of his drifter days? He was Mayor of this town now, dammit. He could drink whatever the hell he wanted. Secretly though, he was annoyed that Deacon had struck a nerve.

“If you say so, Mister Mayor,” Deacon replied skeptically. He spun his glass around, then put it to his lips, slipping the last slivers of scotch into his mouth.

The ghoul let his remark slide. He bought the agent another scotch and ordered himself some vodka. Hancock wanted to find out what the hell was going on in his own town, and talking to Deacon was the fastest way to get answers.

“Hey Deac, you see anything go down at the Memory Den? I was having the most mind-blowing trip, man, ‘til all this shit starts flashin’ in my eyes. How’s a ghoul supposed to come down easy when his own town’s blowing up on him?”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Deacon cracked. “You have your blue newcomer to thank for the fireworks.”

“The Vault Dweller?”

“Yep, her and Nick Valentine. They gifted Doctor Amari some brains from the dearly departed Kellogg.”

“Kellogg’s dead? Shiiiittt.” Hancock shook his head, taking in the news. “Good. Fuckin’ bastard deserved it.”

“Amen to that, brother.” Deacon and Hancock clinked glasses, drinking to celebrate the death of the Commonwealth’s most despised mercenary.

“So they took Kellogg’s brains downstairs to do some Frankenstein shit, I take it.”

“Something like that. I wasn’t in the room where it happened... But from what I gathered, they hooked Nick to Kellogg’s grey matter, judging by how he looked afterwards. Was even talking like Kellogg for a bit.”

“Damn. Must’ve been some head trip.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I don’t know how they probed into his noggin’, but they drained the power grid while doing it. My poor Barbara even glitched out a few times.”

“Aww... You still seeing your old flame?” Hancock asked. Deacon winced, briefly regretting bringing up his dead wife. 

“Yeah,” Deacon admitted finally. He sighed as he finished his second drink.

“Hey, man, it’s cool, we all got our vices,” Hancock assured, patting Deacon on the back. “But if you ask me, chems are way easier for forgetting your problems. And cheaper.” He fished out some Jet from his pocket. “Want one? On the house.”

“Nah, I’m cool,” Deacon politely declined. “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t wanna forget all that stuff.”

“Suit yourself.” Hancock took a puff of Jet, and wiggled his head to work in the high.

Deacon continued his story. “Anyway, Irma only charged me for a quickie—I mean, I wasn’t in there that long.” Hancock chuckled as Deacon corrected himself. “Just long enough to say hi, tell her how things are going. That I miss her.”

“What a sweetheart you are. That Babs was one lucky gal to have you.”

Deacon scoffed. “Anyway, what do you care how I spend my caps? I thought you’d be happy with me building up your precious tax base.”

Hancock was taken aback. “That hurts, Deac. That really hurts. That cuts me deep.” 

Hancock leaned into Deacon, jabbing a leathery hand into his own chest. “You think I’m just about the money? Don’t get me wrong—I love my money. But that ain’t what this is about.”

Deacon smirked. “Then what is it about?”

Hancock waved him off. The ghoul stared off into the distance, shaking his head in disappointment. Then he grabbed his glass and gulped down his vodka.

“I don’t know anymore, man,” Hancock said at last. “You know, a few weeks back I had to kill Finn? The lil’ shit was shakin’ down that Vault Dweller as soon as she stepped into town.”

“No big loss,” Deacon dismissed. “Never liked that asshole anyway.”

“Neither did I, but that’s not the point. The point is... I wanted Goodneighbor to be for everybody. For drifters like me, the ghouls, the gangsters, the misfits...even for lil’ shits like Finn. But then I had to turn around and kill him. And I’ve been shakin’ down people for stealing from me, or stealing from the drifters.”

Hancock threw up his hands. “What’s wrong with me? Since when did I turn into the Man?”

Deacon laughed. “Whoo, Hancock. You know what they say about power.”

“This ain’t funny, Deac. I’m telling ya, this ain’t what I signed up for. I’m seriously thinkin’ of leaving all this shit behind. What’s the use of giving everyone freedom if things ain’t truly free?”

Deacon shook his head. “I don’t have an answer for you, pal. But it sounds like you can’t make up your mind about what you want.”

“Thanks. Thanks for nothing. You’re no fuckin’ help.” Deacon laughed some more as Hancock grunted in frustration.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important, boys.” 

Magnolia had strolled into the bar unseen. She leaned in between Hancock and Deacon and flashed the pair a radiant smile.

“Not at all, doll.” Hancock pecked Magnolia on the cheek, then she turned around and kissed Deacon’s cheek. “Showtime already?” Hancock asked.

“It sure is,” she winked. “Same time as always.” She went to the stage to prepare for her set.

“Well, that’s my cue to go,” Deacon sighed, standing up. “I got a feeling things are gonna get busy soon at HQ.” He dropped a few caps as a courtesy tip, ignoring Whitechapel Charlie’s preprogrammed grumblings.

Hancock stood up too. “You’re not gonna stay for the show?”

Deacon shook his head. “Nah. She’s lovely, but you know there’s only one synth for me... No offense, Mags,” Deacon added, acknowledging Magnolia out of courtesy.

“None taken, hon,” Magnolia replied. “You stay safe helping my friends, you hear?” She adjusted her microphone and began her first song.

I see you lookin’ ‘round the corner Come on inside and pull up a chair No need to feel like a stranger Cause we're all a little strange in here.

“Okay, bro, see ya later,” Hancock said, fist bumping Deacon as a goodbye. “You know you and your buddies can lay low here anytime. Even if all ya do is give me shit.”

“Appreciate it, dude.” Deacon grabbed Hancock’s forearm and whispered a warning into his ear. “Hey, man, watch out for the Institute.”

Hancock scoffed. “Pssht. The Institute can’t fuck with us, man. Goodneighbor’ll never stand for their shit.”

“I hope so, man. Just don’t underestimate them. They’re watching.”

As Deacon made his exit, he glanced back at the ghoul, concerned for his friend and what he feared was coming. Guess I better introduce myself to this Vault Dweller, he thought. Or better yet, have her come to me.

Pondering what Deacon said, Hancock sat back down in his stool and lit a cigarette. He exhaled a plume of smoke and reveled in the sound of Magnolia’s voice filling the room.

Have you got a history that needs erasing? Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes? A broken down dream you're tired of chasing Oh, well I'm just the girl to make you forget.

[falloutspammer]

weve finally gone full self-insert lads

[wasteland-tyrant-imagines]

Could you write hancock/reader where the reader always ends up in Hancock’s bed at night whether it be them doing uhhh things,, or just her crawling in to sleep? And then maybe one night she doesn’t show up and hancock gets worried and finds her curled up in the corner of her room listening to the “Hi Honey!l holotape and crying? If it’s too specific you can do what you want with it, I just need that sweet sweet raisin man comfort

The first time she crawled into his bed, they’d both been high as a skyscraper on Mentats and Jet.  She’d just come back from using the relay into the Institute, and whatever she’d seen inside... seemed to be something she wanted to forget.  He didn’t push her to talk about it, but he did offer her something to take the edge off.

She’d kissed him that night, her fingers curled into his coat in pure desperation.  He’d fantasized about the feeling of her lips on his for months now, but he’d never acted on those impure thoughts.  She was a good person -- too good for the hand she’d been dealt -- and she could do much better than a ghoul like him.

But he gave in for a little while, and the Jet seemed to stretch the moment so much longer.  Her skin was so smooth under his touch; she hadn’t been in the Commonwealth long enough to have it weathered by the elements.  There was a scar here or there, puckered skin that left her forever marked by her travels, but it paled in comparison to his radiation-ravaged body.  

He stopped her when she reached for his zipper, murmured something about leaving her wanting more.  When she started to come down, she fell asleep on his chest, and the next day, she acted like her usual self again -- radiant, hell-bent on bringing change to the Commonwealth and helping those in need.

When night fell, however, she always found herself back in his bed.  At first, it was just sleeping, tangled in one another’s arms, but it evolved over the consecutive days.  Hancock gave in when she admitted that she loved him-- him of all people! -- and lived out the fantasies he’d had whirling in his head ever since he joined her little band of misfits.  He loved her, too, and desperately hoped it wasn’t all an extended bad chem trip.

And then the next night, she didn’t come to his bed.

He waited in the house he’d fixed up in Sanctuary, one that was directly across from the house she used as her own.  She didn’t go into hers much, he’d discovered; instead, she seemed restless whenever they stayed there for very long.  Codsworth had clued him in, told him that she used to live here -- and in that very house -- which explained why she looked so natural and out-of-place here at the same time.  

He checked the window and noticed that there was still a light on at her house.  Maybe she just needed some time to herself; he could understand that.  He wasn’t the type of guy that crowded someone.

... But dammit, he had gotten used to the feeling of her cheek pressed against his chest, to waking up and looking down at her hair, to the sleepy smile and puddle of drool she’d leave on his rumpled shirt.  

Not to mention that after last night, he was eager for Round 8.

So, he talked himself into crossing the broken asphalt and knocking on her front door.  There was nothing wrong with checking on her.  And if she wanted to sleep alone, there was nothing wrong with that.  

And if she was having second thoughts, there was nothing wrong with that, either.  

The fact remained that she’d told him mere hours ago that she’d see him tonight, and it wasn’t like her to just flake.

She didn’t answer the door.  “Hey, it’s Hancock,” he announced, and then paused before he knocked again.  There was still no response.  Was she asleep?

He let himself in; she never did lock her door when she was here.  She wasn’t in the living room, though the kitchen was the room with the light still flickering.  

“Sunshine?”

He was quiet, straining to hear.  Slowly, he stepped down the hall, until he heard a voice coming from the back bedroom.  The door was slightly ajar, but as he moved to push it open, he hesitated.  

The voice belonged to a man.

“Bye bye, say bye bye.  Bye honey, we love you!”

Hancock heard a soft click as the holotape recording began again.  

“Hi honey!  Listen, I don’t think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are--”

Instantly, it clicked; he knew who the voice belonged to, and he felt like an intruder.  This was a private memory, a message from a man whose body was still frozen within the nearby Vault.  They’d shared this house together, probably slept together in that very bedroom.  Centuries had passed, but for her, it hadn’t even been a year.

He was about to slip out when he heard her crying.  He’d never seen her cry, but when he peered through the gap in the door and saw her curled up in the corner of the room, her face illuminated a soft green from the pip-boy’s light, his resolve broke.  

He opened the door, and the loud squeak from the hinges made her jerk, her fingers flying over the controls to silence the holo.  A shaky breath escaped her when she realized who it was, and she hastily wiped the tear tracks from her face.

“H-Hancock, sorry... I, I, lost track of time,” she fumbled, sniffling.  “I was just about to come over.”

“Hey, it’s no big.  I just got a little worried and thought I’d swing by.  I knocked,” he added, his voice trailing as he shrugged.  She nodded and stood on unsteady feet.  

“Sorry, I... I didn’t hear you.”  Her voice wavered, and although she was forcing a smile, it didn’t meet her gaze, not by a long shot.  

“Wanna talk about it?” he hazarded, and when she froze, he gestured to her arm.  “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“Oh,” she deflated a little.  “It’s nothing.  I was just thinking about... how things used to be, about Shaun and what I need to do, and I... I remembered the holotape.”

He stepped closer, his obsidian gaze focused solely on her.  It may just be his self-destructive nature, but he had to ask, “Does this have anything to do with last night?”

Instantly, her eyes widened, and she shook her head.  “What?  Oh, no, that’s not... this isn’t because of that.  Hancock...”  She gingerly reached out and touched his arm.  “I meant what I said last night.  It’s just... the Institute and Shaun -- it’s so hard.  A-and Nate, I’ve never -- it’s only been him, and I --”  She was fumbling, shaking her head again, her eyes so glassy.  “I’ve been going so fast ever since I came out of the Vault.  I never got the chance to mourn either of them -- or the life we had.  It’s... It’s catching up with me.”

“Hey, it’s okay.  It’s okay,” Hancock murmured, pulling her against his chest.  “You can cry all you want.  My shoulder’s all yours.  It’s not healthy to keep that shit bottled up, ya dig?”

She shook her head again, trying to deny the need to cry, but the longer he held her in that room, his fingers comfortingly threading through her hair... the more she felt the tears gathering.  So, she finally took his advice and let go, muffling her sobs against his musty jacket.  She’d been trying to be so strong this entire time -- in this new world, weakness would certainly get her killed -- but when Hancock’s arm tightened around her, and he murmured soft reassurances against her temple, she knew he didn’t view this as a sign of weakness.  

If anyone understood losing a home and becoming someone else, it was Hancock.    

When she finally quieted down, they stayed like that, embracing in the dark and slightly swaying in place.  “I don’t want you to worry about me having second thoughts,” she managed, her voice much steadier.  “I meant it when I said I love you.”

“I wasn’t worried for a second.”  He glossed over the fib with his usual, charismatic smile.  “But do you, ah... want to spend the night here instead?  Or be alone?”

“No, I want to be with you.  And tomorrow, maybe we can head out for home?  There’s a couple of settlements I need to check on for Preston, anyway.”

“Home?” he echoed.  “Isn’t this--?”

“This hasn’t been home for two hundred years,” she cut in, resolute.  “I thought you might want to go home, though.  We haven’t been to Goodneighbor in over a month.”

Hancock laughed, slinging an arm around her as they strode from the remains of her old life.  “Sunshine, I’m all for seeing my people again, but first we’ve gotta get one thing straight.”

Her smile mirrored his as he pulled her in front of him, both arms around her waist, and she slung her arms around his neck.  “Oh?  What might that be?”

“Right here -- right now?  I’m already home.”        

Hancock kissed her, and she realized for first time in two centuries... she was home, too.