#fallout fanfic

[bisexualcooperhoward]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 1-30 ; 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 ⤷ f2u w/o credit ⤷ recoloring encouraged ^_^ ⤷ resource post ⤷ lmk on this post if you need more #s < 3

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭:

[aladaylenewvegas]

Down By The River, pt. 4

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"And I says to him, Ed, I says, you can't just wander up to a gecko like that."

"I thought...I thought it was down. Not moving." Ed grew frustrated, not seeming able to find the word.

"Dead?" Hannah suggested.

"That."

The next day had come, and still curious about Ed she had come to the caravan's camp.

"How did you find him?"

"We were going through the desert, somewhere southeast of Vegas. Can't remember where, exactly. He was wandering around in circles with nothing but an empty bottle of water and a machete. We asked who he was and he didn't seem to know. Then he suddenly said, 'Ed.'"

"Yes," Ed agreed, "I'm Ed."

"We felt bad for the poor fella, honestly. Wandering around in Legion territory, practically defenseless."

Hannah watched Ed nod again and wondered if he even knew what he was agreeing with.

"He tends to wander off so it's not...ideal, but when push comes to shove he can shoot straight, and that's helped. Doesn't cost us anywhere near as much as a mercenary."

Now she understood why they kept him. It wasn't entirely fair, but this was a bad situation.

-------------------------

Hannah returned to the lodge, pleased with what she had managed to get from the traders. An empty book, a Grognak the barbarian comic she didn't already have, and a few pencils. That was aside from the seeds, but those were always on the primary list anyway.

It was strange - she couldn't remember seeing Joshua on the path ahead. But suddenly, there he was, like a ghost that had just sprung up out of the ground.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Joshua, you scared me."

"That was not my intention."

"You have a habit of popping up where you're least expected," she said.

He gave a slight nod. Then he waited a few moments before speaking again.

"Caesar. He is still...there?"

"He is," Hannah said, "And he barely seems aware of where he is. He only knows he's safe and full and that appears to be all he needs to feel happy."

She took a deep breath.

"When I saw him in the Legion camp," she said, "I noticed...an absence seizure, maybe two. I told him he needed to handle it soon. I suppose his doctors weren't any good."

"They were not known for keeping the best doctors. They can capture them, of course, but..." Joshua shook his head. "If I did not know that was Caesar I would call this a terrible joke. And yet I know him. I know his face. That is him."

"Or what's left of him," Hannah said. "He's lucky he got found by decent people."

"If he hadn't come from the Legion and they found him, they would have put him down as one does a dog."

"It seems that they turned him out with water and a machete. They probably expected him to die." She sighed. "He doesn't seem to blank out like he did before, but he's...reduced. Very much reduced."

He walked with her back to the fishing lodge. Why he continued to do this when he encountered her in the evenings, she wasn't sure. The cazadors were a bit thicker this time of year, perhaps it was that.

-------------------------

Harvest Day.

Of a sort.

The pile of bodies deposited at the entrance to Zion all bore some version of the Legion's armor. It was what she, or rather Yes Man, instructed the securitrons to do - if you encounter Legion, always kill them. Deposit their bodies here, that we may collect anything useful from them.

The tribes did not like the idea of stripping the armor off, but everything else was up for grabs. The machetes, the guns, the coins. Hannah sorted them into two piles, explaining that despite caps being the main currency, others would pay for the coins at a slightly lower price than face value because the coins were made of valuable metal. They could get more elsewhere for it, but it would be more dangerous. She went on to say that the silver one was more common, and the two or three golden ones were less so, and thus more valuable.

The spoil was divided, and thus they had a little more to work with. The debate, however, was what they should use it for. The machetes and weapons would be kept, but everything else, including the coins, were up for sale.

"Tools," one Dead Horse said, "Whetstones, and salt."

"The caravan has a small barrel of salt. We could get a fair amount..." Hannah thought.

"Seeds," one of the Sorrows said, "If they have any. This is planting season. You have brought us the carrots, the potatoes, the maize, and the beans. But more is always better."

So she went back to the traders with a list, and a bag with the denarius and aureus coins jingling in it. The traders were just finishing up lunch when she arrived, and sitting around a fire that was slowly smoldering into embers.

"Payday, boys," she joked, producing the bag. "My metal men outside the valley did us all a favor."

Then she handed the caravan leader both the bag and the list.

"We can give you the salt," he said, glancing down it, "We have a whetstone, too...we don't have much in the way of seeds, though. We do have a mutfruit sprout, but it's not been looking too good. Couple of denarius and I'll give you the pleasure of burying it."

She looked over the thing. It didn't look TOO bad, but it had definitely seen better days. But if it took, it could be handy to have around.

"Alright, I'll take it."

Ed was hanging around nearby, and came over when the jingling of the bag of coins sounded off. One denarius happened to fall on the ground when the bag was handed over and he picked it up.

He looked, first at the trio on the back, and then the face on the front.

"I know him," he said slowly. Then he turned it again, and looked at the back. "I..."

He sat down in front of the fire. He looked at the trio on the back of the coin, and cringed, holding a hand to his head.

"Ed?" one of the traders asked. "You okay?"

"My head hurts," he said. "Silver. That's for the lower ones. You want the gold."

Hannah sat beside him as he looked over back of the denarius again.

"...they were there," Ed went on, "We...where is he? He'll know what to do. He always does. He always has the right words."

"He's fine, Ed," one of the caravaneers said absently.

"He is fine," Hannah echoed, "Alright?"

"No. No, he was...he was gone." Ed's face went from confusion to distress. "I did it. I did something bad."

What is he remembering? she asked herself. She couldn't help if she didn't know.

"He was my friend."

"He is alright," Hannah said, trying to reassure him again. Well, if he was talking about Joshua, that was a straight-up lie. Joshua was not alright. He was never alright. "You hear me, Ed?"

He didn't seem to.

"I'm sorry," he said to the coin. "I don't remember why. But I'm sorry."

[govermentcheesecaves]

A post Fallout 3 fic about a group of Super Mutants fleeing the Capital Wasteland after the brotherhood takes control would go so hard.

They’re trying to remember their past lives while being hunted by the BoS, and maybe they aren’t able to find clean water after it’s infected with the modified FEV

Even if they’re not violent, they have to deal with the bigotry and hatred of the wasteland, desperately searching for someone who’ll help them, or at the very least not shoot them on sight.

(also it would be cute if they had a pet centaur that had a cutesy name like Muffins or Princess)

[atomsace]

roughing some drafts, very sleepy.

presenting this to make up for the wips I’ve missed while I was losing my mind lol

[bellonathedragonborn]

My interpretation of Vault 25.

So in my universe Vault 25 is located in North Dakota and was never actually used by anyone. It has two reactors but one of them was broken and leaked radiation into the vault. Many years later a group of Children of Atom (more friendly like the Capital Wasteland ones, not militant like Commonwealth or Far Harbor ones) found the place and settled. They try their best to keep it clean and well kept since to them it is a holy site. Some children go as far as to wear the vault suits out of devotion. They all wear pip-boys.

In Children of the Wastes Lloyd Inculta is brought to this place after sustaining injuries and finds out he has the mutation that makes him radiation immune.

[cheesebawel]

Mad Scientist Reader x John Hancock!

Hard to get curious about what’s ahead when yesterday’s still breathin’ down your neck.

“…Reverse a mutation?”

The words come out with that lazy little curl Hancock gets when something lands somewhere between interesting and total bullshit.

Commonwealth’s full of stories like this. Folks’ll shoot each other dead arguing whether synths got belly buttons, swear some poor bastard turned into a tree and got himself a whole congregation, or tell you there’s a deathclaw professor roaming Cambridge with more brains than half the assholes living there. And right now? He’s got an easier time believing every damn one of those than believing somebody can put this messed-up world in reverse.

Before he can pick his way any further through the strange little maze that is Bug Lady’s brain, something over his shoulder steals her clean away. She perks up, bounces onto her toes, and starts hitching her bag into place.

“Looks like I’ll have to sort through your wares another time,” she rattles off, already edging around him. “Pleasure making your acquaintance!”

“Yeah… pleasure.” Hancock’s mouth crooks. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.”

The second the whirlwind of a woman blows past him, he pours out a breath that’s damn near a laugh. Off she scampers like an eager dog after a bone, enough that curiosity gets the better of him and he looks over to see what could’ve stolen her attention that fast.

Ah. Not the bone. The owner.

It ain’t exactly a rare sight, seeing the Commonwealth’s favorite two-hundred-year-old celebrity wandering around, especially here of all places. Sanctuary Hills is the Sole Survivor’s old stomping grounds, and naturally, Sylvester DeLoria’s got himself a crowd. Biggest settlement tycoon around can’t stroll through his own damn neighborhood without half of it coming over to have a word.

Settlers and travelers press in from every direction, some with questions, others just looking to shake his hand. Even an Assaultron waddles into the mess clutching a clipboard. DeLoria signs wherever it points, shakes one hand, then another, towering over the whole swarm like handling everybody’s business at once is just another part of the job.

Then his eyes find Bug Lady, and something changes.

DeLoria slaps on a grin big and schmoozy enough to sell purified water to a mirelurk and starts cutting through the people like they’re tall grass.

“Y/N!”

Big voice, too. Carries clear over everybody and straight into Hancock’s ears. Before Bug Lady can get much closer, one of DeLoria’s great paws lands between her shoulders in a hearty pat. Then off they go, DeLoria ushering her into step beside him, already talking her ear off while the crowd closes up behind them.

“Y/N, huh…”

Hancock rolls it around for all of two seconds.

Eh. Bug Lady’s better.

Besides, with DeLoria money behind her, Hancock figures he oughta enjoy the nickname while he can. Give it a year and her name’ll be printed on cash, buildings, and whatever the hell else rich people put their friends on.

And whatever Slyv’s got cooking with Bug Lady, it ain’t Hancock’s business.

That’s the nice thing about not being mayor anymore. Plenty of shit gets to be somebody else’s problem.

The cool air cuts through his new tanned-leather coat anyway, cheap thing doing precious little besides looking the part. Least it wears dirt better than the old red frock. Hancock runs a hand over the pocketed skin of his head, passing over the place his tricorn used to settle, always cocked back just enough to catch the sunlight. Been a while since he wore either. Still feels strange sometimes.

A low moo rolls out of the Brahmin beside him, and Hancock gives her a pat. “Yeah, yeah.”

He gets her moving. The crates stay behind in their neat little pile, and Hancock fully intends to leave everything else in Sanctuary with ’em. Then Bug Lady creeps back into his head. More specifically, where she went. His gaze drifts that way before good sense gets a vote.

When’s the last time he got up to something fun? Raised hell, or at least cut loose a little?

The Brahmin shifts her weight, cowbell giving a lazy clink, and Hancock looks at her. Come to think of it, she’s technically the woman he’s slept beside most consistently for a while now.

“Well, that ain’t good…”

One head looks back at him. The other keeps chewing.

Not that Hancock’s aching for somebody’s touch. He’s just accustomed to certain pleasures showing up on the menu more often. Or used to be. He still stops by bars, still window-shops the occasional one-eyed bartender or one-armed trader along the road. But pretty alone’s never been what keeps his attention.

Pretty might turn his head. But weird’s what makes him double back.

Unique. Far-out. Zany as all hell. Hancock’s always liked somebody he can’t quite make sense of. Back in Goodneighbor, there was little Kent. Guy buried himself so deep in comic books Hancock figures even the bombs couldn’t knock him outta the story. Two hundred years and one ghoulification later, the bastard’s still at it. Always made a trip to the Memory Den more interesting, that guy. Hancock likes people like that, people strange enough to make the world feel a little less predictable.

And as his gaze wanders toward the little row of suburban houses Bug Lady disappeared into, he’s gotta admit she seems pretty damn qualified.

Hancock shifts his belt, takes up the Brahmin’s lead, and turns them toward the houses.

What the hell. Road ain’t going anywhere.

Maybe Bug Lady’ll make the detour worthwhile and send somebody’s living room sky-high in the name of science.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/90079206/chapters/239890161

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Unfortunately no gif this time because I’ve run out and haven’t gotten the chance to make more, but!! Next chapter!! “Season 1” is basically over.

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

Heyyyy anybody know fics where Colonel Autumn is a fatherly figure (to LW or otherwise)?

I have Valerie, and will eventually be writing more about both her and my friend’s LW (since mine doesn’t side with the Enclave), but writing is so hardddd and I don’t want to pause The Day The Music Died right now!! This man has as many fans as he does minutes of in game dialogue, so if you’re one of those people, do let me know!!