#these have been my long-winded hancock thoughts
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How funny that she never considered that.
#one piece#boa hancock#monkey d luffy#i really disagree with how oda writes her#i think she likes him in the way a little girl crushes on the first boy to ge nice to her#simply because she thinks that's how it must work#she did not have the time nor was she safe enough as a child to feel those things#this was the first ever man other than rayleigh to not view her as an object#so she thinks she *must* love him#these have been my long-winded hancock thoughts#thank you
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Hiiii this is my first time asking, but I love your writing! ♥
I was recently editing my FF where Hancock had to talk to Shaun about him and Sole being together (like when a step-parent has to get the green light from the kiddos, and I thought it was cute). It made me wonder...
How would you see the Companions handling this situation? Or being a "step-parent?"
Companions as step-parents
(Big distinction from having their own kid)
Cait; It takes multiple months to really figure things out with Shaun. She starts by mentioning one day, "By the way, yer ma/da and I are datin'. What do you want for dinner?" This is never brought up again. Shaun is fine, he's a smart lad. If ever asked to discipline, she's out the window and down the street. Not her kid, not her say. Cait has too many nerves to be Mean Mom. She's Fun Mom. She's Eat All This Candy Mom. She's kind of a disaster and Shaun finds her entertaining. Cait, for her part, is glad they don't have to go all sappy about it. Internally, always fretting and fussing about how she's doing as a parent. If anyone notices she quit the bottle, they can mind their own.
Curie; Long-winded discussion that bores Shaun half-to-death. She wants to talk mental health, healthy family dynamics, responsibilities...how its okay to feel what he feels, who to talk to about what, where do they go from here...Shaun nods along even if he's already adjusted to this being a reality. Curie wants to be the Model Mother with no shortcomings. Shaun just wants Curie, and Curie is already there. That's enough for him. Not many people can brag about their mom being an actual doctor with papers to prove it. (They're her Ms. Nanny 'adoption' papers.)
Danse; Similar to Curie, except Danse is freaking out, where Curie is cool as a cucumber. Danse is not a cucumber. He wants to win Shaun over so badly, but understands that kids are their own people, with opinions and shit. So, his speech is more along the lines of 'here's what to expect, and here's what is up to you.' Meanwhile Shaun is already thinking about Father's day...because Danse has been his dad from, like, minute one. You can't teach him science and garage stuff and not be Dad. That's like...first step to Being Shaun's Dad.
Deacon; would need his ass glued to a chair to keep him from trying to wrap it up prematurely. Can't stop making jokes but desperately wishes he could. Meanwhile, Shaun is Not Entirely Impressed. Deacon is a liar. He runs off. He changes his identity. Shaun isn't convinced he's not going to go get cigarettes one day and vanish. And having kids is a sore spot for Deacon. This is territory he paved over long ago. But he forces himself to take a pickaxe and start peeling back those layers, self-actualize. Shaun sees this and accepts Deacon as Dad. They go on What Trouble Can We Get Into Without Mom/Dad Finding Out adventures.
Gage; i really hope Gage can keep his temper in check here, because Shaun is not having this. Raider. Manipulative, probably also a liar, violent tendencies, lacks morals, etc etc etc. Will 100% bring up Nate/Nora. "Mom's/Dad's last partner was a war hero/civil rights lawyer. What do you do for work?" Gage might be more skittish than Deacon here. He was expected a geek kid. Not someone staring through his soul and tsking. Brings back little gadgets for Shaun as peace offerings, cleans up his act somewhat. Maybe starts cleaning himself more if Shaun comments on his hygiene. Look, he ain't running from Sole because of their, in all fairness, honest, objectively correct child. But he can't just butt heads with him all his damn life either. With enough time, Gage takes Shaun and tries to actually parent. Shows him survival tricks. How to skin an animal, fire-starting, whittling. Stuff his own family taught him. Shaun needs only a few good looks at Gage's soft side before he's on board.
Hancock; Shaun is. So torn. One hand, Hancock is fun and nice and really cares for his parent. On the other, Hancock is a chemhead from The Place Where Everyone Is High And Having Sex Constantly. He likes Hancock as a weird uncle. As a dad...hmm...he's suspicious. Is Hancock husband material? Hancock himself doesn't think so and will fully admit to Shaun "Hey, I've got shit to work on, and I'm working on it, because your mom/dad is everything to me, and we're not going to just leave you out to dry." Hancock wants Shaun to be better than him, to not feel too comfortable in places Hancock himself would call homely. Teaches him to value the freaks in the world, and his community, but understand that a fun hole six feet down is still a hole six feet down. If he ever realized he was the Rules Dad, would go on an Irresponsible Parent bender to correct. No one learns that Shaun got a flamethrower out of this until Its Too Late.
MacCready; Takes ten minutes and most of it is talking about having a brother. Raises Shaun like his own, Shaun calls him Dad the quickest. What? He's already a dad. MacCready needs no intro to parenthood. This just makes sense to everyone involved and there only hiccup is Shaun worrying about sharing a room. Not because jealousy or anything, but he has potentially flammable/electric gadgets he's working on, and Duncan is a curious boy.
Nick; Also needs no introduction beyond "Hey I know the synth thing is weird but you want mac and cheese for dinner?" This just. Makes. Sense. Honeslty, even if not romanced, Nick is still Dad. Come on. He just is. Nick himself will grapple with the horror of potentially outlining both Sole and their child, but Shaun is just excited to spend more time with his cool robot detective dad. Hey, how does your hand work? Can I see the joints? How do you smoke, can I see your lungs? Nick is the one who needs an adjustment period. Teaches Shaun snark and now no adult dare sass him.
Piper; Also no introduction. The only hiccup here is that Nat, previously Shaun's bestie, is now his aunt. And both of them are really weirded out by this. Nat isn't helping by insisting she has to start drinking wine. No, Natalie, that was just a quirk of Aunt Darcy, not a universal rule. Piper herself is Shaun's confidant, the one he goes to whenever he needs to talk. Why not Sole? Well, its just...Sole only ever responds 1 of 4 ways, and Shaun has developed a sixth sense to intuit those responses, so...when he needs someone normal, he goes to Piper. Piper is a wildcard and also, gives him candy.
Preston; I HC he's a middling child of a big, big family, with lots of relatives nearby, if not in the same house. So, Preston has this child raising shit on lock. Sits Shaun down, gives him a quick rundown of the basics, asks if he has any questions, and boom. Done. Preston would rather be a parent/guardian/trusted adult than he's going to be. Actions, not words. He's probably the most likely to sway Shaun from his science interests. Not intentionally, but its hard to look at Preston and Sole, hear their stories, and not want to follow your parents in their Minuteman ways. And if Sole leads the Institute? Shaun is set up to really change the wasteland.
X6-88; 400+ PowerPoint slide. The doors are locked. He provided refreshments. Shaun allows this because he understands that X6-88 needs this more than him. Sole might have some objections. X6-88 raises Shaun with education in mind. Shaun just keeps asking questions about what its like to be a courser. Excellent, questions like that are preludes to a brilliant mind. No one challenges Shaun to "my dad could beat your dad in a fight." Shaun, for his part, likes this killing machine fumble around domestic life. He's worse than Cait at it.
#fo4#fallout 4#paladin danse#preston garvey#piper wright#nick valentine#x6-88#robert joseph maccready#companions react#hancock#porter gage
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Lente's Hymn: Resistance (Chapter 1)
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It's time to face the past.
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Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump
content warnings: none
Next Chapter >
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It's finally time to start the Bozja fic! This is one of the most important bits for both of my boys, and it is angsty. They have a lot to work through, after all, since Kris went MIA for four years going around doing Warrior of Light stuff. I'm not sure how long this one will be, but we'll be going through the whole Bozja story in the process!
Of note, I've moved the Bozja storyline from post-Shadowbringers to post-Stormblood, and Cid's around more. That's the important canon-bending stuff!
"Must you glare at me so, Kris?" Hancock looks over the rim of his teacup at the Viera, rose-rimmed glasses making his gaze inscrutable. "Have some tea! I just wanted to have a simple chat."
Kris sighs and leans over to pour himself some tea. "Chats are never simple with you."
"Hah! You know me too well." Kris's frown only grows deeper as Hancock chuckles, and the Hyur quickly clears his throat before continuing. "I have something of utmost importance to discuss."
Of course it's important… no one would call the Warrior of Light for a relaxing tea time. Kris inwardly rolled his eyes at the unwanted title. He's helped to liberate countries and slew eikons the world over, but it's never enough to earn some rest.
"I received word from Lord Hien that our friends in the Bozjan resistance, our comrades in the Eastern Alliance, seek the aid of distinguished heroes in their fight against the Empire." Hancock sets down his teacup with a smile. "Naturally, your name immediately sprung to mind."
The Bozjan resistance, strange that they're asking for help. Kris remembered some of the interactions--or rather, arguments the Bozjan and Dalmascan resistances had over the years. Neither group was willing to accept much in the way of outside help, to both force's detriment.
But Bozja won't truly be free without loosening the Empire's grip on Rabanastre, and that much is clear to Bojzans and Dalmascans both.
That means working with them eventually… but with any luck my work will be done before I run into someone that recognizes me. The last thing he'd want is for--
"So, what say you?"
Kris snaps out of his thoughts to look at Hancock. I forgot he was talking… "Yes, of course. I can't very well deny them after you so… thoughtfully talked me up, now can I?" He stands up and heads toward the door, tea untouched. "I'll find Hien straightaway. Thank you for the tea."
"Ah, must you leave so soo--" Kris shuts the door before Hancock can finish his sentence.
~
The next few days flew by in a haze. It appeared that the Bozjan Resistance wanted more than just heroes--they also wanted to outfit them with recreations of the Blades of Gunnhildr. Seeing vaunted heroes on the field with such legendary arms would serve not only to boost morale, but also send the Garleans a message that the Queensguard lives on.
The problem was no one remembered how the godsdamned things looked. It appeared, however, that Mikoto from the Students of Baldesion was able to conceive a device to delve into a person's subconscious--and if they found someone that had been close to the weapons in the past, they could get the information they'd need to recreate them now.
However, years past, the Garleans destroyed the whole of the Bozja capital, and with it, the soldiers that would have seen the Blades. But if Mikoto's precognitive Echo was correct, there is one person who can still help… Cid Garlond.
"Bozja… I would never have thought I could try to atone all these years later." Cid's voice is quiet, nearly carried away from the wind whipping around the airship.
Kris looks towards the man in silence until he continues. "The incident that destroyed the captial… it was my fault. If I had only--"
"Self-flagellating will get you nowhere." I know that all too well myself. "We will be diving into your past shortly, anyway. No need to torture yourself by reliving it now."
"Perhaps…" Cid mumbles, then turns to meet Kris's gaze. "Bozja is but a stone's throw away from Dalmasca."
Kris frowns slightly. "That it is."
Through a lapse of judgment on Kris's part, Cid found out about him being a former member of the Dalmascan Resistance. He didn't tell the Garlean much of the details, just enough to sate his curiosity. Thankfully, for his part, Cid never told another soul about this.
But his past is hard to ignore when it's so close by.
Cid clears his throat, then continues. "Is seeing your former comrades again something you wanted? No doubt they be happy to know one of their own is the Warrior of Light."
"I doubt that, Cid. And you know full well it's never been about what I wanted."
The sharp edge in Kris's tone stops Cid from prying further, and the Garlean falls silent until he speaks up again. "My apologies, that came out harsher than intended. Regardless, the Bozjan resistance is not working with Dalmasca--they'd spend too much time bickering instead of fighting the enemy."
"I see…" Cid stares at the horizon as Gangos comes into view, lost in thought.
Kris follows suit, looking at the fastly approaching cove. "Are you ready?"
"No, but I will face the past regardless."
~
Kris sighs as he watches the sunset. He and Mikoto delved into Cid's past as planned, and the Garlean was forced to face some harsh truths about his family and his past. It felt cruel, putting him through that…
However, the effort wasn't fruitless. Cid had been in the inner sanctum that held the Blades, and seen each in enough detail wherein the others could recreate both the look and the important inscriptions upon each weapon.
But as expected, creating the weapons takes time, and Kris has spent the last few days idle. He has offered to go to the battlefront, but Bajsaljen had refused, urging Kris to save his strength. The Viera spins a ring on his finger, frustrated with being unable to do anything.
Kris's ears twitch to the direction of footsteps from behind, breaking him out of his ruminations. He turns around quickly to the sight of Bajsaljen. "Apologies, I hadn't meant to sneak up on you."
Kris simply shakes his head and turns his gaze from the Hrothgar to the weapon in his hands. "Is that the blade you'll have me wield?"
"Yes." Bajsaljen lifts the greatsword up slightly. "This is Blade's Justice, a greatsword used by one of the Queensguard with some… more unique abilities."
Another Dark Knight, then. He takes the greatsword in hand and turns it over a few times. What a savage looking blade… and deadly sharp to boot. It'd take no effort to cleave a man in two. Such a fitting weapon for the Warrior of Light.
The Resistance leader continues. "The inscriptions you helped us recover have a use, as well. If you channel a small amount of aether into the blade, it will glow. Many soldiers rallied to the Queensguard on the battlefield by looking for the weapons' glow."
"Makes sense. Easier than trying to yell over the noise of battle, and it wouldn't be a proper recreation if it didn't act as a beacon… for allies and enemies alike." Bajsaljen fumbles over his words in an attempt to respond, but Kris ignores him and channels a sliver of aether into the blade.
The weapon begins emitting a dark purple hue, somehow bright in spite of the shade. He watches the blade's colors pulse and shift for a moment before cutting off the flow of aether.
"Fascinating." Kris looks back up to Bajsaljen. "Thank you, I'll be sure to use it well."
"Of that I have no doubt." Kris had thought the conversation would have ended there, but as the Hrothgar shifted his feet in the sand, it was clear he was not yet done.
"What else, Bajsaljen?"
"Ah--we've… we've completed the recreation of all the weapons, so we are nearly ready for you to join the front lines. We're simply waiting for the soldiers from Dalmasca to join us."
"The Dalmascan Resistance? I thought your group and theirs were on poor terms."
Bajsaljen lets out a growl of frustration. "That is true, but… we thought to extend our hand in hopes of mending the rift, and having a few of their strongest fighters wield the Blades and fight with us. To me, there seems no better way to work towards our shared goal than for the troops to see us all fighting together."
"I can't argue to that." As much as I wish I could… Godsdamnit, why is Dalmascan getting involved already? "Who are the soldiers they're sending?"
"I don't have any names, but of importance, they have a fighter that can wield the Blade's Resolve."
Kris's eyes widen slightly in shock. "You mean… the gunblade? Why would you have a Dalmascan wield the very symbol of the Queensguard?"
"We… have no Gunbreakers among our ranks. Not anymore." Bajsaljen shakes his head and shifts his gaze to the nearly-set sun. "We thought the art completely lost when the capital was destroyed, as so many were killed when the capitial fell. We had heard of a survivor happening upon the Dalmascan Resistance, however, and that he trained anyone with the aptitude how to wield a gunblade."
The Hrothgar crosses his arms. "Likely he thought he was the only one left and needed to pass down the art any way possible."
"I see…" Kris remembered the time the Hrothgar mercenary came across his camp all too well. He indeed taught as many as he could how to use a gunblade, but only a handful of soldiers showed enough aptitude and confidence to take them afield.
"But you needn't worry about the resistances' petty squabbles. Just know that you will have allies at your side." Bajsaljen turns around and begins heading back to the camp. "Rest well, the fighting will begin soon."
Kris watches Bajsaljen leave, then looks down at the greatsword, nervously strumming his fingers against the hilt. What awful luck to have Dalmascans joining us so soon. I hope no one recognizes me. And a gunbreaker too… The Warrior of Light looks out on the water reflecting the last light of dusk. I know there are several gunbreakers among their ranks, and likely even more have joined since I left, but I can't help but think to…
~
"Elja."
Laurent doesn't turn away from the papers scattered across the table of his tent. "What is it?"
"A-a message from the commander."
The Viera waves a hand vaguely toward the edge of the table. "Put it there, I'll look at it later."
He hears the messenger clear his throat. "The commander said the orders are urgent and I'm not to leave until I've seen you open it."
Laurent huffs and turns on his heel, facing the messenger. "Fine. Give it to me."
The messenger shifts his eyes away from Laurent and holds the letter out.
"Don't be so nervous, that'll get you killed next time you're carrying urgent messages across dangerous territory." Laurent grabs the letter out of the messenger's hand as he attempts to string together a response.
"I… yes, s-sir, noted sir…"
Laurent ignores him as he breaks the seal. Whenever Fran needs something from me, it's never anything pleasant. As fushcia eyes continue to scan the letter, he could tell that this time would be no different.
~*~
I have an urgent request of you. The Bozjan Resistance is looking to make a push to liberate their lands now that Garlemald is reeling from its losses. They are looking to recreate the Gueensguard, with none other than the Warrior of Light at their head.
Furthermore, the Bozjans have asked for a few token warriors in our ranks to help with the push, looking to bring us into the Queensguard as well. It appears to be a goodwill attempt, perhaps a way to get us to shift our focus to Bozja. That said, a unified front will be better than a fragmented one, so regardless of the reason I felt compelled to agree.
You are to travel to Gangos, where the resistance is currently stationed. Go there, accept their terms, and fight to free Bozja so we can free our own lands. Make sure our interests are known, so that they will not forget this kindness and help us, in turn.
~*~
"What in the seven hells is this? I am to simply drop everything and head to Bozja? Ridiculous--" Laurent looks up from the letter to complain to the messenger only to find him gone. I guess he did see me open the letter…
He reads over the contents a few more times before pinching the bridge of his nose. Gods, why me? I've never been good with the politics of dealing with the Bojzans. Eir was-- Laurent shakes his head and begins packing the tent up. I came here to fight, not to deal with the hemming and hawwing of the Bozjans.
"And the Warrior of Light, too…" The Viera clicked his tongue in annoyance. He had heard plenty of stories of the hero that has liberated countries around Hydaelyn, but he also knew they were too fantastical to be true.
No singular person could achieve such feats on their own. "On top of the Bozjans I'll have to deal with some pretenious and over-confident child that rode on the coattails of the armies and took all the credit. Gods, what a mission…"
But, I can't refuse Fran, so… I best prepare to leave.
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Hey Kami, what do you think Mayor McDonough's first name was? Some people assume it's Guy, but I have this idea that Hancock got his love of American history from his mama and she named her first baby George after Washington and her second baby John after John Adams or, even better, maybe after John Hancock in a crazy twist of fate. What do you think? :)
Weirdly enough, I never really thought about it. Probably because I usually refer to him as McDipshit.
I've heard some people say his first name is actually Mayor, which is just...a thing, I guess. I only recently saw people who think his name is Guy, and I can see that, but Hancock has a habit of calling other dudes "guy" so I'm not sure I prescribe to that one either, although, I mean, people's HCs are their HCs and I ain't gonna judge them for it.
I mean, our boy got his love of history from somewhere. I mean, growing up in DC means he had a formal education, and I agree with most people's opinions that he's always been a big reader, despite his assertion about ghouls and books being their best friends. I, personally, have an HC that his mom is originally from Diamond City, but his dad was from a settlement elsewhere. That they tried to live in the wilds where his dad was happiest, but his mother couldn't stand it and dragged them all back to DC. But, his dad often took the boys fishing just to get the hell out of the city for a while. So, it would stand to reason in my HC that his mom would be more the history buff. DC folks tend to kind of be stuck in the past. I mean, their music hasn't changed; they want people are separated by wealth like the "good old days" despite living in the fucking apocalypse; and they are racist as fuck. All the finer points of the fucking 50s. Bleh. I can see his mom being the one trying to instill the importance of history, maybe in a misguided kind of way, in her boys. It just so happens, they each took that in a different direction.
I really love the flip sides of the coin that they play in FO4.
Anyway, I can see his brother being a George. Or maybe even Thomas, after Thomas Jefferson.
I guess this is a long-winded way of saying, I think that's a pretty damn cool idea!
.
.
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I just realized that when Hancock uses "guy" it was talking about dudes he has an intense hatred towards. McDipshit and Vic he referred to as "guy". Huh.
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TIME FOR TYNER AGAIN?
I bought McCoy Tyner’s album with this name—a wonderful collaboration with Bobby Hutcherson—on vinyl when it was new(ish) as a young jazz fan. Tyner was anointed by his collaboration with John Coltrane and the power and movement he added to the modal exploration. Of course, that band shaped my aesthetic and, having missed the master himself, discovering what Tyner and other alumni were doing to extend Coltrane’s legacy opened doors. It helped that the modal seesaw evoked the long jams of the Grateful Dead.
But a little goes a long way and I limited myself to early 1970s albums like Sahara, Extensions (with Wayne Shorter), and a solo tribute to Coltrane. Oh yeah and Fly Like The Wind for its catchy title cut. I forewent the 1980s trio albums and generally thought of Tyner as a known quality, that when I wanted to listen to him, I knew where to go. And that was mostly to the Coltrane Quartet itself.
[Sidebar: I suppose my focus on pre-hiatus (1974 and earlier) Grateful Dead is a similar response.]
But a little goes a long way and, as inevitably happens, the Coltrane legacy’s long shadow means that people want to evoke him/them. The innovations in the hands of lesser but still worthy players can feel cliched. I find myself writing approving notes like “modal without Tynerisms” or ones less so with Tynerisms as a complaint.
While it is unfair to diminish the accomplishments of the innovator for what is done with the innovations, I also tend to the sparer side of piano players—Ahmad Jamal rather than Oscar Peterson, Bill Evans over yeah Tyner.
Leading me to think it was time for Tyner again were two essays by Ethan Iverson. First, he drew out a point re: Keith Jarrett who consciously turned away from Tyner to be “Bachian,” melodic and therefore missed “the real bebop.” And then one that celebrates Tyner as a revolutionary. Iverson is a fine fine pianist, but I may like him more as a critic. He’s certainly enough of a kindred spirit that when I get irritated at his being voraciously opinionated, it is a caution to myself.
Those opinions though are worth responding to. They’re more than a little cranky. They feel at odds with his own playing and there’s a tension between the scholarly approach he takes to the organic/folk traditions he (and I) value, “the real bebop.” In that, he perhaps extends his mentor/friend Stanley Crouch’s grouchy stance. I’ve been put off by Crouch the gruff personality to be oppositional to his perspectives. But I’ll read and take seriously what Iverson says.
Which brings me to this exercise in digging into Tyner’s Blue Note albums from the late 1960s, including the fine ones I had and, the real find of this exercise, The Real McCoy. That album with Joe Henderson, Ron Carter, and Elvin Jones and five exceptional tunes, including standards like Blues on the Corner and Passion Dance, joins Herbie Hancock’s Maiden Voyage and Wayne Shorter’s Speak No Evil as desert island albums from the label. I regret missing it when I was coming into the music.
Tyner is fresh, varied, and vivid on that album and all of them. Tender Moments has a larger ensemble like the ones Herbie Hancock explored. In engaging with Hutcherson, Henderson, Shorter, and Gary Bartz, he needs and feeds very strong soloists to communicate his musical vision. The pinnacle is The Real McCoy which has a mix of blues, ballads, and modes. It is of course distinctively Tyner and, as such, a reminder that he himself is far more than Tynerisms.
These occasional retrospectives on Lee Konitz, Horace Silver, Andrew Hill in relation to Herbie Hancock, and, in the pipeline, Jarrett and Jamal in relation to Red Garland with Miles are attempts to talk myself out of limiting prejudices.
In this case, I’m ready to make time for Tyner again.
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Just a cute tidbit from my fanfiction, Bombs on Monday Morning (Book 1 of my Fallout 4 fanfiction series) that I really enjoyed.
The door led out to a balcony of sorts. It was raining, but at least it was daylight; this would make traveling easier. At the top of this building, we had a perfect view of the Commonwealth in all its devastation. Somehow, it was still beautiful.
“Well, now, ain’t this a rare treat,” Hancock said with his hands on his hips and smiling out at the view. He took a deep breath through the hole that would be his nose and sighed. “Just smell that Commonwealth rain. It’s the simple pleasures in life.”
The wind whipped at my face and chilled me to the bone.
Hancock lit a cigarette and sat down on the ledge. “Seriously, though. There was somethin’ off about that Courser. Had to be.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to think about it right now. I’ll start getting... paranoid.”
“Well, we still gotta figure out a way to get that chip decoded. Wanna see if Amari can help?”
“Yeah. We’ll head out in a bit. I don’t want Jenny to feel like we’re hovering. Besides, I kind of like the view.”
He turned and raised an eyebrow at me. “What part of the view.”
I laughed. “Don’t make me push you off the ledge.”
He chuckled back at me. “Ya know, I feel like we’ve been seein’ eye to eye. Makes me ask the question: you ready to learn about chems?”
“And miss out on all this view due to being stoned out of my mind? No thanks.”
“It’s not gonna dull your senses, Gwen. It’s gonna enhance them. Trust me.” He flicked his cigarette off the ledge, not even half smoked. “Here, I’ll do it with ya.”
I huffed at sat down next to him. “Okay, what am I doing?” I asked with no enthusiasm.
“We’re gonna start you off with something nice and easy. but something that’s gonna make this view look ten times better.” He went through his pockets until he found an inhaler. “Jet.”
To show me how it worked, he pressed the little inhaler’s button down and breathed in deeply. Oddly enough, his speech became slightly faster than before as he told me it was my turn to try.
At first, I didn’t want to chance it. But I reminded myself that I trusted him, and he was sort of an expert on this like this. What was I afraid of? I took the inhaler from him, and, swallowing my fear, breathed in my own hit of Jet.
Everything slowly sharpened in contrast. Time seemed to move at a crawl. I looked out at the view, and everything seemed so serene, like a still painting. I could almost see the prismatic colors of the rainbow in the rays of sunlight peeking through the parting clouds. Each drop of rain fell so slowly in front of my face and looked clear as crystal.
“Who-o-oa-a-a,” I said, and my voice was slow and deep. Then I giggled what sound like the most masculine giggle I’ve ever made, and I laughed even more.
Hancock laughed with me, “You-u-u’re ge-e-etti-i-in’ i-i-it, no-o-ow-w-w.”
I could enjoy the view for a few more seconds before it wore off. It didn’t last as long as I thought it would.
“How was that for a first time?” he asked, his voice seemingly back to normal along with everything else.
“Yeah... That wasn’t so bad.” I shot him a sheepish grin.
“Told ya.”
I shivered in the rain. As I was about to get up and get back into my Power Armor, Hancock draped his coat over my shoulders. I shot him a surprised look. My expression must have been a sight because he laughed at me. I looked back out at the view, heat rising in my cheeks and ears.
I side-eyed him with the intention of saying something but stopped short.
He was gazing at me with glassy, black eyes — the kind of eyes that demanded full attention.
I smiled and muttered, “Thanks...”
“No problem.”
Without permission, without warning, I scooted closer to him so I could lean my head on his shoulder. He was incredibly warm. “Naturally hot-blooded,” as he had called it.
At first, his body stiffened as I gently leaned on him. After a moment or two, he relaxed. And he put his arm around me. And he laid his head on mine.
What am I doing? I asked myself, but the only answer I could give myself was that I was doing what felt natural. Hancock was warm, comforting, and inviting. He kept my mind at ease.
We sat like that for a while longer, and for a while longer, I allowed myself to stay calm and relaxed before I had to continue the journey to find my son.
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@medicus-mortem asked: ⭐ time for some brotherly affection.
Send in ⭐ to touch my muse’s hair (Still Accepting)
Ikkaku inhaled deeply through her nose, relishing the salty scent of the sea. It never failed to soothe her frayed nerves, and by the Light she needed some soothing. It seemed like the world just kept getting more and more out of control every time she so much as glanced at the newspaper.
Whitebeard was dead. Blackbeard had been declared a Yonko. New shichibukai had been instated, including her own captain. The Hearts had left Paradise for the New World. The seas were growing more turbulent and the winds were changing. Law was getting closer and closer to his ultimate goal, but the prospect had her more nervous than excited.
A familiar hand rested on the back of her head, and Ikkaku couldn’t help but smile a bit. The long digits stroked her hair, combing through the curls in a comforting manner, careful and dextrous enough to not get caught or yank on any unruly locks. Guess Law noticed I’m in a mood, she thought. She had been pretty quiet since they left the Marine base. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust his plans, nor that he would keep the crew safe; it was just hard to relax in a place like that.
“So, what do you think of your new Warlord buddies?” she asked, leaning back into his touch. She was genuinely curious of his opinions regarding his new “associates”, but mostly she wanted him to know she was alright. She wasn’t brooding because of him, so he didn’t have to worry about explaining himself again. The world was changing, but their relationship was still the same. “Not gonna lie, I had the crazy urge to set that Buggy clown on fire. Guess I haven’t forgotten everything I learned on Joras. And that Weevil guy? Kinda want to beat the crap out of him on principle, calling himself Whitebeard’s son. Then again I think the only ones there I liked were Hancock and Mihawk. And you, of course. You’re definitely the only government dog who gets to play with my hair,” she added lightheartedly.
#medicus-mortem#The Engine is the Heart of the Ship (canon)#Join the Hearts: We Have Uniforms#Warlords - What are they Good For?#Oh Captain My Captain (Law)#(no matter how the world changes the sibling love between these two will always be the same)
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Companions reactions and thoughts to you jumping off of the Prydwin/high or tall buildings in power armor.
Cait- oh fuck yeah!
She wouldn’t ask if it was okay to do such, shed just jumped right off the deck since you have her her own set of power armor. Or anything possible. There was something badass about jumping off of a high structure and landing without a hitch.
She’d actual challenge you to see who have the biggest sack and jump off the highest point of whatever you could find.
She won.
Codsworth- mum no
He far more prefers it if you don’t put your life in so much danger. The commonwealth is already super dangerous as is, poor ol Cod’s didn’t need to worry about your reckless actions
The first time you did it, you had to go back up the deck and fly back down simple because Codsworth wouldn’t budge.
He‘a very displeased with you if you jump from any height that could cuase any type of harm to.
Curie- oh heavens no, goodness gracious no!
She very much enjoys taking the vertabird and will do such if you jump.
For the next few minutes, all you’ll hear about the dangers of doing such, both to your body and to your surroundings.
Even if you give her power armor and reassure her that it will be fine, she will still take the vertabird.
Danse- Loves it
He’d always enjoyed jumping off of tall or high things, the thrill and rush he would get falling through the sky and landing was almost as pleasing as getting into his beloved suit.
Would take the vertabird when he was either solo or with those who didn’t have the privilege of getting a set of power armor, but you first jumped right off he didn’t hesitate to follow you.
You thought that you were either going to have to convince him or withstand a very long lecture from the bastard but was very surprised when you heard him land next to you with a massive goofy grin.
There is now a rule that there is no jumping off of the Prydwen after you almost crushed someone, again.
Will shout “Outstanding” or “Ad Victoriam”
Deacon- not for him
He may have done a lot of things in his life but he planned to keep jumping off of the Prydwen off of his bucket list. Nothing was going to get him to do it.
You were able to convince him to do it, how? Peer pressure.
He threw up afterwards.
Dogmeat-you can’t
You simple cannot
No
Nope
Hancock-impressed that you have the balls to do it
It was a bet, he placed down all of his jet and said you’d get it all if you jumped. You didn’t even hesitate to do it, already had your hand on the rail and leg up on top of the rail
You got very high that night.
Respect +100
MacCready- let me go again
Took a lot of caps but you got MacCready to do it. About 1,000 caps outta ya pocket but man hearing him scream like a little girl was worth it
“If rollercoasters we’re still around, I’d like to image that what riding one of them feels like”
He will occasionally ask to borrow a suit so he can do it over again. Every time he’ll scream like a little girl.
He now owns a set of power armor just for jumping off of things.
Nick- critical and annoyed but he’ll do it
Constantly talks about the chances of a a sting gust of wind knocking you over and falling flat on your back or face.
Despite all that junk, he’ll do it if he’s not wanting to deal with bigoted comments about him being a synth.
Has been pushed off by people of the Prydwen. A couple of close call drownings later, no one messes with him anymore.
Piper- Next big story.
“Blue-“ every time she sees a potential jumping point. It’s too late
Talked about you being her next story, a “power armor pancake with some strawberry syrup to go with it, chunks included”
“Piper wtf”
Preston-rathe take the vertabird
He enjoys the bird much more.
Will almost throw a fit if he can’t get to rid the bird.
“Flying makes it easier to get to a settlement that needs our help!”
“Preston stfu” *jumps off Prydwen*
X6-won’t catch him that high up or falling into the water
Hahahahha
No
“I’d like to keep my knee caps”
Strong- not even allowed up on the Prydwen.
Thinks it’s a sign of power
Likes it
Makes fun of you for needing metal cage.
#fallout 4#palidan danse#fallout#fallout 4 companions#danse#fallout 4 headcanons#fallout 4 companion headcanons#fallout 4 maccready#Piper#Cait#john hancock#preston garvey#codsworth#rj maccready#nick valentine#Dogmeat#x6 88#Strong#fo4 curie
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Companions and their mental health statuses?
(Wrote this while listening to a Spotify playlist named "going absolutely fucking apeshit" anyway- I'm gonna split this up by what I think character wise...and then my experiences with these seggsy bitches in game bc boy, it's been wild)
Cait:
•Sufferer of severe trauma throughout her life.
•Shit just gets worse
•Fights for her life and has a strong love for psycho before a special someone convinced her she is worthy of being loved
•Trust issues out the wazoo..for sadly, good reasons.
•Maybe not the worst on the list, but definitely up there.
In game experience...
•GOD DAMN FALLOUT VERSION OF LYDIA- like seriously? Gtfo the doorway! I'm getting blown up!
•Hates everyone and everything except sole and breaking the law.
Curie:
•Actually not all that bad...except for secret abandonment issues.
•Usually masks it by burying herself in research.
•As far as these poor bastards go, she's probably one of the most mentally stable- which is scary.
In game experience.....
•Sweet Frenchie with asshole pets.
(I don't travel with her often 🥲)
Danse:
Pre-Blind Betrayal-
•Confirmed sufferer of PTSD
•Blames himself for the death of several team members.
•Evidence points towards un-talked about alcoholism.
•Seems to be attracted to power armour..
•Not very good but not the worst on this list..
Post-Blind Betrayal-
•Same as above but add on identity crisis times a thousand and two.
•Will literally kill himself (or let you kill him) if you don’t convince him otherwise.
In game experience....
•Fucking goes apeshit, pre or post BB
•Completely unaware of his surroundings unless it has to do with vertibirds flying over head, then it's time for guerrilla warfare. "Fate has decreed that you must die!"- he speaks, drawing a laser rifle.
•Has been caught on multiple instances doing drugs out of the drug vending machine in Nuka World despite clearly being against them.
Deacon:
•Probably one of the more mentally fucked.
•Lost his wife in front of his own eyes in a notably terrible way.
•Escapes his deep seeded pain through his elaborate schemes, justifying it by telling himself it helps his organization.
•Still feels like shit every waking minute.
•Cant really allow himself to get close to anyone because of his experiences.
In game experiences...
•Asshole
•Jumpscare king, mainly because I didn't know he changed outfits THAT often.
•Doesn't like physical affection??? Shit that actually makes sense..
•Stalker.
Gage:
•He's pretty "meh" on the sanity scale. He's ruthless, but he's entirely stable besides his attachment issues.
•Trusts too easy and hates himself for it...also tries to make himself not be that way and for the most part, it works!
•Problematic raider.
In game experience...
•Makes stupid comments at inappropriate times as though he wishes for the enemies to murder us
•Thinks that walking through walls is entirely possible and gets stuck every time I run with him
Hancock:
•The actual worst on this fine list of mentally messed up individuals.
•Self worth is just nonexistent despite being a pretty all around decent guy
•Uses drugs to cover up terrible trauma to the point of putting himself in the greatest danger just short of dying
•Oh yeah, doesn't mind death actually.
•Doesn't feel worthy of anything deep down.
in game experience...
•Shoots sole for stealing shit in the third rail
•Unhinged
•Sits for hours
Macready:
•Lost his wife in a horrific way
•Only has his son, who he is convinced is going to die sooner than later because of something he can't control
•Willing to do everything if it means caps to send to his sick child
•Doesn't really have a place to call his "home"
•Reckless and unforgiving
In game experience...
•Being nice? How dare you speak such ill language.
•Kleptomaniac
Maxson:
•Does as good as a boy his age with all of the responsibility possibly could.
•Just imagine- your dad died when you were super young. Your mother shipped your ass away. The people you loved like family died all around you. Now you're stuck in foreign land and have no fucking idea where to begin, only that you have to mobilize these fuckers you're in charge of and remain a good leader...
•Still not good enough? Okay, pile on insomnia, alcoholism, and the thought that you have no one alive that truly loves you as more than just the "elder". Oh, but you eventually got to spit out some kids somehow because you're the last of the great "Maxson" line...
•Also not exactly on the "stable" side..
In game experience...
•Stares intently down the Prydwen command deck with his hands behind his back..for hours.
•Never wants to chat :(
•Long winded and short sighted, bad combo..
Nick:
•Has to deal with not only demons that technically aren't even his, but after "reunions"- Kellogg's fucked up self haunts him. He keeps it to himself and suffers silently.
•Deals with the pain of knowing there will never be a place where is truly just himself. He's a man trapped inside of a metal cage..and yet he's not even really "that" man, is he?
•One could easily understand how he has some issues too.
In game experience...
•Cigarettes? Yes.
•Oh, Youre in a fight? Seems like a good time to tighten the bolts in my hand right about now...
•Wields a flamer like a champ.
Piper:
•Surprisingly..has the most sound mental state out of all.
•Is a little obsessive tho
•Has had to adapt to the role of sibling and parent to her younger sister, which isn't easy for anyone.
•Often delves into her work, sort of like curie, to avoid dealing with the pain of her parents no longer being there for her or nat.
In game experience..
•Hey kid, want some Nuka-Cola?
•Mayor McDonough shall die, even if it means execution by the hands of everyone else in Diamond City.
Preston:
•Has canonically admitted to considering suicide.
•Is holding onto the last threads of hope he has with a fucking death grip.
•Definitely not of the best mental state
In game experience...
•Doesn't know how to properly use furniture.
•Can hear sole coming from a mile away and is already getting the map out for the next settlement
X6-88:
•Emotions? Is that a snack?
•Seriously though, he has been "reset" so many times that sometimes-he doesn't even realize it- he doesn't even know what "he" is. Every aspect of who he is..it should be gone, he's a machine and he knows it...why does he still feel like a person?
•Short story, he hates life. He hates being held captive and being used like a damn hound to hunt down those who were smart enough to run- those of which he envied and didn't even realize he did. Hey, he's just a machine though- it's his job and he knows better than to revolt.
•Violence is the freedom he feel he has. He can kill and track in any way he wants, so long as it is successful and what the Institute deem appropriate. It's horrible, but he doesn't realize it- and at this point he doesn't care. The death of another and the way they die by his hand is just his way of expressing who he is deep down.
In game experience...
•Oi, you don't like the institue? FUCK YOU
#fallout 4#fallout#paladin danse#fo4 companions#fallout companions#danse#elder maxson#fallout shitpost#porter gage#curie#x6 88#cait#deacon#hancock#fo4#nick valentine#arthur maxson#brotherhood of steel#macready
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I was wondering if you could do an ask for those of us who don't have family to celebrate the holidays with. Companions react to Sole being upset spending their first holiday season without their family.
Cait: “Do you wish you had someone this holiday, Cait?”
It’s a weird question to come out of nowhere, and she leans around the curio she’s searching through to eye them quizzically.
“Why do you ask?”
They shrug. “I was just thinking about my family and everything, and how I miss them, and I thought I would get your opinion.”
She chews her lip thoughtfully and returns to rifling through drawers. “The way I see it, this is the one holiday I actually do have someone to spend it with. Before you, nobody gave a shite about me, you know?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that.” They laugh a little. “What an odd pair we make.”
“At least you’re not completely alone. You’ve got me, after all. Think of how much worse it would’ve been if you were by yourself.”
“That’s a surprisingly adept observation coming from you, Cait.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She chucks a loose snack cake at them.
They dodge, laughing. “It’s just strangely philosophical, you telling me to focus on what I have instead of dwelling on what I don’t. I guess I can learn a thing or too from you, huh?”
“Damn straight. You should listen to me more.”
“If I did, I’d end up dead.”
“Probably just maimed.”
“Brutally maimed.”
She waves a hand through the air. “Details.”
When they’ve quieted for a moment, she murmurs, “But for real, I am glad to have you, sole.”
Quietly, she hears. “I’m glad to have you, too.”
Curie: She taps the end of her pencil to her cheek as she searches for the right word. It’s not “impossible,” and “improbably” sounds too formal, but the word she wants escapes her. Frustrating.
“Curie?”
She glances up at sole, who’s sitting on the other end of the couch. In the middle, their legs have tangled together, and she looks past them to look them in the eyes.
“What is troubling you Madame/Monsieur?”
“Nothing, nothing. I just noticed you’ve been a lot more affectionate lately. I mean, you’ve barely left my side.”
She flushes. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all, I just thought it was strange.”
“I simply thought you would be feeling more lonely this time of year. Holidays can be a difficult time of year for those of us without family to celebrate with, non?”
They narrow their eyes. “Why were you even thinking about that?”
“I was simply reminiscing on my time with the other scientists before the war, and I remembered how lonely it was all by myself in the lab. They were always so happy around the holidays. And I thought to myself, sole is not in a lab, but they are also missing their family. I thought perhaps you would appreciate a little extra support.”
“That’s...” they shake their head. “That’s really sweet, Curie. Thank you.”
“Oh, do not mention it. It is merely a gesture of our friendship. You saved me from my loneliness, and I wish to return the favor.”
“Still, it’s kind. I appreciate it.”
“You are more than welcome, Madame/Monsieur. Anytime.”
Danse: He finds them out on the deck, wind whipping past them as they stare over the Commonwealth. They’ve been distant for days now, giving nothing but short answers, eyes far away when they talk. If he’s honest, he’s worried about them. It’s why he’s ditched the power armor in his bay for the moment; right now he wants to be a person, not a Paladin.
“Evening, Danse.”
They don’t turn to him when he approaches, and he doesn’t know how they can recognize his footsteps outside power armor, but he doesn’t question it. He just leans against the railing beside them.
“Something has been troubling you,” he says.
They sigh, and he can almost see them deflate against the railing. “You know, Danse, I thought that it would be easier than this.”
“What?”
“The holidays. I thought, you know, even though my family wasn’t here, maybe the Brotherhood would help fill that- that emptiness, if even just a little. But I guess it just doesn’t look like that.”
Their words hit too close to home, and he deflates a little, too. “I’m afraid you’re a year too late. With the war, there will be no holidays onboard the Prydwen.”
“Did there used to be?”
He nods, not trusting his words. He can’t tell them that, even though he understands why it’s necessary, it still hurts. They’re still new, still building their trust. He can’t sabotage that.
His silence means nothing, though, as sole seems to read his mind. “You must miss that. In a way, you don’t have a family for the holidays, either.”
Gently, they lean their shoulder to his, and he allows himself to lean back against them, just this once.
“At least we have each other,” they whisper.
He nods. “At least there’s that.”
Deacon: He doesn’t want to say it in such direct terms, but the truth is that sole’s house is a little... sad.
To be fair, they’ve only been in the Commonwealth a few months, and a lot of that was spent trying to figure out what the hell had happened to them and the world, but still. Sole’s place feels entirely like a house, and nothing like a home.
“You know, boss, you should just spend the holidays with us.”
They look up from their coffee mug from their place at their sad table with its sad, lone chair. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, just come live at HQ a while. It’s gotta be better than spending the holidays alone out here.” Slowly, he turns in a circle, as if to emphasize how empty (and sad) the walls are.
“But my memories are here, Deeks.” They blow on their coffee. “This is where I should’ve spent the holiday.”
“Yeah, with your family, if the world hadn’t gone to shit and blown up. But it did, so you should just come celebrate with us. Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier.”
He doesn’t mention the number of holidays he spent in an empty farmhouse for the sake of memory, and thankfully sole doesn’t ask.
“Deacon, are you actually... worried about me?”
“Oh, you bet, boss. I mean, look at this place. It doesn’t even have electricity. You couldn’t have holiday lights if you wanted them.”
“Do you guys do holiday lights?”
He shrugs. “Do you want to?”
For a brief moment, there’s a spark of life in their eyes. “Would it be okay?”
“Who’s gonna complain? Carrington? Just tell him that he doesn’t have to look at them.”
They hum and say, “I guess I’ll consider it.”
That’s his cue to hit him with the ace up his sleeve. “We do a game of Secret Santa, too.”
They try to hide their smile, but they’re bad at it, and Deacon breathes a sigh of relief, knowing they’re sold.
Gage: “Fuck do you mean, you miss them?”
“I mean I was fucking married and had a kid, you eyeless prick. I actually cared about my family, and it sucks that they’re not here. I’m sorry that you cut ties with your family completely, but not all of us can or want to.”
He huffs, because he can tell he’s pushing a little too hard, and if he keeps going he’ll end up wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.
“Well, Overboss, trust me when I say you won’t even remember them. We got a bit of a tradition here, ourselves.”
They eye him warily. “Do tell.”
He shrugs. “Not much to say. It’s a party, we get drunk, fuck around, light some shit on fire. It’s a good time. Can’t lay around feelin’ sorry for yourself when you’re lightin’ something on fire.”
“So, Yule. You’ve reinvented Yule.”
“Call it what you want. As long as you have a good time, who cares, right?”
Their face is still doubtful.
“At least give it a shot, boss. You’re gonna have to be there anyway to keep up appearances. Might as well try to have a good time while you’re at it.”
“Alright.” They sigh in resignation. “But if I end up drunk and crying in a corner, it’s your fault.”
“I promise to hide you before you can embarrass yourself.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for.”
Hancock: “Hey, sister/brother, what do you think of these?”
He holds up a couple strands of garland and tosses them over to a waiting sole, still perched on a ladder.
“Shockingly good condition,” they say. “But I think this stuff usually goes on the tree.”
He waves a hand. “You put it wherever you want. I’m just helpin’.”
“Well, do you have a tree?”
“Somewhere around here.” He glances around, but realizing it’s not within direct line-of-sight, shouts, “Fahrenheit!”
“What?” Her voice is muffled by the distance, but her irritation is not.
“Where’s my tree?”
“Wherever you put it last year. I don’t keep track.”
“Damn,” he huffs. “ I thought for sure that’d work.”
He heads into the other room to rifle around for his tree. There’s a beat of silence before sole says, “You know, I never have properly thanked you.”
“For what?” He glares down at the wreath in his hands, which had tricked him into thinking it was a tree, before shrugging and tossing it to the side to get hung up anyway.
“For giving me stuff to do like this. Staying busy really helps me feel less... alone, you know?”
He rocks back on his heels, peering into the other room to make eye contact with them. “Sure thing, sunshine. But I’ll warn you, it wasn’t all my idea.”
They laugh a little. “I figure Daisy had a hand in things, but still. It’s nice of you.”
“I appreciate you assumin’ that I’m not just using you for free labor.”
They laugh again, for real this time, and he can’t help but smile.”
MacCready: He wants to say something. He wants to tell them that it’ll be alright, that he’s been there and it hurts, but you make it out in the end. He wants to be able to comfort them somehow as he watches them duck their head and pretend to not see the decorations in Diamond City, but he’ll be damned if he knows how.
Fortunately, sole has the words where he does not.
“This sucks,” they declare, holed up in the corner of the Bobrov’s bar.
“I’ll drink to that.”
They clink their beers together, sip, and lapse into silence before sole says, “I really miss my family, Mac.”
He closes his eyes, pictures his boy back in D.C., and agrees. “It’s a tough time of year to be without them.”
They reach across the table and grab his hand. “Next year, we’ll go down to D.C. We’ll have found the cure by then. We’ll go see Duncan.”
“Would you really want to go?” His heart is thrilled to hear their words, but his head tells him that might only hurt them more.
“Of course. I want to see you go home and see your kid. I wish we could’ve done it this year, but...”
“That didn’t work out,” he finishes.
They nod.
“You know,” he says, taking another sip of beer, “next year we’ll have a big family celebration to compensate.”
“What, you and Duncan?”
“No, all three of us. We’ll go the whole nine yards. Lights, presents, everything. The real deal, all three of us. Family.”
That brings a smile to their face, and he smiles to see it. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but for a moment he can see the whole thing before him. The three of them together, laughing, making a family out of nothing.
Just make it through this year, he promises sole silently, and I’ll make sure you have a family holiday again.
Nick: He eyes sole in the corner of the agency, where they’re talking to Ellie about some case they’re working. They’ve been talking about leaving these past few days, about heading up to Sanctuary for the holidays. It doesn’t sit right with him. He knows sole, and he knows that only bad things await them at their old home this year.
“Well, I’m headed out.” They breeze by his desk to grab their hat. “Have a nice holiday, you two.
He looks them dead in the eyes and asks, “Why?”
They freeze right where they are. “Why what?”
“Why are you leaving? Got somethin’ real exciting up north?”
Their expression tells him they don’t have a good answer, and he sighs.
“Look, kid, I get it. You think you wanna be alone to mourn and cope with your loss. But I’m tellin’ ya, you’re not coping. You’re just making yourself miserable.”
Under their breath, they mutter, “Damn detectives. Always analyzing you,” before turning to him directly. “Well, you and Ellie already have your thing going on. I’d hate to intrude...”
“You’re not intruding,” Ellie pipes up. “In fact, I already bought you a present. In a way, it would almost be ruder to leave.”
“I bought one, too,” he says. “How about that?”
They hesitate. “Are you sure?”
“Bed upstairs is all yours. Stay a while. It’s not like ya can’t change your mind and leave later.”
They turn to Ellie, but she’s just nodding along. “I freshened up the sheets just the other day, actually.”
“Well... alright.”
He lets himself smile.
Piper: “Damn, Blue. This place looks worse than the Glowing Sea.”
Her eyes scan Sanctuary Hills. Even Preston has headed off to the Castle for the month, so the place looks well and truly abandoned. The breeze kicks up as if on cue, scattering a few leaves across the road.
“Isn’t it great?” They kick a pebble across the street, bitter expression on their face. “No family for the holidays, and nobody else, either.”
“You can’t stay here,” she says, staring at the bleak, run-down houses.
They shrug. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I could stay at one of the other settlements, but that just feels weird. My home is here.”
Piper shakes her head. “No way, Blue. I won’t allow it. You are not spending the holidays here and that is final, you hear me? Final.”
They glance over at her with a bemused expression. “Then where am I going?”
“Home, with me, to Diamond City. You’ll spend the holidays with Nat and I, not here in, well, this. I mean, at least Diamond City decorates.”
They laugh a little. “Piper there is no room for me in your house.”
“We will make room. This isn’t up for debate, Blue. And don’t start with the ‘Oh, I’ll be intruding’ stuff, either. Nat’s gonna be thrilled to see you, and I’ll be thrilled you aren’t moping around this place that could probably make Takahashi depressed.”
“What, the noodle bot?”
“The very same. Now, go make yourself a sleeping bag, get whatever else you need, and let’s go.”
They salute her mockingly, “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
Better to be mocked than leave sole here.
Preston: He knows without sole saying a word. He knows that pain, the haunted look that trails them, the way they linger just a moment too long in the doorway of their home before sighing. He can’t help but feel for them, too, because he still feels like he’s in those shoes, lonely around the one time of year no one should be lonely.
Maybe that’s why he does what he does. He tells himself he’s crazy, even as he treks across the Commonwealth, searching out their companions, inviting them to Sanctuary so sole can be surrounded by this new, found family they’ve made. He can’t let sole suffer alone, not this time, not ever. He knows what that loneliness does to a person, and he refuses to ask sole to face it on top of everything else.
He reminds X6 that, if he doesn’t play nice, he probably won’t live to regret it.
He meets Gage at neutral territory and, even though it disgusts him beyond belief, they make a temporary armistice for the next few months.
He tells Danse that if he makes so much as one comment about ghouls, synths, or anyone else, he won’t be able to get all the sand out of his power armor for months.
It’s not the most glamorous job in the Commonwealth, but he is bound and determined to make this thing work, no matter the cost or consequence.
X6: “I don’t think I understand. Your family is here.”
They sigh. “But they’re not, X6. Sure, I found Shaun, but he’s hardly the child I thought I was looking for, and my spouse is still dead. My own son doesn’t even know me, much less would want to spend the holidays with me. I may have found Shaun, but...” They sigh. “Did I find my son?”
He takes a moment to contemplate their words. “You’re quite distressed about this.”
“I guess?” They shake their head. “I’m just lonely, X6. That’s all. I miss my family and having someone to spend the holidays with. It just doesn’t feel the same.”
He looks at them, takes in their tired, beaten expression and their slumped posture. Quietly, he evaluates a series of options and outcomes before leaning in and whispering, “Do you want to know a secret?”
“What?”
“A secret. Do you want to know a secret?”
They slide toward him, dropping their voice to a whisper, too. “Yes.”
“Us coursers aren’t supposed to have holidays. We are not supposed to have a sense of family. You know this.”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps you would like to join us, who also have no family, for a small celebration, then. It isn’t much, but there are snack cakes.”
They look at him, almost impressed. “X6, you know that’s not allowed. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I trust you, and I think you need us as much as we need each other. I only ask that you don’t report it, if for no other reason than our bond as friends.”
“I- X6, I’m not going to tell anyone. I’d love to go.”
He nods. “It’s settled then. December twenty-second, one in the morning, the abandoned areas behind biosciences. Bring snack cakes, and bring lots if you want to make friends.”
#holiday asks bby!#i love them more than i can say#fallout#fallout 4#fo4#fo4 companions#fallout 4 companions#fallout 4 companions react#holidays#cait#curie#danse#deacon#gage#hancock#maccready#nick valentine#piper wright#preston garvey#x6-88
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More than just a flirt
John Hancock X OC
Hi hi! My smut hand be rusty but nothing like completely self indulgent OC smut to bring me back :)
So I’m still new to tagging and the like but my Fallout 4 OC is GN but I do insinuate female genitals. Soooo ye *finger guns*
If ya read it I hope a like it!
John was a flirt; that’s all he ever could be. He was charming. He was witty. He was an adventure covered in an oversized trench coat. What bed partners he had came for one thing. The experience. The ability to boast loudly about fuckin’ a ghoul. Like it was a damn badge of honor. His whole life had been a stream of one night stands, and cold beds. That's all he ever could be. That’s all he ever would be.
So then why did he wake up so warm?
Cracking an eye open John reached behind him searching blindly for what was heating his back. His burned fingers were a complete contrast to the soft flesh that greeted him. Slowly, he traces down it, following the flow of the dark muscular till he is holding on to an arm wrapped around his middle.
“Morin’.” His bed partner huffs in his ear. Chestnut curls tickle his cheek as they hug him closer. Whiskey and melon sweet breath bringing back memories of their lips against his. Last night clicks in place. Ophelia. John rose quickly as if burned. This was wrong, they are a friend. A good friend, a trustworthy hardworking leader. They deserved better than-than…
“John?” Ophelia rose uncaring of how the blankets slipped from their arms. Old fabric pooling around their bare waist. They rub at their eyes wearily. “You ok?”
He froze at the edge of the mattress. Long fingers reaching for his pants on a very recognizable floor. He was in Ophelia’s room; or rather this was their hotel room. Damn. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. What did he take? Fuck. He could kick himself. Of all the one-nighters, he wanted to at least remember this one. “Ye doll, sorry...just didn't wanna wake ya.” He smiles, covering his momentary panic.
Ophelia frowned, sleepy hazel eyes narrowing into a familiar piercing glaze. They size him up. Reading him better than anyone ever had before. John couldn’t help but squirm. They looked at him just like when they had first met. Strong jaw tense and their chin high, silently calling out his bullshit.
“I'm fine, honest. Didn't expect to see you is all.” Hancock tried again tugging on his pants.
“In my own room?” His friend snorts, rising to go open the curtains. “Where else would I be?”
John is silent. “I don’t know. Not here-with me.” He keeps his back turned. It was stupid to linger. The warm tingling of their soft body seeps down into the floorboards leaving him aching and cold. Staring at his irradiated hands he could almost cry. Almost- his tear ducts had been scarred shut years ago.
“John?” Ophelia comes within arms reach. He could sense their hand hovering close to his own boney shoulder. They drop it moments later. “You sure you’re ok? You coming down from a bad trip or somethin’?” John chuckles humorlessly. Was he that predictable? Stepping away from them he finishes dressing.
“Ye sunshine. Don’t worry about it. Ain’t my first time and sure as hell won’t be my last.” He tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya a minute ta get ready and meet you out front.”
If Ophelia had anything to say after that they kept between their pretty little lips.
“I think we should head for shelter.” Ophelia says, looking up from the fallen mutant. Their arms filled with loot. John follows their gaze. His black eyes reflect the eerie shade of green growing in the sky. Rad storm. Looked like a big one too. He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his grimy teeth before helping collect a few more useful items.
“Closest place is probably that supermarket couple o’ klicks back.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. If they hoof it they could probably get there and pick off any ferals before the worst of the storm hit. Ophelia sighs, John knew how much they hated backtracking. The decision was made for them when their pip-boy starts clicking in warning.
“Well-” They frown, throwing a glance back at the ghoul. “You alright with taking two steps forward and ten steps back?” John laughs, tipping his tricorn up to flash them a quick wink.
“Shit doll- You just summed up my life in a sentence.” Offering a hand he helps the sharpshooter over some loose rubble. “You keep an eye out K? I know you’re low on ammo so I’ll take point.” Ophelia nods. Their sniper rifle slung uselessly across their back. Readying his shotgun John follows behind.
The storm hit just when he had expected. Dropping rain and hunks of debris on the two as they struggle to close the supermarket doors against the high winds. Thanks to their combined dumb luck the place was empty. The sentry bots long since destroyed and even a few tins of food were still scattered about the aisle. Ophelia left him to collect some and scout out any hidden lock boxes, leaving him to set up the sleeping bags and start a small fire.
Cracking open a room-temperature beer he stares idly into the flicking flames. It grew steadily as he fed it bits of cardboard and kindling. The yellow glow touches his skin and starts to dry his drenched clothes. John contemplates his predicament while he waits for Ophelia to return. The memories of last night slowly start to come back to him in the silence. The tastes, and smells of washed sheets and sweating skin permeate his senses. Ophelia’s sweet mewls and gasps echo around in between his ears. Who gave them the right to make his name sound so sweet?
Shit-He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. First rule of one-nighters is to live in the moment then walk away clean. But damn if he wasn’t the worst at following rules.
He relives it all the best he can, parts still blurring and blocked, like a scratch in a holotape. But he’ll take it. He’ll take the phantom feel of strong, sure fingers mapping his body. The ghost of a tongue slipping against his. Washing away the taste of mentats and cheap drinks. He can’t remember the last time he had felt so warm and wanted. Made the sudden distance he put between them hurt even more. Fuck him for getting greedy.
John flicks the butt of his cigarette into the roaring flames and searches for another. He grumbles in irritation as each pocket bears no fruit. “Here. I got some.” A familiar red and white box appears in his peripheral. Ophelia’s chipped yellow nail polish clashing with the old carton.
“Thanks, sunshine.” He rasps, taking the box. He can’t bear looking up for the crumbled container. The thought of making eye contact with them while his blood and brains were living in his trousers seemed unholy. Pulling out the least damaged cigarette of the lot he lights it with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Found anything good?”
They shrug, putting a few cans of beans and corn in the growing amount of embers around the fire pit to heat. “Some ammo and super glue. Also-” They grin, forcing him to look up. “Got you a present.” They pull a bottle out from behind their back to brandish it at him triumphantly. He stares. Not at the bottle, but at the way that little pull of muscle brightens up their whole face. That signature gapped tooth smile warming him better than the beer and firelight combined. He reaches numbly for the bottle. A Nuka-Cola Quantum, the chill of the bottle a welcomed surprise.
He and the rest of the crew had learned over the years not to reject a gift, no matter how valuable. MacCready nearly had a heart attack when he was gifted with a shiny new sniper rifle. That pretty little custom piece came with all the bells and whistles. Not to mention a few boxes of specialized ammo. John had zoned out when the other man started rambling rapid-fire over specs clutching the gun to him like a newborn. Each of the core companions got some good shit from time to time. He had some absolutely sinful blades and an old bottle of pre war bourbon tucked away in his office. Valentine had gotten some fantastic upgrades to his hardware and repairs to his offices. Hell- Curie got a whole bloody body.
Can’t beat these job perks.
“What’s the occasion?” He pops the cap off with the blunt end of his pocket knife, taking a pull from the bottle. The rush of sugar and god knows what else damping his headache.
Ophelia shrugs from across the pit. Pulling off their worn boots to warm their feet by the fire. “I remember you said they perk you up after a particularly bad crash.” They pause, face closing down for a moment, before looking up in horror. “I would have thought- I mean. I- you-I hope I didn’t do anything last night that upset you. I know you were a bit buzzed and I was way past tipsy. But, if I stepped out of line you would tell me right ?” John looks at them beyond confused.
"What?" He asks dumbly.
" Is," Ophelia waves vaguely at the distance between them. Normally when they camped together they were thick as thieves. Joking and nudging at each other's shoulders. Others used to joke about them getting a room. Now it felt like a great chasm had opened between them. "all of this about last night."
"Oh. Nah. Don't gotta worry none doll." John shrugs. Best to rip the bandage off now then later. "It's in the past, best leave it there. " He lies. It burns his throat worse than jet, but he has to. If only to protect his crumbling pride. One day he'll believe his own words. Hopefully.
"Well I am worried. How 'bout we start over. What’s wrong?" Ophelia jabs.
John feels heat rise under his thick skin. Just pokin’ a fresh cut tonight huh..."Kinda hard to start over after having someone's dick down your throat." He tosses it out carelessly. A shit attempt to derail the coming train wreck. Ophelia doesn't even flinch.
"Well, it's a damn good thing we both know how flexible I am then.” They rebuttal smoothly. “So, I'll ask again. What’s. Wrong?" The ghoul shrinks under their heated look. He was never keen on being hit with these eyes. Meant another kinda storm was brewing.
John throws his hands up in frustration. Had they never heard the phrase 'read the room'. "What, ya never had a one nighter before?" He regrets it the second the words leave his lips. He'd never seen someone flinch from words before. "Look, doll, I ain't one for making things awkward. I know the rules so let's just forget it and move on."
Ophelia deflates. Their signature look that could pin a super mutant in fight extinguished just like that. John watches them mouth over his words slowly. Clearly hating the taste of them as much as he did. "Is- was that what you wanted out of it?" Ophelia sighs. They dig a hand through sweat tangled locks. The tight coils of their hair protesting the drag of their fingers. His own fingers itch watching them, remembering the feel of their hair wrapped around his hand as he pulled them in for a kiss.
"What did you want out of it?" He asks, feeling dumber than a radroach.
Ophelia mimics him, throwing their hands up with a short laugh. "John, I thought it was clear. I don't go sleeping around with my friends and colleagues for shits and giggles. Who do I always ask to join me on travels?"
“Dogmeat?” John jokes, the knot in his stomach loosening with hope. It's unimaginable really- and yet. Were they serious? The past couple of times out they had always come to him. Even when they would be at a strategic disadvantage for whatever crazy scheme they had brewing. Only time he wasn’t Ophelia’s top pick was when some Minutemen tasks needed to be done. Even then He could always expect them at his front door the moment their feet landed on safe ground. A bottle of liquor in hand and an unbelievable story to tell.
“Not funny.” They chastised him scooting until they were seated next to him, knees brushing. "My idea for this morning was to maybe get breakfast and a semi decent cup of coffee. But I guess this is fine." They scrunch their nose in distaste at the cans warming in the fire pit.
“Shit doll,” John reaches out, wrapping a wiry arm around their waist. “Can I make it up to you? For being such an ass?” They hum in jest covering his hand with their own. The kiss that follows was unlike anything that he expected. It was slow and sweet. So different from the fast pecks he would get with others he slept with. He deepens it greedily, not ready to part just yet.
“You’re lucky I find you attractive.” Ophelia whispers into his mouth tossing his tricorn to the side and straddling his narrow hips. “We are going to have a talk about all this. Just-later-much, much later. I need a repeat performance of last night now that we are both sober.”
John groans letting them push him down. “Damn-you got it. You got whatever you want if you mean it.” Ophelia scoffs, ridding themselves of their baggy jacket. John can’t help but marvel at how beautiful they were backlit by the roaring flames. The orange glow of the light wrapping around their dark skin much like he craved to do. The flicking of it lapping at their smooth skin. Flashes of last night coming back to him of his tongue traveling down the same areas. He would have to remap them.
“As if I could ever lie to your smart ass.” They scoff grinding down on the growing bulge hidden in his rough pants. “But you have been lying to me and yourself it seems.”
He grunts in acknowledgment eyeing the way their ass moves. “You are absolutely right.Fuck- how can I make it up to you?”
Ophelia smirks cupping his cheeks. Their eyes meet. Rich hazel meeting cold black. The moment digs dip under his tough hide. The raw emotions in their stare makes his throat dry. “Put that mouth to good use- hmm? I know it’s good for more than some self-depreciation.”
Spurred by Ophelia’s words he flips their positions, placing the sniper down on his bedroll. John sinks lower, kissing and nipping at their hip bone. Mapping out all the sensitive parts of their body. His tongue tracing the silver little streaks on their belly. Ophelia’s stomach twitches at the feel of his warm breath on their stretch marks, cursing quietly as he finds their slick core. Their nails score his scalp, dragging a hiss of pleasure from his lips. He licks with gusto, taking full advantage of their isolated positions to make them scream.
“John-” They mew clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up to their kiss swollen lips. He goes leaving a trail of kisses in his wake before giving them a surprisingly chaste kiss on their lips.
“You sure ‘bout this doll?” He didn’t know what would happen after this, but it felt so different compared to his other recurring bed partners. He did want to see them again. He wanted this relationship to bleed into every aspect of his life. If he could relive that morning wrapped in their arms till his brain was splattered out on some dusty alleyway then he would. Without question.
Ophelia nods, reading in between the lines of his multilayered question. If there was one power figure in this wasteland they trusted, it was him. Wrapping a strong leg around his strong waist they shimmy off their tactical pants. Their eyes lock onto his pants as if the ratty briefs offended them. John chuckles and casually loosens the draw strings keeping his pants up. Ophelia takes it from there scooting the rough material down his legs. They pur, grasping his erection and stroking it. Their dexterous fingers play with his head drawing out a healthy bit of pre.
John sighs and rests his forehead on Ophelia’s brow breathing in their naturally clean scent. It reminded him of the rare times he could get freshly washed laundry mixed with the springtime. Shen the wild plants strong enough to brave this cruel world sprouted. He kisses them, nipping at their chin and collarbone while they drive him wild. “Doll, please.” He gasps, back arching into their touch. “You’re killin’ me ya know.” Ophelia chuckles returning a deep kiss.
“Good, consider it penance for thinking I couldn’t love you.”
John heaves, lost for breath as their words hit him. He pulls back floundering. “You mean that?” He sees the rapid fire thoughts racing through their wide eyes. Shock that they let slip that dirty little secret, fear of what he would do, then a stark resolution.
“Of course.” Ophelia nods through their embarrassment. Their sharp cheeks beginning to warm under his gaze. They say it like it’s an obvious statement. Like he should have just known. In a way he did. He just couldn’t believe it.
John takes the initiative now. Dragging Ophelia down to his scarred lips preening when he feels them sigh into it. Their tongue teasing his telling him point blank what they wanted. Grabbing onto their plush hips John grinds down on them, rubbing his stiff erection through the seam of their thighs and wet entrance. The moans that elicited from them made his radioactive blood boil with need. He had to have them again, last night was a dud. He would savoir this time.
Positioning themselves over John’s cock Ophelia shoots him a sultry wink before sinking down onto him slowly. “Oh fuck me.” He groans, dropping his head to his pillow. Their body was feverish around his, soft, pliant and so willing.
“That was my intention.” They grab onto his shoulders for support. Eyelids fluttering heavily. “If I’m not getting that across now, perhaps I should quit while I’m behind?” They joke as they ride him. Their hips move in slow tight circles. It’s enough to drive him wild.
John digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Ophelia’s hips. With any luck he’ll leave bruises. Excellent. Ophelia couldn’t stop John as he flipped their position. He pinned them roughly down on his sleeping bag. “Don’t worry Doll. You got your point across very well. Don’t need to go putting yourself out like that.”
“You’re one to ta-” John thrusts into them cutting off their snark. Taking devilish delight in flustering them. Setting a fast pace he drives in deep revealing in their cries of pleasure. God damn- this was almost enough to make him wanna go sober. How did he ever think one night would be enough?
“Fuck! I don’t deserve you.” His hisses cutting through the wet slaps of skin on skin. Ophelia does nothing but groan. Neither of them last long. Much to John’s chagrin. He finishes with a choked shout, hips and stomach twitching as he spills himself on their thigh. Ophelia doesn’t fare much better. They bite hard at the rough skin of his neck, nails scoring his back with a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain while they came undone beneath him.
“Do you mean it?” He asks, cupping the back of Ophelia’s skull. They wrap an arm around his neck nuzzling close, draping their body across his.
“Ye- but if you talk down about yourself again I’ll have to feed you to a deathclaw.” John chuckles feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He wouldn’t put it past them.
#Fallout 4#john hancock#john hancock x sole survivor#it's smut#it's angsty#it's oc time#crusty boi is best boi
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This has been rattling in my brain for a while and I didn’t know what react blog to bring it to and I just found yours and well- romanced companions finding out Nate was abusive to F!Sole? Either physically or just emotionally/mentally or both but like it’s been haunting me
Is that so? Well, don’t you worry Anon, I’m here to exorcise that little angst ghost haunting your brain with my sweet ass writing skills.
Prompt:Romanced!companions react to finding out F!Sole was abused by their husband.
Excluded companions:Codsworth,Dogmeat,Strong and Ada. For obvious reasons
Notes: 1.if there are any characters, e.g. : faction leaders or let’s say synth!Codsworth that anyone would like to be included please feel free to ask!
2. i dont know anything about old american law pertaining to abuse other than a quick google search.
3.I have tried to be as respectful as possible regarding this subject, but if anything i have written here comes off uninformed or disrespectful in anyway please let me know, thank you.
Warnings: mentions of abuse- both physical and mental, alcohol use, drug use, swearing under cut, this has also been tagged for easy avoidance.
Cait:“what did you mean when ya said ya was proud of me?” usually Cait wouldn’t bat an eye at Sole’s use of words when they were complimenting her or giving her affirmation, she’d flush, but she was used to it enough by now that it didn’t catch her wholly off guard like it used to. But Sole’s encouraging and somewhat wishful smile as she’d said that to Cait had always left her wondering, there was something there and what better time to broach the subject then while they were getting ready to call it a day from building defences, the new turrets they’d installed for the Abernathys humming in the background.
Sole sighed then, looking out at the scorched landscape in apparent thought, before she glanced back up at Cait and looked away just quickly “I just, I wish I’d been as strong as you, back then. With Nate.” the last part was said in a hushed, shamed little voice, her hand going to touch her face as if to wipe away some unseen blemish - in a way that had Cait’s hackles raise in indignation “Darlin’? Look at me.” she waited for Sole to come back to herself, to look her in the eyes, and hopefully not notice how she shook with rage at the implication. “Sole. You are one o’ the most fooken’ strongest people I ‘av ever met, whatever he did to you, however he made you feel, know that it don’t define you, that I don’t think any less of you, you hear?” that earned her a slight nod from Sole and, with a strained smile she led Sole back to the farm, it was getting dark and Sole had been working non-stop. There’d be time later, when they had more privacy and Sole was more rested to talk.
Curie:She was always fascinated with Sole, the way she talked and fought for what she believed was right, the way she could move around the battle field so stealthily and cared enough and took the time to teach Curie how to as well always left her with that fluttery feeling in her stomach that was what she believed to be called “butterflies”. Stealth didn’t come naturally to her, not being used to having legs and feet that could make a suprising amount of noise if placed wrong - unlike the quiet continuous hum of a thruster - it had her hyper-aware of Sole and the advice she gave while they were out exploring the Commonwealth, it was on one of these outings, while they were sneaking passed a group of raiders that were holding Caravan Traders hostage that they came across some old, dilapidated wooden stairs, Curie was sure this would pose a problem for them but Sole simply told her to stick as close to the wall as possible while ascending. She marveled at the surprizing lack of noise when they reached the top without a squeak and hid so Sole could plan their next move. She hadn’t meant to ask how a woman who was a lawyer was so good at being quiet, she supposed it was just another quirk of her new body- asking questions unconsciously.
Sole had frowned then, biting her lip and looking at Curie the way she did when she wasn’t sure if she should say something in front of her, it took a moment before Sole finally gave in “Nate was an….unplesant drunk, it paid in the long run to be able to move around the house quietly, especially the stairs…untill we moves to Sanctuary that is..” Sole said this in an even tone, the kind she used when dodging details or putting families at ease over the state of their loved ones passing, though Curie understood the implications she hadn’t understood her own emotional response, was it panic? she wasn’t sure and by the time she had collected herself the conversation was over, Sole already going over their next move- the way she did when she was dodging questions.
Deacon:“You know” she’d laughed, the hoarse kind of laugh that comes from the chest and had Deacon looking at her dubiously. They’d both been drinking - not quite five-sheets-to-the-wind drinking but tipsy enough-, sharing stories and jokes up in the steeple of the old north church, away from the rest of HQ but close enough to make a quick appearance if they were needed. The perfect place for that false sense of privacy.
“You know, Nate he- Nate used to say, he used to say to me- he’d say ‘Sole, you can’t do anything without me’ and that I ’needed him’ but, look!” She gestured wildly at the world below them and didn’t elaborate on what she’d done, he’d been there from day one more or less and had a pretty good grasp on her current list of accomplishments, so to be fair she didn’t need too. “Isn’t that just- isn’t it funny?” She laughed then too, the kind of wet laugh that came from the bottom of the throat and had his stomach twisting, he didn’t know what to say, what could he say? Jokes wouldn’t make this better. In the end he opted on pulling her into an embrace-not a hug- so that his chin rested on top of her head. It was the kind of laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all, it was the kind of laugh Deacon would do anything not to have her make again, for as long as she’d have him around, and probably longer.
John Hancock: He’d felt like scum the first time it had occurred to him that he was relived Nate was dead, because there was no way Sole would have chosen him over her husband. He’d promised himself he would never mention that to Sole though, he didn’t want to upset her or, God forbid, chase her away with his own insecurities regarding her late husband. And he didn’t have a problem with keeping it to himself, even when they were chemed out and lounging on the couch in his office, he’d used long enough to keep his thoughts to himself when he needed too. Sole, on the other hand, had not and as she was blissed out, head lying on Hancock’s chest and body pleasantly heavy she’d murmured something into the ruffles of his dress shirt.
“Hm?, What was that sunshine?” he nudged her gently so she’d lift, or rather roll, her head to the side so he could hear her. “I said, I love you so much” her lazily mumbled confession put a dopey smile on his face that he couldn’t blame the chems for “I used to love Nate too, but now I don’t think he loved me as much as he said he did” and that wiped the smile off his face just as quickly “Whaddya mean by that?” he scooted up the couch slightly as he said this, just enough to get a better look at her face “He used to say he loved me, but then he’d, he’d just hurt me, and then he’d say that it was my fault, that I made him do those things. You say you love me, and you don’t hurt me, so I think maybe he didn’t love me all that much” she said this in that matter-of-fact way people do when they’re out of it and come to a seemingly obvious conclusion and with that revelation, He held her tighter-snuggling further into the couch and placing a kiss on her cheek.
Hancock wasn’t ashamed to admit he was glad that Nate was dead now, he only regretted not being able to put the bastard down himself.
Nick Valentine:There had been whispers back when the old Nick was alive and though Sanctuary Hills was a bit out of his jurisdiction, and he was drowning in his own grief with the Eddie Winter case, he’d still heard the rumours. He’d heard about how an ex-military type, a supposed war hero had been brought in for a “Domestic disturbance”. But those were different times and though the old Nicks heart had bled for the poor soul this apparent “hero” was going home to, there was nothing he could legally do and, as it often was the case back then, no charges were brought against the man- the whole thing bar the rumours being swept under the rug.
Nowadays Nick usually felt a sense of accomplishment when putting a person to a case, like things were slotting into place, letting him see the bigger picture. But seeing Sole, eyes red and body shaking as she poured out her past lives grievances to him, he felt tired and restless at once, and angry. Mostly he was angry, though whether that was at Nate for doing it or old Nick for not doing something or at the whole damn system for letting it happen he couldn’t say. What he could do now, though, was be there for her, he could try to help her through it now, and he would, he would do something.
Paladin Danse:He’d noticed early on that Sole couldn’t look him in the eye when he talked to her, how she’d shrink away if he stepped too close to her or moved too quickly. At first he simply thought she was intimidated, as the Brotherhood’s presence in the Commonwealth was new and to be fair a man in full power armour was an intimidating sight if you weren’t used to it. Then she’d done the same with Rhys, then later on with Elder Maxson himself and though it had been odd in the paladins opinion that such a capable woman, a woman who had flung herself into a hoard of ferals to assist strangers without batting an eye, would recoil the moment someone talked to her, yet he found himself making excuses for her, after all, Rhys could be abrasive and Elder Maxson had a presence about himself that took some getting used to. And eventually she did get better, with him at least, not good but better.
When his..Synthetic truth had been revealed, and, despite the situation they were in as she stood between him and certain death,her head held high holding Maxson’s gaze, her voice firm, he felt proud that she’d managed despite the fact such things did not come easy to her.
Things were better between them now, much better in fact - without rank making things awkward they could finally treat each other as equals without favoritism being a problem. It was in one of their rare moments alone that she told him, she told him of Nate and his military presence, of his authoritarianism. Dance had once been sure that he could never hate a man more than he did ghouls and mutants and synths, and later he had been sure he could never hate anyone as much as he hated himself. Now he was certain he’d never hate anyone, living or dead as much as he hated Nate.
Porter Gage:”Nate used to hit me.” she said it in that nonchalant way she said most things, but Gage had been around her long enough to know some of her tells, like the way she set her jaw and squared her shoulders. Still the Overboss, still intimidating, but there was an opening, a vulnerability that only he was privy too, the kind that only came with the trust that who you were talking to wasn’t going to stab you in the back the minute it was bared to them.
He snorted, even the idea of someone trying that shit on the woman standing next too him seamed absurd, there wasn’t a raider in Nuka-world that wouldn’t cower at her feet“ Yeh?, bet if he tried that now you’d splatter ‘im up the wall, there’d be nothin’ left of him, ‘sept pulp!” that got a smile out of her, and from the way her shoulders relaxed he could tell he’d hit the nail on the head, her entire demeanour changing to one that said she owned the place, and he wasn’t going to argue with it, “Fuck him.” he affirmed, nodding his head to really get his point across. “Yeah, fuck him.” her voice was stronger this time, and Gage was sure that any residual anger she had over the subject would be put to good use on their next raid.
Post was getting long, Piper, Preston, Old Longfellow and X6-88 will be added on as a re-blog! ( I just have to proof read them first!)
{EDIT} I’ve just noticed half of Maccreadys has been cut off, I’m taking the rest away and will re-post the whole thing later on the re-blog!
Addendum:I do not have a beta reader and I am dyslexic, I do proof read everything but am bound to make mistakes- and I would like to apologise in advance for any I have missed.
#fallout 4 companions react#fallout 4 companions#fo4 companions react#fo4 companions#cait#curie#danse#deacon#Hancock#nick valentine#piper#preston#maccreedy#x6-88#old longfellow#porter gage#mentions of abuse#abuse#physical abuse#mental abuse#emotional abuse#angst#comfort#Anonymous#alcohol use#drug use#swearing#i feel like caits one is rushed but it was getting too long :(#im not happy with it
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The Mettle Of A Man; Part Eleven
Fandom: Fallout (4)
Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Rating: Holy shit M.
AN: Enjoy!
Part One: ArcJet
Part Two: The Prydwen
Part Three: Orders
Part Four: Finding Brandis
Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland
Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew
Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm
Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills
Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations
Part Ten: Institutionalized
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of pregnancy (relating to bodily changes and a C-section) and a graphic depiction of an emotional/nervous breakdown. Stay safe!]
Two weeks and three days.
Danse wasn't exactly certain of what to do. It had taken his squadron nearly three weeks to track down Cutler, so three weeks had become his hard limit almost unconsciously. The paladin had never been overly good at resting on his laurels, but it wasn't like he could single-handedly lay siege to the damn Institute for a retrieval mission.
Returning to the Prydwen without his charge might prove divisive , regardless of how many technical documents Codsworth had procured from the cul-de-sac's abodes.
Speaking of Codsworth…
"Aw, cheer up man." Sturges comforted the robot, who (unless Danse was imagining it) was hovering a bit lower today. "I bet she'll be back any second now!"
"Mister Sturges, as much as I appreciate your optimistic outlook," the robot sniffed dramatically. "I'm afraid that you cannot begin to understand the sadness I feel. I believed for two hundred years that I had lost Miss Vega, and to have lost her once again is...well, it is unbearable , Mister Sturges."
Danse grimaced. Did he actually feel bad for a robot? He was, at the very least, sympathizing with it. What the hell was his world coming to?
Knight Vega certainly kept some interesting company. Aside from the seemingly permanent presence of the elderly Mama Murphy, Sturges, Codsworth, and the married couple of Jun and Marcy Long, numerous colorful individuals had drifted through the settlement over the course of the weeks.
First there was Cait, a woman with hair red enough to put Proctor Ingram's to shame. She blew into town, provisioner in tow, speaking with a thick, caustic brogue and toting a sawed-off shotgun. "I owe Backhand my life." She said shortly when Danse enquired as to what her business was with Vega. "She got me off the chems, so now I keep her goddamn caravans free from pests."
She only stayed for a night, but she insisted that Danse join her for a sparring match. He wasn't afraid to admit that she put him through the ringer , his whole body sore the following morning.
"Tell Handy Cait sends her love!" The woman had called before she departed, giving him a small smile. Danse had ruefully promised to do so, trying not to visibly wince as he waved farewell.
One Robert MacCready followed shortly thereafter, who had acted like Danse being there would raze the town to the ground on nothing but principle. "I dealt with you ass--er, you jerks in the Capital Wasteland." The lithe man scowled up at Danse, pushing the bill of his hat back. He had a sniper rifle slung around his body with a barrel that was almost as long as he was tall, bearing an ornate, quick-slide scope.
"I assume you are used to the charity of former Elder Lyons. The eastern chapter is no longer so benevolent, civilian." Danse growled, pricked by MacCready's blatant disdain for the Brotherhood.
He could tell MacCready wasn't a bad sort, just overly suspicious and prickly. After serving with Knight Rhys for so long, Danse was almost tempted to tell the younger man that he would need to try harder to keep people away from him.
"Backhand saved my kid." Robert admitted one night after he had been drinking by the fire with Sturges. "She...She helped me get the medicine I needed. Helped cure my little boy."
Danse knew he shouldn't be surprised that someone who seemed as young as MacCready had managed to procreate. But as he watched the other man toy idly with a tiny, battered tin soldier that he had pulled from his pocket, Danse felt that perhaps...perhaps Robert had the right to be a bit suspicious and prickly.
The next visitor was a petite, dark-haired woman named Curie who had an incredibly strange accent. She was of the medical persuasion and curious about everything . Danse was a little taken aback by how blunt some of her inquiries were, but he did his best to humor her.
She seemed harmless enough, even if she was hellbent on learning the inner machinations of his entire existence. She asked everything in such a clinical manner, Danse didn't even have the presence of mind to be uncomfortable or embarrassed.
That is, until she asked whether he was sexually active and " when was zee last time you stimulated yourself, Monsieur Danse? " Then he clammed right up, loathing that he could feel his face going hot as he remembered exactly when the last time he had stimulated himself was.
"I will not be answering any more of your questions about my personal matters, civilian." The paladin informed her curtly, caught off-guard by her plaintive cry of dismay at his refusal.
"But Monsieur Danse, I must learn zee secret of your overgrown size! You are so very tall and muscular compared to your contemporaries, my research could result in a breakthrough for your whole species! If you are a genetic throwback, zis could mean-" Sturges finally came to his rescue, ushering the wailing doctor away and shooting Danse a wink that made the paladin huff out an irritated grunt.
Genetic throwback . Dogmeat was a genetic throwback. Danse just...maybe he had good genes. Both of his parents must have possessed more robust constitutions. That was the clear answer.
An elaborately-dressed ghoul had marched down the main road like he owned the joint a few days after Curie had come and gone, only stopping when he realized there was a fully-armored paladin aiming a laser rifle at him. "Whoa! Easy crewcut, you'll harsh my mellow." He exclaimed, taking off his tricorn hat and fanning himself with it. "The name's John Hancock," he continued with a showy little bow. "I'm lookin' for General Vega. She around?"
"Knight Vega is indisposed at the moment, but you're welcome to leave a message, ghoul." Danse gritted out, oddly keen on attempting civility.
Hancock whistled and Dogmeat came running over, immediately flopping onto his back for a belly rub. "Ah, there he is. My favorite of the general's mutts. Sorry, you say somethin'?" The ghoul asked lazily, the pitch-black void of his eyes boring pointedly into Danse's.
The paladin threw his hands up in the air after a moment and stormed off. God damn it, Vega, you could have warned me that you kept such diverse company! he ranted inwardly.
The visitor that had nearly sent him into a conniption was an old synth, its skin ragged and tattered enough to show its inner workings. Sturges chatted away with the damn thing (and its traveling companion, a self-styled reporter apparently named Piper Wright) and Danse just floundered . Backhand made friends with synths?
Ticking mentally over everyone else he had met during his stay at Sanctuary, Danse reluctantly admitted that yes, Backhand would absolutely make friends with synths. Perhaps he should have come to terms with that before everything that had occurred, but now here he was, fully kitted and watching this synth narrowly.
"Come on over and introduce yourself, big fella'. No need to glare from afar." The synth commented wryly. "From what I understand we're all on the same team."
"If it's all the same to you, synth , I'll keep my distance." Danse could tolerate a lot of things. Ghouls, specifically. He had met numerous in his travels and while it was unsettling to converse with them, he knew they weren't all diseased, mindless shamblers despite what the Brotherhood had beaten into him. But synths …
They were the embodiment of mankind's arrogance. Monstrous, uncanny, a mockery of bodily functions. They made Danse's skin crawl.
Piper huffed indignantly, rolling her eyes and pointing a finger at Danse as she remarked loudly to Sturges, "I wasn't aware that Blue had rechristened this place Bigotry Hills."
The synth inclined its head in the meantime, somehow giving off an air of mechanical resignation. "Alright, I'll go first I suppose, since you've forgotten your manners. Name's Nick Valentine. I'm a detective operating out of Diamond City."
Nick Valentine . Danse's mouth became a desert. This , this was the detective Vega sang the praises of when it came to tracking down the man who had stolen her son? "Knight Vega failed to mention that you were a synth." He muttered.
"She probably figured it wasn't relevant. After all, the Institute left me at the curb with another man's memories in my head. Miss Vega did me a good turn after I helped her out with that Kellogg fella'." The synth shrugged. "Let an old bot put a few more ghosts to rest." He dusted off the raggedy fedora he wore, those unnerving golden eyes focused on Danse. "I caught wind that something might have gone a little sour with her infiltration, so Piper and I thought we'd drop by and see if we could offer any sort of assistance."
"And can you?" Danse asked, concern and suspicion making his tone even sharper as he glanced at the woman. Piper stuck her tongue out at him, to his chagrin.
The synth looked regretful for a second and Danse pondered that its face could even convey such a complex emotion. "Probably not, but at least now I know I'm not the only one worrying about our doll Vega." It remarked shrewdly.
Danse blushed guiltily, dropping his gaze from that calculating stare. It felt like the synth could see every damn thing he had ever done wrong in his life and Danse loathed the idea of this machine being able to help where he couldn't. "I'll be watching you, synth ," he blustered. "If you step out of line-"
The synth actually interrupted him, waving a spindly, metallic hand. "You'll what, melt me into slag? I'd be careful, I might do something nefarious like trap you in an intelligent conversation."
…
Danse's sleep schedule had never been anything even bordering on concrete, but now the worry kept him up more than the nightmares. A thousand scenarios ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. His fatalistic tendencies would be the death of him one of these days, and wouldn't that be a poetic end. Death by apoplexy, his heart just exploding under the stress of his own imagination.
No one commented when he ended up abandoning that soft mattress in the front room of Vega's house in favor of planting his bedroll on the floor at the foot of her bed. He spent long hours there every night, disassembling his gun, cleaning it thoroughly and checking over his mods.
When he inevitably gave up on sleep, he would patrol the perimeter. Jun joined him fairly often, the soft spoken man having taken it upon himself to manage the security around the settlement.
"At first, I think Backhand just wanted me to have something to do." Jun mentioned out of the blue one evening, his haggard expression illuminated in the faint light of the moon. "So she told me to uh, walk the property line. Marcy didn't know what to do with me. Hell, she didn't even know what to do with herself . Losing Kyle was…" the man swallowed hard. "Well, the general understood, on account of her own little one. She knew I needed to be kept busy, especially after that close call in Concord. I'm just glad Marcy didn't give up on me." He admitted.
"Why would she have given up on you?" Danse asked, a bit confused that this conversation was even occurring. He didn't do this sort of thing. "Whatever transpired with your child wasn't your fault." He had never asked for the specifics and Jun hadn't volunteered them.
Jun shrugged. "Being married is...full of ups and downs. And sometimes the downs are really, really hard. Too hard. It's terrible, seeing the person you love turn into some kind of...angry husk because of grief and you're grieving too, and you know you can't fix it because-" the man's eyes welled up, his voice hitching. "-b-because you're not strong enough."
Danse's breath caught in his lungs because oh God , that had been him after Cutler. Frustrated, hollow, newly promoted and warming Arthur's bed out of duty as he tried to privately grieve the man he had lost.
It had been Haylen and Rhys who pried him from his depressive, wrathful tendencies. Brandis had suggested that Danse consider sponsoring his own initiates, and recommended him two candidates. The young woman, barely into adulthood, so full of life and eager to learn, and Rhys had been angry like him.
More followed after those two, but they had been his first. He sponsored Dawes, Brach, Keane, Worwick...squire or initiate to aspirant, aspirant to scribe or knight. All the while keeping them at arm's length, reluctant to open himself up again to the suffering that had wreaked its havoc upon him after the loss of Cutler.
Learning about Paladin Krieg's passing during the assault on Adams Air Force Base was a blade twisting in his back. Danse had felt like his entire body was on fire, raw with agony once more as everything he had tried so hard to keep under control collapsed beneath him. He emerged from that particular rubble stoic and grim, and it was shortly after that incident that Recon Squadron Artemis went dark in the Commonwealth.
Brandis was sent to die and you know it! That evening in the barracks had been one of the hardest in his entire military career. Danse had known he was lying, lying to every single man, woman and child in that room that he would pass along any information he learned about Paladin Brandis.
But what else could he do?
"You can't fix everything and every one, Mr. Long." The paladin murmured finally. "You'll only burn yourself out with the effort. All you can do is let time do its work."
"Oh, I know." The other man said calmly, having clearly mastered himself while Danse mulled over his response. "Marcy and I had a long talk about...our son, and even though it still hurts to talk about him, I know someday it won't." He smiled at Danse. "Thanks for listening, Mr. Paladin. I can see why the general likes you."
Danse may or may not have tucked that precious information away, deep down in his heart.
...
Backhand had no idea how many days had passed since she had departed. The Commonwealth was relatively quiet all around the settlement as she took a few steadying breaths after relaying back, bent nearly double with her hands on her knees. Overhead in the night sky, the moon beamed weakly between the thick clouds.
Staggering down the steps that were still attached to the bare foundation, a wave of exhaustion threatened to cripple her. Away from the artificial lighting and brilliant whiteness of the Institute, she abruptly felt like she hadn't slept in weeks. How long had she been awake for?
Bed , Vega decided with a nod. Bed before anything else . With slow, trudging footsteps, the young woman made her way to the house where she had lived before the bombs fell. Whatever time it was, it was obviously late. There wasn't a light on across the whole settlement, and she was incredibly grateful that she would be afforded a few moments of reprieve before she was plied with questions.
Backhand closed the front door behind her, doing her best to be quiet. Danse must be asleep. Either that or he had returned to the Prydwen. Vega was a little startled at how distraught that made her feel, like she had lost somehow.
She stifled a yawn as she jiggled the sticky doorknob to her room and, too impatient to ease the door open, she put her shoulder to it.
The door flew open and she immediately found herself on the business end of a very familiar laser rifle. Vega couldn't help her shriek of surprise and in her haste to retreat, she toppled into the hall and landed hard on her back. "Wait, wait! " She pleaded, throwing up her hands in surrender. "Don't shoot, Danse!"
The paladin just stared down at her for a moment, his brow slowly unfurrowing in recognition as he lowered his gun. "Elizabeth?" He asked, his voice rasping hoarsely.
"Y-Yeah. Hi." Backhand replied, her voice shaky. "It's me." Danse extended his hand, easily pulling her upright off the ground. She half-fell against his body, the large man accepting the weight without a word. "Why are you sleeping in here?" Backhand blurted out the first question she could think of, noticing the disturbed bedroll on the floor at the foot of her bed.
"I assumed that should you return, you would most likely head to your room first." The paladin answered quickly, too quickly for it to be the truth.
Backhand raised an eyebrow. "And the armed greeting?"
"A reflex."
Vega's hands curled into fists on his chest, taking handfuls of his shirt between her fingers. I missed you , she wanted to say, I missed you so much . "How long was I gone for?" She asked instead.
"Seventeen days." Danse replied in a no-nonsense manner. "It appears your infiltration of the Institute was a success." He was watching her closely. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Knight."
Vega wanted to kiss him, not missing the warmth of relief in his eyes despite his neutral tone. She hurriedly peeled herself off of his chest, awkwardly clearing her throat and casting her brain around for an excuse to leave. "I'm...I need to shower." She lied, grimacing. "I was going to go right to bed, but…"
"Take your time. I'll remove my personal effects and return to my quarters." The paladin intoned stiffly.
Backhand grabbed a random assortment of clothing from atop her rickety dresser and fled to the bathroom without another word.
She slid down the door once she had shut it firmly, closing her eyes and hanging her head. What the hell were you expecting, Vega? she chastised herself, starting to unlace her boots. Some kind of fairytale reunion where he sweeps you up into his arms and professes his undying love? And we ride into the sunset? Backhand scoffed, bringing her fist down on the side of the salvaged water heater to get it to function.
Vega stared down at her body as she showered, feeling oddly like a spectator. The faint scar at the bottom of her stomach mocked her, taunting her with the memory of the hospital room, the swaddled Shaun being pressed into her arms…
This was all so wrong.
She pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes hard enough to blind her for a moment, fending off the tears that threatened to close her throat. The scar was placed low enough on her body that the waistband of her underwear concealed it. She didn't have to think about it too often. Usually she avoided looking at it while she bathed, the surgical leftover making complex feelings of grief and resentment war inside her.
Her fingers drew over the faded scar, then rose to brush the stretch marks that striped over her belly from where her body had changed to accommodate Shaun's growing form. And still her eyes were dry.
Backhand emerged from the lukewarm shower and simply sat on the side of the tub, watching the water slowly swirl down the drain. She thought of the Institute, where clean water was just a faucet turn away. Free of parasites and radiation, bearing a faint reek of chlorine that had clung to her hair and skin after bathing.
Her brow furrowed and she toweled herself off briskly, donning the clothing she had grabbed at random. The shirt was too big, unfamiliar, and she realized with a sharp pang of a strange emotion that it must be one of Danse's. Had he done her laundry while she was gone?
The young woman hung her towel up to dry, scooped all her dirty clothes off the floor and padded back across the hall to her room.
Danse, true to his word, had removed his bedroll and pack from the room, leaving no trace of his previous occupancy. Vega dropped her ball of clothes in the corner and sank down on the edge of her mattress, putting her head into her hands.
I believe you will do great things for the Institute.
Her fingers dug into her hair, raking through it in a nervous gesture. She didn't want to do great things. She had never wanted to do great things. All she had wanted was a family.
A child, a husband, a modest house in a quiet neighborhood…
The bombs had taken so much from everyone else, did she even have the right to mourn the life she wished she had? It seemed so selfish, so...petty.
Shaun's crib sat empty by the door like always, but now its vacancy mocked her. Had she ever truly believed she would find her son? Or had she been lying to herself the whole time, trying to convince herself that she could have been a good mother and that it wasn't all her fault Shaun had been taken. Rage bathed her in a comforting blanket of numbness and Backhand clenched her fists, rising from the bed.
With a stilted, furious cry of, " fuck you! " she heaved the empty crib against the wall.
It was a simple enough task to snap the rungs in it, blowing through them one after the other. Next the flimsy headboard, torn from the sides with a shriek of abused screws. Backhand broke it over her knee, pitching the pieces off to land somewhere as the crib teetered on two legs. She grabbed those last two legs, picked the remains of the crib up, and smashed it against the floor with all her might.
It exploded in a cloud of chipped blue pieces, effectively destroyed. Backhand screamed in frustrated anguish, sinking to her knees and wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't even noticed she was crying, but the tears were hot enough to burn on her cheeks.
She felt running footsteps vibrate through the floor, but she didn't so much as raise her head.
Danse, Danse , those brown eyes so warm and concerned, knelt in front of her. " Easy , Knight." He soothed. Backhand sobbed hysterically, her whole body shaking with each inhale. "Elizabeth." Danse said her name calmly, quietly, his arms falling open.
The woman flung herself into his embrace, gripping his back tightly. Danse held her close, like she was small and fragile and needed to be protected, one hand on the back of her head stroking her still-damp hair. Vega just went limp, weeping pitifully into his shirt.
"By Jove…" Codsworth breathed from the door. "Oh mum, I'm so sorry." She felt a metal pincer rest gingerly on her shoulder and Backhand knocked her forehead against Danse's clavicle when she turned her face to look at Codsworth. "You should have told us, mum. Whatever it is, it's all too much to carry alone." The robot scolded her kindly. "I helped you raise the little tyke, if you recall. We will always have those fond memories, you and I."
"It hurts." Backhand said thickly. "It h-hurts so much. I just wanted him back."
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth." Danse murmured, words laden with sorrow. And he didn't even know what had happened yet!
"I don't want anyone else to be sorry. I-I want to take every one of that smug f- fuck's toys and break them. If he wasn't already on his way out, I would-" Backhand dissolved into seething, nonsensical muttering. "There's good people in the Institute." She said finally. "People who wanted to help. People who need to get out."
"And the Brotherhood will do everything we can to save them." Danse promised solemnly, taking her hands in his own and making a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat as he examined the battered skin. "Christ Vega, you're full of splinters."
"I just...I don't know, I shouldn't have done that." Backhand mumbled, feeling idiotic for letting herself get so out of control.
"Not to worry, mum!" Codsworth cheerily clicked his pincers. "I'll have you squared away in a jiffy!"
Danse didn't let her go as Codsworth painstakingly worked over her abused hands to remove every last sliver. The paladin even assisted when the robot asked, holding her skin taut or flattening her palm out on his own to keep her steady so Codsworth could get a better grip.
Piper appeared in the doorway in the midst of the procedure, wearing a raggedy robe and carrying a steaming mug. "And there's our gal." The reporter said softly. "Heya' Blue."
"H-Hey Piper." Backhand sniffled.
The other woman tipped her head. "Nicky's on his way. You want tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please. Please." Backhand begged, feeling Danse's hold on her tighten slightly. She was sitting in his lap still, his arms around her while Codsworth worked. She hated herself for enjoying the comfort his proximity provided, hated herself for being too weak to deal with this on her own.
As if he could sense her thoughts, the paladin settled her back more firmly against his chest.
…
She was back. She had come back. Harried and haggard but alive . Danse could feel the tension radiating from her and he wanted to kick himself for greeting her with a weapon at the door. His brain hadn't even registered that it might be her , he had awoken from his uneasy half-doze to someone breaching the door and his body reacted.
Danse wanted to question her. He wanted to grip her to his chest and never let her out of his sight again. He wanted to berate her for being gone for so long. He wanted to lay her down on her bed and--
He shoved that thought away. She was obviously exhausted and worn from whatever it was that she had gone through. Now was absolutely not the time to voice the pesky, budding emotions that warred in his chest.
He could sense the impending explosion hanging heavy in the air like the changing pressure of an approaching storm, but he hadn't expected the rupture to happen so soon. Vega was barely out of the shower when he heard the first crash , her yell of " fuck you! ".
Danse wrestled momentarily with himself, his hands clenching in the fabric of his sleeping bag. Expressing anger could be therapeutic in it's own right, and her getting everything out now might be miles healthier than bottling it all up until she imploded.
But her sobbing cries effectively wiped his plan of inaction. She sounded like she was in agony and Danse didn't even remember tearing the door open. One second he was in his own room and then the next he was on his knees in front of her, " easy , Knight," his voice gone soft and tender in a manner wholly uncharacteristic of the usually stoic man.
He couldn't help saying her name, her first name, even though he felt wrong for doing so. But she pitched forward into his embrace just like Haylen had, weeping as though her heart was fit to break. And all Danse could do, all anyone could have done, he assured himself, was hold her close.
She had no care for the safety and wellbeing of her hands, he realized wryly as he checked them over for broken bones. This was the second time patching up her poor fingers, the first time feeling like a distant memory. Her shredding her knuckles to ribbons on the manual release of his suit, her complete disregard for her own comfort…
Danse didn't move, even when the synth arrived on Piper's heels. Everyone crowded into the room and he knew he ought to feel self-conscious, but now Vega was the one refusing to release him . So there he sat on the floor with her secure in his arms, listening to the entire sordid tale as Codsworth quietly tidied up the mess that had been Shaun's crib.
The Institute was real , and it wound for miles underneath the Commonwealth. They had access to safe food and pure drinking water, all made possible by unimaginable technology. Her son wasn't dead or even a child, but instead old and frail. The years had stretched on longer than anyone could have anticipated between his removal from the Vault and Vega's own awakening.
The advances that made the generation three synths possible had been brought about by utilizing infant Shaun's pre-war DNA, and he was known as Father to all the synths. But he wasn't a father at all, at least not one that anybody would want to have.
"Synths are like lower class citizens to these scientists. Expendable. Seen and not heard." Backhand explained, and Nick muttered something uncharitable under his breath. "They're not people, they're tools. Shit, Shaun even listed them off like that, he called the coursers hammers ." Vega spat. "But they think . They dream. Hell, they grieve even though they don't know that's what they're doing."
She spoke of the courser mourning the loss of his friend, forced to grieve without understanding the feelings he suffered through and Danse was somehow full of sympathy for a damn killing machine. It must just be Vega's compassionate nature transferring to him. There was no way he could actually believe anything like that was even possible.
Spinal recalibration .
Danse wasn't sure why , but he felt a blunt stab of pain at the nape of his neck when she explained the procedure. It was probably psychosomatic, he reasoned. The process sounded gruesome.
Nick flipped back and forth through his notepad, scratching at the side of his head with his pencil. "I'll need some time to look all of this over, sweetheart." He said to Backhand, glancing at Piper. "And you need time to recover," he continued in a gently-chiding tone. "You seem half-dead, doll."
Danse realized with a barely-hidden start that he had begun to refer to the synth as Nick in his mind. What was happening to him? Had he been away from the Brotherhood for so long that he was going soft? Was his moral integrity being compromised?
Or was he just coming to terms with something that he couldn't bring himself to label yet?
Backhand nodded, tugging the paladin out of his reverie. "I really want to sleep." She mumbled. She must have been truly exhausted, because in spite of downing the mug of coffee Piper had procured for her, she was slumped in Danse's arms.
Piper patted Vega's knee, giving Danse a stern glare. The paladin wanted to laugh at her attempt to intimidate him. "You get some rest, Blue. Nicky and I will do our best to compile what you've given us." She assured her.
After the duo from Diamond City had left, Codsworth made a noise like he was clearing his throat. "I'm just so glad you're back, mum." He said, his words weirdly heartfelt for coming from a machine.
Vega reached out and caught one of Codsworth's arms before the bot could leave, the young woman smiling wearily up at the Mister Handy. "I'm glad to be back, Codsworth."
Danse managed to usher her into her bed just as the sun was rising, but she grabbed his hand when he turned to depart. "Wait." Backhand whispered, her eyelids drooping. "Please...please stay? I don't want to be alone, Danse." A lone tear wound its way down her cheek. "Please don't leave me alone."
Danse planted himself in the chair beside the bed, laying his laser rifle across his knees. "I'm not going anywhere, Knight Vega." He promised her solemnly, taking a greedy, selfish moment to push the hair back from her face. "Sleep."
Part Twelve
#fallout 4#fallout four#paladin danse#fallout fanfic#fallout fandom#paladin danse x sole survivor#paladin danse x f!sole#paladin danse/sole survivor#Eventual romance#paladin danse imagine#fo4 companions imagine#fo4 companions#fo4 paladin danse#brotherhood of steel
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On America’s Roads and Highways
“Stay on target! Stay on target!”
Taking a moment to stretch; the blur is from my movement, the motorcyclist wasn’t really going anywhere.
“...stay on target...”
I-70 as car park: can we stack your traffic for you?
Heading back to West Virginia in July, I thought I’d take the chance and run through the road construction on I-70 east of Indianapolis -- and it turned out to be the grind promised by highway department signs: “heavy traffic - expect delays,” as seen above. Narrowing down to one lane in each direction, the traffic did not “zipper” together, but instead jammed up and jockeyed way too much, which slowed everyone down, or brought us to a dead stop a few times.
Much easier driving was had elsewhere:
The two shots above are of Interstate 77, which runs north-south in western West Virginia. Away from Charleston, the traffic was pretty light, which I appreciated as long as it lasted. The hazy skies these were shot under are because of the wildfires. Smoke from Canada as well as some from the western U.S. was bent by the prevailing winds southeast across the Mid-Western states toward the South and Mid-Atlantic, the very high, thin layer hanging pale where there should have been blue sky.
U.S. 35 in Ohio, angling north-west to south-east, is over much of its length built to the standards of the interstates, though the three times I’ve been over it there was far less traffic -- at least once beyond the Dayton area. As seen below, the 4-lane appears like the early interstates must have looked once upon a time -- like in 1963:
In West Virginia, the Robert Byrd Highway System was also built to interstate standards, while keeping the (mostly) unrestricted access. U.S. 50 between Clarksburg and Parkersburg shows this:
If I didn’t know better I’d think it was a shot I’d taken from I-70 in eastern Ohio.
Where the interstates don’t go, or where Senator Byrd’s highways weren’t built, there were the smaller highways, like U.S. 60 in the Kanawha River valley east of Charleston:
Like the rail roads before them, many improved roads in the eastern mountains follow the river valleys -- it’s just easier building that way. Where the roads can’t follow a flowing stream, the option is to follow the contours of the hills themselves, as below:
on West Virginia 66 west of Cass. I don’t have photos of the really twisty-turny hairpin turns ‘cause I was, like, steering n’shit. But many miles of up up up, down down down, left right left right left right were had touring through the central part of the state -- and those roads were improved by a great deal beyond the dirt tracks that they would have been before road improvement became a serious matter.
This image typical country road near Charleston in 1921 shows the condition of most roads in the U.S. prior to the 1950s. [1] Or, depicting some twisty-turny as well as some improvement -- it looks like it’s been macadamized and there are guard rails! -- is this shot of the National Pike near Hancock, Maryland, in 1922: [2]
Road improvement, even if it was only macadam and wooden rails, kinda’ started in the East and worked West. Trips, even by automobile, let alone with horses, much less by foot, were measured in days or weeks, not hours. I was able to make the run from western West Virginia back to north-central Indiana in less than 10 hours (allowing for one long-ish stop and road construction -- it is Orange Cone Season) rather than the week it might have taken in decades past. If y’wanted to go somewhere, you’d a took a train!
While improved over its condition of early travel, the Fayette Station Road in the New River Gorge is still narrow, twisty, and is today one-way over much of its length:
Descending from Lansing on the north, to the bottom of the valley, then back up again near Fayetteville on the south side of the gorge, the road still allows tourists access to what had been (until 1977) the only local road bridge over the New River:
With the opening of the New River Gorge Bridge (I suppose I might term it “the World Famous...”) travel time over the river was reduced from 45+ minutes to less than a minute.
Looking east from the New River Gorge Bridge: hard to know what you’re lookin’ at.
Fayette Station Road circa 1920: narrow, twisty and dirt. [3] If you met someone going the other way, one or the other of you would have to dare the edge, or back up to a wider spot to pass.
The new New River bridge from the old one. At 3,000+ feet the new bridge is not quite a mile long, but appears to the driver like most other bridges; the first time I passed over it, I didn’t even realize that I was traversing a famous bridge -- you really can’t tell it’s anything at 65 MPH. But it is “up there:” according to an NPS placard, “Two Statues of Liberty and one Washington Monument can fit under the arch with twenty feet to spare.” [4]
The second time I drove over it, I did know what I was driving on (”Oh, hey it’s The Bridge!”) and made like a tourist to stop and take photos:
like y’do.
Photos: R. Jake Wood, 2021 except
[1 and 2] Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Online Catalog:
[1] “Country view near Charleston, W.Va.” by Lewis Wickes Hine, 1921.
[2] “National Pike, west side of Sideling Hill Mountain, near Hancock, Maryland” by J.E. Feltner, 1922.
[3] National Park Service website, as shown on the Fayette Station Road Audio Tour page.
[4] National Park Service on-site placard graphic near New River Gorge Bridge, New River Gorge National Park and Preserve (photo by R. Jake Wood).
Of note is that the federal New River Gorge area was re-designated as a National Park and Preserve by act of Congress in December of 2020, something the gov’ment got right!
Looking west from the New River Gorge Bridge: worse than lookin’ east.
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Romanced and non-romanced companions react to Sole using Institute technology to travel back in time? (I'm thinking to be with their family but I wanna see what you do w this cuz you're a great writer
This was actually really sad lol. If it were me, I’m not sure I’d travel back in time if I had already established a life in the Commonwealth. But then again I didn’t experience any of this so. Who knows lol. Please enjoy!😊
Part 2
FO4 Companions React: Sole Going Back In Time To Be With Family (Part 1)
Whilst visiting the Institute, one of the scientists caught wind of Sole’s traumatic history and wanted to help.
About three months later, Father called Sole back to the Institute, informing them that a sympathetic scientist had invented a one-time-use time machine to go back to the Pre-War days. Father even granted Sole’s companion permission to enter so they could say their goodbyes.
Sole, overjoyed, took advantage of this opportunity. As they suited up for time travel, they took one last look at their best friend.
Nick: I’m glad you have this opportunity. If I could go back, I would too. Thanks for everything. You’ve been a great friend.
MacCready: Wait…you’re just gonna leave?
Deacon: You’re going back? Bummer. And here I thought I finally had a friend in the Commonwealth.
Danse: If that’s what you want to do, I completely understand. You’ve been one hell of a soldier and it’s been an honor to serve with you.
Hancock: Aw man. We were just starting to have fun.
Ada: Stay safe, [sir/ma’am]!
Curie: [genuinely curious] Are you going to tell your vriends and family about your experience?
Gage: But boss, what about Nuka World? You can’t just dip!
X6-88: So long, [sir/ma’am].
Longfellow: One last drink before you go, kid?
Cait: At least yer gettin out of this shitehole Commonwealth.
Codsworth: Please, take me with you, [sir, mum]!
Strong: Human go away forever? But no find milk yet!
Piper: Blue, you’re…actually going back? But…oh, I’m gonna miss you.
Preston: I’m happy for you, General. You deserve this. Although it’s not gonna be the same without you.
Nick (❤️): I hope you remember your time here and use it as a reminder to cherish the time with your husband and son [pulls Sole into hug] Goodbye, dear.
MacCready(❤️): I…I get it. Family always comes first [pulls Sole into arms] I’m gonna miss you, beautiful. Thanks. From both me and Duncan. We love you.
Deacon (❤️): [trying to joke around while holding back tears] H-hey I mean time travel is pretty badass. I’m kinda jealous [pulls Sole into a hug and sobs]
Danse (❤️): Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do now, but I’ll figure something out. I hope our paths cross again someday [kisses forehead] I love you.
Hancock (❤️): Needa change of pace? I feel. I hope the old days are just as good as you remember them. Now come here [passionately kisses Sole] I’m gonna miss ya, gorgeous.
Curie (❤️): Adieu, my love! Please don’t forget about me! I’ll cherish my time with you vorever!
Gage (❤️): Well if that’s what you wanna do, babe, I’m not gonna stand in your way [playfully ruffles hair] I’ll miss ya.
Cait (❤️): [trying not to cry; bitter] Yeah whatever, just leave. It’s not like yer leavin behind a life here or nothin.
Piper (❤️): [weeping] I…I love you Blue. So much [throws self into Sole’s arms and cries].
Preston (❤️): I’ve gotten so used to you being here, I can’t imagine life without you. Thanks again for everything, babe. I love you.
#fallout 4#fallout#fo4#react#danse#paladin danse#hancock#deacon#maccready#piper#preston garvey#strong#codsworth#ada#x6#x6-88#gage#longfellow#cait#curie#nick valentine#valentine
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Do you have any Conqueror's Haki headcanons that you wouldn't mind sharing? One of my favorites is that you can use it to travel the calm belt safely because the Sea Kings take it as a warning (or something... who knows what's going on with those guys. Void Century shenanigans always make things go wonky). The first place I saw it was in Rouge by LullabyKnell, which I highly recommend.
Ooh I haven’t read that fic but it looks really good! Next on the to read list!!
As for headcanons… oh BOY
OKAY so one of the headcanons ive recently been tossing around is the devil fruit is a further embodiment of the first user of the power’s will.
Yknow how Sanji can light himself on fire? Someone like that with Conquerors Haki, passing that fiery will on to their descendants, but like into a fruit and then the will or power manifests into a devil fruit power!! and as the will is reborn, in particular with those with conquerors will, the nature of the fruit grows more powerful and the will of it goes stronger.
so for instance, the mera mera no mi is aces living will kept alive in his brother not only symbolically but because his conquerors haki did so!!! Like inherited will of d, but for the more common folk lol.
its kind of an au but i love the idea so lmao
as for other headcanons
every one has “will” it's just not the king's will.
the “will” seems like it affects creatures with will of its own so as long as a thing has “will” it can be affected by kings haki
which in one piece is very very broad selection
so like obvs the sea kings and giant animals and such but also
those with extreme power over their haki or just incredible power of haki... can affect ships, who have been seen to have souls.
yknow how merry was able to survive ennies lobby? kinda like that - a conquerors haki user can order a ship to last just a little longer, to not break in the wind, to survive a tsunami, to be silent and not creek in the wind.. yea
okay kinda body gore but like.. if a person’s will can make someone pass out and break a ship (shanks visiting whitebeard).. what else can it do? force a bodies heart to stop beating? force its bones to break under pressure or its mind to break??? like possibilities ...
Gonna write that hmmm
More body gore
can some conquerors haki be so big but locked inside? Like Ace and Luffy had to go through some event to unlock it
What if they hadn’t? this untamable will trapped in a body? Would it eventually overflow or effect the user in some manner?
Thoughts?
the feeling of directed conquerors haki can feel either like the force to KNEEL or like abject terror. Unrestrained and undirected, just present, it can feel like there's something big in the room. Something dangerous. The feeling that animals get when people say the ‘supernatural’ is in the room. You gotta run, that is something greater than you, yknow? Conquerors Haki makes you seem small.
Restrained it’s something like a sixth sense. Something’s there, but you don’t know what.
People with strong wills can withstand conquerors haki, but not fight against it or overwhelm it.
Strawhats all have will - typically those with dreams like theirs, which they will do anything for, have it.
What makes a person have conquerors haki? In canon they say its the power or traits of a king... so what makes a king? Is it caring for yours and yours alone? Will over others? A kingdom? There are so many traits and so few of them are shared it drives me insane.
My favorite is the decisiveness of this is mine - Luffy’s crew, his dream, his brother, is his. Ace, when he unleashed his own conquerors haki, was thinking that his brother was his brother, and couldn’t be hurt. Hancock, her people and her sisters are hers. It’s a freedom, like these are my people and I will protect them, but interpreted in different ways. (IE big mom very possessive, her people have to listen, and luffy, his people can do whatever they want as long as they want to do it.
I don’t really have any specific headcanons tbh but like the concept of conquerors haki is just so cool, like !!! a reason!! for so many things!!
#whirlywhat#dont have anything to say in the tags lmao#op#one piece#whirlywrites#conqueror's Haki#luffy#headcanons#op headcanons
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