whatanightmaregrinch

[whatanightmaregrinch]

Y’ALLLLLLLLLL THE FALLOUT SHOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW IVE FINALLY FINISHED WATCHING IT, ITS KICKED ME BACK INTO HYPERFIXATION

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Hi guys!!! I’m not going to bore you with the “I’m not dead” trope because I’m actually basically half dead rn, but would anyone care if posted content on here besides fallout? I feel like I’m getting burn out trying to post here because my interests aren’t really fallout right now- I’m really obsessed with BG3 and would love to start posting content orientated around that, but I completely understand if people prefer I make a seperate blog for that! I just don’t want to randomly switch up on you all after sporadic activity hahaha

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none of my favs will escape the fate of being drawn with dogs

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Whoops I posted that to the wrong tumblr aksbxgzuwjxb

On that subject guys idk if I mentioned I do have an obey me! Blog , it’s @avatarofcats

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DO NOT REPOST

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Back to back itafushi, I do not make the rules!

You know Megumi went home kicking and giggling after the date

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[grabs your shoulders and shakes you] something being widely accepted fanon does not actually make it "basically canon" and it doesn't mean people who don't incorporate it into their fics or acknowledge it are doing something wrong

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I’m sorry but this is the funniest mental image

Imagine you’re a wasteland settler. You just got up at the crack of dawn after about 3 hours of sleep on a mattress stuffed with dollar bills and a flea infestation. You walk outside of your three wall plywood shack to start on the day’s chores. You look over and there he is again. You don’t know his name, he’ll tell you a new one each time you ask. You’re not even sure he eats or sleeps. All he does is stand there in his underwear with a gun he never shoots at all hours of the day. You sometimes think about talking to the other settlers about this but no one brings it up and sometimes he hangs out with the General so you guess you just have to deal with it.

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Meow

yeah makes sense if I’m honest

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bruh just had the shock of my life because a frog was in my room and I don’t know how to entertain guests

Like what tea do you offer to a frog? There’s no gUIDE

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genuinely i really admire people who can set aside some time and go Okay I'm Writing Now and then get some writing done, i'm just out here fighting for my fucking life

[whatanightmaregrinch]

Falloutober 2023 - Day 9

"Butcher Pete"

@falloutober

Word Count - 585

Andale. A picturesque town in the middle of nowhere. Two families, upholding the values of a long dead world, lived in the undamaged houses. They were too bright, too bubbly, too welcoming. It was all off. 

Standing in the kitchen for one of the families, whose names have long since left my mind, I tinkered with their radio. As I worked, I talked the men through the hows and whys of my actions. I just had to keep their attention for a little long. Cyrus would have the answers to what was really going on in this place before long. 

In my peripheral vision, I saw him emerge from the shed, lean against the wall, and loose all the contents of his stomach. Dogmeat followed immediately behind him, Standing guard at his feet. I didn’t know what he’d seen. I knew I should have checked it out. He was still new to the wasteland. He didn’t know the kinds of monsters that hid behind smiles. 

One of the men said something, a comment on my talent for a woman. I finished fixing the radio. 

“I’m terribly sorry to have stayed as long as I have. Me and my friend really must be going.” I made a move for the door. 

Stopping dead as a gun was leveled at me. 

“Listen stranger, I couldn’t help but notice your friend was poking around in Bill’s shed. Do you think he found what he was looking for in there.” 

“Probably, didn’t seem overly impressed with it-”

“You’re sick bastards.” Cyrus finished my sentance as he walked into the house. 

The man with a gun, turned to Cyrus and leveled his gun at him. “I’m disappointed in you stranger - so quick to judge us. Did you ever stop to think that I have a family to support here?” The other man had drawn a weapon, aiming at me. “ ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged’ as the good book says. Honestly, how many people have you killed?” He stepped forwards, “The only differecne between us is that I’m bringing home bacon for my family.” 

Cyrus, with some vomit still around his mouth responded before his brain had kicked in. “Bringing home the bacon? Those are people, not bacon! What the fuck?” 

My hand grasped the small pistol on my belt, this was going to get ugly. 

“Hey, I’ll have none of that language in this house!” 

I almost laughed. “Seriously, You’re talking about eating people here, our fucking language is the problem. What is wrong with you people?” 

“I don’t think I like your tone, young lady. There’s nothing wrong with me, we’ve lived this way for decades.” 

I caught Cyrus’ eye. He nodded. We both knew this couldn’t continue. The wasteland was full of monsters, but this was disturbing. I gave a small nod back. Preparing for the fight at hand. 

“We don’t care, Jack. You have to die. You and your sick little town.” 

“Well, I guess we know where our next meal is coming from -” He didn’t finish his sentence. Cyrus’ gun smoked. 

The next day, we had made it to Megaton with plans of repleishing our supplies when Butcher Pete began to play over the radio. Cyrus suddenly looked queasy and turned off his pipboy radio. 

“That was too soon.” he joked half heartedly. 

I smiled. He was right, but seeing him atleast attempt a joke was nice. Wasteland Justice was not a pretty thing. But those people had been deserving of it more than most.

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Dieter and his high waisted dress slacks are always ready to disturb the peace.

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I had an art of that but it's too old so here's a redraw

⠀

with the piece from Feb 2022

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Hancock x GN!Sole Survivor- far off victories

[omg is this actual words on a page?? Hello babies I’m back!!!]

“Hancock?”

“Hmmm…?” Your hands tightened their grip around his torso, and you pressed your face into his back. His soft raspy chuckle at your insistence had him gently pat your soft hand with his ruined one, and then dragged his fingers across your knuckles lightly. “I love you.” Your voice mumbled softly into his coat, and his heart (or whatever ruinous creature that had become it) twinged. It was easy to be gentle to him in moments like this, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering from the endearment; his anxiety swirled as he considered the time limit to your love. He was silent a moment too long, and your hands gripped his shirt, hands almost shaking in the moonlight as you took the rejection. You remained steadfast in your hope, that perhaps in a few months, a few years; he might come around to your type of love. From his slouched position, he took an extra long drag of his cigarette, before stabbing it out on the floor next to him. His shaky exhale hit your ears, and your grip tightened on him. The silence between you both was cavernous- wide and unyielding; until the faintest tremors from his rib cage indicated he was crying. Your lips pressed into a thin line, you frowned, and your grasp went from his shirt to the his hand that had long since disappeared from yours. He clenched onto your palm, and neither of you said a word as you coaxed him through it, his exhausted gasps and horrid sniffs as his whole body was rigid. Minutes ticked away until it turned into an hour; and just when you thought you’d done irreparable damage, he started to come down from it all. His crying got louder; but it signified he could breathe enough to let it out now, slowly riding the wave down as the adrenaline surged in him. He turned suddenly in your arms to face you, biting back a wince as his ribs nearly crushed your elbow as he rolled, and he thrust his face into your neck, finding purchase on you in whatever way he could. In this position, you wrapped your arms around him properly, trying to protect him from the misery he was entrenched in.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, hands right on him as he shook his head into your neck; refusing the apology but unable to explain himself just yet. He couldn’t accept your apology; not after you’d been so open and honest with him. He couldn’t help but seek your comfort, your honesty, your warmth. Travelling with you, fighting by your side- it was something he wanted desperately. He wanted you desperately. But the lack of love he’d received up until this point was so low that he felt like an imposter accepting it. He did not deserve it. He could not explain this to you, but he felt like on some level, you had already understood it would be like this. When he had explained to you how he felt in the beginning, and you’d surprised him and told him you wanted something more with him, he’d nearly rejected you. How could you love a face like this? These hands, covered in the blood of people I’d betrayed. His thoughts drifted to you; and how you’d sacrificed so much. Your partner, your family- everything by being thrust forward in time to an almost unrecognisable, hellish sham of what your life used to be. And yet, he could not bring himself to be brave with his feelings the way you could, the way you faced each day with a tired smile, ready to make something anew with everything you had been handed. Perhaps one day, he’d be able to return your mumbled praises, tell you how he saw the stars in your eyes; how each hit of jet he took would bring him nowhere close to the nirvana he experienced with you. One day, but not now.

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Not sure what late night entity compelled me to make this, but it did...

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He really loves that goddamn (affectionate) hat, doesn't he

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oh no, he’s hot

It's album cover