This is probably silly to ask, but has anybody ever said something that really hurt Button's feelings?
It’s not a silly question! Buttons gets in several verbal fights with Mac during the time they spend together helping the BoS fight against the Enclave but not many of them sting as much as having to face the consequences of his own stupid actions and words. Gob is the kind of fellow Buttons would get along with well and that’s the reason why it hurts him so much that the ghoul will never forgive him for attacking Mac and saying the things Buttons said to him when he was desperate and seeing red. It’s ironic, really. Butts harbors hateful feelings forever and does not forgive easily - and yet, when someone treats him the same way, he’s all sorrowful and self-victimizing.
^Details of that Gob encounter will be included in the next comic!
omg what do these two do besides smooch. :I Sole Survivor River belongs to @vaultie-glass and hanging out with my Fallout AU Seb… these rascals. Thank you so much for the ask, mannnnn I miss Fallout now :’( these two are so fun! Happy Valentine’s Day! ♥
fo3 companions react to a lone wanderer having the same name as them?
This is interesting
Butch: They grew up together so of course he already knew that they shared the same name. Butch always low key hated that they had the same name, people would get them mixed up in conversation so often it bothered him. He wanted to stand out and he couldn’t do that with someone with the same name!
Clover: “No shit?!” Genuinely surprised to find out that Lone’s name was also Clover. She was caught off guard but it didn’t bother her one bit. She slapped them on the back and said, “boy let’s hope that doesn’t get confusing huh?”
Charon: After Lone introduced themselves as Charon, the ghoul gave them a look of confusion and almost disappointment. He assumed they were making fun of him. After learning that it really was there name, he didn’t seem to mind; they didn’t so why should he.
Dogmeat: I would honestly be concerned if someone was named Dogmeat..
Jericho: He let out a big hearty laugh, “you’re pullin’ my leg right kid?” Jericho refused to believe that he and Lone had the same name. In all his years, he’s never met someone with the same name (some how) so coming across this vaultie with the same name is just impossible.
Fawkes: Surprised when he first met them, but obviously his biggest concern wasn’t their name, rather them getting him out of the vault he’d been stuck in.
Sarah: Actually not that surprised. Sarah isn’t the most unique of names, so knowing someone with the same name didn’t bother or stand out to her much.
Star Paladin Cross: She knew of Lone before actually meeting them, so them having the same name was no shock to her; although it was unusual to say the least.
The Vaultie Selling Scrap (closed w/ theunlikelyvalentine)
“That will earn you three caps, sir!”
Carlos frowned slightly at the Mr Handy working the store. “Three? Just… just three?” he asked. “I… I had thought that this much copper in a wire would be worth more. I mean, you can make a magnet with it or do some very good repair work without trying to mold it too much…”
“Agreed, sir! But the pricing still stands, as they are my owner’s price for any form of scrap metal!”
Carlos groaned softly. But he nodded and handed off the roll of wire. It wouldn’t do much good to try to convince a Mr Handy when he had no control of the prices. He was handed the three bottlecaps in return, which Carlos put into his pocket for the time being.
“Thank you, sir!” the robot exclaimed jovially. “Thank you for your business – I do hope you come again!”
50. “If I asked, you’d say no.” - “You don’t know that.” please and thank you for some rebelcaptain goodness <3
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, ty vaultie!!!! Glad I can supply some rebelcaptain goodness (as long as you continue to supply a daily dose of MacRiver on my dash ^^) I see this one happening during ROTJ timeline, and I really tried to make this one semi-not angsty but oops I had a bad day and here we go.
“Cassian?” Jyn’s voice echoed throughout the Rebel Fleet’s maintenance bay, determined to reach Cassian’s ears. “Cassian!”
He’d heard her, there wasn’t anyone else around and he’d heard her and he was ignoring her and—
“Cassian, wait —,” she snarled, her words coming quick and pointed.
She hurried behind him, grabbing the crook of his elbow and pulling his weight against her side. He groaned under his breath, and she caught the tail-end of an eye roll.
“Andor,” she gripped his arm harder, a hissed breath escaping his teeth.
“You don’t get to just walk away like that,” she released his arm, squeezing her palms together as she rocked her body weight back and forth. “Not this time, not after what we went through.”
“It’s for your own good.” His face was inches from hers now, each word carefully chosen and spat through gritted teeth.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“Just trust me on this, Jyn? Okay?” Cassian spun around on his heel, storming towards their quarters with added urgency.
“Cassian, please. I risked my life for that intel too, I deserve to know what it was.”
“You don’t deserve this Jyn, especially this.”
His words splintered off, voice hoarse as he shook his head. The expression his face had fallen into was too much for her to bear, the hard lines of his forehead creeping upward as his eyes went soft, so she looked away.
“Cassian, come on … what was on that holo-disk,” she shifted, her voice slightly softer, rubbing at her arms to avoid looking up into his eyes. “You can tell me.”
“It’s not something to tell,” he sighed, reaching tentatively for her hands still running her arms, stopping them below her shoulders. “It’s something I have to ask, and if I asked, you would say no.”
She fought against his grip, hating that he still trying; to comfort her, holding her, protecting her from something after she’d blown up at him again.
“You don’t know that, Cassian,” she half mocked, still not letting her gaze settle on his.
His palms fell to her hips, squeezing them gently before muttering, “I do.”
She shook her head, pretending to be too angry to garner an audible response.
“I have to go back to Eadu—” she froze in his grip and he stalled, she could have kissed him for giving her the extra moment to process it all. He drew a long breath as her mind swam, unfocused.
“— your father’s research … It’s still there, all of it. If there’s a way to bring down this second one it’s there but we have to go get it and —,” he let a hand fall from her side, bringing it up to run across his brow.
“I can’t ask you to go back there, not after—” he cut himself off, and his hand found the tips of her fingers, — all she’d allow him —, before he finished, “—but I need you to go back there, with me.”
At that she looked up to find tears balanced along his lower lashes, shaking with each sob he tried to suppress. He’d not quite mastered the quiet cry that she had for all those years, but enough to where she could pretend he wasn’t crying.
As she slowly nodded her head in agreement, her bottom lip quivering underneath the bite of her teeth, she prayed that he’d do the same.
Danse- They’d served with dignity in the Brotherhood of Steel, even if it was under the command of a man Maxson often condemned. They were a sibling all the same. He salutes them like he was still a Paladin, and is a little surprised they salute back. “Been a long time since someone did that,” they say. Danse knows the feeling. They trade war stories and it feels like Danse is back at the police station. Everything in 101’s cadence and mannerisms is reminiscent of a hundred soldiers Danse had spoken to before, so it makes things easier than it would be with a civilian. It’s like talking to Rhys, to Haylen, to any Paladin or Scribe that called themselves brothers and sisters. They both have stories about DC as well, and Danse feels immeasurable comfort knowing that many of the memories he has of the place aren’t manufactured. 101 is so far the only person that can validate at least some of his past. So they talk, of the people in Rivet City, of the battle they’ve fought, of the ones they’ve lost. When they’re both tired of talking, they sit and keep watch over Sanctuary in a companionable quiet. It feels like old times they’ve never shared.
Hancock- No one makes it this far without pissing off a lot of people. Oh, he’s heard the stories, knows the true ones and the lies and all the dirt to be dug up on them. He also knows 101 has a bounty on their head from several different factions that bled out of DC and into the Commonwealth. They were a nice enough person, but he never liked standing too close to anyone with a target on their back. He liked it even less when his friends stood there. Mercs, the ones after 101 especially, were messy folk. They were scattershot when it came down to it, and didn’t give a damn who got caught between them and their payday. He captures them in a moment when the others aren’t looking, makes sure his grip on their wrist is tighter than it needs to be. “These are my people,” he says under his breath, “If you get them hurt, you won’t have to worry about the Talon Company or Regulators mercs on your heel.” He lets his fingers linger a few seconds too long before finally releasing them. A slow nod tells him the message is received. His lips quirk. “Good. Welcome to the family.” He left the “I’ll be watching you” part unsaid, but judging by the way 101 threw him glances over their shoulder, that part was heavily implied.
Piper- The next article is practically writing itself! The elusive Lone Wanderer, the Kid from 101 in the flesh. She vigorously shakes their hand and introduces herself before anyone else has a chance. “Piper Wright, reporter. Tell me 101 -is it okay if I call you 101- what brings you to the Commonwealth?” 101 says they don’t really have a reason, which does little to stop her. She monopolizes their guest’s attention for the next hour, jotting down most of what they said word for word. By the time Sole leads them away, her notepad is almost filled with enough information to pack an entire memoir on their journey from DC to the Commonwealth alone. She flips through what she has and wonders if all of it would fit better in a book than a newspaper. She considers titles while 101 is handed off to the others they didn’t get a chance to meet before being swooped up.
Cait- She didn’t really understand why anyone acted like this Vaultie was such a big deal. So they cleaned up the water in DC, who drank that shit anyway? Mirelurks fucked in it. No way you could clean Mirelurk spunk out. Still, she playfully punched them in the collarbone, making them stumble a step from surprise and the sheer force of the blow. She props her hand on her knee. “So yer the Vault celebrity, eh?” She snorts derisively. “Don’t look like much to me.” She gestures to their muscles. “Bet ya couldn’ even tear tissue paper with them noodle arms.” Three arm wrestling matches later, she is still unconvinced they’re the big hero people talk about.
Preston- He grew up on stories about the Kid from 101 that had slipped out of DC. Preston was around 10 when it all happened, and it was a story he held close to his heart for many years. It wasn’t often a teenager was responsible for saving an entire city of people. They were one of many reasons he had for wanting to make the Commonwealth slightly less of a shithole. He babbles and 101 looks entertained that he’s holding their hand the entire time. He only realizes this fact when they give him a gentle squeeze. He tears his hand away with stuttering apologies, fumbling with his laser musket so he has something else to hold onto. He has so much he wants to ask but he knows he’s spoken too much as it is. He has to leave on a good note. The only thing that comes out once he clears his throat is; “Welcome to the Commonkelth.” Deacon elbows him and calls him a starfucker. It takes him a few hours to gather up the nerve to speak to them again.
Nick- All the information he’s found on 101 consists mostly of hearsay and tall tales of dubious accuracy. There were few concrete achievements he could corroborate and knew with certainty were true; That 101 had saved a lot of folks in their time, they were still a kid when they did it, and that it cost them a hell of a lot to do it. He takes their hand with his intact one and shakes it firmly. “You did good, I hope you know that. World could use a few more upstanding people like you.” This surprises them, like they weren’t used to hearing praise. Maybe they just hadn’t heard it in a long time. Either way, they thank him. He allows the more eager members of the party their time, watching their every move closely, both out of suspicion and curiosity. Later, after everyone has their turn playing with the newest toy, they approach him, to Nick’s amazement. They sit next to him. “You kind of remind me of my dad in a weird way,” they say suddenly. Nick tells them he gets that a lot. He wants to ask about the Mysterious Stranger a few times, but figures they know even less than he does.
MacCready- He knows the jumpsuit when he sees it cresting a far off hill. Few people are stupid enough to go around in bright blue and eyesore yellow, plus the only other person he knows that wears those ugly Vault suits is standing nearby. He’s embarrassingly excited about the visit. Once he’s close, he calls out to them. “Hey, mungo!” Recognition clicks in an instant and they capture him in a tight embrace. They express astonishment that he’s still alive, and even gets a little misty eyed. “Way to make me feel old, kiddo.” MacCready really doesn’t understand why they look so overjoyed to see him of all people (he was a little shit to them for a few years there) but he hugs them tightly. They have a lot to catch up on. Some of it good (like Duncan), some of it bad (like Lucy), 101 has their fair share of good and bad to share as well. He reflects with a short chuckle when Sole pulls 101 away for a moment that all of his truest friends have the worst taste in clothing.
Curie- She’s eager to meet the Lone Wanderer once MacCready has given her a briefing about everything that happened in DC. Her only real curiosity is how they survived lethal doses of radiation with limited mutation, or how they can do the many things they’re supposedly capable of (MacCready mentions something about a metal skeleton that peaks her interest). 101 isn’t sure themselves. They agree to allow her to run as many tests as she can with the limited resources of Sanctuary, and at the end of the day, she’s still no closer to answering the walking riddle that is the Lone Wanderer. She does get to hear about medical practices in the other places they’ve visited, and she leaves them with a renewed desire to see all that’s left of the world in the wastes.
Deacon- “I heard about you all the time on radio back in the Capitol Wastes, was always disappointed I never got a visit from the friendly neighborhood Lone Wanderer.” They arch a brow skeptically at him. Sole is behind them with a similar, much more leery look. He can’t decide if it’s a “stop bugging the guest” look or an examination of any possible tells, in case he was telling the truth for once. He continues the congratulation train and slips away before any holes can be poked in his story.
Strong- Strong doesn’t see why this human is different than any of the others. Just because they survived radiation, Super Mutants survived radiation all the time, it wasn’t some special skill. He tests to see if they’re built any sturdier than normal humans (they must have been, radiation makes humans stronger, he thinks) by slapping them on the back. They don’t get up for a few minutes. They do get up after awhile, so maybe they were more mutant than human after all. He’s hit people a lot softer than that and they never got up.
X6-88- The only reports he has any knowledge about regarding the Lone Wanderer are their rare dealings with the Railroad. The case in which 101 kept a valuable synth replicant out of the Institute’s grasp is the only real information he’s heard on them, the only source he trusts, even if the incident was before his time. He regards them attentively during their talks with the others in the group. Sole has insisted X6 keep whatever information he learns during this visit to himself. They both know that’s an order he won’t follow. 101 reaches him near the end of the procession Sole has, for some reason, dedicated to their arrival. They search for something he knows isn’t there behind his glasses. He screws his mouth shut tightly. Few words are exchanged, at some point 101 offers a handshake, X6 doesn’t unfold his arms. What little they say to each other is relayed to Father. He’s less than pleased to know the one responsible for the Institute losing one of their most advanced prototype coursers is in the Commonwealth. X6 is ordered to observe, for now.
Dogmeat- He sniffs at 101’s leg. Something about them is odd and familiar, their scent, something in their face. They kneel to rub his head and he jumps up to lap at their chin. “You look just like him,” they murmur, their fingers deep in his fur.
Codsworth- “Did you hear about the machines in the coin factory breaking down all of a sudden?” Codsworth is confused, which doesn’t stop 101 from continuing, “With no explanation! It just doesn’t make any cents.” It takes a few seconds to snap. He stops himself from gasping excitedly and bustles over to them. “A man walks into a bar!” “His friend ducks,” they finish. Sole groans audibly, head in their hands. This does nothing to stop the barrage of truly awful puns the Mr. Handy and Lone Wanderer exchange for the next fifteen minutes. (Thank you justbadpuns ;D )
Maxson- If he must pick the thing that hurts him the most, it’s their eyes. They look at him like they’re staring at the corpse of the little boy they knew running around the Citadel. In a way, they are. He doesn’t let himself falter even under their stare. He keeps his back straight, his head high, his arms behind his back, his mouth sets in a thin line. “Jesus, Arthur.” The name strikes him harder than he anticipates. His fingers ball into a fist. “You asked for an audience, Paladin. Speak.” Their lips part to speak, he sees the anger (though it’s close to betrayal, and it is not a look he is unaccustomed to) flash across their face. Everything drains on their quiet exhalation. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Elder Maxson.” The way they say his title makes it feel like a loathsome one to hold. He wants to apologize for something he knows needs no apology. The choices that have brought him here haven’t been easy, but they were necessary, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to explain himself to one of Elder Lyons’ pets. So he says nothing. 101’s features twist in anguish, until they can no longer stand to look at him. They rip something out of their pocket and slam it on the table, and then they’re gone, the silhouette that once filled him with such admiration disappearing through the halls of the Prydwen. His eyes flicker to the holotags left on his desk.
It’s easy to get restless without anything to do, and there isn’t any paperwork to sort through (the Minutemen have no paperworks at all, apparently) or guns to clean (the laser muskets are an utter mystery as to how they work), so Rhys elects to sit in the doorway of the separated portion of the Castle with his crutches propped against the wall. The walls provide shade from the sun, and with few people ever occupying the armory (other than that one woman who chain smokes, looks very strangely out of place with a completely different uniform than the rest of the Minutemen, and doesn’t say a word to Rhys anyway), Rhys doesn’t have to suffer anyone’s presence.
He wishes he could do something. For the most part, the Minutemen at the Castle don’t seem to be doing much in the first place. Some of them come and go on patrols or to settlements that need help, and a few of them offer goods for sale. Rhys would offer to help, but it seems like the Castle is well-staffed and rather suffering from a lack of jobs than a lack of people.
The shadow over Rhys darkens, and he looks up to see Danse with a cigarette between his fingers.
“May I join you?”
“I’m not doing anything at the moment,” Rhys replies. “So if you want to join me in boredom, feel free.”
It’s odd to speak to Danse without formality. He’s not used to being on the same level as him. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that he’s not used to the lack of rank separating them. Danse sits down next to him and blows out an exhale of smoke, his body much more relaxed than Rhys remembers ever seeing.
“Do you need any Med-X?” he asks. Rhys shakes his head; whatever liquid medicine that smelled vaguely of something floral he’d been given is doing a good enough job with the pain. For now the pain is more of a dull discomfort, perfectly manageable for Rhys. He reaches for his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, and his hand pats against his hip. No pockets. Right. Haylen has his lighter too.
Danse plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it out in front of Rhys.
“Oh. Um. Thanks.”
It’s not like he hasn’t shared smokes with his comm- with Danse before. Trudging through the Commonwealth running recon meant that sometimes you didn’t get quite the comforts you wanted, and what you had you shared with your brethren. Sometimes it was a bottle of bourbon, sometimes it was a cigarette.
Rhys crushes the filter a little between his teeth as he inhales. Today has been stressful, between seeing Haylen nearly get dragged off and jumping off of the Prydwen and breaking his leg. He probably shouldn’t take it out on a cigarette Danse is sharing with him though, so he hands it back after taking another drag. He lets the smoke curl in his chest before blowing it out in a loud puff.
“I may slip up from time to time,” Rhys says. “About- I just need to adjust. For me and Haylen too. I’m not a knight anymore, and she’s not a scribe.”
“It will take time,” Danse agrees. “I understand.”
The cigarette is passed back to Rhys, and he takes another deep drag.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Danse says. “The Minutemen would be more than happy to have you, but it’s your decision.”
“Where else would I go?” Rhys asks. “Vaultie’s letting us stay. You’re here. The hell else am I good for?”
“I didn’t join the Minutemen because I can shoot a gun.” Danse’s response almost sounds defensive, and Rhys worries that he’s insulted Danse somehow.
“Do they really want me?”
“Danse, you’ve always talked about doing good for the Wasteland and how the Brotherhood is the best way to that goal. The Minutemen keep saying they want to help the Commonwealth, so I guess you fit right in. I’m just here to shoot the nasty shit before it comes crawling out of the ditch and eats us all. I didn’t join because I wanted to ‘do good,’ I did it because there’s nasty shit out there and if we shoot it first, it can’t come slaughter us.”
“That sounds like you want to protect people.”
“I’m not shooting ferals because I’m being selfless.”
“You’ll make the Commonwealth a little safer, regardless.”
Rhys snorts, before realizing he’s left the cigarette in his hand. He hastily hands it back to Danse.
“The choice is still yours,” Danse repeats. “But I believe you and Haylen would be fine Minutemen.”
“I don’t have a choice. There’s nowhere else to go, and you’re here.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was a necessary part of that choice.“
“Of course you are.”
“You didn’t leave the Brotherhood when I was exiled.”
It sounds almost like an accusation, even though Rhys knows it’s not. Danse is just pointing out that his presence isn’t what kept Rhys in the Brotherhood.
“It fucking sucked without you there.”
Danse doesn’t respond to that. Rhys looks down, staring at the brick-tiled ground. He’s silent, but a sudden thought comes to him. “The Minutemen don’t have ranks, do they?”
“Just the General and the Lieutenant General. ‘Vaultie’ as you and Haylen are so inclined to say, and Garvey.”
“Good. Then you wouldn’t outrank me.”
Rhys desperately hopes Danse understands what he’s saying. When Danse doesn’t say anything to that either, Rhys lets out a frustrated huff and turns away.
Danse moves a little closer, and Rhys takes a deep breath before he turns around again to face him. This is starting to push the limits of his personal space, but he doesn’t pull back.
“Are you alright?” Danse asks, his brows tilted in concern. Rhys leans in closer, enough so that their shoulders bump.
“I’m tired,” he admits, and wonders if that’s enough of an excuse to keep Danse from thinking too much about him leaning over to rest his head on Danse’s shoulder. Apparently it’s not, because instead Danse crushes the burnt butt of the cigarette into the concrete and tilts his head to get a better look at Rhys’s face.
“What do you need?”
Rhys curls in and buries his face into Danse’s shoulder. Danse shifts, and Rhys feels a kiss against the top of his head.
It’s quickly replaced by Danse’s cheek pressed against the spot and one arm looping around Rhys’s waist. For a moment Rhys doesn’t trust his senses, doesn’t believe what he thinks just happened. But Danse’s hand is warm against his hip and Rhys doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his chest feels tight, and he exhales rather loudly all at once.
“Don’t suffocate,” Danse says with a humorous lilt to his voice.
“Yeah yeah,” Rhys grumbles.
“And be careful with your leg.”
Rhys responds to that by lifting his cast-wrapped leg and draping it across Danse’s lap. Danse shakes his head and gently pushes it off, but he’s smiling and Rhys feels his chest unclench just a little.
“Do you want me to stay?” Rhys asks.
“I would… I would rather you stay, yes.”
“I guess that means I have to learn what the fuck is up with those laser muskets, then,” Rhys sighs, and Danse lets out a stifled laugh.
fallout 3 companions reacting to someone flirting with the LW and getting a bit too handsy? (can you add Gob? he's not really a companion, I wasn't sure if it was okay to ask )
(Totally ok anon! )
Gob- It’s not uncommon to see someone getting close to 101, just as it isn’t uncommon to watch Nova lead someone upstairs and not come back down for an hour or so. Gob wrings a cloth around the rim of a glass and keeps his mouth shut at first. It isn’t any of his business after all. They’re polite at first, 101 rebuts them. They keep pressing, and Gob catches sight of their hand sliding up over 101’s hip and down their thigh, even as the Vaultie is trying to push them off, their tone growing more aggressive the longer the advance goes on. “H-Hey,” Gob stammers. They don’t even look up. “Hey!” he snaps a lot louder, louder than he’s probably ever yelled at a customer. It’s enough to make the entire bar fall into a hush. 101 shoves the greasy bastard off of them, Gob glaring daggers until they finally slink off. “Thanks,” 101 sighs. Gob mutters “Pricks do the same thing to Nova all the time” and pushes another beer their way. On the house.
Butch- He bristles the moment the drunk in Rivet City sloshes themselves into the seat next to them. Not only do they smell like they were just fished out of the lake, but he’s right in the middle of making his own move god damn it! He nurses his bottle of beer and pretends like he isn’t pissy, which fails because the infamous Butch DeLoria pout™ can be spotted a mile away, while they make friendly with the walking brewery. Only, the drunk gets a little too friendly. Out of corner of his eye, Butch sees the way they’re digging their fingers into Lone’s Tunnel Snakes jacket. He sneers, “The hell do you think you’re doing?” “Mind your own business, kid.” Like hell he was gonna do that. Not when his friend turns to him with a plea in their eyes. He wraps one arm around Lone’s head and grabs his bottle with the other, ensuring (with a forethought he usually isn’t capable of) that they don’t end up with glass in their eyes when he smashes his bottle over the creep’s head. He keeps his arm around their shoulders even after their unwanted friend hits the floor like a sack of flour, and there it stays until they both stumble out of the bar a few hours later.
Charon- The second he catches the “admirer” reach for 101, he seizes them by the wrist and bends their hand back until something creaks. They scramble out of their seat, tugging, but Charon just applies more pressure the more they squirm. “My employer is not. Interested.” His vice doesn’t soften, despite how loudly they beg for him to let them go. “You’re gonna break my fucking arm!” “No,” Charon corrects, “I’m going to fracture your meta-carpals and tear the tendon in your wrist. If you keep demanding their attention, then I’ll break your arm.” He only releases them at 101’s order and they run off with their hand clutched against their chest. He’s about to return to his spot standing against the wall behind 101 when they stop him and offer the now vacant seat. He takes it, because if nothing else, he won’t have to stand around watching idiots insult his employer with their ill intended flattery any longer.
Paladin Cross- Watching the child she once held in her arms flirt with a Brotherhood initiate is much more awkward than she would have imagined. She’s about to officially excuse herself (she hasn’t been a part of this conversation for awhile now) when Lone’s acerbic tone makes her stop. The initiate is groping into the hem of their pants when she looks back, even while Lone is beginning to push them away. Cross snatches them up by a fistful of their shirt and hauls them to their feet. “Initiate, that is not conduct befitting the Brotherhood of Steel.” She doesn’t growl or threaten, no, she lets her strength speak for her. She challenges the younger one with the steel glower in her eyes to try anything. They hastily agree how out of line they were and promise to never do something so idiotic again, before scattering like a cockroach. “Are you alright?” Lone nods slightly, looking smaller than usual. “You be sure to tell me if anyone comes near you like that again. Anyone.”
Clover- Her baby is so gorgeous, is it any wonder they get looks wherever they go? She’s usually giddy how much attention they get together, but then they start getting more… personal. She knows better than to express jealousy, yet somehow she thought they were the one woman type. They’ve always treated her so nice. She’s so sick of sharing her lovers. Crimson and Eulogy, now her gorgeous Vaultie and some pushy teenager. Pushy in a too literal sense. When they get too close, looking like they’re trying to force 101 into a nearby room, she grabs them by the shoulder. 101 doesn’t even have time to tell them “no” before Clover is sinking a switchblade into their jugular, tearing it out, burying it again. They collapse after five or six times, foaming bloody bubbles out of their mangled throat. “You ok, honey?” She clings to their frame, not caring that she smears blood all over both their clothes. She’s been through this kind of shit enough, she’s never going to let someone make her lover feel that way, she promises and kisses their cheek.
Sarge- He edges his way between 101 and their admirer. “Fraternization within the ranks will not be tolerated, soldier!” he barks. His buzzsaw whirls to life, inches from their nose. “What the hell, ya’ hunk a junk! I don’t know you!” The blade jabs forward a few centimeters quick enough they leap back. “So you’re a red sympathizer! Is that how it is, maggot?” He hovers after them a few steps when they pivot and take off in the other direction, shouting, “Run back to your commie friends, coward! You’re a disgrace to the service!”
Jericho- Not like it was an uncommon thing in the wastes. Jericho rarely got involved whenever some horny fuck started feeling up someone up in a bar- he wasn’t about to go looking for trouble over a guy trying to have a little fun. Hell, he’d be a hypocrite if he said he hadn’t had his way with the odd girl from a razed town. But 101 isn’t some nameless pretty face. He can’t pretend not to see the uncomfortable edge to their shoulders as they’re backed further and further into a corner, and if he did, he’d have to deal with the aftermath if things went too far. Too much of a hassle. The spindly little shitheel doesn’t even see the bullet until it plows through his skull and pops out of one of his eyes. By then it’s really too late to see anything, isn’t it? He hands 101 a napkin to wipe the blood off their face and shrugs off any tepid thanks.
Fawkes- He knows wrongful conduct when he sees it. Perhaps one of the only upsides of the strength and size he has now, dividing 101 and the scoundrel accosting them is as easy as swatting a fly. He slips one large hand between them both and pulls 101 behind him. “That is quite enough,” he says in a firm tone which hid some, but not all, of the anger he felt at such behavior, “I think I speak for my friend and I both when I say you are not wanted here.” There’s one more upside to being an eight foot tall freak; people certainly listen when you speak. He turns to 101 after they’ve gone, and walks a little closer on the trek back to the Megaton shack.
Dogmeat- He doesn’t like the looks of them the moment they step up to his master, but he’s a good boy and sits while they talk. At the first sign of a struggle, he doesn’t await a command, he snatches the inseam of their pants and bites down as hard as his powerful jaws allow. He gets double the usual amount of snack cakes at dinner later on.
let me be taken. let me be put to death. i am content, so thou wilt have it so. i’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye. ‘tis but the pale reflex of cynthia’s brow. nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.