#fallout jericho

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

So we can all agree that Big Iron is the theme for Fallout New Vegas

BUT

I am here to say that Way Back Home is the theme for Fallout 3

[thefalloutwiki]

Fallout 3: Jericho

“Oh, look. Another one of your pampered vault assholes. Look here, vault asshole I don't like you. Stay clear of me and we'll have no trouble.”

- Jericho, Fallout 3

You can read more about Jericho, a former Raider and recruitable companion, here:

https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Jericho_(Fallout_3)

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Day 28 -- Jericho

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober, Day 28 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don't interact.

Grooming with Jericho x g/n! Lone

Man, oh man... something possessed me when I was writing this 😅 What can I say? Jericho is my guilty pleasure 😈

I hope you all like it! 😁

Here is the link to my Kinktober 2022 Event list so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: Grooming, praise kink, light corruption kink, dom/sub dynamics, blow jobs, face-fucking, come swallowing, gagging, breathplay (sorta), unhealthy relationships, toxicity, pet names, aftercare (but only a tiny bit).

2.8k words.

--

“No, no, kid. You’re doin’ it all wrong.” Jericho grasped at your hair firmly, pulling you back and roughly away from his half-hard cock. “What did I fuckin’ say about you using those little hands o’ yours, huh?” 

You bit your lip, eyes downcast and brows flinching from the sting in his voice. 

“You fuckin’ deaf?” 

You shook your head, moving your hands away from him and to the floor, where you slid them firmly underneath your shins, pinning them to the ground. 

“Good.” He gave you a single nod, his free hand reuniting the end of his cigarette with his lips. “Now, start again.” 

The fingers in your hair loosened, remaining against your head for guidance alone as you set your sights back between Jericho’s legs. 

“There it is.” He murmured as you skipped over your usual kitten licks, which only ever seemed to illicit a glare in the ex-raider, and straightaway wrapped your plush lips around his sensitive tip, hollowing your cheeks and sucking until you felt him begin to grow steadily against your tongue. 

You were rewarded with the sweet sound of Jericho’s throaty groan as you delved deeper, taking his mostly-hard cock to the back of your throat and only stopping when you felt you were about to gag. His eyes locked to yours, his dark, blown pupils meeting your teary, earnest gaze as your expression begged for his praise. 

It thrilled you like nothing else. Even his mouth on yours, his rough hands stroking over your sex, the filthy words he whispers against your ears, nothing riles you like the sound of his approval. It was so rare, you felt as though each word he said in favor of you would be his very last, but he relented just enough that deep inside, you knew that wasn’t the case. It stuck with you. When he was proud of you, when you did a good job, when you took him well, when you listened to him and followed his instructions, just the chance of hearing any of those simple words, and you were prepared to do anything. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, “I love that sound. When you choke on me.” 

He took a thoughtful puff of his cigarette and closed his eyes. 

“Do it again for me, sweetheart.” 

Your body shuddered at the way his words made your mind melt. You couldn’t deny him. Not anything. 

You pressed forward eagerly, even knowing the discomfort that was coming, you took him into your throat with enthusiasm, choking the instant the hot head of his cock grazed the back of your throat. A dry retching sound filled the room, followed by desperate slurping as you tried to control the flow of drool streaming to your chin messily, and Jericho sighed. 

“Just like that.” 

You smiled, even with his cock filling your mouth and throat lewdly, spittle spilling out the side of your lips, you smiled at his beaming words. You pulled back to breathe, sucking hard at the head of his cock and dragging your tongue over the tip, stimulating him as you found a moment of respite from the prodding, painful thrusts he asked you to perform.

“Still need some work though.” 

Your eyes widened as his hand gripped your hair tightly, shoving your face forward until he couldn’t shove anymore. You choked, stomach heaving as another pained noise left your throat around the crude appendage filling it so fully. Jericho didn’t relent this time, didn’t allow for your foolish respite. You could hear him now, without having to open his mouth, his message was clear. 

Your discomfort is what?

N-nothing. Sir. 

You heard the conversation in your head. As you always seemed to when put into these situations. It’d been early on in your arrangement. You wanted to learn, and damn, did he want to teach. Teach you how to be good. Good for him. You didn’t know quite why. Maybe he was persuasive, maybe he was intimidating, or maybe it was the thrill. The way his dominance made you feel safe, cared for, even in a brutal and controlling way. It felt good to let go. 

Nothing…? You heard him trail off expectantly in your mind.

Nothing compared to your pleasure. Sir. 

That’s it. Good boy/girl. 

You shuddered, as you always did, at the memory of it. It didn't matter if it was true or not anymore. Whether you suffered or not, as long as Jericho was happy, was pleased, so were you. It was even better than your own pleasure. 

His hand pulled back only an inch or so, pushing forward again with force behind it, the jab to the back of your throat causing tears to spring from your eyes and flow down your cheeks. He continued a few more moments, a few more thrusts, each gagging you and making your stomach muscles clench just as hard as the last. You could feel your own arousal burning in your core. 

On the next push into your throat, you choked, and he stayed there, his hand holding firmly to the back of your head as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and tapped it at the ashtray on the table beside him. 

“Look at me, kid.” You opened your streaming eyes, oblivious to the fact you’d even closed them. 

This is why you need him. A voice echoed off the walls of your mind. 

He looks out for you. He rights your wrongs. He makes you better. The best version of yourself you can be. 

You nodded subconsciously, the motion pressing the head of his dick further into your throat than you ever thought he could go, and he held you there. 

“Now, swallow.” 

Your eyes widened as panic rose in your chest. 

H-how? 

Your eyes seemed to plead with him for the answer, and Jericho only tutted his tongue, placing his cigarette back between his lips. 

“You can swallow around my dick, sweetheart. You think I’d ask you to do it if it were impossible? Just gotta try it.” 

Determination swirled in your belly at his words. 

He’s right. He’d never ask me to do something impossible. Depraved, maybe. Painful. But not impossible. He wants to make me better. 

I can trust him.

Your eyebrows drew together, and your throat flexed, but all you managed was another gag. Another pained sound left you as you tried again, as you tried and failed to swallow around the thick girth inside you. 

Is he sure it’s possible?

You doubted briefly, fresh tears flowing down your cheeks at another failed attempt. 

Jericho groaned at the pressure around him, each painful gag stimulating his cock deliciously and pulling those lovely sounds from you, pulling more drool and tears to muss your face and make you look as depraved as he aimed to make you. 

“Better figure it out quick, sweetie. ‘M not lettin’ you up to breathe ‘til you do it.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest, lungs beginning to burn as panic rose within you. Another try, another failure, another gag. Your body heaved, starved lungs trying to pull breath through your nose, but he was too far down your throat for that to be an option. You tried again, sputtering, mind going fuzzy with the lack of oxygen to your brain, and you became desperate. You choked on your own drool as you tried to breathe around the blockage in your mouth and throat, your vision blurring slowly to black as your chest heaved for air. 

“C’mon. Told you you could do it.” Jericho’s voice sounded through the darkness clouding your vision. 

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you, angel?”

One more renewed charge of electricity drove through your bones, your muscles, and cleared your vision, gave you strength enough for one last attempt, and you were successful. Jericho grunted as your throat constricted around his length, the rough walls of your esophagus massaging the tight skin of his cock without that telltale jerk of your gag reflex. His hand loosened, and your head shot backwards, stimulating his length still as he was dragged out of your throat and mouth, until only the tip of his glistening cock remained on your lips. 

His dick twitched at the feel of your hot, stuttering breaths over him, lungs gulping cold air painfully through your ravaged throat. 

Your eyes were still on his, tears streaking down your reddened face and spittle still connecting your mouth to his cock where he pulled his hips and it settled in front of you. Jericho’s lips spread to a half-smile, his hand stroking gently over your hair as he looked down at you in approval, his bobbing cock twitching with the same such praise his eyes were delivering. 

He said nothing, but reached for the cigarette in his mouth, putting it out in the ashtray as he relaxed further into his chair. His dark eyes looked at you pointedly, and just as your breaths began to even out, you felt his hand pressure the back of your head again. 

You nodded once, a small smile at your glistening lips, and took him into your mouth again. His cock was shockingly cold against your tongue, the cool air clinging to the wetness before it delved back into your hot mouth. You worked him as you did before, sucking harshly and hollowing your cheeks, before taking him to the back of your throat. Dragging your tongue at the underside of his shaft distractingly, you mentally prepared to dutifully swallow over him again, remembering the look of satisfaction on his face as your vision vignetted and you finally were able to do as he pleased. 

You wanted that again. 

You needed it. 

Even if it meant you choking a dozen times, suffocating yourself to the point of losing consciousness, you needed it again. 

It was dangerous to crave someone's approval so much, you knew, but even that knowledge didn’t make that utter need for it stop. It was like a drug. No, it was stronger. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you pushed forward, taking him all the way into your throat, and swallowed. Or… tried to. You gagged again, and heard Jericho release a dry chuckle above you. 

Determined, brows furrowed, you pressed even further, until your nose was flush to the bed of curls on his pubic bone, and constricted your throat around him again. 

“Fuck!” Jericho exclaimed, hand tightening– unwittingly this time– in your hair, as his hips bucked up at the feel of your throat clenching around him like a vice. You still coughed at the end, some spittle and Jericho’s salty pre-cum dripping down your throat, but you’d done it. The man above you sighed, pulling your head back and relieving the pressure, and you felt your stomach clench in pleasure at the sound of his contentment. 

Spurred on by your success, you pulled back only long enough to draw in another breath, before plunging down onto him, taking him deep and pressing your nose to his skin once more. You watched as Jericho’s head fell back in bliss, his foul mouth quieted not by a cigarette, but by the sheer pleasure your mouth was bringing him with each harsh suck, each tender lick and forced swallow around his imposing shaft, and you smiled around your mouthful at the sight. His hand was nothing more than a bit of support now, your head and neck moving freely to take him the way you knew he pleased, to show him that you were capable, that you listened, that you were good. Good for him. Would always be good for him. 

No one could bring him pleasure like you could, no one could care that much, could make him the center of their world like you could– like you did. You had to make sure Jericho would never forget that. Just as you needed him, you’d make it so it was always the other way around too. 

Jericho was getting close to his end. He was giving off the signs that you’ve come to be so familiar with. His cock pulsed heavily on your tongue, the noises spilling from his throat were gruff and guttural, his free hand reached down to join the other on the back of your head, his contact there becoming firmer, more commanding, as his hips started to buck his cock more forcefully into your throat. You whined around him, the sound sending vibrations through to where your lips squeezed at the base of Jericho’s pulsing member, and you felt your tongue begin to tingle with anticipation. 

You knew not to beg, not unless Jericho asked you to, but it was becoming more and more difficult not to make your desires transparently plain. Your hips wriggled beneath you restlessly as you felt your own arousal building in your gut, your desperation palpable with each whine, each caress of your tongue against the slit of his cock, beckoning for his release to spill into your mouth. To finally taste the delectable liquid praise of your efforts. Your body was crying out for him, as it did damn near every day, aching for his approval with each harsh thrust that had your nose squishing at the pressure against his pelvic bone, that had his balls slapping against your drool-soaked chin, that had your eyes watering and your throat clenching around him. 

He was bucking his hips wildly now, grinding the head of his cock into your throat with no time for you to swallow, or even gag around him, and all you could do was sit and wait patiently for him to find his pleasure in the warm confines of your mouth. He used you like some toy, both hands clasping at the back of your head, dragging you into him as his hips thrust up and out of his chair, moving faster and firmer with each passing moment, until he finally ceased his movement, pushing as far down your throat as he could. He held you there as you felt his cock pulse, shooting warm strings of viscous release straight down your throat. 

Jericho let out a guttural groan from above you, and you closed your eyes in bliss, reveling in the feeling of his seed filling you, the sound of his pleasure, the feel of his balls tightening against your chin with each spurt into your mouth. 

His groan dissolved to a sigh as Jericho’s hands loosened their grip on you, allowing you to pull far enough back for him to spill onto your tongue, for you to taste him as he pulsed out the last of his spend. You savored your reward, a hazy grin spreading across your face as he pulled back far enough for his cock to pop out of your mouth. 

Your jaw ached, your throat was sore and raw, eyes red, chin covered in snot and drool and cum, but you found yourself smiling happily at your success. He’d asked you to perform a task, to do it the way he liked, and you’d passed with flying colors. 

Jericho sat back in his chair, hands releasing your hair fully as he reached for his pack of cigarettes and his lighter on the table, but his eyes stayed on you. You swallowed down the last bit of the seed he’d left on your tongue, making a show of doing so dramatically, so that he knew, and he smiled at you. 

Chills ran up your spine at the sight.  

As he lit his cigarette and threw the lighter back on the coffee table, you scooted forward on your knees, pulling your hands free and placing them on his thighs before using one to guide his softening cock towards your mouth. 

He didn’t need to ask, it was one of the first lessons he taught you. 

You always clean my cock when we’re done. I don’t care where it’s been or what it’s done to ya. If you leave me messy, you’re gettin’ punished. You understand? 

You’d blushed back then, your whole face heating with the embarrassment, the crassness of his words and the thought of your actions that might take place in the future.

You’ve come a long way. 

You licked every inch of him clean as he looked down at you, taking lazy puffs of his cigarette as his dark eyes fixed with a distinct sort of fondness that only Jericho had ever given you. It was possessive, it was controlling, maybe it was toxic, but it was powerful, impassioned, relentless in the same such way your love for him was. You never would have guessed this is where the two of you would’ve ended up, but as you rose from your knees and held Jericho’s hand, as he led you to your bedroom, as he helped you wipe your face, and settled down beside you, as you curled into him, sore and ravaged, and satisfied, you couldn't imagine anything different. 

“You did well tonight, baby. Get some rest, and maybe I’ll fuck you good in the morning.” 

His gruff voice lulled you to sleep, and even after you’d passed into dreamland, a grin stayed firmly on your face at the sound of his words, the way he said them, and at the promise of your tomorrow.

[stoat-party]

Welcome to the wasteland, 19-year-old child! I guess you’ll be needing a partner in this dangerous wilderness, huh? Pick one:

Sketchy robot

Not technically a slave

Literal actual sexual predator

no this one is really a slave, yeah she’s being held against her will

Hypercompetent family friend [YOU HAVE NOT ACCRUED ENOUGH TRAUMA TO UNLOCK]

Guy you’ve known your entire life [YOU HAVE NOT ACCRUED ENOUGH TRAUMA TO UNLOCK]

Kind, helpful walking tank [YOU HAVE NOT ACCRUED ENOUGH TRAUMA TO UNLOCK]

[everydayyoulovemeless]

The reaction of the companions of fo3 to the fact that they are in love with Lone Wanderer? Please 🙏

Fo3 Companions Realizing They're In Love With Lone

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » Age Gap ➼ Genre » Romantic, Pinning

Charon opts to ignore it. He's got a job to do and is bound by contract. His feelings don't matter for this transaction to work and now is no different. Despite it all, he can't help but notice how much more inclined he is to be of service to you — always offering to take the night shift, or more aware of his surroundings than he normally would be. He's never been so fond of the person holding his contract and it makes him feel so conflicted. What would you say? Would you sell him off if you found out? He's a ghoul, for Godsake, what 19-year-old teen would want him?

Clover isn't sure how to act, so she'll act in the only way she's known how — sexually. She'll run her hands across your shoulders and whisper lowly into your ears just so she can get the message across to you, but in all honesty, she truly isn't sure what it is she feels for you. It'll take he a minute to sit down and think everything over before she comes to the realization that she's in love with you. Once she figures it out, she'll tone her erotic actions toward you down, opting to instead bring you flowers, or clean up around your home. She tries to mimic you in how you treat her, hoping that it'll eventually make you feel the same for her as she does you.

Star Paladin Cross feels a bit conflicted about her feelings for you as you're the kid she helped escort to the vault. She's well aware of her body modifications and the sheer age gap between you two and would, therefore, try to extinguish these feelings at all costs. You two weren't meant to be together, and she needs to get a grip before this turns into anything more than you and her being comrades.

Jericho doesn't care if you catch on to how he feels or not, he'll just pin you up against a wall and try to get you flustered. This has always been his way of showing someone that he's interested in them and he'll stick with this method until you say something about it. He's constantly in your face — whether he be throwing his arms around you or squishing your cheeks between his fingers. He loves the way you swat at him and the cute way you roll your eyes at his antics, however, he doesn't realize that he's in love until you get injured badly. Then reality will hit him and he'll (slightly) drop his douchy act and make an actual attempt at wooing you.

Butch tries to play it off and act the same as he always has, but every time he's around you he can't help but fall into a blushing, flustered mess. He's a teenager who's never actually been in love before, and he hates every second of it. Who do you think you are anyway? Walking around as if you're blissfully unaware of his feelings toward you. He gets meaner towards you — teasing you more often and tripping you whenever the chance arises — but it's only to help try and mask his intentions. He'll only put the pieces together when someone else tries to flirt with you, then he'll pull his pocket knife out, scare the guy off, and go right back to how he was before — a bumbling mess.

Fawkes knew he loved you the second you broke him out of that vault, however, he's well aware of how he looks and would never dream of putting you into a situation like that, so he keeps it to himself. He'll be polite to you — always opening doors and offering to hold onto the heavier items and weapons you may possess, but that's the extent of it. He's older than you and would hate to hold you down in any way, so he'll love you from afar and risk his life for you any chance he gets. It's the only way he can think of to pay you back for being so kind toward him.

[fallout-friends-react]

If you haven't done it already, how would the fallout 3 guys act around a lone wanderer that he has caught feelings for and what is his initial reaction to realizing that he HAS caught feelings for the lone wanderer?

This specifically says guys but I'm doin' everyone lol

Butch: It started as really small things. The way Lone looked by the campfire light. Hearing their voice call his name. When they worried about him after a fight. All these things made him feel.. something. He was never quite sure what that feeling was. Until one day, Butch sat against a wall, catching his breath after a long day of walking. With no warning, Lone crouched in front of him, "dude your hair's all messed up." They started fixing his hair for him. The closeness made his heart lurch. He instinctively threw his head back, smacking it against the wall. "Holy shit are you okay??!" Lone worried. "Yeah I'm fine. Whatever." Butch held his head in his hands. Thankfully they couldn't see his beet red face.

Clover: Clover has always liked Lone, from the second they got her out of Eulogy's grip. Her affinity for them wasn't much of a secret either. She loved to hang on them, and flirt with them whenever she could. The longer they traveled together, the more she really started to care for them. The moment she knew she really liked Lone, was when they pointed to an old pre-war dress and told her it would look good on her. She doubled down on her physical touch and flirting, to the point that it started to get annoying.

Charon: Charon and Lone's relationship was complicated. They held onto his contract after all. He was bound to them whether he liked it or not. They were never unkind to him though, and he never took it for granted. On a routine visit to Underworld, Lone was busy in the general store. Charon, waiting outside, was asked by a resident how Lone was treating him. Thinking over his memories of them, he realized just how much they meant to him. With an imperceivable smile on his face, he replied simply, "they treat me well."

Dogmeat: idk why I keep adding the dogs at this point lol

Jericho: Being the cold, hardened old man that he was, Jericho didn't feel many girly emotions. (as he would put it) LIKING someone has been outside of his realm of possibilities for decades. He would never admit it, but he developed a soft spot for Lone. Going out of his way to make sure they stayed healthy. He'd often cuss them out for doing stupid things that could've gotten them hurt. It didn't seem like it, but it was how he showed he cared.

Fawkes: Fawkes would never call his feelings for Lone romantic, though he definitely cared for them. They saved him from his confines. They were possibly the only person willing to have a civil conversation with him. He often mentally cursed at himself for not being able to do much for them, other than protect them from harm. He didn't know how important that one thing was.

Star Paladin Cross: Cross has known Lone since they were an infant, sort of. Romance between them never crossed her mind, but she certainly loved them in a way. She was especially protective of them. Always sure to check if they were wounded after a fight. Always making sure they were eating and sleeping well. Though sometimes it was a little overbearing.

[valen-dreth]

wait hehe i want a fo3 one too

[libertybri]

Request for best friend!Fo3 npcs finding out/watching as a normally calm, cold, logical Lone, after seeing their dad for the first time since he left them, punches him in the face and berates him for leaving them with no information, no way to know if he's okay, no idea what he's doing or if he's ever coming back. Them saying "You were my only family, now I'm not even sure if you loved me at all" and generally being angry and hurt by him. Could you also include how their dad would react?

Lone’s hard fist connects with the jaw of their own father. James looks up to his kid bewildered, “Lone,–“

“I get to talk, not you.” Lone sharply cuts him off, “You have made my life hell for the past few weeks and you don’t seem to have any remorse for it. I have been shot at, beaten, stabbed, targeted, and made a war weapon for a faction that shows little-to-no care for me at all, and all to find you here for some mission bigger than yourself. You left me behind to suffer through all of that while still needing my help in the end. You were my only family, and now I’m not sure if you even loved me at all.”

James remains quiet as Lone removes their intense focus away from him and diverts their gaze to the ground.

Amata:

“I used to look up to you, James. You’ve made a real mess in your path and you have a lot of work to do to make up for it.” She tells him after Lone finishes their rant. Amata shakes her head shamefully at James, who takes in her words like knives.

“I didn’t mean to hurt either of you, believe me.” He pleads.

Amata heard enough of the older man merely pushing out excuses for his flight personality causing a whirlwind of trouble for Lone. Her friend who is usually cold as ice showing that much emotion sent her into protective mode. She turns to Lone and softly says, “You don’t have to follow in his footsteps, you know?”

“It’s for the betterment of–“

“Yeah, I know, but you’ve been a hero to everyone since the first day you walked out of the vault. He’s been trying for over 20 years. I think you’re warranted a little time for yourself.” She tells her friend with a gentle smile. Lone nods and follows their friend to the exit, not saying another word to their dad.

Butch:

“I think we outta hit the road, Nosebleed.” Though Butch rarely uses that nickname with his best friend anymore, he figured it would divert their attention away from their dad and onto him. He didn’t like the way James threw this onto them and expected Lone to carry out his chosen mission without a choice for them. It also deeply upset him to see his usual calm and collected friend become so emotional over the matter. Most of all it angered him that James wasn’t speaking up. With a huff, he tells his friend, “We got better things to do that don’t involve us riskin’ our lives for a bunch of people who could care less about us.”

Lone thinks for a long moment and nods, “You’re right. Let’s go.” Butch excitedly guides them to the exit, as he was pleased he didn’t have to convince them any further. As they leave, Butch looks back at James with a deep glare.

Charon:

Charon remains silent, allowing Lone to make their own choice in the matter. Though they were experiencing a lot of emotions right now, he knew that Lone would still think clearly with logic and make the right decision. “I need time.” Lone finally decides, telling their father and looking to Charon for guidance.

He nods, “Let’s go then.” Without another word, Charon leads them to the exit.

Clover:

“C’mon, sweetie. We don’t have to stay here for this.” Clover pleads with Lone and diverts her gaze at James with a look of disgust. “And you need to man up! Get your job done without dragging your teen kid into it.”

“Clover–“

“She’s right. You shouldn’t be here. This job is dangerous and it’s been my destiny since before you were born, not yours. I should have told you, at the very least so you knew what you were getting yourself into.” James agrees with Clover and tells Lone honestly.

“Then you better hope you’re able to get it done yourself, because I’m already dragged into it.” Lone tells him sharply and nods to Clover as signal for them to leave. Clover rests a comforting hand on their back as they leave.

Gob:

Gob allows Lone to process their emotions and make their own decision on the matter. He would support them with whatever decision they made as their judgement was rarely ever wrong. One day he imagined they could both fill the void of family to each other, but he understands Lone’s frustration, as that was their only source of paternal love for years and it all diminished within weeks.

“We can take a break from saving everybody else. Let’s go hangout at the Underworld.” Lone says nonchalantly, spinning on their heel and walking towards the exit.

Gob follows wordlessly, having no say in the matter. He doesn’t give a single glance back at James. If he wasn’t important to Lone at the moment, he didn’t matter to Gob.

Jericho:

“I told you all this bullshit was a waste of time. We could be out knockin’ skulls and making caps right now. Helluva bounty waiting for us back in Megaton.” Jericho could care less about helping them save the Wasteland. He saw it for what it was: Trash.

“I had to see for myself.” Lone sneers at him, “Whatever though, I’ll give you this one. For once you were right.”

“Lone, please my child don’t tell me you have fallen into the life of raiding?” James pleads, all but questioning where he went wrong in abandoning Lone and causing them to go this route.

“Don’t act like you care now. I’ll decide when I’m ready to help you. So far all you’ve done is waste my time.” Lone finalized the conversation and lead the way for themself and Jericho on their next adventure.

Sarah Lyons:

“Lone, if I may,” Sarah speaks up, “With great interest of the Brotherhood, this is the right decision to make. You must support your father despite the personal business.” It hurts her to go against her friend’s better judgment, but she had a duty to adhere to and Lone also made that commitment alongside her.

Lone nods wordlessly.

“I do still love you with all my heart, dear Lone. That will never change. This mission is beyond us, but working together I know we can change everyone’s world for the better.” James tells them, “Afterwards, I will do everything in my power to make up for the hurt I’ve caused you.” He’s sincere in his words, tearing up as he speaks to his child.

“You’re very lucky to be their parent.” Sarah reminds him, doing her best to support her friend while keeping them in line of the mission. She nods to them and they give her a half-smile in return.

[sockfleecy]

wdym amazon prime, the only fallout show i know was animated 🫵🤨

(feat. maddy smith of @bibbidy-bee’s oc lineup!)

[falloutnewnobody]

traveling with all the fo3 companions in one party is so funny like its just two morally questionable vault kids, their evil raider dad who hates them somehow more than they hate each other, a merc ghoul who isnt paid nearly enough for this shit, a dog, an eyebot, and a supermutant with patience of steel who feels morally obligated to keep the rest of the party from killing each other.

[simplegenius042]

A very late WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @cassietrn

Tagging @strangefable @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy @minilev @wrathfulrook @josephslittledeputy @nightbloodbix @derelictheretic @deputyash @deputy-morgan-malone @inafieldofdaisies @ec-10 @ladyoriza @vampireninjabunnies-blog @voidika @onehornedbeast @thewanderer-000 @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano @henbased @neverthesameneveranother @chazz-anova and @strafethesesinners

Here are three WIPs, each from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and Life, Despair & Monsters. Read below the cut.

TW: Harsh and heavy cursing, mentioned/implied character and general death of NPCs (either it be a time loop or a cybernetic homicidal monster around nine or ten feet tall and very pissed off). Implied mentioned sexual content, mentions of abuse and fantastical racism (against ghouls, Jericho leave Gob alone!). Mentioned prostitution and fantasies of murder (illegal but understandable).

First WIP is for the time loop/"Groundhog Day" FC5 AU fic called You're Almost Like Family where the Seeds are stuck in a, well, time loop. And whenever Silva (or the Seeds themselves) die, well, the days are reset. Funniest part is, none of the Seeds know that they are all in a loop, just their individual selves. Snippet below:

[John] slammed the entrance to his chalet shut, causing the blonde figure sorting his papers in his lounge to jump. The documents slipped out of her hands as she stood up with a hand to a holster, only to calm down when she realized it was him.

Noticing that the reports laid scattered on the floor, Nadi gave him a stink eye, gesturing to the papers.

John would have been apologetic if he simply didn't have time for this. Ironic given the predicament he was stuck in.

Sooner or later, the Deputy is going to end up dead, and he'll be back at square one... again.

The thought reignited his frustration, but he reigned in enough to examine his number two.

Nadi was a loyal member of the project, more faithful than Jacob's hound, and while they did butt heads sometimes, he was grateful for her presence and for her strategic input. Admittedly, John knew that without her, the Deputy would have gotten to him sooner rather than later.

I would have preferred not to have to had died to appreciate it.

"Once you finish with those, come meet me upstairs in my bedroom. There's something I need to discuss with you," John ordered smoothly, making his way to the stairs.

He didn't notice the confusion etched on the blonde's face, for John was already making his way up the stairs to his room.

It's times like these I wish I could have a shot of tequila, he thought to himself, walking over to the open bedroom window and closing it shut, pulling the lock down.

Next, he grabbed a torch light and shined it at the closet. Hearing nothing, he walked towards it and opened the doors. Empty.

Finally, John turned off his torch, knelt down, and swiftly rolled it harshly under the bed. Hearing no grunts, he looked under.

She's not under there... good.

John exhaled a huff of air, and sat on the edge of his bed as he put his hands over his face.

It was exhausting. Though John knew by the end of today, or the next two if he was lucky, the Deputy would be killed by something or another and he would be back at square one, he really needed to figure out how to reach out to her, without being shot.

Going to her too early leaves her shooting first and questioning the morality of it never, and trying to go to her late only ends up with her being killed by whoever it is she seems to have evoked the wrath of. Not that he thinks she doesn't entirely deserve it.

He needed guidance, and from his last conversation with Joseph, his brother seemed content with sitting by and letting God do his work.

And he tried. To wait it out. To let God do His work. But if the sign that John seemed to be getting was that leaving the Deputy to her own accord only leads to her death, and back to the morning of Joseph's arrest.

And it wasn't like Jacob, or worse, Faith, were going to be helpful.

John had figured out quickly that his intervention was needed for the Deputy to even get through another day. And while the Father may not have understood what he told him, John deduced that this was a test from God.

A test against his sloth. A test towards his patience. A test meant to prove that John was worthy of entering Eden. And what better way than to save the life and soul of another? Especially one as sinful and wrathful as the Deputy?

Which is why he waits for the only other faithful member of the project, his trustworthy second-in-command.

A knock on the door shifted his thoughts to the matter at hand, and he made his way to the door.

Opening it, Nadi stood there, the blond looking at him with expecting brown eyes.

John pulled her inside, earning a yelp from the young woman, and closed the door behind her.

Here's a WIP for a collection of short fics from different character perspectives throughout my Fallout fic series A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. It is still under heavy editing, but I've got a good grasp on where to take it. Snippet below:

In the five of the twenty four hours she's been awake, Nova had expected more-or-less the same day as before.

Walking around and offering her body to anyone who came into the saloon had not been a life she pictured for herself as a little girl, but it was one that paid well.

Well, it would have been if Moriarty didn't continue to take a cut of her and Gob's pay any time a customer gave them a generous donation.

That and the amount of times Moriarty had utilized her services with no intention of paying her, but she supposed it was a better alternative to being kicked out of Megaton. Given Moriarty still had that power.

She drew in the smoke from her cigarette, and surveyed from her post as Gob gave another orange bottle of whiskey to Jericho, the ex-raider sneering at the ghoul, his disgust evident all over his face.

Thankfully he didn't make a scene, slamming the small bag of caps on the counter as he left through the door.

Gob stared at the bag, string noose tied tightly around the bag, not immediately grabbing it. Nova could take a guess that Gob was lamenting over the debts that he owed Moriarty. Debts both the prostitute and the ghoul bartender wordlessly knew their boss was unlikely to pay.

Gob snapped out of it though, giving a miserable sigh, and dragging the bag away from the counter for Moriarty to pocket later, turning his attention to the damn radio that never seemed to play at the right time.

It pained Nova to see Gob like this. He was a real sweetheart with shitty luck, and she knew that the only upsides in his life were the hope of one day paying off his debts, however unlikely that was, and the Gravity News Radio host screaming out "fighting the good fight", whatever that entailed.

She was also painfully well aware of his crush on her.

Though she never had minded his appearance to the point she'd hang out with him in public, given how much she knows the ghoul is actually a decent guy, she had her limits, which was rare given her current standing under Moriarty.

She hoped he could find some semblance of happiness, whether that be with a person or a life long after Moriarty was rotting in the ground. But it wouldn't be with her.

If things were different though...

Nova looked away from Gob, shaking the thought away. It didn't matter on the what ifs, right now she had a job to perform.

She could ponder a different time.

Just as Gob began to smack the radio, a risky action given Moriarty's repeated threats on treating his property harshly, the saloon door creaked open, and Nova spotted two teens enter. One male, the other female. Both wearing what appeared to be blue jumpsuits with the numbers "101" imprinted in yellow on their backs.

Nova eyed them both. The young man was of average build, short auburn hair cut neatly with a few strands springing out from the harshness of the wasteland most likely, and light brown eyes on the lookout for anyone and anything.

The young woman on the other hand had dark hair tied in a pony tail, was a little chubbier than her counterpart, and her hazel eyes were more focused, trying to narrow down a specific person.

They glanced back to the door, whispering amongst themselves, though not too quiet that she couldn't catch their words.

Amongst the harsh gravel Gob spat out at the poor radio, and the chatter amongst the patrons, Nova could decipher the words "here" "back outside" and "think she'll stay?" in hushed voices.

And finally Jennifer putting murder on her mind to the back burner as she remembers to drop, duck and cover my WIP of Sonya's Push. Snippet below:

Breathing heavily as she pushed her way through the audience as they gazed upon the newest arena fight between beasties, the bruises formed from her fight with Malvolio's bitch protesting against her movements.

The blonde looked back to the closed elevator door on the other side, paranoid that Malvolio's Beastie would burst through at any moment.

The speed of it had been abnormal, disappearing in a blink and being nothing more than a flicker of movement when it had slid down to the hall. The movement of its tail daggers swift and deadly, like her own claws. The red in its one eye, more robotic than flesh.

Why had Dicko approved such a thing? It barely counted as a beastie with the mass of metal it was made of! Jennifer huffed, and around the arena, looking pass the patrons in search of Dicko.

Her blue eyes spotted the Englishman on a lower circle, himself seated down on his VIP sofa that she once shared with him, disheveled but celebrating his escape with a glass of disgusting champagne, like the pig hadn't just left her to die to that one-eyed mech of a beast. As if the reason it was free in the first place wasn't because he allowed his creep of a "buddy" onto his premises, or the fact Sir Enigma might be a fucking alien in addition to a Darwinist with no care for the fact "handing control" did not mean "releasing the Beastie from its brainwashing bullshit".

She felt the razor claws pushing through her fingertips as she glared at the man from across the arena, anger and betrayal clouding her mind.

Those fantasies of killing him while in his bed resurfaced, and she oh so wanted to enact them now, with the sofa as an acceptable exception.

She wanted to get her claws through his throat before the Beastie could make its way down to the arena. She tried to move pass the cheering audience, making her way around to the other side to get to the stairs.

However much she tried though, a block of people just refused to move aside, and she was tempted to slice her way through if it weren't for the guards.

Ding!

...Or the faint noise of the elevator door that echoed throughout the arena, deaf to everyone but her.

Frozen in place as she looked back, trying to get a glimpse of the beast that would no doubt tear them apart.

She pushed people aside to get a solid look. Enough people disbanded to show the doors opening to reveal the empty box of the elevator.

Jennifer's face scrunched in confusion, mouth gaping open and shut, lips stinging as the cut on her upper lip made contact with her bottom one. She desperately searched for any sign of the beast, the monster made of steel, the relentless creature that stalked and hunted her not moments ago.

Upon still seeing nothing, she let out a mirthless laugh as she turned her back to the elevator, shaking her head as she focused her attention on Dicko once more, the man a ring below talking with one of his guards.

It was with this focus that she noticed a... shift on the stone barriers that kept the audience at bay.

Large spots on the stone cracked, small dusts of powder dropping down as an unseen pressure was placed on the stone. She saw more of this dust from the next ring up, and then the next, and the next.

Up and up and further up until it stopped at the final ring. Then dust slowly dropped down from the roof, unbeknownst to the audience too invested on the violence happening between the two wild beasties below them. Not that the fight between those Beasties were anything special unlike what she saw from her hunter mere hours ago.

Jennifer felt some familiarity with this, words exchanged to her by the madman who released the Apex from its prison, a far too fond explanation on how the creature could "rush so fast it would be merely a flicker to the human eye!"

"...Or match its environment to disappear right before you," Malvolio explained, grinning at her with all his teeth.

Jennifer's eyes widened as she barely registered the outline of the beast that had adjusted its steel to uncloak itself while hanging from dark and dank ceiling. Red optic looking down to the cheers in the rings and the Beasties fighting under it.

She saw the tail split in three, and immediately followed her gut by making distance from the open space of the barriers.

She had just dropped flat onto the floor to curl up and cover her head when the she heard the wind and patron's necks crack in one simultaneous whoosh.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

fallout 3 and fallout new vegas companions trying to flirt with lone/six for the first time?

FO3 Crushing! Companions Try to Flirt with Lone for the First Time

I. Absolutely. Love. This. The mental images that this prompt inspired were just lovely 👏👏

Sorry this took like... literal years to get out 😅 I hope you like it!

Fallout New Vegas is on the way as well, so look out for that... eventually :)

Butch:

He’d flirted with them before… only, even he hadn’t really known that that’s what it was. His mom often said he liked them, and other adults commented similarly when Lone and him were kids, but he’d always made disgusted faces, retching noises or flipped the people off that tried to tell him he liked Lone. Of all people, Lone?! No, not Butch. He bullied them, he disliked them, if anything. 

At least, then, that’s what he believed. Now though, Butch knew the truth, and he couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been all along. He plans to make up for lost time, to correct those little errors of his from the past. Butch has a short lifetime of flirting under his belt, and he means to put all that experience to good use. 

Just need to find the right time. Can’t do it out of the blue, not with Lone, can’t risk something like that. Has to be all romantic an’ shit…

–

“See anything you like?” Butch wiggled his eyebrows as Lone’s blurry form swam into focus. “You’re… awfully close to me, baby.” 

“Butch?” They mumbled, and he noticed that their eyes were closed. He’d thought they’d been staring at him, but their eyes were closed.

Just my luck…

“Butch, you’re awake?” Lone nearly jumped out of their seat as their blinking eyes widened in shock. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel great, baby. How’re you?” 

Their brows furrowed quickly, confusion warping their concerned features. 

“You were hurt, Butch. A car, some raiders… It exploded and you passed out, lost some blood, you… I wasn’t sure when you were going to wake up. The doctor said you might not.” 

Butch’s foggy mind began to clear, a headache began to form at the front of his skull, and the aches in his body became more and more pronounced with each word that left his companion's mouth. 

…I what? 

“Lone, only blood I loss was because you pierced my heart.” 

That one sounded good, right? That one should really drop the hint to ‘em. 

Butch grinned at the thought. 

“Oh, Butch…” They reached out a hand, tentatively reaching for his forehead and brushing away a few strands of hair. “You’re still coming out of it, huh? Just rest, okay?”

A new determination burned through his aching joints, his battered body. At the feel of Lone’s tender touch, at the realization of their obliviousness to his, frankly obvious, feelings, Butch tried again. 

“Can’t rest. Not now baby. Not ‘till you’re mine. Not ‘till you see it… See the way I feel.”

He tried to get up, to emphasize his point, but his arms could hardly move. The blanket that was stretched over his half-bare body felt like sandpaper over his burned and blistered flesh, and his muscles roared in painful protest at every movement. 

A groan left him at the sudden pain of it. 

“Butch, no, easy.” Lone’s hands gently encouraged him to stay down, and their eyes shone with sympathy that made his chest ache from more than his wounds. “You must be half delirious to be saying all this, but… don’t try to get up, okay? Just try and rest.” 

He wanted to listen to them, wanted to do what his partner asked, wanted to please them that way, but he needed Lone to know. 

It’s been too long. Maybe this deliriousness is what I needed. 

Shoulda tried this earlier.

“Lone, no. You gotta understand-”

“Butch, shh.” They laid a finger over his lips as their other hand stroked over his shoulder. “There’s time. You can tell me everything soon. I want to hear it, okay? Trust me, I do. But now, please… just rest for me. Work on healing, just for a little while. Then you can tell me how you feel.”

Butch’s eyes closed without his permission, their sweet words lulling him back to blissful unconsciousness as their hand continued it’s soothing stroking over a bit of unmarred skin on his arm.   

“And then,” He heard, just as he felt sleep wrapping him in its embrace, “Then I can tell you how I feel, too.” 

The last thing he could recall was a simple touch. In reality, it was faint, but to Butch, their lips upon his forehead felt like a heavy crash, an avalanche of weight poured over him that left nothing in its wake but the possibilities. For his future, and for theirs. 

Charon:

“Wait.” A large, calloused hand grasped at Lone’s shoulder as they made a move to step out from behind the pillar. “I’ll go first.” Charon’s rough voice sounded close to their ear as his hand stayed firmly on them, encouraging their form to move back behind cover once more.

“Why? Did you hear something?”

Charon paused at his companion’s inquiry. Did they think it was odd that he took precautions? That was his job, wasn’t it? It was in his contract...

But we both know I don’t always follow every little rule the paper alludes to in the finer print.

The ghoul cleared his throat, retracting his hand from Lone’s shoulder as he moved to step in front of them, pointedly avoiding their gaze as he thought through what he should say.

Charon didn’t ever recall being so concerned for his employer’s safety before. In fact, it was more likely he would do the bare minimum that was required to keep them from being blown to bits or falling off a cliff than it was for him to go out of his way to ensure their safety of his own accord. He had to follow orders, had to step in harm’s way, should it suddenly become clear to him that they would be injured or killed if he didn’t do so, and… That was it. The contract never mentioned the careful thought process he now went through each time the pair entered into a potentially dangerous situation. Nowhere in the paper did it say that his heart would need to flutter with anxiety when his companion was in danger, or that his body should flush with the heat of anger when a bullet did happen to graze them. The contract never told him to remain up all through the night, poised and ready for an unexpected attack, or lie awake in Lone’s dim room, his mind fraught with worry for the next day.

Yet, here he was. Doing all of that. When the hell had all this happened?

Charon tried to convince himself that it was only due to Lone’s kindness, to their low-maintenance in comparison to the likes of his previous employers. He tried to tell himself that the only reason he didn’t want them dead was because then he’d be saddled with some other asshole he had to answer to, but Charon knew deep down that that was bullshit. Even when his employers had been bearable, he’d never felt this strongly for them.

A moment of silence passed before Charon finally fixed his companion with his intense, icy gaze.

“No.” He said simply, “I didn’t hear anything.”

Their eyebrows scrunched together and Charon saw the question forming in their mind. Before they could even voice it, he replied.

“I just want to keep you safe.”

Clover:

“Sugar, you know I mean it when I tell you you look good, right?”

Clover always flirted, it was more of a personality trait than a conscious action at this point. It was just the way she was, the way she had been told to be, made to be for so many years that it just became a part of her. Now was different though, she always flirted without realizing it, but now… Well, she actively wanted to, and of course, of course Lone would be impervious to it. Did they really not notice? They almost seemed to ignore her little compliments, her teasing words and forward touches, and Clover does not like being ignored under any circumstance.

Finally, one day, she'd been driven to confront her companion about it.

“What’s your problem, huh? What’ve you got against me?” Clover finally burst out after the umpteenth time she’d said something sickly sweet that they’d just completely brushed off like a dead leaf on their jacket.

Look, she’d tried being subtle, she’d tried being low-key as much as the ex-slave could be, then she’d gotten more aggressive with her verbal affections, she’d gotten more direct with her lingering touches and her suggestive comments, but Sole seemed to just laugh off all of it, or worse, they’d pretend as if she didn’t do anything at all.

Clover was over it.

“Is it the way I look, huh?" She held her arms out wide, and Lone shrank back in response. "Is it cuz of my past, then? What, I been with too many folks for you to handle? What?”

“Clove,” Lone looked down at the floor in… what, embarrassment? Shame? It was hard to tell. “I didn’t realize–” 

“No, you look at me, sweetheart. Look me in the eye as you tell me what I don’t wanna hear.” 

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you, is all” Their gaze was sympathetic as it met her sizzling expression. 

“What?” 

“It’s like you said, about your past… I wasn’t sure if you, well, how you felt about me at all. Not when, your whole life, you’ve been forced to try and attract everyone around you, to be suggestive and touchy and I didn’t just want to be another asshole that only sees you as a piece of meat.” 

They wrung their hands with their confession, but their eyes stayed locked to hers, just like she'd asked. 

“Because I don’t. I… I like you, Clove.”

“You… Honest? You really do?” She took a step closer, her expression vastly changed from the flared nostrils and low brows she’d had before. Elation hung behind a thin curtain of disbelief. 

“Well, yeah. I just… Didn’t want you to think that’s why I bought your– well, you."

The word sounded so hollow, and Clover felt it like a pang in her chest. It wasn't often that she let her past hurt her this way. That wasn't a trend she could afford to start, but seeing the way it pained Lone to speak about...

"You don’t owe me anything." They continued somberly, "It’s as I said before, you’re free to go, if that’s what you want–”

“It’s not, sugar.” Clover shook her head as a poorly contained smile tugged at her full lips, as her hands went to either side of Lone's face, her thumbs brushing over their cheeks. “As I’ve been tryin’ to tell ya all this time… I want you.” 

She couldn't help all the flirting she did, both before, and after their conversation. Her past also made it hard for her to know which feelings of hers were truly real, as opposed to ones put in place in order to defend herself. Clover's still working all of that out, but just knowing... Understanding Lone's point of view, and hearing the genuine words leave them... It made the process of falling for someone easier than it's ever been before.

Cross:

“A very good shot. You must have exemplary eyesight, ma’am/sir.”

The action of flirting never came naturally to the Paladin. Obviously it wasn't high on her priority list when it came to skills she sought to perfect. If it were, her proficiency in other areas, with focuses on survival and combat prowess, surely would've suffered. But at this rate, she wished she could've had at least some form of training in the subtle art of wooing someone. Not just any someone, but Lone. Her companion, her friend, someone not in the Brotherhood, someone who wouldn't cause her to break decorum if she were to be with them.

It was a strange sensation, knowing that she had feelings for Lone. She was rarely certain about these things, and she almost never caught feelings for anyone. Maintaining distance from those around you, remaining indifferent to people you spend inordinate amounts of time with, it's a burden every soldier had to bear if they hope to defend their hearts and minds from the brutality of sudden and bitter loss. And yet, here she was, catching feelings for a civilian.

Perfect.

Cross tried to ignore it for ages, but it only seemed to become more obvious the more she attempted to conceal it. She would stumble over her words, blush more, become embarrassed about certain uncivilized things soldiers shouldn't think twice about. Why did she have such a hard time asking Lone to halt when she has to… relieve herself? She's a damn Star Paladin for Christ's sake, taking a ten-one shouldn't effect her in such a way.

In the end, she would find herself utterly unable to keep from at least complimenting her companion on their combat skills, their abilities as a diplomat that she so admired, their compassion towards others, and even their athletic physique. Is it really flirting? Hopefully Lone thinks so, because this as much as the Paladin can seem to muster in the ways of wooing.

Fawkes:

“You are a good companion, and an even better friend. I am beyond fortunate to have you in my life, and if ever there is anything you need, I will be here.”

Fawkes isn't quite sure what all of these feelings mean. The way his stomach tingles, a smile involuntarily crinkles his eyes, how he feels so warm inside when he looks at his companion. Is it friendship? Friendship is strong, and he felt strongly towards Lone, that, he knew.

When it comes down to it, Fawkes has no idea what he's doing as he relentlessly compliments this incredible person beside him. He's simply honest with his companion. Fawkes thinks they're the bravest person he's met, they have a good sense of humor, a kind heart, and they gave him a chance when no one else would even think to. He's proud to call Lone his friend, and he doesn't hesitate to let everyone know.

The day he finds out that it's more than friendship that he feels for his companion, Fawkes becomes, well... quite shy. Though, he'd never want to waver in his compliments, as he believes in being genuine and would never feel embarrassed about telling Lone the truth, he'd be more careful with his word choice, and the comments would be less frequent. As he continues his assault of kind words, praise, and appreciation for his companion; he would be planning his confession to them. Lone deserved to know the way he felt, even if they didn't feel the same. He just had to tell them, because, if they did feel the same? It would change his whole world for the better.

Jericho:

"Fuck, kid. You're crazier than I am, heh."

No form of praise is light praise, when it comes to Jericho. The ex-raider has a sorta allergy to compliments, especially the genuine kind, but Lone, he likes.

So what if he tells 'em that they're nuts enough to run with him? He can eye them up when they make a great shot, or tell them they're a badass when they make some shit explode, check out their ass in those tight road leathers they like to wear. That doesn't mean nothing.

He's too old for any of that shit, anyway. No, Jericho outgrew the ability to have feelings for anyone when he was about 10 years old. An' his conquests back in his raider days had left him full enough for two lifetimes in terms of companionship.

Nah, Lone was just... They were alright. The first 'alright' vault dweller he's ever met, and the first person in ages that didn't make him wanna set off that bomb in Megaton's center and give them all a little peace.

It wasn't 'till his actions started reflecting those little glimpses of... whatever the fuck was going on with Lone, that he even realized he was acting out of character.

Sure, sharing ammunition and helping 'em scavenge enough scraps to fix up their armor, sewing up a wound while they gritted their teeth, and swapping food stores wasn't anything groundbreaking, but... Well, he's never done any of that shit with past traveling companions. Hell, he more so wished his past companions’ armor would fail so he could loot their corpse when they dropped, that they wouldn't notice the ammo he swiped from their pack at night, that their wound would fester and he could have a few more caps in his pocket when they didn't wake up from fevered sleep.

With Lone though... it went even further. Giving them first dibs on loot, offering to carry more of their shit, so they could have a lighter load, sharing a fucking cigarette with 'em. That shit was strange.

Cigs are like straight fucking gold to the ex-raider, and yet...

Shit...

Look, they wanna run with an old raider like him, Lone has gotta be the one to say it, to admit any feelings. But those actions of his? That's as loud as Jericho gets with the vulnerable shit, everything else is in their hands.

[stoat-party]

So I’m working on a post about the things Fallout 3 did better than 4, but first I have to tell you the absolute worst thing about 3.

What’s with the ridiculous unimaginable cruelty toward 6/8 of your friends?

(The Lone Wanderer doesn’t feel the need to treat these two like trash for whatever reason.)

[everydayyoulovemeless]

The reaction of the companions from fo3 to the fact that, in the opinion of Lone Wanderer, they are more than just murderers / monsters / jerks. With a hint of romance.

Fo3 Companions Reactions to Lone Telling Them That They're More Than What They Think

➼ Word Count » 1.0k ➼ Warnings » Angst? ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic

Charon doesn't know what to think when you tell him. It's not something he's ever really thought about much, but now that you've brought it up, he feels more relieved? He's not sure how to describe it, he just knows that it makes him feel less like a tool and more like your companion. The comment weighs on him a lot more than he'd care to admit. How could he be more than a murderer when that's all he's ever done? When it's all he's ever known? How could he be more than that? He'll resent you for a while, secretly, of course, but resentful. There have been numerous times when his contractor would do something similar -- just trying to be 'friendlier' with him. but it always meant that they'd start asking bigger favors. He doesn't trust you, or at the very least he's scared to. He's been traveling with you for a while now, and he's slowly been getting more and more used to having you around. He'd hate to have that growing familiarity he feels for you be crushed by the revelation you're just like the rest. So he bides his time, waiting for any sign that you meant what you said. But until then, he'll huff and roll his eyes, as he does his best to stamp out any hope he might have for this relationship to be so much more than what he's used to expecting, not wanting to get fooled by the end of it again.

Clover just laughs, waving it off dismissively as she continues doing whatever she was previously. Murderer? She's not a murderer. Honestly, she thinks it's comical that you'd even suggest her being such a thing. Although, the more time that goes by, the more she considers your words. A murderer? She's not a murderer, is she? She's just been following orders -- just doing what she needs to do to survive... right? She'll come and find you one night and just cry into your shoulder. She won't say anything, just hug you and sob, repeating over and over again that she's sorry and that she's grateful you've been so accepting of her up to this point. The next morning she'll be back to her usual self. With the way she acts, it'll seem as if nothing has changed, but on the inside, she's never felt so loved -- genuinely loved.

Star Paladin Cross just smiles. Of course, she's more than a murderer! She's a defender of the people! A protector for the pride of the Brotherhood! She's not concerned about that image of hers being tarnished in such a way. However, a part of her feels sad when she thinks about your words to her. Did you see her in that way? Is that why you said it? It's definitely conflicting, especially when considering she's not fully human. You didn't really see her as a monster, did you? As a killer? She doesn't let it interfere with her relationship with you or her duty to the Brotherhood. Still, it'll always weigh in the back of her mind as a possibility, even if what you said was meant to be taken positively.

Jericho just chuckles at the notion. He knows exactly what he is, and he's not afraid to admit to things he's done in his past. Still, though, the sentiment was sweet enough, especially when coming from someone as young and naive as you. You haven't seen anything out here, have you? Of course, you haven't. That's why you're still sticking around him, right? Sometimes, he forgets how innocent some people are. He's old and always found a way to be in the center of violence, but you? You're fragile. You haven't seen what the wasteland can truly become, and he likes that about you. You need him, and a part of you helps ground him back into a more hopeful version of the world that he's been missing for quite a while now.

Butch scoffs when you tell him. Who do you think you are? You're not his mom. He could care less what you think of him. Sure, he might've been a little cruel when you both still lived in the Vault, but that was the past. He'll roll his eyes, give you a quiet 'whatever', and go about as normal. The thought still sticks with him, though, and after a while, it's all he seems to be able to think about. Did you used to see him in such a negative way? It'd make sense. He'd never really been kind to you. There's a small twinge of guilt that stings at him the longer he thinks back to all those moments in 101. He finds himself being softer with you after--not yelling out as much, not making as many rude remarks, and restocking your ammo when he notices it getting low. He'll begin to feel genuine guilt for everything he's done toward you and wants to make up for it as best he can.

Fawkes wants to cry when you tell him. He can't help but pull you into a friendly hug and thank you for your kindness. Honestly, he never thought he'd see the day someone saw him as something other than a monster, but he's glad he was wrong. Before, he might've stood a bit farther back so that it didn't seem like you came with him, but now he stands beside you, proudly following you into any establishment or city. He loves your company and would defend you to the death if it ever came down to it. He becomes so much more sentimental towards you and your belongings. If something's too heavy for you, he'll gladly come over and carry it for you. If someone looks like they're bothering you, he wouldn't mind being the large presence behind you. You're the first person in a long time who's cared for him and he'd never take it for granted.