Can I request a Fallout 4 companions finding themselves in a one bed situation with the sole survivor
Companions react: there's only one bed!
(99% platonic)
Cait:
One of the more likely ones to refuse sharing a bed.
It's just too intimate for her, and she's had too many poor experiences of being accused of "leading someone on" just for being kind
Will probably just sleep on a chair and complain the next day over it.
She's slept in worse conditions before, so she's not too bothered by it
Might share the bed if she's close enough with Sole, but she wants as much space between them as physically possible. Put up a pillow barrier or risk her stealing the blankets and sleeping on the floor because Sole sprawled out too much in their sleep.
Curie:
It's an entire conundrum for her. There's one bed... but two of us. We both need eight hours of sleep, but we can't sleep on the floor because it'll hurt our muscles! Will we have to stay for 16 hours just so we can both get a turn???
She'll think Sole is a GENIUS for coming up with sharing the bed
Yes! Now neither of us will get back pain!
Will happily share the bed with no issues at all. I doubt she cares too much for the social customs that only partnered people sleep in the same bed
Might hog the blankets though, she's not used to having to share them
Codsworth:
Wonderful! He doesn't need to sleep!
He's more than happy to keep watch while Sole rests :)
He'll even make them breakfast in the morning
Danse:
Sole will probably be more flustered at the idea of sharing a bed than he is
Soldiers often have to sleep in close quarters or otherwise inopportune arrangements so this isn't unusual to him. He won't even bat an eye.
If Sole's uncomfortable with the idea he'll be fine with taking turns or trying to find some alternate sleeping arrangement. I'd be surprised if Brotherhood kit doesn't come with like, a sleeping bag or something
He'l just conk out on the floor, and he probably prefers that to a chair in most situations
Deacon:
Oh he is NOT sharing a bed with Sole
Sorry, that's just way too vulnerable and intimate. He's practically phobic of being percieved. Sole would be able to hear him breath, feel him shift in his sleep, and from a side angle almost surely be able to see his eyes past his sunglasses. That is too much information.
Deacon's also fully capable of sleeping in precarious positions. He can and has slept standing up before. The only thing he doesn't exactly like is sleeping on the hard floor - it hurts his poor old man muscles
So he'll take the chair, or couch, or find some sort of cushioning or blankets to lay on the floor to ease the inevitable soreness. Don't expect him to share the bed with Sole unless they're in a commited relationship!
Gage:
Little brother energy of "I CALL DIBS ON THE BED" the second he notices there's only one
Will cave if Sole insists they take it, they're the overboss after all
Might make fun of the idea of sharing and try to refuse it, but if the only other option is a cold, damp floor? He'll do it
Don't expect him to be a good bedmate though. He's shifting around like crazy and snoring. God forbid Sole rolls over, they risk getting kneed in the theoretical balls from all his movement.
Hancock:
He's familiar with sharing beds and won't turn up the opportunity for a more comfortable sleeping arrangement!
The second Sole offers to share he's picking the best pillow to keep on his side and getting all comfy
Even if not obvious, he's still got that tiny sliver of self-deprication over him being a ghoul. If he doesn't know Sole that well or Sole seems to hesitate, he'll fold and sleep on the floor or something.
He's boney as hell so it'll probably hurt unless he gets some cushioning. He's like a sad dog that just wants to be let on the bed :(
Maccready:
Big ol' whiner
Will probably offer the bed to Sole but secretly hopes Sole lets him have it
The prospect of sharing the bed probably doesn't even cross his mind at first.
I feel like the less they know/like each other the more comfortable Maccready will be
Like if Sole's just paying for his work it's no biggie, they both gotta sleep and it's not like Sole will attack him while he's vulnerable. Why pay someone just to stab them in the back?
But if he LIKES likes Sole, it might bring up memories of sharing a bed with Lucy, and that's a whole nother issue he hasn't fully worked through yet
He'll probably still agree to sharing a bed, but he might be stuck awake thinking of both Sole and Lucy. Poor guys gonna be tired in the morning
Nick:
While he might be capable of going into a sleeping/"off" state, and he might enjoy just laying down and resting every once in a while, it's not really a necessity to him
So of course he'd just tell Sole to take the bed. He doesn't need to sleep. He'll probably even go to a different room just so they don't get spooked by his glowing eyes at 3am
If Sole insists he stays he will. He'll pull up a chair and read or something - if they're really close he might even read outloud if asked.
And if they're really, really close, and it's maybe a bit cold, and they ask nicely... he'll cuddle them for a bit. He's just a nice guy like that
Piper:
Completely fine with sharing the bed if Sole's fine with it!
Of course if she senses they're uncomfortable she'll offer to sleep somewhere else, no biggie, but she doesn't think it's that big of a deal to share
Will also offer to make a pillow barrier if she thinks Sole will be more comfortable with it. It's probably something she did with Nat when they had to share a bed to prevent the inevitable bickering of "You're on my side!" and "Stop kicking me!"
Will hog the blankets though, be warned.
If Sole doesn't want to share she's more likely to pull the "okay but next time YOU'RE sleeping on the floor and I'M getting the bed" and she WILL remember it!
Preston:
Offers Sole the bed like the gentleman he is, of course
Will probably conk out on a chair persuming it's safe and quiet enough
If Sole insists they share he'll agree to it, though. Poor guy has had enough rough sleeping arrangements for a lifetime, and he's glad to escape the back pain if Sole's comfortable with it
If he's crushing on Sole he might have a small little internal panic about it. They're sharing a bed but it doesn't mean anything of course, unless Sole thinks it means something...? But no way, they just want to be comfortable, it's weird to think of the general this way, is HE the weirdo for agreeing to sleep with them???
My man has anxiety just give him 45 minutes to overthink and he'll eventually think himself to sleep
Strong:
I don't think both Strong and Sole can fit on a bed...
I can't imagine Supermutants are that used to regular beds anyway, the ones you see in their camps are made up of tires and wire (???)
I guess they don't mind hard bedding?
He'll probably find some cloth or blankets to throw on the floor and sleep there. Possibly at the foot of Sole's bed like a guard dog
X6-88:
Realistically he wouldn't want to sleep anywhere in the Commonwealth anyway. He'd do his best to teleport back to the Institute if possible, where they both have their own bed
If the Institute isn't an option for whatever reason? He'll take the floor but complain the whole time
Won't even consider taking the bed in any way - the Institute would probably be very against synths having better luxuries than humans. It'll probably get him in serious trouble if the Institute finds out
Might share the bed with Sole if they pull rank on him. Can't argue with the leader and all.
He'll sleep very stiffly and won't move a single muscle. Will let the blankets be taken and will just be cold.
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Don't expect "I love you" if you're not dying. It'll take a long goddamn time before he says it. You'll know, it'll be obvious in the way he treats you over anyone else, but you could say it every hour and he'll just grumble and give you shit for it. But a Gage in love is—in denial, for one—absurdly affectionate by raider standards. Nothing and no one gets close to his partner. Their dinner plate will always have more than his. He'll pass off ammo and first aid supplies to them even if his own bags are running low. He'll talk quieter and softer even if he still cusses like a sailor.
Green-eyed monster. He doesnt get jealous easily, but when he does, expect the other person to be dead by morning. His jealousy is less accusatory or insecure, and more "Get the fuck off my property." Still toxic, though, because this applies even to people who aren't expressing romantic or sexual interest. Friends, people they know, sure, whatever, they just better watch themselves.
His libido is all over the place. Doesn't like spontaneous sex if they're traveling. At home, his partner is welcomed and encouraged to jump his bones whenever. Public sex is a no-go. Too risky. And he's surprisingly rather private about his personal life, so God forbid they get caught and he and his partner end up the talk of the town.
The GOSSIPIEST man. He'll deny it, he'll get pissy if referred to as such, but he is. His favorite moments are when someone comes home and his partner drops everything and goes "You will not believe what I heard—" Gage swears its just good business to know whats going on. Is it, Gage? Does it profitable to know that this person is having an affair with the town chemist? How much do you make from knowing this?
Never needs a reason to hate someone. If you go up to him and say he has beef with so-and-so, he has beef and it's on sight. You'll have to clarify the level of beef if you want him to act accordingly.
Mediocre cook but if you criticize his cooking, will get 1: pissy and irritated and lecture you about scarcity and to eat what you're given, and 2: spend a stupid amount of time trying to improve. He's swamp southern, and not even an apocalypse can cull a southerner's urge to make good, home-cooked meals. He'll get more pissy if you point out that he's getting better.
Ive said before he's auditorially motivated. I stand by this. A partner can weaponize this by making sex noises if they want something specific from him. He's aware of this weakness. He's helpless nonetheless. Especially if you do it in public.
Despises PDA, but this translates to him grabbing his partner and tugging them into more private corners if he's feeling affectionate. He's not overly touchy, but he likes to be able to put hands on what's his. This looks like him slipping things into his partners pockets, or adjusting armor or weaponry on their person. Sometimes wiping off blood and muck.
Affectionately referring to him as a bad person/asshole makes him mushy-gushy. Sincerely appreciating the good parts of him makes him so lovesick he could puke, but it manifests as him getting irritable and grumbling about how you're kidding yourself.
On the last point, ive said before that Gage struggles the worst with insecurity in a healthy, loving relationship because he is accurate in everything wrong with him. He is a bad person, he is an asshole, and he absolutely should not have ended up with someone like his partner (regardless of if theyre a raider or not). Gage is aware of all of this. His biggest fear is that someone who's worthy of his partner will come along, and his partner will fall for them, then look at him and wonder why they ever settled for less. This plays a big part in both his constant bitching whenever his partner has a complaint with him (because it genuinely stings) and his subsequent struggle to improve and grow as a person. He wants to be worth them, deep down, but he's an old dog. He's been who he is for so long, for reasons he feels very strongly about. But his partner is worth changing for. That doesn't change the fact that the change is difficult, if not world-shattering.
Gage also has a bad habit of self-sabatoging for this reason. Arguements include things like "well, find someone who isn't like this" and that type of shit. He grows past it, eventually, but his partner better have his same stubbornness. Gage is too selfish to leave even if he thinks it'd be the best thing for his partner. The relationship ends on their call. Unless his partner really, really hurts him and pisses him off, but there's only a few things that could do that.
Doesn't want kids, but after a few years of being together, ends up as much of a softy as he could be and gets a habit of taking young adults under his wing. Expect to see him hassled by teens begging for stories or to be taught how to shoot. Gage hates it, but he still gives stories at the range, still teaching them how to defend himself. Uncle Porter is a controversial figure but he comforts himself with the knowledge that, if these kids need to kill anyone, they'll know exactly how to do it.
If he's just teaching the next generation of mercenaries and raiders, he'll just hold back and smile and say he has no idea what you're talking about, he's just a sweet old man looking out for the kiddos, if they form roaming bands and mug travelers that's a consequence of their enabling parents not whooping them enough, because Gage would never encourage that behavior, how dare you accuse him—
If he and his partner get married, he asks Preston to officiate just to piss him right the fuck off
There was a thick layer of grogginess that had settled over Sole like dust, a weariness that made their bones ache as they shed their gear. Recon for the railroad had sent them to the outskirts of the Commonwealth alongside Deacon. The work wasn’t unusual for them, but it didn’t make it less tiring. The safehouses that were dotted throughout the wasteland were second homes to them; they were long familiar with all of the locations the Railroad had set up, having been dragged through mission after mission with Deacon over the years.
Deacon was going through the same motions of ridding himself of the weight of backpacks and light armor as Sole began digging through their pack for water and radstag jerky. They would start a fire and he would get to laying out their bedrolls in the near pitch-dark. Deacon would take first watch, always too high-strung from the motions of traveling to try to sleep right away. In the first few years of their partnership he didn’t seem to sleep at all on recon missions. Sole had wondered if the sunglasses were to hide the way the sleep deprivation got to him, because surely it did– he was only human. It took another long while for them to realize that as much as Deacon tried to hide it, he wasn’t an emotionless shell that let everything roll off his back, and it was the sunglasses that formed a shield for him to continue that front.
And they still hadn’t seen him without them, though it’d stopped bothering them a long time ago. He took them off in their presence, sure. Most nights he took them off to sleep, his back turned to them as he curled into himself in his bedroll, and they spent much of their watch shift staring past him at the frames. When they woke him as the sun rose and it was time for them to head back to HQ it’d be with a nudge of their foot to the base of his spine, enough distance between them for Deacon to put his sunglasses back on without them getting a glimpse of his eyes. When they slept, it was with their own back turned to where he was keeping watch, so he could take his sunglasses off if he’d liked; they never got confirmation on whether he did or not. And it wasn’t as if they’d never wondered. They did, constantly. But Deacon’s quirks were so him in a way that had settled in their chest and dug roots in that wound between their ribs and they’d never even considered pushing at the subject.
So Sole’s presence of mind had all but abandoned them as they went through the motions of settling in for the night. Matches were drawn out of their backpack as they gnawed on a piece of radstag jerky, kindling in the form of an old, illegible book they’d found somewhere on their travels that day and tucked away for later. One thing about the Wasteland that never failed to be useful was the amount of rubble. A quick survey of the place provided them enough material to get a small fire started, and they’d finished just as Deacon finished fluffing out his bedroll and throwing a blanket over theirs. Their spaces were within arm’s reach, as always. There was no chance of something coming out of the dark and distance leaving them unable to defend each other.
The night was quiet in a way that was comforting. With efficiency of their little routine at the forefront of their mind, Sole unceremoniously peeled off their boots, shoved back the blanket on their bedroll, and crawled into their makeshift bed, their back to Deacon. Their thin jacket served as a pillow. The ground was unyielding beneath the meager cushion of said roll and, despite exhaustion crawling into Sole’s muscles and flooding like smoke through their mind, a twinge of worry flitted through them at the state Deacon’s back would be in in the morning. “Night, Deacon. Scream if you’re dying.” Was something they bid him goodnight with every night.
His returning sarcastic quip, this time in the form of, “I’ll handle it before you even roll over.” Was also a nightly tradition.
Their unimpressed snort was, as well, but the half asleep, “Love you.” Was most definitely not.
And the fact that they hadn’t even considered what was coming out of their mouth until it escaped probably showed in the way they froze mid-inhale, their shoulders tensing as their eyes shot open and they stared at the wall in front of them. The sound of the fire crackling was the only thing they could hear; and maybe Deacon had stopped breathing, too, or maybe their heartbeat was thrumming so loudly in their ear as it pressed into their jacket that they couldn’t hear his reaction at all. After the silence stretched on they heard a bit of shuffling and felt the instinct of awareness of someone’s proximity behind them. A hand reached into their periphery, just above their head, and a clattering reached their ears. Sunglasses were placed on the ground above them, just within their field of view, and Deacon’s voice was soft as he said, “Get some rest.”
Gage:
There was an unspoken truce in the way the pair often made digs at each other, the banter that they sent back and forth as a way of bonding, on the specific topic of Gage and his habit of hiding out in the Fizztop Grille whenever the raider gangs were getting on his nerves, which was often. No matter the ways they jabbed at each other, his propensity for taking cover from the rest of Nuka World in their company was never quite broached as a topic. Maybe it was the fact that Gage didn’t want to acknowledge this himself, or the way Sole didn’t want to push in case it made him stop coming around, or perhaps it was a little bit of both.
There was no surprise when they’d returned to the Grille and found him in their favorite armchair, one they’d found and dragged up the damn elevator themself, his feet kicked up on a coffee table that had seen much better, less irradiated days. His presence, in fact, was welcome. They had someone to complain to about the state of the raider gangs, someone who understood their frustration. “The Pack’s damn ego is getting out of hand again.” Sole dropped the rifle they kept slung over their back when they were out on the remains of a counter.
“When isn’t it?” Gage couldn’t sound less interested if he’d tried, though he had the decency to look up from Grognak the Barbarian to meet their eyes.
Sole groaned noncommittally. He was right, but they’d never acknowledge that aloud. “Wish they’d just take their share of the profits and shut their mouths for once. Not like we haven’t been trying to clear out the Safari for the last month.”
“I think being grateful would kill them. Mason’s brain would start leaking out of his ears.”
“So nothing would change.”
Gage huffed out a half-laugh at that, rolling his eyes. Sole crossed the Grille’s patio and leaned against the railing, likely a less than smart choice considering how rickety it had gotten. They really needed to get around to fixing it, but there was so much to do around Nuka World that it consistently fell to the bottom of their list. Maybe one day it would collapse and put them out of their damn misery. There was fog rolling in in the distance; hopefully not the start of a radstorm gathering. They were really hoping to get another day of good progress in on the Safari tomorrow, if just to quell Mason’s incessant whining. The creaking of their armchair and subsequent footsteps clued them in as Gage approached.
When he leaned over the railing it groaned, voicing the irritation that Sole was feeling themself. “We’ll get it done.”
Reassurance wasn’t something Gage offered often. Both of them were fond of the “Stop complaining and get out there” brand of advice and they’d perpetuated it frequently against both each other and the raider gangs under their thumb. Sole glanced at him. His brow was furrowed in a way that only happened when his eye was bothering him. “Atmospheric pressure changes.” Sole supplied, casting a look at the fog. “Y’alright?”
“Yeah,” He brushed them off with a shrug, as he often did whenever they displayed any level of concern. “It’ll pass.”
“Always does.” They replied quietly.
Gage huffed some sort of agreement, but remained quiet. It was drawing into the evening then, darkness pressing forward alongside the clouds. Whenever the pair weren’t working together they often rotated shifts of being out and about alongside the gangs, just to keep an eye on things. Sole took the days, Gage took the nights. They wanted to pipe up again, to tell him to come get them to take over if the pressure behind his eye got too bad, to let himself rest. They didn’t; they knew better by then, that Gage responded poorly to what he perceived as coddling. Any affection or care that they reserved for him was better left indirect. Painkillers set out where he’d find them or an insistence to take over a task that was usually his because “I don’t need you fucking it up,” in order to get him to rest were the best they could do. They’d already tiptoed too close to genuine concern by asking if he was okay. With a sharp exhale, Sole pushed away from the railing and headed toward their quarters. “Good luck with them tonight. Lo–” They stopped themself, the shock of their own words, what had almost come out of their mouth sending the ice of adrenaline through their veins.
It seemed they weren’t the only one reacting in mild horror as Gage had whipped around from where he was leaning, staring at them. His eyebrows had shot up, far from the way they had been furrowed in pain moments before. Sole coughed. “Uh, look out. For yourself.” They finished, the words stumbling out of their mouth.
“Yeah. Yeah, will do.”
Gage continued staring. They could feel the prick of his gaze, something that never usually bothered them considering how used to it they were; they watched each other's backs on missions. Most times it was comforting. This time it felt like they were a radstag being stalked through the underbrush as they retreated to their quarters, a visible wince having taken up permanent residence on their face. Even when they clicked the door shut behind them they could tell he hadn’t budged, staring at the wooden frame as they closed themself off from him once again.
Hancock:
Hancock and Sole always followed up long stints in the Wasteland with a grand return to Goodneighbor, often with the flourish of a night at the Third Rail that inevitably ended with one or both of them heavily inebriated before they stumbled back to the Old State House to recuperate over the coming week. It was where they found themselves in that moment. Thick smoke curled through the air, Magnolia’s crooning a soft background for the way Hancock was recounting their adventures to a gathering of Goodneighbor residents that had crowded around where he’d sat on one of the barstools.
Sole was ever-content to play spectator that time, nursing a light drink and throwing in the odd comment or quip. They let him embellish without redirection no matter how dramatic he got; there was just something about the light in his dark eyes when he told stories and the way every member of the community was completely enthralled and gasping as he spoke. And Sole never would’ve claimed to be above Hancock’s charm; they knew they weren’t since the moment they’d started traveling with him. Sole was the first to agree that there was just something about him.
They weren’t sure how many drinks he had downed in the hours that they’d been there or the amount of chems that had entered his system. It wasn’t unusual for the residents to share with him, a gesture of warmth to get just a breath closer to him and the intricate stories he was weaving. The more he ingested the deeper the fondness on Sole’s face grew; his inebriation made it less and less necessary for them to hide the way they looked at him, because it was doubtful he’d remember it in the morning. If he did he’d never mentioned it before, and so Sole grew more and more comfortable in their unabashed warmth toward him.
Hancock was kind enough to paint them a hero in his hardly-linear narrations, as he always did, and Sole played the part of the lovestruck-fool in that moment as he recounted their adventures. It was hardly subtle; the way they’d pressed their chin into the palm of their hand, elbow resting on the bartop, head tilted to the side so the lighting behind Hancock framed him just so. And frame him it did, casting a warmth across the fabric of his coat and getting lost to the shadows in the divots of the irradiated skin of his wrist as he waved his hands in expression. When they raised their glass to their lips the tumbler glinted in a way that left them feeling as if everything shined around him as he spoke.
Amongst his expressiveness, Hancock had almost knocked his own hat off countless times, and so he removed it from his own head and tucked it safely on Sole’s own, drawing a low laugh out of them. That had made him pause and really look at them; maybe it was just for a second, but it was a look nonetheless before he returned to his storytelling.
And when the end of the night crept into the wee hours of the morning and his audience had tapered off into a few heavily inebriated folks and Hancock himself was weighed down by the amount in his own system, Sole led him back to the Old State House as they always did. He was stumbling and giddy, warm in a way that he only was when his community–their community he’d often correct them–had restored that in him. Ascending the stairs was tricky, but it was a dance they had long memorized from doing so with him. He leaned against them heavily, gaze resting heavily on their features, but they were busy focusing on not falling backward down the winding staircase.
When Sole finally got him upstairs and tucked into bed—not without protest, as he suddenly roused from his inebriation for just a moment and insisted he had to return to the Third Rail to speak to everyone—they smoothed a hand over his forehead. It was a gesture that they didn’t often allow themself; sure, Hancock was touchy with them even when sober as it was just within his nature, but they rarely allowed themself to return it, playing it off as a joke. They pulled his hat off their head and settled it on his nightstand alongside the purified water they’d left there for his inevitable hangover. They hardly thought before they said a soft, “Love you, John. Sleep well.” It’d become a routine for them, a quiet confession he never properly heard, one that died in the space between them. They shut the door behind them and retired to their own room.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Hancock roused the next morning, stumbling out of his room and taking several moments to recognize them where they stood, leaning against his old counter sipping at a mug of coffee. Their eyebrows were raised in amusement at the state of him, as they often were the mornings after nights like that. There was a dawning of recognition and bewilderment as he gazed at them, a pause in his movement so long that they began to grow just slightly concerned. “What? Hangover that bad this time?” They asked, lowering their mug slightly as the amusement began to fade from their face.
“No, uh. It’s the usual.” His voice was rough from sleep and a lack of water–perhaps he hadn’t noticed it on the side table. “Did you–”
He cut himself off for a moment, still staring. Sole leaned forward slightly, a gesture to continue as they waited. Hancock shook his head, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “Nah, nevermind. Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.”
He still paused and stared for a second longer before he turned and stumbled back into his room. Sole only mulled it over for a second, turning over what he could’ve been getting ready to ask in their mind, before they brushed it off with a shrug and returned to their coffee.
How would Nick, Piper, Hancock, Deacon, Cait and Preston react if Strong was starting to remember that he used to have a family involving a wife and a child back when he was human?
》Damn, I've been gone a while. Ha ha ha... my b ՞߹ - ߹՞
【Nick】 "We could try to find them."
As the man known for finding things and people of course is going to try to find them. But knowing how supermutants are made he knows he's just looking for remains. Still he led with compassion and did his best to get Strong closer to the truth. He deserved that much.
【Piper】 "What'd they look like? How old was the kid?"
Maybe it's a little overwhelming but she asks questions in hopes that it'll trigger more memories. To her credit it does work. It just leads to a more tragic answer.
【Hancock】 "Didn't peg you for a romantic, big guy."
There was nothing he could do but laugh. Hancock liked to believe he was an optimistic guy but even he could see the writing on the wall. So he pretends he doesn't come to that conclusion.
【Deacon】 "Was her name Macbeth?"
He only half believes the memories are real and the other half is breaking his heart so he jokes to ease his discomfort. No one really bats an eye at this behavior and Strong himself doesn't understand the joke and actually thinks about it. The answer is 'no' but what his wife's name was is still out of his reach.
【Cait】 "Fuckin' hell."
She doesn't know how to do these feeling things. She doesn't even consider whether or not they're dead because in her mind they aren't there and finding them would be impossible. She does try to offer some sort of condolences but it's awkward and forced
【Nate】 "Oh... I get how that feels."
He really does. Good ol' 'I lost my family because of evil people and a machine' is quite popular in the Wasteland as it turns out. If it turns out Strong's kid was a son Nate will quietly lose his mind after excusing himself.
(Sequel to this. I wrote the good end, how about the bad one? Just Butch for this post, I'll see when I can get around to writing the rest. Enjoy)
Content Warning: Alcoholism
[Fo3] Companions React to Lone confessing before activating the purifier [Butch ver.]
Butch
Pounding. The immovable glass wall met his fists with resistance. But he could barely feel it, barely feel the raw scratchiness clawing its way into his throat while he screamed, barely feel the pulsing pain in his hands as he beat them against the near transparent barrier, not while in his hysterics.
"You can't do that! You don't get to do that!"
Denial.
"Come back- Get back here and come back, we weren't finished!" His hands finally yield their barrage against the door as adrenaline trades it place for exhaustion, his body forced to slouch and the cold surface against his sweat drenched forehead as he leans against it will be the closest thing to solace he'll get as he watches you input the code to finish the job.
"Come back! Please."
Pleading.
But the only voice to reply to his calls was the Paladin behind him trying to pry and coax him away from the scene. Those words didn't matter, though. They weren't the honey sweet words of mutual affection muttered from him to you- and you to him with flushed faces, the same words that had so stubbornly invaded his mind and brought both frustrating and delightful fantasies at every chance. They weren't your soft laughs filled with agreement to his declarations that the two of you would tear up the wasteland together and never part, that together you would make not only the best duo to exist but the fiercest force to be reckoned with.
They were words of attempted assurance, but Butch didn't feel any assured, couldn't even pay them any mind when the sight of you collapsing and the muffled thud that followed took over his sights. Even the final scream he let out in response felt muted with how zerod in on you he was. You were gone. Gone. The only one who was by his side after the vault went to shit. His partner-in-crime, and you could've been... partners.
Butch couldn't bare lingering on that thought. Couldn't think clearly, couldn't breathe, couldn't see clearly. If you hadn't been so foolish to chose the moment right before you died to tell him, and if he hadn't been so stupid and just told you about the butterflies and yearning pressure in his chest you caused him earlier.
None of it mattered now. No amount of berating would fulfill his hopes to see you smiling at him again.
He was all alone again. And he never would have expected that thought to bring him to his knees the way it did.
[ Quest completed
Take It Back ]
[ The Aftermath ]
Pounding. Persistent pounding. But not of the noise that had been mixed with desperate yells that day. A feeling. His head was pounding, and he discouraged against any thoughts of wishing that he could barely feel it. Anything to drown out the empty yet so despiar-filled feelings that had burrowed itself into him. Any distractions to make up for the lack of your company by his side.
He couldn't stop himself from wondering. Why? Why did you have to go and do that? You could've left it unsaid, you know. Could've left him debating if you ever felt the same when you were alive. It wouldn't have ached as much. Hurt still, sure, but maybe then he would've been left with enough stability to get up and move on.
But maybe he didn't deserve that. Maybe he deserved this. Treating you and Amanda that way when you were young. Always making some snide remark, always going out of his way to collide his shoulder into yours when passing by down the halls, or cornering either of you with his gang with threats of an altercation. He was an asshole, a juvenile prick. And you were too good for him. That's something he always felt deep down inside but would never confront. But it was true. And maybe that's why fate so bitterly turned out this way.
The day your life was lost was the day a numbness washed through him and tried to bury the grief that'd leave him immobile on the floor crying his heart out for months otherwise. He had trudged back to Rivet City to drown it out further at the bar. Forget for as long as possible anything that had to do with you or him. But he wasn't spared that.
"They can't be gone. They can't be. Not them, not someone as unstoppable as them. They have to be.."
Denial.
None paid attention to the drunken mumbling of the lone tunnel snake. Not as he rocked in his seat, an unconscious attempt to soothe himself.
"They can't be. You have to come back Lone. Please."
Pleading.
Maybe one day he'll get himself together. Leave his place at the bar stool and travel into the wastes again. Maybe to pick up where his companion had left off.
"Come back to me? Back to the Tunnel Snakes?"
Or maybe this will be how he wastes away. Their sacrificial feat being celebrated by many being what causes him to crumble and rot away in some water hole.
"I know I was an ass to you, but.. I can make it better. I can do better. I could be a great boyfriend if you just..."
Maybe some will say it serves him right, say its a lesson to not take what you have left with prickly and uncaring fronts. The only one who was left to stick around, to patch up his wounds when his initial inexperience led to rookie recklessness in a proper scuffle, to care- in the words he would've used; 'the only person who gives a damn about me'. That person is gone, and a chance to meet someone like them again will never cross his path.
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Bethany: A key? Tuned to Father's blood? He-he wasn't a blood mage, was he? He can't have been…
Carver: Keys and blood. Not a good sign, and not how I want to think of Father.
Anders: A key, tuned to your father's blood. Sounds like a ritual element for blood magic. Be careful, Hawke.
Aveline: A key… tied to your father's blood. Be careful, Hawke.
Fenris: A key tied to your father's blood? If he was a blood mage, you would do well not to make his same mistakes.
Sebastian: A key… that belonged to your father? We should find this thing, see what powers are rightfully yours.
everyone else: blood magic is dangerous Hawke, please be careful
Sebastian: it's time to get JACKED hawke let's fuckin gooo
Merrill: I've never heard of a key used as a focus for blood magic. What do you suppose it opens?
Merrill: Or is it to shut something in? Keys can do either, I suppose…
p.s. Merrill you genius I'm kissing you on the lips
BG3 companion reactions to a friendly Githyanki!Tav, who give awkard smiles and creepy staring because not use to this realm's body language
I love this ask cuz I have a tav like this too XD
BG3 companion reactions to a friendly Githyanki!Tav, who give awkward smiles and creepy staring because not use to this realm's body language
Astarion:
Astarion isn't a stranger to creepy stares and smiles. At first he actually thinks that this friendly Gith is into him, and it makes it easier for him to carry out his plan to seduce Tav. However as time went on, and the party grew bigger, he realized that it wasn't just him this behavior was for, this was just tav. Now he finds it incredibly amusing. He will often make comments, and uses his background as a magistrate to teach Tav certain manners. He will develop the habit to comment on Tavs posture and stares, but never from pure judgement. He helps Tav learn the body language of others, especially so no one ever makes fun of Tav without them realizing. a Tav will have light teasing from him, but Astarion doesn't let others tease Tav too much.
Gale:
At first Gale is a little frightened. Maybe a lot. He assumes it is some intimidation tactic and keeps his eyes on the Gith. His back isn't turned to them at all. As he notices their special attention to trying to understand the body language of other people he'll pipe up, stating some fact he learned about people's tendencies in certain situations. In a way he calls out Tav on their imitation of others. He feels quite proud of himself having understood Tav's true intentions in their creepy smiles and stares, and now such things are actually quite charming to him. “Imitation is the best flattery” and all, he is more than happy to help Tav understand some body language, and tell them to maybe ease up on intense stares. He doesn't get intimidated by their smile anymore! He actually finds it cute.
Halsin:
The first few times he smiles and waves, after a while it's just a smile…then it's just a glance every now and then to see if Tav is still staring. He isnt intimidated or scared just..concerned. He approaches Tav about this, making a little comment about their staring and wondering if they needed anything. Upon learning Tav is just trying to seem friendlier he smiles warmly now understanding, and doesn't mind it all. He can do without intense staring and makes a small comment but now he doesn't mind it as much anymore. When he notices Tav staring he will either walk over and start speaking, or urge Tav to speak towhoever they stare at. He does get proud with Tavs progress when they start feeling more comfortable around others.
Jaheria:
At first she thinks Tav is teasing her. She does not stand for it and makes a few comments about the staring. To the smiles she will stare…then look away not paying it mind. She doesn't understand why Tav is looking at her like that, but she's been alive for many years, and has seen the growth of young soldiers in her time. One day she has the random comparison of Tavs behavior to that of an awkward young adult and her perspective shifts. She doesn't bring that up or question Tav directly about it, but she makes light comments about stares and how sometimes it's seen as rude. Whenever she sees Tav changing their behavior or smiling for too long she'll remind them to relax, to carry on as themself. During some encounters she may ask if Tav caught onto a habit off whoever they spoke to, for example if they speak to someone who moves around a lot she might explain what she saw in that person was anxiety, and that is why they were moving a lot during conversation.
Karlach:
Karlach gives you her biggest smile back and takes your stares and smiles as an opportunity to strike up conversation with you. Sure the stares are creepy, but Karlach's seen a lot. She's also been alone at times, so sometimes she feels as if she sees her younger awkward self in Tav. A lot of her advice on recognizing body language and expressions is mostly based on “trust your gut” and “be yourself!” She's quick to help defend Tav if they're being teased too much, in the sense that you're trying and that's all that matters! If Tav opens up to her about their confusion more, the more likely Karlach is to find conversation with strangers in camps and the city and bring Tav into the conversation hoping it would normalize the smiling and help with the staring.
Laezel:
Whenever Tav stares in their creepy way trying to be friendly, she stares back, with a look almost like concern. She hasn't really experienced something like this with her kin before, so to see one of her own acting so strange she would often lecture Tav into drinking water, eating, or reporting their health status. She is under the assumption at first that it has something to do with an illness caused by the tadpole. Laezel is also learning about the realms' habits, and in time she connects the dots, understanding that this was Tav's way of trying to fit in with this new culture. She doesn't comment on it much, at one point she may have even copied the smiles and stares Tav gives to the other companions, though that quickly stops. For the most part she doesn't comment and lets Tav do their thing, understanding why, but she does see it as assimilation.
Minthara:
The first time she lets it slide, she's been staring at some of their companions the way Tav stares at her. The only difference is why. The second time she gets suspicious, and tilts her head staring back, waiting to see who the first to look away will be. To her this is a challenge, even when Tav gives her a creepy smile. She'll take the moment the two of them are alone to question them intensely. Now Minthara is a wise woman, and she'll see the confusion in Tav's body language, and now they're both confused. She explains why she thought Tav's behavior was odd, and seeing that Tav seemed a little disappointed by the reaction of their behavior she'll move on. She doesn't offer much insight or advice, any question about the realms overall social “rules” on whats acceptable and what is not is always answered with what's true in Drow society. Though she makes a comment on how she can't tell if Tav's assimilation is good or bad, at least that is what she considers Tav's behavior to be.
Shadowheart:
Absolutely not. She's made it obvious her beliefs on the Githyanki in the beginning of the game, and when Tav smiles at her in such a way she at first believes they are mocking her. Of course it doesn't add up after her life has been saved and they were truly friendly or interactive with her. Slowly she starts inviting Tav to sit with her at camp, getting more comfortable and understanding Tav just wants a friend. She makes a comment about having never seen a Githyanki smile the way Tav does, but she likes it, and says just that.
Wyll:
Wyll smiles back, as the Blade of the Frontiers he isn't intimidated by a smile…though he gets concerned with the stares. Who wouldn't? He will approach and call them out, not in a rude way but in a curious way like "you're staring again, is everything alright?” Checking in on Tav, and learns very quickly they're just being friendly. He gets curious about their upbringing, and with Tav's permission to ask he will wonder how different their culture is to his. As the son of a Duke he has a lot to teach Tav, if they'll let him. He doesn't mind their stares at all when it comes to him, but is always patient and helpful to answer questions Tav has.
Dragon Age Origins Companions react to Gandalf the Gray joining their company (and his sacrifice in not!Moria (the Deep Roads) against a Balrog)
Alistair: At first Alistair is reminded far too strongly of old tutors, harsh of tongue and sharp of wit, seeing Alistair in every way that he lacks, his flaws and shortcomings. But there is a compassion in the strange old wizard that was not present in those others. A desire to see Alistair to become more, to grow beyond or with hiss flaws. Alistair comes to regard Gandalf well, a friend, even. And, secretly, a grandfatherly figure, though he's certain the old man would wallop him upside the head if he ever said it aloud. It's Gandalf who makes him think that, yeah, maybe he could be a king after all.
After Gandalf's sacrifice: There's a hole in his heart, Alistair realizes. An aching part of him where Gandalf and all his gruff compassion used to be. He hardly realized how much he'd come to rely on the old wizard, on his wisdom and council until now that he is gone. Sacrificed against a monster older even than the archdemons. But Alistair has no time for weeping. At last, he takes Gandalf's words to heart. Enough sitting around. Enough waiting. It's time to set aside the Grey Warden, and become who he was born to be. It's time to be the King of Ferelden.
Morrigan: At first she detests the old man. His cutting eyes, too perceptive by half. His high and grating words, too close to truth. His REFUSAL to leave her in peace. And yet, she comes to look forward to their verbal sparring. She is a proud creature, Morrigan, and she will not be held to judgement of any little old man who think he knows better than her. And yet... there's a respect she feels for him. And it feels reciprocated in turn. Their words become less barbed in time. Not friendly, but there's a certain... give there. A camaraderie that she... doesn't mind. And... she supposes he has some good ideas at times. Feh, what a bother.
After Gandalf's sacrifice: Heh. Funny. She never expected to feel this... weight on her from losing the old man. This heaviness of heart and spirit. Is this grief? She likes it not. It feels hollow, in her. An inconvenience. And yet, she cannot shake it. This feeling that she has lost something dear. And it is only now she realizes she considered Gandalf a friend, of sorts. She finds herself missing him, their verbal spars, even his advice. she refuses to show it to the others, but in private, or perhaps with the Warden if they romanced her, she allows a scant few tears to fall.
Leliana: She finds him delightful, truly! A little poorly dressed, perhaps, but a joy to be around. He's wise and kind and never seems to judge her for her past when its revealed, merely proud that she has chosen a better path. And his stories! The tales he tells. She loves them all. She would love to set them down in song if only she could find the words for them. But ugh, it's hard to find the right words, the right notes. Gandalf laughs at her anger, and promises to introduce her to a friend help her. Whoever this Bilbo is, he must be a supreme wordsmith to receive Gandalf's support.
After Gandalf's Sacrifice: She weeps. Openly. It's wrong. It's all wrong. This- this isn't how it should go. It isn't right that such a man should disappear like this. Claimed by some ancient evil to buy his friends a precious few seconds of escape. Her heart feels scarred by it, in a way it hasn't since Marjorline's betrayal. And yet... she refuses to allow it to harden. It would be a disgrace to her friend's memory. So instead, she takes up her harp, and begins to play a tune, with melody to break the heart. She hopes... hopes it might be worthy of what her friend meant to her.
Zevran: When Zevran joins the party, he at first doesn't know what to think of the strange old wizard who advocated for mercy in his name. He's strange, and Zevran's flattery and attempts to worm his way into his good graces fall on deaf ears. He feels dismissed. But then he finds, its when he's honest in his words and thoughts that Gandalf pays him heed. the two strike up a cordial relationship of sorts. They swap stories. Zevran his wild tales of his storied life, and Gandalf ancient tales of ancient people. Men who tried and failed, but mattered in the trying. He gets the feeling Gandalf is trying to tell him something.
After Gandalf's sacrifice: Well, isn't this a thing? It always seems to go this way, in the end. Men like Gandalf do last long in his life. Those with some mercy in their heart. It feels wrong that the wizard leave like this. Their time together cut short. But perhaps... perhaps its time he puzzled through those stories. Those tales Gandalf told. Perhaps its time he figured out who he should be.
Wynne: She like the old man. They develop a fast friendship, quicker than the others. She senses a kinship with the old wizard, not simply because of their age. And she has endless questions about his magic?! Since her... incident in the Fade, she's been more aware of its presence... and yet Gandalf does not seem to use it. It makes her suspicious at first. What is the Secret Fire he refers to? But it doesn't stop their early morning meet-up and the joy it brings. Though sometimes... she gets the feeling she's talking to someone else. That he sees through her to the Spirit of Faith within her. And one day, he tells her its name. She wonders, vaguely, who this Gil-Galad might have been.
After Gandalf's Sacrifice: Wynne, alone does not grieve, for she feels, in her heart of hearts, that Gandalf is not gone. Not truly. Maybe its the spirit in her. Maybe it's something else. But she knows that Gandalf has not left them. And yet, she knows what must be done. It's Wynne who holds the party together after Gandalf's fall. After all, things must be kept together, shan't they?
Sten: Of all of them, Sten most easily sense the command with Gandalf. the capacity for leadership and even rulership, though he thinks that the man would reject such dominion. Despite him being a mage, one of the Saarebas, Sten feels no danger from Gandalf. He stands... apart. So Sten defers to him and the Warden alike. They exchange few words, but there is a powerful understanding between them. Even when Sten's crime is revealed, Gandalf seems not to judge him. and yet, Gandalf also seems to defer to Sten. He once refers to Sten as Arishok, something Sten is quick to correct. Gandalf apologizes, but his smile is knowing.
After Gandalf's sacrifice: He grieves in the Qunari way, quietly and grimly, but he does not let it slow him. It would not do to stand and tarry in grief. There are things to do. Sten, along with Wynne, carry the group during the immediate aftermath. But despite it, Sten's heart grieves. Qunari discipline keeps him in line, and yet it grieves him all the same. Let the past fall where it may.
Oghren: The dwarf doesn't know Gandalf long, and at first they do not care for each other. The wizard seems too high and mighty for Oghren's liking. Andd yet, he knows another soldier when he sees it. And the way he slings that sword around! Heh, might be worth something after all. They come to like each other, somewhat, and Oghren's willing to share a drink with the old wizard, though he finds himself developing a love of that pipe-weed the old man shares. Hah! Maybe he's alright after all.
After Gandalf's Sacrifice: Well if that don't sod all. Just as he was starting to like the old codger. Still... he sees how hard the others are hit, and does his best to keep it together. Gandalf seemed a good guy. And, when they finally make camp, Oghren pours one out for the old man. He resolves to do his best by this little group, if the old wizard isn't around to.
Shale: Gandalf is more tolerable than the other fleshy things, at least. It doesn't poke and pry and attempt to make Shale feel more human, at least. Rather it seems content to talk of things that interest Shale. Their conversations are pleasant, and Shale finds themself lacking a desire to crush the head of the old wizard. But it's in Gandalf's presence that shale first recalls the name of Shayale of Cadash. It feels... strange.
After Gandalf's sacrifice: Ah. Well, that's they way it goes with squishy things isn't it. They break. And yet, against that nightmare of shadow and flame, Shale felt fear for the first time in their memory. And Gandalf... Gandalf stopped it. Shale finds themself grieving for the first time. Grieving for the strange wizard who helped them remember. It's odd... but it feel nice, almost. To love a friend so, and then mourn them. Heh, strange.
Dog: He loves the strange not-human! They always smell nice, and share treats with dog! Dog decides they have to protect the strange not-human from harm. They're pack, after all.
After Gandalf's sacrifce: Dog isn't worried. Not really. the not-human with bushy brows and funny hat will come back. Dog knows, in that strange doggy-way, that he will. In the meantime, dog's people are unhappy! They need love and kisses. And dog will give all they can.
