falloutkinkmeme_backup | Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

I will die of happiness if you do a sequel. XD wantwantwant

Random prompt is random, but I'd love to see F!Courier hook up with a prostitute at Gomorah. Or Veronica. Or any other female character. I just want to see some good old fashioned smut : )

How about the reactions of Companions after the Courier's been gone for a long period (perhaps off completing the first three DLC's back-to-back maybe?) and his/her drastic change from Pushover/Lack of Combat Skills/Naive!Courier to No Nonsense/I-Can-Gut-You-With-A-Scalpel/Leery!Courier. The Companions reaction can be good, bad, or hilarious; And I have no restrictions of which companion or the gender of Courier.

Go wild my amazing A!A.

Go. Wild.

*siiiiiiigh* knew I forgot something on the title.

Not human.

Not. Fucking. Human.

188 was gone. It wasn't just decimated. It was... gone. There weren't even bodies this time, just piles of plasma goo with footsteps trailing through them casually. Boone, who'd she'd collected on her way to get Veronica, was just as lost as she, and he was the Goddamn veteran. They looked around in mute horror, shock palpable between them.

“Not another one,” Cross whispered painfully as she and Charon walked up, having trailed back as she and Boone raced to comb through the ruins. They had known all along what they would find. Even the courier had known... she just couldn't accept it.

“It's... it's not possible. It's just not fucking possible...What could they have done, what could they have possibly done to deserve this?” She muttered to herself as she looked around, frantically moving through junk, trying to assure herself that there were no burnt set of scribe robes amidst the rubble. Trying to assure herself that the strange little boy that had guided her before would have known this was coming and gotten himself to safety.

There had been no time, no time to help them...

She never found the scribe's robes.

The trip from there to the Hidden Valley Bunker was silent, strained. The pace was strenuous, even for the experienced, and nigh unstoppable courier. No one said what was on everyone's mind, no matter how hard she made them move through that unforgiving desert. Without a word, she forbid them to speak.

Veronica could NOT be dead. She wouldn't allow it. She fucking refused for that to be the case. The courier shaped her own destiny, and she shaped her own course. She was the courier who carved roads into the world. Veronica was under her protection, one of her personal friends. She would NOT let that evil bastard take her friends from her. She would not let him take the Mojave from her, either. It was hers first, and she'd done so much to get it back on it's feet.

This was her damn desert. He could go crawling back to the Capital Wasteland.

This game he'd played with her, for the past few weeks, taking Nelson, reactivating Helios One, fortifying Cottonwood Cove, wiping out the Boomers, infiltrating the NCR camps, rearming the very Goddamn bomb for the Monorail that she'd taken out... She hadn't even been back to the Strip yet and the bastard was running her ragged as she scrambled to clean up his mess. It was all taking a serious toll on her, and she'd never even seen him.

When they reached the Bunker, she was all but sprinting the last of the way inside the chain-linked fence surrounding the mounds she knew so well. She could see black tufts of smoke rising from the sandstorm vents, and apprehension prickled along her short hairs. She actually left Boone, Cross and Charon to navigate for themselves as she ran ahead. They were all tired, but she never slowed, even as she approached the one dune where the Brotherhood hid themselves.

A lone, sagging figure was outside the door, knees knocked together, hooded head down.

“Veronica,” The courier breathed, heart skipping a beat. She almost fell trying to get close to the girl, her hand reaching out even as her knees slid into the dust before her. Veronica, the woman she thought of as her little sister, not moving even in greeting, even in surprise or fear at her sudden appearance Still... she was so still... was on earth was she so still...

Instinct so acute you could sharpen diamonds on it had her pulling up Dinner Bell to shoot whoever was pointing a souped-up plasma rifle at where her outstretched arm had been. For her, at this close range, it was nothing to use the hunting shotgun the way a surgeon uses a scalpel to pick that rifle out of the hands of the dirty, bald old man who'd been shooting it a second before.

The man looked incredulously at where the rifle had been for a split second before dropping out of sight as she fired again, this time, only as a warning to him. She didn't like to kill people right away, after all. She liked to give them the chance to run the Hell away in fear, maybe learn the error of their ways. It would have been nothing for her to take him out, even as she didn't move from her place in front of the too-still scribe.

A fit of crazy giggles came from somewhere to her right. Her whole body tensed as she turned just her head, a feeling of premonition coming over her as she used Dinner Bell to block a flying, well-aimed hatchet that then clattered to the ground ominously. She didn't move from her point in front of Veronica, who she still had yet to determine was alive, and she wasn't going to.

A couple of powered shots into the dune next to her informed her that Boone and the others had caught up. Boone didn't miss, so it was probably more for her benefit than it was for anyone else. A shiver ran down her back as she could feel something cold in the air, despite that this was the Mojave desert and it was always fucking hot as Hell. But this was no premonition, or at least it wasn't in the way the hatchet had been.

The Courier could feel the Lone Wanderer's inky velvet voice crawling along her eardrums, slithering down her spine and teasing along her skin. She'd been told he was persuasive, when he wanted to be. Charming, hard to ignore. Gregarious, smooth, intelligent, powerful. Larger than life, enigmatic and even enchanting... descriptions that she'd even had thrown at her, though they hadn't always been compliments at the time. Cross and Charon both had told her this kid was a lot like her, in a lot of ways that weren't easily described.

The thought had been unnerving at the time.

“You're 'The Courier', then.” He drawled lazily, completely at ease with all the tense, well-armed, well-trained vets staring down at him through their scopes. None of those present were push overs, but he sounded like he was speaking to a group of gawky teenagers, like this confrontation had been of his own choosing, planned years in advance, not some chance encounter.

When she turned to see him, her poker face at it's peak, her breathing hitched, albeit silently. He was... he was a lot more than she could have imagined. She'd been imagining a genius kid, a smooth-talker who was a little weak on his own, but made up for it in brains, using his two buddies to fight for him. Someone she could peg, something she'd come across before, though with far less destruction in their wake.

That was not the case.

He was... something else, to say the least. His presence was hyper-real, like everyone she'd ever met before had not be real at all, and he was the first person she'd ever met that was. He drew the eye, even if she turned her head completely away from him. He was young, but he was very... defined, for a young man. He wasn't small, or youthful. He lacked any insecurity, any doubt. She could see it in his face. He was every inch the confidant leader and the magnificent bastard, and yes, his features with both beautiful and brutal, like someone had carved him lovingly, spent eons making him agonizingly perfect to behold. She even suspected she'd been wrong, and like Charon and Cross had told her, he was a one-man wrecking ball.

If she didn't know he was such an evil shit, she would have had to talk herself out of having a thing for him. Hell, only her good sense held her back from gaping now. No wonder he got what he wanted. He held a heavy looking plasma pistol that was obviously either modded or a prototype, and he held it like it was nothing to him, seemingly casually, but she knew his stance mirrored her own. A small slip-up and it'd be a real firefight again.

A feeling of feedback from a microphone came over her as she stared him down, willing him to really squirm. He may have been the juggernaut back home, but this was her turf.

“Aren't you a little far from home, kid?” She bit out venomously. Her own voice was a thing she'd practiced and tuned like an instrument, so her words were almost enticing, but threatening. It was a voice she used on faction leaders to make sure their attention didn't wander. Never had it failed her.

“Looking for a new one. Thought I might settle in here, actually.” He spouted conversationally, suddenly more jovial. She got the distinct impression he was enjoying this.

She smirked in response. Even though she could feel his twisted presence choking the air between them, threatening to overwhelm her, she felt pretty damn confidant herself.

“I got a feeling that this place ain't big enough for the two of us.” She said truthfully, steadily, and completely un-ironically.

His face split into a wide, Glasgow grin. The look was unsettling, and she fought not to visibly shiver, staring at him as he perched just atop the dome that was the entrance to the Brotherhood Bunker. He had the advantage in having the high ground, but she was pretty confidant she could save herself if he started shooting. She just wasn't sure she wanted to give him a clear shot to Veronica, or have him take the focus off her. After all, she could take it. The others? Probably not.

“I take it you already know who I am. I'm sure Cross has talked your ear off about her one beloved godson. You know how old women are.” He chatted pleasantly. His stance was perfect holding that gun, and she knew his prattle was nothing. He was alert and ready, waiting for the wrong movement. The man was good, she'd give him that.

And Cross had not mentioned that little tidbit, but it didn't matter. She knew that tactic.

“He's NOT my godson.” She pleaded to the courier, soundly slightly desperate. A quick look from the courier to Cross shut the cyborg up.

“It doesn't matter and he knows it, Cross.” She snapped, her eyes on his face. “Let's not play that game, kid.”

“Then how about we talk about you, courier, 'Woman of the West'.” His voice took on a thoughtful intonation, his eyes boring into hers. He was a very, very intense person, but she bet he had no idea. She wondered if she was the same way. She shook off the thought.

“I take it you've been hanging around the Legion, then. That explains why they've suddenly gotten a lot more frisky around here.” She responded tartly. “They couldn't be doing it on their own.”

“I suspect the NCR is much the same way, in that respect. Neither of them can pull up their pants like big boys without a little help.” Somewhere, she heard maniacal giggling at that. She vaguely remembered something about his female slave being something of a nutter, so she suspected that was who it was.

“Well, the NCR has one huge point over Caesar's Legion. No slaves.” She offered simply.

“Yes, the one thing the Legion has over the NCR. Slaves. You'd make a terrible slave, wouldn't you? Simply inadequate for their purposes. Suitable for mine, however.” His eyes were gleaming, and his face held what was hopefully an insincere leer, trying to unbalance her. It wouldn't work.

“Asking me to join you? Pretty lame, if you ask me. Planning on putting on a monocle and tying me to the train tracks next?” She drawled, sounding disappointed. “I'm hardly suitable for that.”

“True.” He agreed readily. “But you're still suitable for something.”

“Dare I ask?” Already feeling her nerves respond to his answer as she prepared to move.

“Target practice.” The stream of plasma narrowly missed her as she responded by jumping forward into Veronica, who she grabbed like a child with a favorite dolly. The Lone Wanderer had a moment where he was stunned at her speed, though he recovered too quickly for her to gloat. He never really stopped being utterly pleased with himself, that was for damn sure.

The courier held Veronica in her arms with her back taut against the wall before the door. The angle made it impossible for anyone atop the dome to shoot her, but it wasn't for lack of trying. She could smell the singed dirt from their energy weapons as his previously unseen slave took potshots at her from her own vantage.

Her own companions were providing more than enough cover for the courier to fiddle with the Bunker's door controls, only to find the damn door wouldn't budge. So, like any normal, reasonable woman, the courier began to pound on it like it was going out of style. Nothing. It didn't even sound as hollow as it should have.

The black smoke that had been rising from the sandstorm vents... Did this mean...?

“Gone.” Veronica's voice was hoarse, and hardly her own, but it was good to hear the girl was still alive. The courier set her down, still curled protectively around her from the suppressive fire that was all around them.

“I thought I'd lost you, lady.” The courier said with a relieved smile despite the noise and danger apparent.

“Dead, all dead.” Veronica spoke, and the courier studied her face, at last being able to see it. The expression there was not exactly endearing. She looked lost, pale, indifferent... She had seen something that she was still in shock from. Veronica, of all people, in shock. Wonders never ceased with that bastard around, apparently.

It also meant that the Lone Wanderer had taken out the Mojave's Brotherhood chapter. It was the only thing that could have done this to Veronica. Only time would tell if she would be okay, as the courier didn't immediately see any injuries on the girl. Maybe some time spent with the Followers and Arcade would be good for her. But all of that was moot if they couldn't get out of there alive.

It did force her to wonder, though. Why did he let Veronica live?

Kicked up dirt and a couple of falling pebbles had the courier turning with Dinner Bell just in time to shoot the bald bastard as he came down from the hill to try and surprise her. She didn't bother trying to be nice anymore, and shot him in the arm just as he was turning his rifle to shoot her. Scatter shot tore him up as he tried to right himself, arm now pinned to his side in pain, his face an ugly cacophony as he cursed her up and down.

THAT drew out the insane slave that had thrown the hatchet earlier. She would have be absolutely adorable in the pink spring outfit (that actually looked relatively new, interestingly enough), save for the irrepressible rage crossing her features, rifle ready and pointed at the courier as she sprinted into sight. She was baring her teeth in good impression of one of the junkie fiends from vault 3.

It was all too easy to bring up Dinner Bell for a well-placed shot to the slave's legs, when a vicious grunt behind her had her turning her head...

All too slowly...

...To see Cross go down on her knees, the power armor she wore creaking as the pale suited Lone Wanderer brought the modified plasma pistol to the woman's head. He had such a dashing smile of triumph on his face, Cross looking dazed and muted as her eyes traveled up to see his. His grin was so winning, he might have been a model or a politician. Instead, he pulled the trigger.

The courier found herself standing as the older cyborg fell into the desert floor, dust billowing around her as her heavy body settled, dead atop the apparent graves of the Mojave's chapter of the Brotherhood. In a way, it was fitting for the old warrior, and maybe the courier would come to accept that later. But right then, all she could see was the Lone Wanderer's shark-like smile as Star-Paladin Cross fell before him. In her mind, he wasn't worthy to give her a true soldier’s death.

She stood with her heart in her throat, not paying enough attention as Clover came down on her like an angry dog. It wasn't exactly like the world had slowed to a stop as she watched Cross land. Clover was proof that it did not. The enraged slave was screaming wordlessly as she brought out a combat knife to flay the courier, who threw back her elbow almost awkwardly into the woman's face as she turned to her, her other fist a perfect response as she punched Clover in the gut.

heh. If it's any consolation your mistype made me laugh when I was archiving today ;)

This was perfect. I loved all of it, but the last line was the frosting on the cake! I'm so happy to see Veronica fic too ;)

"It doesn't feel right," she said.

He didn't respond. He never did. She didn't know if he wasn't listening to her, or if he just didn't think she was worth responding to. She was a talker by nature, and Boone wasn't. She didn't know how to parse the quiet.

"Killing them in their sleep, I mean," she continued, desperate to fill the silence. "It doesn't seem fair."

And for the first time in days, Boone answered her. "It's more than they deserve," he grunted, and a helmeted crimson head slipped between his fingers and landed heavily in the sand at his feet.

A THOUSAND BONERS WERE HAD

Swell indeed :)
wonderful job anon!

Yikes!

LOL! I didn't even notice that. XD
man I must have been so tired when I typed the prompt up.

I haven´t been able to find a single story about these two - heck, there isn´t even a tag for poor Hardin! (Well, maybe I´m just searching wrong...)
I believe there is a lot of untapped potential in their relationship.
So I want a story which focuses on these two - in whatever form anon wants to write it. Gen-fics are completely fine.

Maybe they put their disagreements aside for one night and share a drink.
Maybe they´ve been friends or lovers until the situation escalated at Helios and they reminisce about past times.
Maybe Hardin tries one last time to convince McNamara that his way is wrong.
Or maybe it´s simply porn - that´s never bad, right?
Write whatever you feel like writing.

There are two things I don´t like:
If you go the porn-y route, please no non-con. I heavily dislike reading those.
And please don´t describe Hardin as some kind of power-hungry evil super-villain. He does deserve better than that.

Oh, it's wonderful! Thank you a!a! I love how over-the-top Betsy is at first, and how caveman Boone is trying to do the right thing. :)

OH MY GOD YES! I SHIP THIS ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE OCEAN BABY!

(I'm kinda new to this kink meme, do I just leave a comment with my story?)

Yup! I can't wait to read it :)

Nighttime. The Courier climbed into bed with a pre-war book, after making sure the windows were unlocked and Maria was under her pillow. All she had to do was wait for Inculta to show up, and then this mess would be over.

When a knock came at her door, she sighed and reluctantly said to come in. Boone was standing there, looking- embarrassed? Anticipatory? Stoic? Who could really tell one of his facial expressions from another?

"Hey Boone. If it's about Inculta, I can take care of him myself." Boone didn't move a muscle. "Uh, Boone? You've not taking this whole Mojave Rapelord thing seriously, are you?"

"You and the King," he said. "You an item?"

"Sort of. It's not official, and he still keeps a couple blondes around, but I think we're heading there. Why?"

Boone marched over to the bed and kissed her full on the lips. The Courier wriggled a little in surprise, but was hardly complaining when he allowed her to catch her breath.

"Cass says fingers don't count as cheating."

"What?" she asked.

"I can leave if you want. If not, let me beat the Legion at one little thing."

"I- I- I-" The Courier was entirely unsure of what to say. Sure, his gravelly voice had kept her up at nights, but they'd never been serious about each other. Way too much emotional baggage, and if his arguments with Cass about keeping her safe were any indication, it would only be a hindrance to a life of adventuring. Still...

What the hell. Might as well get it out of my system.

"I guess if fingers don't count as cheating..."

"That's what I thought." Boone took the Courier by her hair and unceremoniously shoved her against the wall. Before she could complain, his body was pressed against hers. There was a hand on her thigh, underneath her nightgown, pulling aside her underwear and-

The Courier bit down on Boone's neck as he rubbed her clitoris. It normally took her at least several minutes of masturbation to climax, but something about the sudden rough treatment aided her arousal. She pushed her body back against Boone's, arching her hips to meet his hand, feeling the bulk of his body as his fingers made circular motions and drove her insane.

"Goddammit, Boone!" The Courier gasped, her body limp and covered in sweat. She pulled herself back over to bed, still shaking and internally clenching.

"Ma'am." Boone tipped his beret and walked out the door.

(Additional kink tag: fingering)

what an interesting idea, i like it

My boyfriend went to Vegas for a business meeting, and said his hotel had been redecorated in honor of Phantom of the Opera.

So let's see it happen to the Courier and friends! Someone with a hideous face, beautiful voice, and psychotic sense of jealousy is haunting New Vegas, possibly using props and posters from a pre-war Phantom performance. Who it is can be up to you- there are enough ghouls, burn victims, and psychopaths to go around.

He always did kinda remind me of the character of Bubba Zanetti in Mad Max 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37BMplDzJPE

"must've cut his heart out, eh?"

YES YES YES YES YES

Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)

F!Courier/F!Prostitute

From Wimp to Kiss-Ass.

Re: Courier + Compainion: From Wimp to Kiss-Ass.

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 8/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 9/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 10/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 11/?

Bad Moon Rising Pt. 12/?

Re: Courier + Compainion: From Wimp to Kiss-Ass.

Re: Matchmaker in Heaven 2/2

Fair, Boone+F!Courier

Re: Bruce Issac/Mr Bishop's Daughter

Re: Matchmaker in Heaven 2/2

Re: Greener Pastures (4b/?)

Re: Courier + Compainion: From Wimp to KiCK-Ass.

McNamara + Hardin Anything, really!

op screams with joy

Re: Yes Man/Benny: Sensitivites

Re: Yes Man/Benny: Sensitivites

The Only Way to Win 4/?

Re: F!Courier/Legionaries

Phantom of New Vegas

Re: Fanart request: blonde!Vulpes

Re: Phantom of New Vegas