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

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

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Arcade chuckled and changed topics. "Somehow I think you'd be fine with the Wrangler and slipping back to my place. You haven't been there yet." He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to fuck Boone's fist like he was a spotty teenager getting his first handjob. "It's small and dark and smells like the neighbour’s cooking, but--"

"But?"

He exhaled sharply, slumping forward enough that his lips brushed Boone's ear as he spoke. "But you're making it hard to, uh, keep my train of thought."

"Good," mumbled Boone, sounding distracted himself. He didn't protest as Arcade wrapped his hand over his again, pale fingers interlaced with tan, the added pressure making the slip and stroke of cock against cock even more intense. "Gonna lose it."

"But," said Arcade breathlessly, unwilling to cede the challenge and stop talking entirely, "But it's private and I've been giving quite-- like that, god-- some thought about what you'd look like hanging on to the headboard as I--"

He didn't get to finish his thought, Boone's grip hard as iron as he pushed his hips hard against Arcade, breathing hard and fast as he came with a grunt. Semen spilled between his fingers, smearing down Arcade's cock as he fucked their hands, length hard against length. The slick slide did him in, Boone's breathing laboured in his ear and fingertips digging hard into his flank as he came with a groan and a great ragged inhalation of breath.

A moment passed, then another and another. He would've stayed like that longer if reality and all its awkward glory didn't need to reassert itself. What had been unbearably charged a minute prior was now uncomfortable, and the stick of cooling come between his rapidly softening cock and Boone - still hard enough to put Arcade to shame; a reminder that one of them was only twenty-six with the fortitude to show it - was becoming a pressing concern.

He cast about for somewhere to wipe his hand clean and, deciding that plunging his hand into the snow would only make his concerns about congealing worse, settled on wiping it on Boone's shirt.

"That was clean," said Boone reproachfully.

"'Was' being the key word," said Arcade, feeling uncharacteristically cheerful all of a sudden. He set himself to rights, zipping himself up and stepping away to pull his supermutant-sized parka back into place. Boone swore at the burst of cool mountain air playing across his exposed skin, hurriedly hauling up his grey undershorts and buttoning his fly.

"The hell are you doing up here anyway?" Boone pushed himself off the tree and stamped his feet to get his blood flowing again, a little flurry of ice crystals appearing with every step. "Thought you hated the snow."

"I do." Arcade fished out his missing glove and put it on as claimed his spot back under the tree, a cigarette held between pursed lips as he dug around in his pockets for his box of matches.

Boone absent-mindedly wiped his hand on his shirt. "Thought I smelt smokes before. You smoke? Since when?"

"Since long before you." Arcade flicked a spent match into the snow and closed his eyes. "Don't bother with the lecture. You lack the gravitas and administrative pay grade to pull it off."

"Wasn't going to." He folded his arms, hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. "Was going to say you hide it well. I quit a year back. Thought I'd be able to smell it on you."

"It's the Followers curse. I'm planning on weaning myself off soon, maybe you can play doctor and give me some tips. I have no ambitions to be in my forties and unable to run a block without wheezing." Arcade opened one eye and squinted at Boone. "What made you quit?"

Boone took off his sunglasses and fiddled with the nose piece. "Someone asked me to. Pregnant, couldn't stand the smell. Figured it was the least I could do for her."

"She sounds like a good friend," murmured Arcade.

"She was the best friend I ever had," said Boone plainly. Eventually he shrugged and looked at Arcade with a defeated expression. "Anyway. Breakfast is on. Courier sent me up to get you."

"I'll come down when I'm good and ready," said Arcade, blowing a thin spear of smoke into the leaves over his head. "Save me something."

'Can't promise anything," said Boone, and nodded at the machete between Arcade's feet. "Hang onto it. Don't think Courier'd be pleased if you came back covered in Nightstalker bites."

"As opposed to you arriving back with a mess of genetic material all over your shirt. You look like you've been the centrepiece at a Wrangler special function. It might be a good idea to change before you run into anyone."

Boone made to start clambering down the slope then stopped, a hand on a tree trunk for balance. "You didn't finish what you were saying. Before. Something about a headboard."

Arcade blinked. "When we... oh. Oh, right. The only nice thing about my place in Freeside is the bed. Good mattress. I was about to say you'd look good hanging onto it." He ashed his cigarette into the snow and let slip that selfsame slightly predatory grin. "Your legs over my shoulders or your ass in the air. Either way it'd be a ride worth taking if you're ever inclined to want to... explore that particular avenue of entertainment. It'd be worth your while. More entertaining than just turning up for a suck and tug when the mood takes you."

Boone self-consciously pushed his beret back on his scalp and made to say something. He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "What exactly are you getting out of this, Gannon?"

Arcade stalled for time, searching for a way to phrase an answer that sounded awkward no matter how he put it. Eventually he shrugged and took the route of least resistance. "You interest me."

The answer seemed satisfactory.

"What are you getting out of this?" He looked over the rim of his glasses at Boone, challenging him into an answer. Turnabout was fair play after all.

"Don't know," said Boone, turning back down the slope. He glanced back at Arcade and shrugged. "Really don't know."

"Enjoy your breakfast," said Arcade, and that was that.

Aaaaaag sorry, I forgot to tag the first part.
Arcade/Boone, series: Take Your Shot
kinks: masturbation

I understand where you're coming from (as a gay kink memer, "smacked the gay out of him" kind of rubbed me weird as well) but I don't think this was meant to be taken seriously, I think it's just supposed to be a silly thing like the prompt entails.

So, this A!A turned what was supposed to be a ten minute long drabble on the joy of cookies into a four hour long project on a character that enjoys Legion life waaaaay too much. It is 6 AM, I have school in two hours, and this was TOTALLY worth it. I hope you get around to reading this, OP!

She gave a stern nod to the men manning the drawbridge. They let her in without questioning the pull cart full of boxes—there was a certain level of respect they had gained from her, and it wasn’t unexpected, since they were only recruits.

The walk to Caesar’s tent was short and made in purposeful strides. She said hello to a few of the men passing by, barked at a couple of slaves to move faster and did her best to look as unapproachable as possible. It was a pride thing; she worked with men and men alone, as the Legion had no place in its ranks for women. Not until her, at least. She’d make it easier for them to not know the difference.

Entering the tent was a normal thing for her. She left the cart outside, taking three specific boxes with her, each one tied with different colored ribbon: red, black and yellow. She stood tall in front of the man who made her proud to be herself, boxes held by the ribbons in the fingers of her left hand. Her trademark scowl never left her face.

“Hello again.” She greeted, never losing any of her cool. The Praetorians merely bid her ave and Caesar himself looked at her with that gleam in his eyes he got when he always saw her—the look you get after finding a diamond beneath a pile of shit.

“Is there something you needed, Valence?” He asked her, and she frowned deeper. By now the man must have known it was in her nature to do such all the time. She first met him with a frown, she operated on him with a frown and even upon hearing the best of news it would only turn into a neutral expression.

“Yes. These are for you all.” She handed the box with the red ribbon to the man on the throne, singled out Lucius for the slightly smaller box with the black ribbon and handed one of the other Praetorians the yellow-ribboned box. “Enjoy them as you would enjoy the sight of a town of profligates being burned to the ground.” She stepped back to admire her work with a frown on her face.

Caesar was the first to open his box, and he raised an eyebrow at the contents. He gave a dry laugh. “And what exactly is this supposed to be, Valence?”

“It is a tribute to my work team, Lord Caesar. I’m expressing my appreciation in a different way than usual, but do not take it as a sign of feminine weakness—consider my exceptional baking abilities to be a statement proclaiming my war against any current unhappiness that may plague any man of this army. You may also see it as an effort to feed you all to the best of my ability. A well fed soldier makes for a quicker kill. Eat them at your discretion, of course. I’ve distributed several boxes to the other camps in the Mojave area. Aurelius of Phoenix deemed them edible.”

Before she could give Caesar the written note from the centurion confirming that her baked goods were alright to eat he had already taken a couple of bites. His eyebrows shot up in faint surprise before he smiled at her, finishing the rest of the cookie. “This is good, Valence. You’d make a good woman.”

“No. I would not.”

“I honestly expected,” he ignored her, taking a bite out of another cookie. “that these boxes would contain the heads of high ranked NCR staff. But this is just as good, I suppose.”

Lucius shrugged, biting into one of his own cookies, as the other Praetorians were doing with their box. “It would raise troop morale.”

She nodded, never losing the frown. “Do I have permission to distribute these to the rest of the camp?”

Caesar waved her away, smirking, enjoying his cookies, just as she had planned him to. “Yes, of course. Just don’t cause an uproar over it. The day hasn’t yet ended, and I intend for my men to work towards reward, not simply achieve it.”

She grunted in confirmation and turned to leave the tent but stopped short. She turned halfway, managing to pull her expression into what was seen as a terrifying smirk. “Oh, and please, have someone inform the Legate that I’ll be meeting him in about a week to discuss plans for Hoover Dam with him over tea—and cookies.”

As she left, Lucius leaned over to Caesar. “I don’t think that was meant to be threatening at all.”

Caesar shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. The only woman I’ve ever let into our ranks and she never ceases to amaze.”

-

She placed a box at the head of each tent, enough to feed the legionaires that would come back to them later. A box to Antony, because he was excellent at his job, one for Silus since he was currently back at the camp and she liked him well enough. Box upon box given to every soldier, every man of rank, even the young children who were training to one day be excellent soldiers. At the end of her run she settled herself down in her own tent, at the far end of the camp and waited, one box undelivered.

Eventually there were sounds of surprise that came from the tents around her, and she could only grimace (in pleasure, mind you) at the efforts of her hard work. She took the last box, tied with a violet ribbon and set it next to her head as she reclined. The red of the tent consumed her, and she sighed, rubbing a hand over weary eyes.

It had been a difficult four months for her, but she had rolled with the punches to be where she was at the moment. She didn’t treat becoming the first female legionaire as a joke—much effort, much change was needed. She shaved her hair straight off the day after she received the Mark, trimming it until it was only a half a centimeter high from the top of her head. Her face was already rather rough, so she looked enough like a male to fit in. More like a teenaged boy than anything else, but it would have to do until she grew much older and her cheeks began to sink in. She’d give it ten years.

She hadn’t had her own set of armor back then, but she had made sure to dress in red and black, and most importantly, come bearing the gift of the desecrated head of one Robert Edwin House on the sharp end of a spear. Caesar was so impressed with the gesture that he had it set up outside of his tent for a week.

She had told him quite frankly of her opinion after destroying the robots in the substation for him. She informed him that she wished to be a part of his ranks, her willingness to go through each individual rung of the ladder to climb her way up to becoming a respected member and invaluable asset to him. She even told him of her resolve to live the Legion life, as opposed to remaining untouched by the wastes in her suite at the Lucky 38. To eat when she was allowed, sleep only when necessary and live inside of a tent that was even smaller than her bathroom back on the Strip. Caesar, needless to say, took her up on the offer, but instead of having her run headfirst into battle he had her accomplish the more delicate tasks that needed to be done.

She supposed the trust had made itself absolutely clear after his operation. She had an incredible knowledge in medicine, something that suited her just fine, and Caesar too, now that he was well again. Time progressed and the tasks got harder and harder, her coworkers constantly upping the stakes, but eventually it turned into a pleasant calm, knowing that she had done well. She took the short opportunity to express her appreciation to every member of the legion by crafting the most delicious baked goods she could manage.

And outside, they all thanked her with comments on how good they were. Eventually they would find out it was her. But for now she was content to revel in a job well done.

“What is this madness I’m hearing about cookies in the camp?” She didn’t move, only frowned deeper as the owner of the last box of cookies stepped into their shared tent.

“Ave, Vulpes. These are for you.” She slid him the box with her hand, continuing to look up to the top of her tent. She could hear the rustling of the thin cardboard and a sigh. She finally sat up, across from Vulpes Inculta, her mentor, her confidante.

The man who had inspired her to become a part of the Legion was staring at the cookies, a perfectly groomed eyebrow raised. “Why did you bake cookies for the entirety of the camp, Valence?”

“I’ve told Lord Caesar that I’m proclaiming my war on—” He held up a hand to silence her.

“No. Wait. Why did I even ask?” He smirked, lifting a cookie. “Trust you to bake cookies in a thinly veiled attempt to make us happy. Thank you.”

She felt her lips tug upwards until she was giving him the perfect poker face. She shrugged while he ate the first cookie. “If it makes you feel any better, after I was finished making them I cooked the ashes of a powder ganger into a loaf of bread and gave it to some profligate whore who tried to sell me her body.”

Vulpes managed a small smile. “Yes, it does make them taste even better.”

She laughed, although her face was mirthless.

She sat and watched him eat through five cookies, no doubt in her mind that he was hungry from a long day of dealing with delicate information. Espionage was sure to give a man a hunger that could only be quelled with delicious baked goods.

“Have you even had any of these?” He asked her around a bite. She shook her head.

“Only one. I had to make sure that I could make enough for every Legionaire in the Mojave to have at least five. I prepared 90 for you, Lucius and Caesar alone.”

His eyes widened marginally, something quite unlike him, before he rolled his eyes and pushed the cookies forward, directly between the two.

She looked at the box, then back to him, almost as if she didn’t understand. Finally, she put a tentative hand in the box to bring a cookie to her mouth. She ate it politely. “Thank you.” She mumbled over a mouthful. He grunted in reply.

They finished the entire box between the two of them before they readied themselves for bed. This was her most valued time, whenever he was back in the camp. The time where they could talk without worry of anything but themselves.

“Of course, I never told you this. No one ever did.” A statement meaning that he was about to share with her information not intended for her ears.

“Of course not.”

“When I went to report my findings to Caesar I saw him contentedly feasting on your gift. Before I left he spoke openly to Lucius about the promotion to Centurion that you’ll be receiving within the next two weeks, granted you’re on your best behavior.”

She almost thought she smiled. “Excellent. One step closer to Legate then, I suppose.”

Vulpes snorted. “Yes, I suppose I would rather it be you than Lanius. If Caesar’s unfortunate demise were to come about, I’d advise that if you haven’t already aquired that position, that you take it away from him quickly. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’d be able to do it. And you’d make such an excellent leader,” Here, his voice took on a sarcastic tone. ”you bake cookies.”

Valence could feel the corners of her lips tugging further and further up her face. “Yes. But only to raise troop morale, of course.”

Vulpes gave a dry laugh and turned to the other side. “Goodnight, Valence.”

“Goodnight, Vulpes.”

In the morning when Vulpes awoke, before her and many of the other Legionaries were to rise, he swore he could see her lips turned upwards.

Aaaand A!A runs off to look for more Legion!Courier prompts that are as amazing as this one because JESUS TAPDANCING CHRIST that was awesome to write. Thank you OP, if you ever see this. Thank you so much.

THANK you! :>

I dont know what I like more, the banter or the ending.

I don't know. Maybe I just have a thing for two guys going at it that still believe in some higher power. [This would probably take place before the whole "Let's torch Joshua" party]

You have just made my whole week, anon. Thank you!

XD Thank you!

I don't get it. Do they like each other or hate each other?

;)

hearts. in. my. eyes.
i hope op gets to see this SOON because ohhh my lord the combination of hilarity and sick fluff is just. too much for me.

This is OP having been inspired by her own prompt. Wasn’t sure about the character tagging because a re-born char isn’t exactly OC but not a char either… *confusion*. I took one of my own stories and fast-forwarded eighty years, and I leave the other chars as a little puzzle for the potential readers, to be revealed soon.

Characters: Harkness, a re-born F!LW and other characters from Fallout3
Summary: Their love turned out to have been stronger than death itself. But will they know this? Are the faint echoes of forgotten memories of a forgotten lifetime strong enough to realise that their love was meant to be?
===============

No one ever really dies as long as they took the time to leave us with fond memories. ~Chris Sorensen

Another cold, grey winter day, the sky made from lead, and the air so cold it scalded your lungs with every breath you took. Harkness had sent the other guards inside to warm up at the fires while he kept watch, he was impervious to the cold and didn’t mind being alone with his thoughts for a while.
He was beginning to feel old.

Maybe it was the human mind in him, the part that was never meant to live that long, and as he was wont to do when he felt like that, more and more often these last years, he wondered if he shouldn’t deactivate those circuits and memory modules completely and put that soul to rest. As an android, the decades behind him didn’t bother him, shouldn’t bother him, but as Harkness, he felt the weight of every single year on his soul if not his limbs. His body would endure centuries, but his mind was becoming weary.

Four years had he lived as Harkness before his memories had been restored, to enable him to protect the secret of his own existence. He had seen the wisdom in that action even then, he saw it more clearly now. One of the last things She had ever said to him was to tell the people of Rivet City the truth before he would be forced to go away to protect himself, and eventually, he had done so. Had called all the citizens together and told them.

So now it was common knowledge that Rivet City was protected by a near-invincible android. And after decades, with the commonwealth still failing to show up to try and claim him, he believed that either news didn’t travel that far, that this news was treated as nothing more but gossip or rumours, or that no one had any more interest in him. Zimmer had to be dead after that long a time; he had been an old man even back then. He had to be dead for sixty years at least. Probably even longer.

Four years and then... almost eighty-one years had passed now since those days. Eight decades. The better part of a century. No wonder he felt old sometimes.
Old, and alone. His affair with Lana had ended the day he had revealed his true self, and he hadn’t blamed her for a day. He still missed her, even so long a time after her death. He missed a lot of people that had died. But nothing ever stayed the same. Not even the market looked like it used to back then, during the days of the Lone Wanderer, as that time was still being called. Stalls had been rearranged a few times, after a large fire, and with changing ownership. People were born. People died.

Only he had remained. He and his memories.

Sometimes children would come and ask him about those times and the Lone Wanderer. She was a legend by now, and a lot of the stories spread about her in the Wasteland were exaggerated or just plain made up. But the children never grew tired of those stories, that he knew to be true, and one of the all time favourites was the one about the Battle of the Purifier.
He remembered that Brian’s stories about the fire-breathing ants had been popular too. Harkness still could remember the day he had come to Rivet City, a wide-eyed and terrified boy of no more than ten, and here he had died more than twenty years ago, an old and white-haired doter.

Thus it was that Harkness, as he stood there with his human mind being so lost in thought and memories, almost called Her name when he saw the woman coming up the ramp now. He had been watching the caravan approach, a caravan of scavengers by the look of it, two guards, and elderly couple and her, a young woman of no more than twenty.

Her name had already been on his lips when he had spotted her and only his android senses and reactions had kept it there. The similarity was striking. It wasn’t so much that she looked the same, but that she looked familiar, and it was her eyes that were exactly as the ones he remembered. Of course it wasn’t her; She had died more than sixty years ago, but this woman could have been her sister...or something even closer. He couldn’t quite name it, though. She just looked familiar. Her hair was blonde, not auburn, she was taller and somewhat broader in back and shoulders, but the similarity was still so strong that it seemed to come right from the inside rather than from her looks.

He nodded at the people passing him by and to his utter surprise, the young woman, her arms full of old and shabby guns, stared at him for a few seconds with widening eyes before she blushed and looked away.
“Sorry”, she muttered. “You... you seemed familiar for a moment. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“No harm done.”, Harkness replied, calmer than he felt, and noticed with dismay that her behaviour had already earned her a clout from the man who had to be her father.

He walked past the group of people to open the hangar door for them and followed her with his eyes as she descended the stairs. It was then – as he watched her with her load of guns head straight for the first stall on the left, only to stop and stare in utter bewilderment at the drugs and stimpacks on display there before she turned around, blinking in confusion, to find the weapon stall right opposite it – that Harkness remembered the ancient, religious legends he had believed to be no more than human wishful thinking.

Having sold their wares the scavengers made their way to the galley, now in the capable hands of Angela’s youngest grand-daughter, to have something to eat. Watching them, Harkness didn’t fail to notice that the young woman kept her eyes cast down, spoke only when spoken to, and that she seemed to be practically afraid of her father. And that made Harkness angry. He remembered Her soul, rejoicing in the strength of her newly-found freedom after she had managed to shed the shackles of her old life and the memories of the Vault, and had to resist the urge to go to her and tell the girl that she need not put up with such a treatment. But it wasn’t Her.

Though he had seemed familiar to her as well, that’s what she had said. She too had stood before the stall back then, which had once been the weapons stall, and been utterly confused as to why she had gone there without looking first. It still wasn’t Her. And even if there was some truth to those ancient legends, it wasn’t Her. She had shed that body and that life, and she was someone else now. A person in her own right. Maybe burdened with a few not-completely-forgotten memories that caused feelings she couldn’t explain. But nothing gave him any right to tinker with her life, and attempt to make her something she wasn’t.

And now that soul, who seemed to be the same soul he remembered, was shackled again, and looking at her father, a man with harsh, cruel lines around his mouth and the demeanour of a practised drinker, Harkness began to doubt that her fate was anything but cruelty itself. Her soul would never have deserved this. It would be easier to think of her as nothing but a wasteland girl who happened to look somewhat like the woman he had known. But the way she had acted told him there might be more to it.

During his rounds on the nightshift, Harkness allowed a part of his mind to drift off in memories of the time back when she had been alive and here in Rivet City, and all the others who had lived here, too. He had buried all of them, and had buried all of their children. He had buried some of their grand-children, even. Angela’s youngest grand-daughter Elisa, who ran the galley now, wasn’t a young woman anymore and was now married with children of her own.
Realising that, he could take a little comfort in the thought that souls might come back to life again. Although, in her case, she seemed to have a heavy load to bear this time, even heavier in a way than the destiny that had led her, if there was any truth to this, through her life the last time.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Hey guys! Don't know if you're interested but wrote a follow up to this here -

http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4875.html?thread=8960267&#t8960267

The smell of the saloon hits me straight in the face. I recognise alcohol, and sweat, but there are a hundred other smells in here that mean nothing to me. It’s barely been a day and I just have this thing chanting over and over in my head – this isn’t my world, this isn’t my world, this isn’t my world.

But it is, now, and I’m not fucking ready for that, okay?

The bar seems, like, maybe half full? It’s mostly ghouls, but I can pick out a couple of people who seem pretty intact. There’s a guy loitering near the bar, and a blonde sitting by the stairs. Oh, and there’s another guy, sitting in the shadows and not looking at all ominous. After that? It’s me, and Colin.

A ghoul peels itself away from the counter and saunters forward. I don’t know if it’s the walk, the way the few remaining strings of red hair fall or the breasts, but I know it’s a woman. When she talks, her voice rasps a little differently to Lucas’.

“Colin,” she says, sinking into a hip. “Where’ve you been? We’re getting busier.”

Colin flashes her a smile. “Just meeting the new girl, Nova, dear. Thought she’d like to visit us here.”

He gestures towards me, and I raise a hand awkwardly. “Hi,” I say.

The woman – Nova – tilts her head and regards me critically. I’m about to decide whether to start feeling annoyed or nervous when she smiles, a twisted, mostly lipless thing. She holds out a hand and I take it without hesitation. The last thing I want is for these guys to realise how unsettled I am by all this shit. There is nothing in my last nineteen years I can reach for to help me deal with this place.

Nova’s grip doesn’t feel as slimy or squishy as I thought. Her hand is rough, and the texture of muscle is weird as fuck under my hand, but it’s not bad. That, right there, takes a little of the panic out of me. It’s like shaking hands with Stanley, only...more. Everything out here is more.

“She’s new to the wastes,” says Colin, and I wonder briefly if he wants to make that more cryptic. Nova casts an eye over my jumpsuit.

“You don’t say?” Her rasp is dry, but friendly. She drags me forward, away from Colin (who’s already started feeling like my only lifeline here) and up to the bar. “I’ll get you a drink, on me. Gob, slide me a couple of Nukas, we’ve got a new smoothskin.”

Someone straightens up from behind the bar. The guy, who I assume is Gob, who I assume is Moriarty’s boss, looks even more incomplete than the other ghouls I’ve seen here. Something about his bearing and the look in his cloudy eyes strikes me as different, too. He looks more...in command. He looks older. He’s holding two bottles of Nuka Cola, which he sets down and cracks open. He passes one to Nova and slides the other one in front of me before speaking.

“Sit down, smoothskin. Let’s you and me get to know one another.”

I take a seat at the bar, obediently. I can’t shake the feeling that this guy has some kind of seniority here, so I figure it’s a good idea to sit and listen. I feel someone draw up behind me, and look round to see Colin at my shoulder. He looks guarded, uncertain. When he sees him, Gob’s face hardens.

“Moriarty. Toilet needs cleaning, isn’t that your job?”

Something closes off behind Colin’s eyes. “Yes, boss,” he says, and yeah, there’s definitely resentment in his voice.

Something’s going on here, but I haven’t the faintest idea what questions to start asking, or to who.

“He, uh, he brought me here,” I say, hoping maybe it will excuse his absence. If Gob is as much of a hardass as Colin said, I don’t want his goodwill coming crashing down on his head. “He was showing me around the town.”

“Yeah, I bet he was.” Gob casts a look after Colin as he disappears into a room behind the bar, and for a second, something very ugly flashes in his eyes.

Nova drops onto a stool next to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “So come on, smoothskin, what’s your story? We don’t exactly get many Vaulties blinking in the sunlight round here.”

Gob leans on the bar, smiling, that glint of ugliness gone. “Yeah, everyone I ever met out of a Vault had some story about leaving. Some fairytale of what they expected to find out here. What about you, kid?”

“I...didn’t really get much of a choice in the matter,” I begin. “I woke up – got woken up – really early this morning by my friend, and then Vault security was after me, and then –“ I break off. I remember the feeling of the bat in my hands; the wood, the weight, the way you have to swing it different when you’re hitting down, and I remember not stopping. I really, really remember not stopping. “I killed O’Brian. With a bat. And I got out of there. Amata – my friend – she said it was because of my dad. That the Vault wasn’t supposed to be opened, but my dad had opened it, that he’d gone –“

I can’t make it any further. It hits me, all of a sudden, how homeless and aimless and orphaned I suddenly am. I went to sleep safe, figuring what happened today was going to be the same as any other day, and now...

Gob is frowning at me. “Your dad left the Vault last night? What is he, tall guy, greying hair, lab coat?”

I feel my jaw drop. “Yes. Yes! That’s him. Did you see him? Is he here? What happened? Why did he leave?” I launch forward, grabbing Gob’s wrists. “Where’s my dad? Tell me!”

Gob raises what’s left of his eyebrows and slips his hands away from me. I feel Nova’s hand on my back, guiding me down into my seat. I try to relax. Shouting at these guys is not going to help anyone.

But the suddenness of it, of my realisation that I’m not completely cut off out here, is incredible. Dad. I can find him. I can make things right.

“Please,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “Please, Gob, Nova. He’s the last thing I’ve got left.”

“He came through here,” Gob confirms, and my heart gets knocked up to somewhere in the region of my throat. “He was here last night, stayed just a couple of hours. He only came into the Saloon for a few minutes, just to ask if we had any Stimpacks. I sold him the ones we had in, and he left.”

“Do you know where he went? Did he say what he was doing?”

Gob shook his head. “It must have been after midnight. Bet most people didn’t even see him. He asked where else was open, and I told him, maybe the Brass Lantern, but he said he’d been there.” He sighs, scratches his neck. He looks honestly remorseful when he says, “I’m sorry. He only stuck in my mind ‘cause we don’t get many smoothskins around. If I’d known he’d drag his kid out here after him, I’d have tried to make him stick around.”

I can feel myself visibly sag. “So you...you’ve got no idea where he went?”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

I drop my head into my hands. For a second, I thought I’d had something. A plan. A chance. How the fuck am I going to survive out here, what am I going to do?

“Wait, hang on. Didn’t Moira stay open late last night?”

I sit up. Nova is frowing, pressing a hand to her head like she’s trying to remember something. “Gob. Is it tonight or was it yesterday? She got some...samples, something, I don’t know, she said she was going to work through the night so if we needed anything...”

Gob snaps his fingers. “You know, she did. He mighta gone there. That’s it, then, kid, you wanna check with Moira.”

“Moira?”

Nova stands up. “She works at Craterside Supply, just round the corner. I’ll take you there now, okay? We can see if she met your old man.”

I get to my feet, nodding. “Yeah. That would be – that’s great. Thank you so much.”

Gob picks up the untouched Nuka Colas and gives Nova a half critical, half amused look. “I’ll just hang onto these, then.”

She laughs, and grabs the sleeve of my Vault suit. I’m already getting okay with the touching, I notice. “Thanks, Gob. C’mon, kid – hey, what’s your name?”

“It’s Carla,” I say, as she hauls me towards the door. “I’m Carla.”

*

Craterside Supply is a small shack which, as its name hinted at, sits on the side of the crater formed by the bomb’s impact. It’s got a run down, homely feel, and Nova pushes open the door calling out “Moira! Got a visitor for you!”

Moira (who is, surprise surprise, a ghoul) emerges from someplace around the back, and smiles the widest I think I’ve seen anyone ever smile. Her accent’s weird, not weird like Colin’s, but weird, as she blurts out a string of ‘hellos’ and rushes forward.

She grabs my hand. Nova squeezes my shoulder reassuringly and I figure this is normal behaviour for Moira. She studies my hands and while she does, I study her. She still has most of her hair, and her skin isn’t as badly peeled off as Nova’s, and nowhere near as badly as Gob’s. Maybe...maybe it affects people differently? It doesn’t affect everyone, I know that much, but...

There is so much more to know here before I even start feeling comfortable with it.

Moira’s eyes reach my face and she lets out a little yelp of recognition. “Oh! Are you James’ little girl?”

I practically yank my hands out of hers in shock. “Yes! James, my dad, was he here? Do you know him?”

“He came in last night!” she tells me chirpily. “I sold him a few supplies and he asked a few questions. Said he noticed there were a whole lot more ghouls out here than he remembered! I guess things change in twenty years, huh?”

I blink a couple of times, like that’s going to clear up my ears or something. But I can’t be hearing this right. “No, you must have got him wrong. He’s never been out here before.”

Moira looks confused. “I don’t know about that. He seemed to know his way around things out here, wasn’t shocked to see the state of us here or anything. He remembered Mr Moriarty back from before things started changing, and –“

“Wait.” I hold up my hand, my mind reeling. Dad left the Vault? Dad knew Colin? Why hadn’t he, why hadn’t Gob -? “Slow down, Moira. My dad – he knew Colin? Colin Moriarty, right?”

She nods. “Yup, that’s who brought him in here to see me. I sold him some supplies, filled him in on what the traders told me about some of the settlements nearby.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Please, please let him have said where he was going.

“I think he was going up to Galaxy News Radio. It’s in DC, though, and I did worry about him getting there safely. He told me he’d be fine, though, seemed awful sure about it so I just left him to go on his way!”

I’m out the door before Nova can stop me. Maybe I’m being rude, maybe I’m losing my mind, but I don’t care. The saloon’s not far, and I’m up the ramps and inside before she can catch up with me. Colin is by the back wall, and Gob’s behind the wall.

“You spoke to my father? You knew him?”

Colin looks up as I get close, looking surprised. “Your father?” His face is blank, and then, suddenly, lights up with realisation. “James? James is your father?”

“Someone else was here from the Vault and you didn’t think to tell me?” I can hear my voice rising in pitch, and feel myself losing it. I feel betrayed. I’ve got no idea why I’m latching onto this so strongly – maybe because he’s human, maybe because he was kind – but I feel sick and angry and stupid. “You knew him?”

“Hey, calm down,” Gob says, and I feel his hands on my shoulders. I shrug him off sharply. Calm down? In the last twelve hours, I’ve been abandoned by my father, become a murderer, lost the only place I’ve ever called home, found myself in a town full of zombies and been hit in the face with what is starting to feel like a really unpleasant truth. Calm is just about the last fucking thing I’m feeling. I wheel on him.

“Did you know? Did you know Colin knew him?”

Gob holds up his palms. “No. What the fuck, no. We told you what we knew, Nova and me. But kid, calm down, or –“

“Stop telling me to calm down!” I shove him away, so very aware of how much of a tantrum I’m throwing right now, but not caring. Everyone is staring at me, the whole bar, a dozen pairs of cloudy eyes and how dare they, how dare anyone in this town of freaks stare at me and judge me and treat me like an idiot, it’s not my fault, I never chose my life –

My feet are working of my own accord, and when my head clears from the rage building up in my brain, I’m glad of it. I’m running, and before I know it, I’m at the doors. I get through as quick as possible, out into the wastes, and I run, and I run, and I run.

Twenty years ago? That would mean I wasn’t born in the Vault. That it wasn’t home. That he lied my whole life. What about my mother? Is she even dead?

He left. Like hell he thought I’d be safe, how could he leave me there, with people who tried to kill me?! He told me nothing about what it’s like out here, never had the balls to own up to whatever it is that’s the truth of this whole pile of shit, and now, now...

I don’t know where I’m going. It’s stupid, suicidal. But I’m angry, I’ve spent so many years angry and penned in with nowhere to go, and now it feels like every atom of rage is pouring out of me, thundering into the ruins under my feet. Every time Butch and his cronies made fun of me, every time I felt left out or odd or broken, every rule, every refusal, every wall of my tiny little fake world – everything is just crashing, crashing, crashing.

I run and run until I can’t breathe anymore, and then I collapse, in the shell of an old house, and I just cry.

Ohhhh myyyyyy gaaaaaaahhhhhhh

<3

I will count the seconds until the next part...

Oh thank God, someone liked it. XD I got super worried cause there totally wasn't enough hilarity in there. I'm totally not done with this. I have to write more stuff for this, it's just too good of an opportunity.

"It's not funny!" the Courier kept telling her companions, but she couldn't seem to convince them. Certainly her attempt at walking down the hall in a dignified manner was ruined when Cass high-fived her.

"Has my man got the magic touch or what!"

The Courier very deliberately looked away from the group.

"Oh, come on," said Arcade. "You're acting like it's the Battle of Hoover Dam, not just boys wasting their time. And I'd much rather have Vulpes Inculta trying to score with me than have to worry about what town he'll massacre next."

She said nothing in return, her jaw seeming to be permanently stuck in 'clench' mode. It stayed like that until she and her friends reached the lobby.

"So. Um." The Courier looked at the three men standing by the door. "Boone won that one. You can all go home."

There was, as she had expected, considerable groaning.

"I was kept from success," Vulpes hissed, "by an attack from Profligate scum. The fight delayed me considerably. I don't imagine those two had to suffer such things!"

"Yeah, well, if you can't stand the heat, don't call yourself the Mojave Rapelord."

The Courier didn't really expect it would end there. Neither did Boone, apparently; though the expression on his face was smug, he hadn't moved from his spot. Somehow, they both knew what excuse would be used to prolong this farce, and it was hardly a surprise when Butch Deloria raised his voice.

"Two out of three!"

Vulpes nodded his assent.

"I thought you'd say that. I'm not up for doing it another night, so we'll have to have a new judge. One who won't sue me for everything I'm worth afterwards. Naturally, this means someone who doesn't think this whole silly enterprise is a big deal, and who wouldn't be worried."

Arcade's surpressed laughter suddenly went quiet. The Courier gave him a large, friendly grin.

"Your next Seduction Judge," she said, "Is Arcade Gannon."

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Page 149 of 257

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

Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 6/?

Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Re: Adventures of a Wasteland Goddess (4/?)

Troop Morale 1a/1

Troop Morale 1b/1

Troop Morale 1c/1

Troop Morale 1d/1

Re: 1st annual New Vegas wet t-shirt contest Part 3

Re: Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Joshua Graham/James (FO3) Slash; Men of the Lord

Re: Microfill: Betrayed

Re: Arcade's Diary part 2/2

Re: Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Re: Boone/Arcade, 'Good Morning Jacobstown' 7/7

Re: Troop Morale 1d/1

Stronger than death itself 1a/?

Stronger than death itself 1b/?

A!A

Skinless 2a/?

Skinless 2b/?

Skinless 2c/?

Skinless 2d/?

Re: Power Play 1b/?

A!A

The Only Way to Win 6/?