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

A bit different from what you asked, hope you don't mind! I used this as a guide: http://www.wikihow.com/Speak-Gibberish. This is pure crack!

“You must enter Caesar’s tent alone,” said the guard to the Courier. “Anyone else must remain outside.” She gave him a blank look.

“I’m the Courier’s personal translator,” Veronica said. “I need to be inside with her.”

“I’m afraid we can’t allow that.”

“Yothagothagu hothagave othaga gothagirl drothagess,” the Courier said.

“I, uh…” the guard scratched his head, “Fine. You may also enter, but I’d watch it if I were you.”

“Thank you, othagidothagiothagot.” Veronica waved as they lifted the etnt flap.

#####

“You’re the courier who caused so much trouble for my Legion. And yet you dare—”

“Yothagothagu’re thothage cothagothagur—”

“What are you doing?” Caesar turned to Veronica.

“She doesn’t understand you,” she said.

“Gothaagod, yothagothagu’re othagold,” the Courier said.

“The fuck? Where are you from?” Caesar asked.

“The Courier hails from the mystical land beyond the Divide,” Veronica said. “A land called Bothagullshothagit.”

Caesar raised his eyebrows.

“BS for short.” She added.

“How come I’ve never heard of this BS?”

“It’s a very dangerous land full of dangerous people,” she said, “So dangerous, the Enclave wiped them out of history to keep them secret. Courier Six here is one of the last survivors. And she’s very dangerous.”

Six crossed her arms.

“Huh, how about that,” Caesar leaned back. “Very well, just keep up with me woman.”

“Yes sir,” said Veronica.

“…the question is, are you ready to get started?”

After hearing the translation, Six looked at Veronica and smirked.

“Her answer is yes, but first, we must enter a BS covenant.” Veronica said for her.

“And what the hell is that supposed to be?” Caesar asked.

“It’s a simple gesture of goodwill,” she said. “Your men here will greet her in the BS custom and she will do the same. Once performed, she will be sworn to your servitude.”

“Fine, fine,” Caesar waved his hand. “Make it quick.”

“I will need you,” she pointed at Lucius. “You,” at Vulpes. “And why not, you too,” to the guard at the back.

The three men stood side by side in front of Six.

“Good,” Veronica nodded. “Now turn around,” and they did so. “And bend over.”

They looked at each other and then at Caesar.

“Do it,” Caesar said.

Hesitantly, they bent over. Six walked up to Lucius and give his behind a firm squeeze. He stumbled. Six chuckled and gave his ass a firm slap.

“You’re clear, my good man.” Veronica said.

Next was Vulpes. Six wrapped her fingers around his butt cheeks and there was an audible groan.

“Hothage othagis hothagot.”

“Oh my,” Veronica covered her mouth.

“What is it?”

“The Courier is displeased with your reaction.”

“I…” Vulpes was ready to tell her off when Caesar gave him a sharp look. “I apologize.”

“The damage is done,” Veronica shook her head. “I’m afraid you must now perform the sacred BS ritual of Hothagelothagicothagopter Dothagick.”

“And what is that?” Vulpes asked.

“It’s simple. Just lift your tunic and do this,” Veronica shimmied her hips.

“You… want me to swing my genitals at her?”

“It’s a sacred BS ritual.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Vulpes,” barked Caesar.

Without another word, Vulpes stood upright and faced Six. He lifted the hem of his tunic and revealed himself to be very well hung. He started shimmying hips. Slowly at first, then when settling into a rhythm he quickened his pace, his member going round and round.

Six watched silently.

“How long do I have to do this?” Vulpes said in between huffs.

“You’ll know when.”

“Mothage lothagikey.” She reached down and gave his member a light stroke.

“What?” Vulpes jumped back.

“In BS, that means you’ve been forgiven,” Veronica said. “That’s an honorable gesture. She just granted you the gift of Sothagexothagy Tothagime. You may claim it in your tent anytime. Just let me know.”

The Courier winked at him. Vulpes made no effort to hide his cringing.

“Well, that’s it,” Veronica said. “Courier Six is now at your service.”

“Fucking finally,” Caesar said.

“If I may, my Lord,” Vulpes lowered his tunic, his hands never leaving the hem. “I would like to retreat to my tent and… take a bath.”

“You may,” Caesar nodded. “Go get yourself ready for that gift the Courier here got for you.”

Vulpes couldn’t leave the tent any faster.

-----

Bothagullshothagit = Bullshit
Hothagelothagicothagopter Dothagick = Helicopter Dick
Sothagexothagy Tothagime = Sexy Time
8D

*tent

That's what I get for not reading before posting. Derp.

ROFL! Mothage lothagikey!!!
I have a silly gothagrothagin on my face now, anon xD

Ha ha ha this was so funny! Loved it!

Oh my fucking god, I totally never thought this would be filled! Thank you so much, A!A!

lmfao, this was so perfect.

The Lone Wanderer went bad so quickly, he barely had time to change his news scripts. It started off small – some traders wiped off the map here, someone with their throat cut at night there, a steady pattern of isolated events rapidly blurring together over the course of barely a few weeks until there was no denying it: the saviour of the Wastes had careened off the rails, and there was nothing stopping her.

He'd reported on it, of course. Even blessed her with a new sobriquet, 'that bitch from 101.' Short and snappy, he'd spat it onto the airwaves every time a trader or Brotherhood runner had dropped by the station with more news, more senseless deaths.

Fuck her. If she wanted to paint the Wastes red with the blood of Raiders and slavers, fine, but like he'd let her slit the throats of innocents without raising hell about it. Fight the good fight, children; sound the alarms, lock your doors and sleep with one eye open.
It'd worked to the point where no one would trade with her, not even the Outcasts after she'd slaughtered half their team after some fuckabout in a virtual reality sim and made off with half their tech and a priceless stealth suit that the Outcasts had been moist about for months. He'd sat back in his chair and laughed at reports of her stealing from bins, of being drummed off Rivet City by a pissed off security chief, of the Citadel sentry guns being programmed to fire warning shots if she got too close.

Cut the bitch down hard, leave her weeping. He fought with his words, and he fought hard.

Three Dog tossed his wet washcloth on the arm of the sofa in his grimy little personal quarters, kicking the door shut with his heel and thumbing the lock in one smooth motion. GNR was extra quiet tonight, the Brotherhood knights downstairs eschewing their usual murmured chatter in favour of the radio burbling low.

Whatever made them happy, he supposed. The fellas deserved a bit of peace and quiet after a day of taking radio reports and walking them up to his studio. He'd pulled a double today, reporting on 101's latest string of atrocities as they filtered back to GNR Plaza. A Wasteland merchant was butchered and his pet yao guai too, the beast's snout hammered to a wall with a railway spike. A family of traders were blinded by a flashbang, stumbling blind until the world shimmered back into focus and they tripped over their Brahmin, the beast's flanks skinned and left to bloody their goods.

Three Dog rubbed at his throat, skin still damp from his cursory wash, and sighed. At least Raiders had a purpose to their killing, as twisted as it was. They had their territory and they defended it, and when they raided a settlement it was for food or drugs or for the fun of it. 101 though... he reckoned the kid got off on the act of it, treating it like a big ol' science experiment. Who knew what set her off? He just hoped that someone put a bullet through her before she bought the entire Wasteland to its knees.

He'd deal with her tomorrow, 'cause now was time for a beer and some sleep. Margaret would look after the station for a few hours, and he could get his head down and recharge. Gotta keep the energy up to fight the good fight; gotta look after the voice of the people.

A beer was sweating on the table where he'd left it, delicate beats of water gathering on the glass before soaking into the paper label. He took a swig and sat back on the sofa, head tipped back as he closed his eyes and sighed. Hell of a day. Hell of a week. Hell of a year, even.

He would've drifted off there, lulled into dreamless sleep by the sound of a settling building and the growl of his empty stomach, but something kept pulling him awake. A misplaced noise here, an absence of noise there. The patchwork of noise he heard day in and day out was missing a noise, the silent note as jarring as a toothache.

The radio. The radio wasn't playing.

Margaret would deal with it, he reasoned to himself. She'd gone to the bathroom or to get some fresh air and the holotape had finished, dead air broadcasting to the Wastes. Not a big deal, not really. No one was listening this late.

The silence stretched on and he sighed, a fingertip on the mouth of his beer as he rocked the bottle back and forth. He grasped blindly at the sofa and picked up a limp cushion, throwing it at the door in an effort to rouse Margaret's attention.

"Margaret." Three Dog debated throwing his beer bottle. "Margaret. Midnight ain't no excuse. No sleeping on the job!"

"Don't quote me on this," said 101, "but I'm pretty sure that she's going to be napping for a while."

Three Dog sat up so fast that his head span, a hand pressed to his forehead as he stared wildly around the room. "Brahminshit," he said, holding his bottle like a weapon, ignoring the cascade of beer soaking his arm. "Brahminshit you got in here."

"I get in everywhere," said 101 lightly. "You said so yourself. No lock keeps me out."

"The fuck are you?" Three Dog got as far as getting to his feet when the small, barely audible but incredibly distinctive sound of a trigger being cocked stilled him. He took a breath, steeled into steadiness even as his heart thudded in an adrenaline panic. "Thought you didn't like guns, kiddo."

101 laughed as she dropped her stealth field, electronic static melting away to reveal her leaning against the wall at the foot of his bed. "You're losing your touch, Three Dog. That's not half as righteous as I've come to expect." She tapped the revolver against her thigh, the metal hollow-sounding against the material of her purloined stealth suit. "You might as well sit down." Pause. "Pretty please."

He did so, eyes fixed firmly on the gun. "What's with the pleasantries? A bit out of character for someone with so much innocent blood on their hands."

She offered him a sunny smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've come to play nice."

I'm glad you like! <3 - a!a

Nice! I'm excited for more!

Intriguing start!

“Francine Garret” he said, pronouncing the name as if it were a type of sexual position. “How good to see you.”

“Do I know you?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But I know you. Co-owner of this den of lust, always buttoned up and proper yourself. Everyone knows the mistress of the Wrangler, even if she won’t deign to notice them.”

For some reason, Francine felt her mouth going dry. He wasn’t actually insulting her, nor was anything he said particularly complementary; still, his remarks felt more personal than she was comfortable with. And wearing that smirk, she knew he’d meant it. But she hadn’t blushed since she was twelve, and she wasn’t going to start again.

“You want something, Mister?” She struggled to keep her voice sounding bored.

He leaned in close, and if it had been anyone else she’d have shoved them away. Somehow, she felt cowed by his presence, a if raising a hand against him would be the last move she ever made. This wasn’t an entirely bad feeling, just a new one. In all her life, Francine had prided herself on letting no man intimidate her. This one broke all the rules.

“I think you know what I want, Francine Garret.” She could feel his breath, and shivered. Searching for a response, she found none- what could you possibly say to that? She might as well surrender herself, and to hell with the consequences.

“Go on,” he hissed, “bring out the robot!”

***

If anything, the noises this time were even worse. Recovering from her embarrassment, Francine thought she could tune things out. It was quieter, certainly, and subtler. No series of loud crashes or groans, just a long hum. Still, who could fathom how that machine worked?

It got worse, though. The hum was turning into a moan- could robots moan? Was she anthropomorphizing it too much? Surely she was, since robots couldn’t whimper. That was the sound coming from the room, and it wasn’t the man whimpering. She was going to need a particularly stiff drink to get through the afternoon.

This fill has been hilarious, but this particular part is just too awesome for words XD

I can't stop laughing.

(captcha has a phone number on it! scandalous!)

Don't know if this Anon is still around, but it was Pepper Gomez, Freddie's mother, that got pregnant. I only know because I was digging through the GECK for an unrelated fic and saw the text... It made me go, wait, what?

Wow... "Let me be your daddy." That was... like... I'd say "I'll be in my bunk", but first I've got to read some more!

I love it... the awesome blend of delicious imagery and half-hidden wounds... not to mention how self-aware Arcade is about it all! This is so good!

(I knew Boone was somehow like Arcade's father... I just didn't realize that could be a SEXY analogy!)

I love you anon.

This story is awesome! I can't believe I'm the first one to comment on it! :(

Hello again everyone! It took me a while to post this, yes, and it shouldn't have. I've been picking at it and picking at it, and I'm still a bit wary about this story. Still, I hope it satisfies. Also this first update is short mainly because I'm putting my feelers out and testing the feedback, I know the meme has been quiet lately. But anyway, it's good to be back with these characters! <3-A!A

He doesn’t recognize her—not even remotely, at first.

At first, she is a dirty, skinny, dead-eyed creature whose hair is shorn and dull in color, whose large eyes make her look harsh and wild.

Kate does not look joyful and vibrant, but blank and utterly barren of the vibrant happiness she once emanated—she is alert, like a feral animal thrust into a foreign territory. Herman has never been more unnerved by a sight in his entire life.

“…Kate?” Herman looks her over once more, unbelieving of her presence after so long—a year, maybe two?—and hovers his hand over his pistol.

Kate blinks at the sight of him, apparently equally as bewildered by the sight of him, and her hand drops limply from the large rifle adorning her back; Herman has the faint thought that the gun seems to make her hunch, as if the weight of it has bent her small body forcibly.

“Kate?—well… Gosh! I can hardly believe it! Is that really you?” He laughs, nearly hysterical from the suffocating air that she radiates, and continues to stare expectantly into those foreign eyes. No spite, no hidden laughter, no dark secrets, no confidence. Just… nothing.

“Kate?” Herman repeats, quietly now, for he can see the recognition flickering weakly in her eyes. He notices many ghastly scars as they stand there staring at one another, even with her baggy and largely concealing… armor? Clothing? He can’t quite tell. He thinks to a time when she was spotless.

“Manny.” She finally chokes out, the sound of her voice bringing a sharp pang to his heart—it is a voice he has strained to remember for over a year. Though, like the rest of her, the sound is small and wary.

It doesn’t take long until she is crossing the large space that has built between them. The wild touch to her eyes worries him, makes him back up a step or two, but his fear is unfounded in the end. Kate collapses into him in a fury of tears and dusty fabric, wrapping her arms around him with a desperation that steals his breath away.

She feels different, no longer soft and exciting and blissful. Kate is hard with muscle and bone, smells of unwashed human and death and dirt, and her body no longer fills his arms—which eventually wrap around her in return—like she once did.

Her sobs are so frantic in their nature that it isn’t long before she cannot breathe, that she begins to choke and claw at him in the need for aid.

An old supposedly dead part of him is roused, forcing him into action as he scoops her up—somewhat awkwardly around the uncomfortable jabs of weapons—and shuffles her quickly into the entrance area. It is there that she breathes, gulping down air and letting the strong breeze from the outside dry her eyes.

He watches her during these few minutes, brow drawn in confusion, hand gripping hers tightly as he tucks a strand of hair from her dirty face awkwardly.

Who is this?

Sorry, I forgot! Missed me is a sequel.

Kink: Non-con, Bondage

Characters: F!LW, Officer Herman Gomez, Butch DeLoria

Series: Criminal

Relationship: Het

This is the OP, and I cannot believe I missed this for so long.

This was fucking beautiful, anon. Your style is beautiful, the originality of the rescue was beautiful, and YOU are beautiful.

"That feeling, in the end, was what he had really wanted all of his life from this dried up husk of their world. Lovers, as he had told her, made poor confidants. But he could always confide in her and she never loved anybody in such a way, only lent herself to the winds and asked them to clothe and shelter her, as if this was the only romance she would ever care to know."

That line right there sums up exactly the relationship I envision between Arcade and my Courier. Also, it made me legitimately weep. So gorgeous.

I love you so much right now! Thank you for sharing your wonderful writing.

Excellent sequel opening! I am very excited to see you again, a!a, and elated to look forward to more of your Criminal series!!

Oh god I laughed so hard

WOW

can't wait for more!!! Loved Criminal, can't wait to love this! :D

“Shit.” Her voice breaks and it makes Herman wince. “Sorry. I just…”

She takes a deep, frustrated breath through her nose, wiping at the runniness before turning to him. Kate smiles, kindly and sincerely, and he blinks in shock at the sight of it. “I just can’t believe that I’m seeing you… That you’re the same.”

He doesn’t speak, simply watches her watch him, and nearly begins to cry right along with her when he realizes that the Kate sitting beside him is not the same that left him broken all those months ago. How could he even begin to be angry when this creature is merely a ghost of what once existed in that horrible girl?

“What happened out there?” Is what Herman finally whispers.

After a moment of her hiding her face in her hands, she exhales shakily and looks off to the bright light flooding in from the entrance. “Dad’s gone.”

She is suddenly a child, he realizes: nose red and running, eyes beautiful and large with the shine of tears, lips deeply flushed and puffy from fighting against the sobs that wrack her ribs.

“I just—… I just got him back, Manny.” Kate chokes on her words, battered agony radiating sickly behind her eyes. “All that time, looking and failing… All those people I—…” She pauses, swallowing audibly, and pushes her clenched fists against eyes. “He left me again...”

Herman’s heart drops from the sudden realization of what she speaks of, closing his eyes to erase the image of a motionless, paled James from his mind.

“Honey…” He can’t think of anything to say, doesn’t want to hear of any more tales of her scars or nightmares. “I’m sorry. I really am, Katie.”

Kate blinks a gathering of tears from her eyes, smearing at the grime coating her face, and looks to him underneath thin, wet lashes. She sniffs loudly, uncaring, and reaches a calloused hand up to his face.

He flinches away at the sight of dirt underneath her nails, though one look from her reddened, pitiable eyes makes his heart sore enough to bypass obsessive compulsions.

“You’re so clean.” She muses, almost as if to herself, and smiles in wonder as she meets his eyes. “You’re so handsome, Manny. It’s wonderful to see a face like yours, after all this.”

Her sudden change in mood is off-putting, enough to make him forget that she ever left—however momentarily that bittersweet feeling is; he feels as if this is another tryst, with her cackles still laced with malice and her sparkling eyes haunting him in their absence of pity.

He doesn’t trust her, he decides—not in the slightest.

Herman lets her explore him after so long; innocent, chaste touches and observations that make him feel like the outsider—though he supposes that if the people out there dress and look anything like Kate, than he must look strange after so long.

“What’re you doing here?” The question dawns on him after the initial shock begins to fade.

Kate’s fingers pause in their gentle journey down his cheek, her eyes looking confusedly into his for a brief moment. “Amata. She asked for my help, said things were fucked.”

Herman’s brow rises. “I’ll… pretend I didn’t hear that.”

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

Veronica + F!Courier, "Sacred Rituals" 1/2

Re: Veronica + F!Courier, "Sacred Rituals" 2/2

Re: Veronica + F!Courier, "Sacred Rituals" 1/2

Re: Veronica + F!Courier, "Sacred Rituals" 2/2

Re: Veronica + F!Courier, "Sacred Rituals" 2/2

OP!!

F!LW/Three Dog, 'Sound the Alarms, Lock the Doors' 1/?

F!LW/Three Dog, 'Sound the Alarms, Lock the Doors' 2/?

Re: OP!!

Re: F!LW/Three Dog, 'Sound the Alarms, Lock the Doors' 2/?

Re: F!LW/Three Dog, 'Sound the Alarms, Lock the Doors' 2/?

The Only Way to Win 11/?

Re: The Only Way to Win 11/?

Re: Fallout 3 Vault Gen Prompt

Re: Desperado (part 4) [arcade/boone, daddy kink]

Re: Desperado (part 9 - FINAL) [arcade/boone, daddy kink]

no subject

Re: Lord, I've Been Trying- Gen (2/2)

Missed Me 1a/?

Missed Me Tags

OP is so frickin' late.

Re: Missed Me 1a/?

Re: Veronica + F!Courier, "Sacred Rituals" 2/2

Re: Missed Me 1a/?

Missed Me 1b/?