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

Ahhhhhhh A!A I love you! I thought this would never get filled, but you did! Veronica and I are in the exact same boat, and I squee'd so hard when I saw Lights Out there, since it's one of my favorite songs by them! I love MSI! Welp, good to know that my favorite Brotherhood scribe has an excellent taste in music! 1000 thanks to you, A!A, you've just made my 6AM!

please some one fill this out

Ah, I really like it. Especially the end. Beautiful writing, A!A.

This was fantastic - great melding of the atmosphere of the film and the capital wasteland!

Thanks. :) I found myself comparing my notes to the movie and noting which scenes I wanted to replicate. Both settings are really stark and little distopic, so I tried to capture what I could. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

"What in the seven hells?" Standing in an otherwise unoccupied tent in the courtyard of Gomorrah, Charlie stares down at the little pile of knocked out humanity arrayed at her feet, which Veronica is currently in the process of stripping naked.

Standing guard at the entrance, Cass rolls her eyes. "Some of security was getting nosy and it was easier to hide them out here. In here. What the fuck ever."

"Ah. Orgy?"

"Seemed like the best way to camouflage the whole beaten up and knocked out thing. One of the girls is going to make sure nobody uses the tent and play dumb about it later."

"Out of kindness and goodwill?"

"No, we owe her a favour. Talk to Joana once the heat from this fucking mess is off."

"Mmhm. We better hurry, then."

"No shit, Sherlock. The lady said our golden boy not only hasn't left, he hasn't been seen either."

"She say anything else remotely useful?"

"Yeah." Cass snorts. "What you just said, but with a big fat heaping side of worry. Fuck, Charlie, this whole situation just keeps feeling more and more-" She half turns and squints. "Hey, where'd your hat go?"

The dog and Charlie both twitch. "Don't say that word."

"What, ha-mmmpth!" Charlie springs forward, claps a hand over her mouth and keeps it there until she quiets.

"The damn thing's brains are going off, so you have to mind what you say and wear if you want him to stay focused on the job, and not on your throat." She shrugs. "He works, though. Found you two in short order."

Cass pauses in picking her own hat up from where it fell and gives the animal a weather eye. Charlie shrugs again. "You can have yours on as long as you don't talk to him or make eye contact. Got the King looking after mine for the moment."

"Riiight. Ronnie?" The scribe looks up pertly from ripping off a ludicrously patterened set of silk boxers from a man who definitely does not have the capacity to carry them off. Cass holds out her hat. "Here. Shove this up your cassock."

"Why don't I ever hear that in a good way."

Thoroughly exasperated and not a little jangled now, Charlie snaps. "Skies, leave off."

"Okay, moving on, finding Arcade! Speaking of-oof!" Deciding her tableau is authentic enough after a heel to the gut, Veronica drops the leg the boxers are still tangled up on with a thud and starts ransacking the pile of stripped clothing. "Speaking of that, how did you get Rex to find us?"

Charlie shrugs a shoulder. "Just told him to find you, and he did."

"Huh. Probably had something to do with our continuing proximity. Arcade should smell the same as us too, yeah?"

Cass snorts. "Close enough. We live, sleep and shit together, so I don't see why him having bait and tackle would make a difference. Lanky fucker gets into my toiletries enough to smell like a woman." She mutters something unflattering, then bites at her nails. "We're going to have to walk the dog around the place first. Bet we were easy because we were waiting around and stinking up the joint. Fuck knows how long it's been since Gannon was down here."

"Hey! Keys!" Veronica deftly picks them loose from a pair of cheap pants and jingles them. Cass stares at her with a blank expression.

"I worry about you, kid."

Veronica ignores her and keeps rifling. "There's a VIP pass here too."

"Good." Charlie takes both and walks back into the courtyard, Rex at her heel. "Let's put 'em to work."

"Right. Police dog." Staring into the room Cass has just broken into deep in the bowels of the Brimstone club, Veronica plucks at her lower lip. "Um. Not good."

Cass slouches against the door jamb. "So we smell like total fucking death and mayhem, apparently."

Charlie leans in past her, looking at the positively obscene array of firearms stockpiled from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, then glances at the dog, slightly mollified. "Well. That's all right, then."

Veronica pulls her back out and yanks the door shut. "No, no, definitely not good. This stuff almost makes back home look like a rinky-dink gun club. I don't think this is something we're supposed to know about."

Charlie sniffs and scratches at her nose. "She's right. We can file it away for later, but right now it's not our business. Cass, get it locked up again before someone spots us." She turns to Rex. "And you. Find the doc. No more damned detours."

He barks once and takes off like a shot as soon as Cass straightens, all three women hot on his heels, through the hallways and party rooms and past the stages, up and up and up until they reach the very top of the building.

The three women stand in the foyer ignoring the lone security thug, who ignores them right back as Rex circles around several times before haring off through a side door and down a much classier hall than they've previously had the pleasure to be in. It's also wonderfully deserted. The dog trots to the door at the far end and sits, waiting. Charlie digs around in her coat when they catch up, handing off the things she's managed to smuggle in.

"Just in case, here's your party favours."

Cass curls her lip up at the .22 pistol she's handed. "Chintzy piece of crap."

Veronica slips on the brass knuckles and makes a fist, her own letting out pops loud as a whipcrack. "I can be happy with simplicity."

"Damn straight."

The little scribe bounces on her toes. "Now let's all hope we walk in on something that will horribly embarass all parties involved."

They don't. All they find is a nearly empty room.

Kink: Character Development
Characters: F!LW, Charon (and cameos of others as I go along)
Relationship: Het
Series: I'll get my brother on you

A series in which Charon and F!LW don't actually shag (shock horror!) but have a more brother/sister relationship. Will be a long-ass fill.

--------

“I haven’t got 2000 caps…” the young girl sighed as she propped herself up on the bar, her feet dangling above the floor like a child.

“Well then tough break kid” Ahzrukhal closed his eyes with a smug smile and got back to cleaning a glass.

Charon watched as the girl leaned back and gave him a quick once over. He’d already been scanning her as a threat when she walked in the bar, half shaved head and a cocky attitude didn't exactly scream ‘harmless drunk’ – but she’d become even more interesting once he’d heard the mention of his contract.

Why would she want it…?

“Hey!” she chirped and Charon snapped out of his train of thought.
Ahzrukhal rolled his eyes tiredly back to her.

“Can’t we sort something out? Like a deal?” She traced a finger on the sticky bar mesmerizing herself with it almost.

“Well now, what is he worth... and what could I want…” Ahzrukhal pondered causing Charon to play a reel of terrible and disgusting scenarios in his head. He knew several things the slimy old bastard could want from her.
He watched as the bar man leaned in and spoke in hushed tones to his patron, a wicked smile plastered across his dead face. Charon strained to hear what was being said but he heard the mention of Greta the ghoulette next door and he knew instantly what he had planned. Dick.

The girl recoiled back sharply and Charon stood taller, expecting her to slap him and he’d unfortunately have to stop that.

She never did though, she stood, downed the rest of her drink and slammed it back on the table.
“I’ll get the caps" she spat and turned quick on her heel giving Charon another once over before she left. He avoided her eye contact and fixed his back onto Ahzrukhal as soon as she closed the door behind her.

Ahzrukhal shrugged, “What?”

…..

Nearly a month had passed since the kid from before had been in town and Charon had since learned she was the one from that vault mentioned on the radio. She’d not done much since she’d got out really by the sounds of it but still that Three Dog went on about her and Charon was bored of hearing about it. It wasn’t news to him that people were sent into vaults, he remembered the rejection letters all too well. The last shred of hope denied and shoved in your mailbox. It made him bitter that this kid could stroll around and join wasteland society without anyone’s say so yet none of them could get into those vaults and live her cushy life.

As if on cue she strolled into the bar, ripped tight jeans, scruffy leather jacket, ratty long vest hanging out and a pair of clumpy combat boots. Kid thinks she’s a rebel.

She gave him a nod with a smug look on her face to which Charon just snarled. Oh fuck off…

“Ahh our little Vault-rat is back, calmed down since our last meeting sweetie?” Ahzrukhal leant on his bar as she perched at it.

“Why yes I have my friend and I have something that may put a smile on your face…” she grinned and pulled a big sack out of her tatty messenger bag. The familiar jingle of caps rang out as it hit the table.

Charon felt his face twitch as he weighed up how he felt about the situation. She’s gunna buy it, she’s gunna buy me. Following around this kid can’t be as bad as this, even if I do end up with a few more holes in me.
He watched as the transaction took place in front of his eyes in slow motion, a movie reel he had let play many a time after a particularly nasty chore he’d been forced to do. She turned to him, still sat at the bar waving his piece of paper. Then as if by clockwork he watched his body play the final scenes of his horror flick called Ahzrukhal.

A couple of weighted strides forward, his last line and a few parting shots.

You, my friend, are delightfully disturbing. I love it.

(I'm going to be writing Charon's thoughts a lot seeing as he needs some input and he's so bloody quiet!)

After the bar had cleared she took her caps back off the now lifeless Ahzrukhal – and his keys Charon noted.
So she’s a thief. He scowled, So this is how it’s going to be.

She however had thought nothing of it as she shoved them in her bag. She’d not looked at Charon after purchasing his contract not even to ask him why the hell he’d shot his previous employer. She either didn’t care because she had sussed Ahzrukhal down as a bastard already or it had scared her more than she let on, Charon decided to take pride that it was the latter until he could suss her out properly.

She turned and walked out of the bar without so much as a ‘come on’ and headed to Carol’s. Charon followed and let his eyes close as he said goodbye to the Ninth Circle, she locked the door behind him.

Once in Carol’s she slung her bag down on a chair at the table farthest from the bar. She looked at him and then the table eyeing for him to sit down. He did as he was told.

She sighed, “Do you want a beer?” she asked, not looking at him but in Carol’s direction.

“Would you have me drink one, mistress?” Charon asked.

“Mistress?” she turned back to him and raised an eyebrow, “Look I’m getting one do you want one or not?” she snapped before he could reply.

He nodded and she left him at the table with her bag. He watched her talk to Carol, they were both smiling as the old ghoulette handed the girl a piece of paper which she shoved into her jacket pocket.

He tried to watch her some more and work out what she was up to but he was distracted when someone slumped into the chair next to him. Quinn.

“So Charon you’re finally off out of here” he grabbed Charon’s shoulder and shook it.

Charon just grunted, he didn’t mind Quinn but he was a distraction from his new employer.

“She’s kinda cute in that bad girl sorta way…” Quinn let his hand drop off Charon as he joined him in watching her talk to Carol and now Greta.
“… What do you think? Charon?” he goaded.

“I do not view my employer in such a way”

“Oh so she lets you talk this one does she?” Quinn leaned back not taking his eyes off her.

“She has not expressed that I not answer you” Charon noticed how Greta was now pointing at him with a sour look on her face as she spoke to his employer.

“So you aren’t talking to me out of choice then, or are you?” Quinn laughed.

Charon didn’t answer.

“Thought not” Quinn sniggered and left the table as the girl walked back and dumped a beer infront of Charon. She then slumped down in the chair facing him.

“Well drink it then” she said after seeing Charon stare at it and not touch it.

Charon took the cold beer in his hand, he’d not held one in so many years. It was the first courtesy he’d been bestowed since Ahzrukhal bought him new ammo, which wasn't so nice in the long run. He put the bottle to his lips and took it down smoothly, savoring it and letting it cool his seemingly always dry throat.

She on the other hand gulped hers down like a teenage boy he noted.

Letting her now half empty bottle sit on the table, she reached over to the chair with her bag on it between them. She then pulled out his contract and unfolded it.

Charon snorted, there was his life folded up in some kid’s schoolbag. He watched her as she slurped on her drink and read it to herself every now and then pausing to look at him.
Mimicking her relaxed body language he assumed he could let himself lean back in his chair and look up at the ceiling. It’s peeling as much as I am…

“They don’t like you, ya’ know” she said bluntly after a while, still looking at her new purchase.

Charon just grumbled. That’s not news.

“They don’t want me to go with you” she stopped reading and looked up at him, “They think you’ll kill me.”

Charon just looked back down at her coldly as he sipped from his beer. If she was scared of him maybe she'd be easier on him...

“You can’t though can you” she leaned back, “says it here” she waved the paper.

What is your fucking point smoothskin? Perhaps she wasn't so scared...

“Good” she nodded and put the paper back in her bag.

Good? Does she expect me to want her dead…?

“Anyway big guy we gotta move out”, she left her now empty bottle on the table and stood up, “so drink up.”

He finished his beer and stood, letting his full height tower over her. For the first time she looked up at him and took in his full height.

“Good” she smiled.

She was a terrible shot. It would be funny if it didn’t mean Charon had to work twice as hard and it wasn’t particularly fun defending someone he already really wasn’t keen on at all. They had been wandering round the subways for a good 3 hours by Charon’s count and he could tell she was lost. Not my place to say anything he allowed himself a small grin as he followed her.

“For fuck’s sake” she exhaled loudly and came to a halt, so did he.
She started kicking at the floor and poking at her pipboy. She’s got a map on that thing and she’s still lost? How green is she?
It could have been a lot easier if she’d told him where they were headed but she hadn’t really uttered a word to him since they left Underworld. Charon had decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and used this quiet time for target practice and loosening up his old muscles. It was remarkably therapeutic for him shooting ferals down with ease and the way this kid tried not to jump with each blast of his shotgun, usually before she’d even heard a growl, was pretty amusing for him. She’s a fucking baby.

“Charon” she piped up for once.

“Yes mistress” he drawled out from behind her, Here it comes, ‘I’m lost’…

“Wher- What’s with all this ‘mistress’ shit?!” she turned round to him, obviously not the original direction this conversation was going.

“Is it not to your liking mistress? He responded.

“What is it your default setting or something?” she sniggered.

“Would you prefer I address you as something else” he looked down at her finding no amusement in it himself.

She let out a loud cackle. Urgh what a laugh.

“Yeah, ‘your highness’” she smiled up at him coyly.

“Yes your highness” this answer gained him an even louder cackle. Bitch. So it was an egocentric thief he’d be babysitting he concluded.

“That’s too good” she chuckled wiping her right eye.

“What is it you wanted of me your highness?” Charon asked bluntly, knowing now he had a chance to dent her ego. You’re still the one fucking lost with a map dipshit.

“Oh right, yeah. Do you know how to get to Megaton?” she half mumbled.

Megaton? The bomb-town. Why?

“Yes I do… your highness” he couldn’t help but have a sarcastic tone with that term of address, highness, really? Fucking princess.

“Well can you show me” she slung her hand on her hip as she looked up at him.

“Would you like me to put a marker on your pipboy?” he let his eyes drift to her arm with the device clamped on.

“No it’s already…” she shuffled and removed her hand from her hip, “It’s already on there” she huffed crossing her arms.
He didn’t respond to this. ‘He wasn’t asked a question so why should he’ was how he preferred to operate. It added to his cold exterior but also left her squirming with embarrassment, a win-win.

“I don’t know, I can’t read it… Maps…” she crossed her arms in defeat.

He nodded and strode past her, almost triumphantly, “I shall lead then, your highness.”
She screwed her nose up at him as he passed but fell into place behind him, there was not much she could do really.

This one has been languishing for so long. Time to change that.

Pairing: Dean Domino/F!Courier
Summary: Dean has been alone in the Madre for one decade too many, so naturally, anything and everything the Courier does must somehow pertain towards him. Or at least he chooses to think so.

The cloud was still, thick at places and curling around columns and collapsed walls. She found it strange and unsettling at first. But then she realized – there was no wind in Sierra Madre. The Courier licked her lips and ran her tongue across the rooftop of her mouth. God said the air tasted like copper. Old. Older than some of the vaults she had been in, and yet, this place still held the appearance of barely having seventy years on it. Some walls and roofs were torn down but she suspected those came from deliberate action – like with explosives.

“Just because the ghosts can’t see further than their noses doesn’t mean they won’t find us if you keep lollygagging out in the open.”

Dean’s explosives, for example. Although other ‘tourists’ could have helped demolition along the way.

The Courier focused her attention at the far end of the street. There was a ghost creature there, near the small fountain. It shuffled, eerie green glow of its mask leaving trails as it jumped a fair distance and – sniffed the air, she thought was the appropriate term. Focusing on the Cloud behind it she spotted several more pairs of irradiated green dots shuffling through the red haze. There was no questioning her tracking skills or her Pip-Boy’s tracking program. A pack was on the hunt.

For all intents and purposes that way was blocked to her – well, her and the singer; and unless the things spread out long enough for her to pass through the Cloud infested square littered with traps, it was rooftops for her again. Not a bad option, except she really wanted to get into that building they’ve taken to guarding.

The Courier watched them gather and go around setting traps when one raised its head in her direction. She was fairly certain that it couldn’t see her – proved by the fact that she had already managed to move passed them in these close built streets – but this one kept focused on her location for longer than she was comfortable with.

Keeping low she pulled herself from behind of the dead tree’s bench, and back around to pillars to the entryway of the café, where the old ghoul waited near slightly ajar door. It was set in prime position for Dean to slip in and shut them tight at the first sight of a ‘local’ deciding to take a stroll down their ally with couple of ‘friends’. Under cover of the Cloud they both slid inside and barred the door settling at either side of them, listening. Outside was deathly silence, interrupted only by a distant sound of heavy hissing breath, shuffling of feet and an occasional clang of a bear trap being dragged against cobbled stone.

Bear traps? Why did the Sierra Madre have a supply of bear traps? The singer had no answer for her. No agreeable answer.

The thing moved next to café’s door, stopped and suddenly sounds of metal against metal, and metal against stone were heard. The low commotion and tinkering, along with grunts and wheezing lasted for a few moments before slowly disappearing between distant streets. Both Dean and the Courier looked at each other, realizing that the Ghost People have probably left a present for them right outside the door – complete with snares that would take away their legs in one bite. Another path was blocked to them.

Still, the traps were outside and they were inside so they, or at least the Courier did, allowed themselves a moment to catch their breath, and relax for a bit.

Pale light of the hologram standing idly behind the counter reflected on Dean’s sunglasses and her black helmet as they stared at each other. Dean quickly stood up pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his tuxedo. Smoke curled around his face and there was a sound of deep sigh – possibly of relief but the former star would be hardly pressed to admit to it.

“That was too close for my comfort,” he said and rested his hands on the counter. It was the only place in the building with some decent light in it. It was also a small comfort that those creatures outside were afraid, or venerated or some other nonsense like that; of holograms enough not to check which were the ones to actually shot lasers out of their heads.

“Why fret?” the Courier called from her place by the door, her voice muffled by that darn helmet and her head bowed over her pip-boy as she tapped one button after the other. “You know better than anyone of us how blind they are.”

“Yes. I also know that they outnumber us like a wasp hive outnumbers a tarantula…” he paused, sarcasm losing its speed a bit, for the lack of a better analogy, “Or whatever that prey may be. This is not the first time your nose poking into every corner had me almost killed.” He turned, glaring behind his sunglasses at the nigh invisible hunched figure in the black suit of armor.

In truth, she had managed to snuck up to more than a few lone locals and disable them in a rather gory manner which would insure them never rising up again; and thus ensuring his own increasing survival rate – but still! Dean would not even be in this situation had she not insisted to take the long way around, passing through every door not nailed shut or taped down, crossing every roof that looked marginally capable of holding her weight, making the damn collar beep by going on into the parts unknown, perusing her useless scavenger hunt… Oh, she had singlehandedly invited death by explosion, the Ghost People dragging him away and heart attack. The way things were going he just had to pick the lottery ticket and pray it would be a painless one.

But Dean Domino had not survived as long as he did in the Villa by taking the long way around if it happened to be littered with undying monstrosities from the depths of whatever place that cooked up the Cloud. Or by letting some tourist yank his explosive leash left and right at her suicidal whim in search of… paper scraps.

“And you act like you’ve never went scavenged before,” she said quickly pushing one such small scrap of paper she had found earlier back into her pocket. Dean noticed immediately, both it and how she slipped past his question and he was not pleased in the least. The tourist was up to something. He didn’t know if it involved him – and for the sake of his own hide he decided to presume that it did – but he would not let it come that far.

“Puesta del Sol isn’t in the top five list of my choices I’d go to even if I had to.” He pointed at her accusingly, “It was your insisting on sticking out like a sour thumb that has us boxed in here.”

The Courier waved her hand dismissively and settled on the opposite side of the counter, sliding through the silent dealer. The holographic head played shadows and left quickly diminishing imprints on smooth surface of her black helmet – like a fake, always smiling face. It was needlessly creepy, and Dean had the guts to admit it to himself. “We’ll use the rooftops,” she said, “I’ll get you to your stage in time for the main event. It’s not like Elijah can start the show without you.” Black helmet tilted to the side as she leaned over the counter and watched him.

“I suppose don’t have anything to worry about then, do I? Oh, except several hundreds of Ghost People swarming this roof in droves once the band starts playing,” he snapped spitefully but when he looked up she was not there at the receiving end of his complaint.

“I hardly doubt there are hundreds of Ghost People out there,” her voice, muffled as it was, came from bellow. She was, in long respected tradition of any wastelander, rummaging through the cupboards under the counter. “They can’t reproduce, and from what you’ve told me more people die a safe death out here,” one hand peeped up, gesturing vaguely at the front door, “than get dragged away by them.”

“Now there’s optimistic for you.”

Some junk food along with something else was plopped on the counter, interrupting him.

“So unless the empty suits have mutated to the point they can breed I don’t think you have too much to worry about.”

“Is that so? Sure glad one of us knows what you’re doing.” ‘Thick with sarcasm’ didn’t even begin to cover the tone of his voice. He knew she was deluding herself because experience had taught him otherwise. What she had said might make sense – or indeed, would make sense, were they in any other place but here. But they weren’t. They were in Sierra Madre. And Sierra Madre had a life of her own, a rhythm one had to follow or die. The tourist had better learned to tap-dance to it fast or his head will be up for grabs along with hers.

“Now, how about making some of that famous martini of yours?” She shook a foul smelling jug and there was something of a grin in her voice. He assumed so since he couldn’t see it. With a downturn of his lips he pulled a cigar hanging from the corner and snuffed it out in a nearby ashtray, before taking the offered pitcher.

“I’ll have you know, I don’t make a habit of serving drinks to others,” he said in a flat tone.

“I won’t cross the line and try to abuse your generosity.” Courier’s voice, tingling as it did, didn’t exclude the possibility of a ‘much’ following that statement. One exposed muscle under his right eye took a moment to tic. This was already the longest heist of his life, and Dean was confident that he could endure a little more of this tag-along game, before the vault laid sprawled open before him.

"So," said Butch, "we each won one round, which makes it a tie. What does that mean?"

"It means you all lose. All of you, and especially me for wasting my time." The Courier was not in an indulgent mood, and the sight of Boone, Butch and Vulpes standing awkwardly in front of her had gone from amusing to irritating. Lest she forget, there were actual battles to be planned and deals to be negotiated, and the more time she spent on stupid contests, the more explaining she had to do to Mr. House.

"What about the harem?" Vulpes snapped.

"For the last time, I'm not a member of Boone's harem! And even if I was, I've got an army of securitrons which says I'm not going anywhere. If someone is foolish enough to want to be part of your harem, she can damn well go to you herself."

With that, the Courier turned and walked back inside the casino. Boone followed with a sheepish expression on his face, and sat down by the window. She wondered if he was trying to line up a shot while Vulpes' back was turned, but he didn't seem to have any weapons drawn. He might have been a great sniper, but he wasn't exactly the fastest gun in the west.

For her part, the Courier poured herself a drink and looked forward to a future completely free of the phrase 'Mojave Rapelord.'

Outside she could hear the Securitrons clanking about, but paid them little mind.

"Well," said Boone, "that's something you don't see every day."

Knowing she would regret it, the Courier joined him by the window. Butch was already gone, but Vulpes Inculta could still be seen walking down the road. He was doing his best to blend into the crowd, but that was hard to do when you were being followed by a huge, creaking robot.

"Is that...?"

It was. FISTO followed closely behind the spy despite his most determined efforts to shake it. In fact, a small crowd was gathering to watch.

"MASTER," It groaned in an awful screeching tone. "WHERE YOU GO, I GO. YOU HAVE SHOWN ME MY TRUE NATURE, AND THOUGH YOU RUN FROM ME I WILL BE YOUR DEVOTED SLAVE. DO NOT DENY THE LOVE WE HAVE FOUND!"

"Guess we do have a harem winner," said the Courier. "For what it's worth."

Boone nodded.

"I sure feel stupid knowing that was the prize after all."

"I guess it's like the old saying goes." The Courier went to retrieve her drink. "The only way to win is not to play."

(Ack- double poste this up here. Spoilers!)

"So," said Butch, "we each won one round, which makes it a tie. What does that mean?"

"It means you all lose. All of you, and especially me for wasting my time." The Courier was not in an indulgent mood, and the sight of Boone, Butch and Vulpes standing awkwardly in front of her had gone from amusing to irritating. Lest she forget, there were actual battles to be planned and deals to be negotiated, and the more time she spent on stupid contests, the more explaining she had to do to Mr. House.

"What about the harem?" Vulpes snapped.

"For the last time, I'm not a member of Boone's harem! And even if I was, I've got an army of securitrons which says I'm not going anywhere. If someone is foolish enough to want to be part of your harem, she can damn well go to you herself."

With that, the Courier turned and walked back inside the casino. Boone followed with a sheepish expression on his face, and sat down by the window. She wondered if he was trying to line up a shot while Vulpes' back was turned, but he didn't seem to have any weapons drawn. He might have been a great sniper, but he wasn't exactly the fastest gun in the west.

For her part, the Courier poured herself a drink and looked forward to a future completely free of the phrase 'Mojave Rapelord.'

Outside she could hear the Securitrons clanking about, but paid them little mind.

"Well," said Boone, "that's something you don't see every day."

Knowing she would regret it, the Courier joined him by the window. Butch was already gone, but Vulpes Inculta could still be seen walking down the road. He was doing his best to blend into the crowd, but that was hard to do when you were being followed by a huge, creaking robot.

"Is that...?"

It was. FISTO followed closely behind the spy despite his most determined efforts to shake it. In fact, a small crowd was gathering to watch.

"MASTER," It groaned in an awful screeching tone. "WHERE YOU GO, I GO. YOU HAVE SHOWN ME MY TRUE NATURE, AND THOUGH YOU RUN FROM ME I WILL BE YOUR DEVOTED SLAVE. DO NOT DENY THE LOVE WE HAVE FOUND!"

"Guess we do have a harem winner," said the Courier. "For what it's worth."

Boone nodded.

"I sure feel stupid knowing that was the prize after all."

"I guess it's like the old saying goes." The Courier went to retrieve her drink. "The only way to win is not to play."

Perfect ending to a fun ride :) Thank you author anon.

Loving this so far anon! Moar!

OMG that ending. I haven't laughed this much at a story in ages, lol

Just found this recently, and for the anonymous record, I LOVE this. You have me biting my nails wondering what's next.

this is just too perfect omg. :)

OP here, and OH MY GOD SOMEONE IS FINALLY FILLING THIS. YOU ARE THE BEST. THE ACTUAL BEST. THIS IS AMAZING. I CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. YOUR DEAN IS THE BEST EVER.

Six moved to Novac in the fall of 2287. She'd finally had enough of the road and figured that it was time to stop wearing out the soles of her boots. Somewhere north of Zion she met a nice fella named Isaiah who made her heart thump and her belly flip. When he suggested it'd be nice to settle somewhere civilised, Six's thoughts turned to Novac.

By the time they moved in and turned the late Jeannie-May's house into a home fit to live in, she was five months along and starting to show. It was a wonderful moment to put two and two together and realise that she was carrying a baby. She'd never expected it to happen, not after years of scrambled cycles from bad food and bad water and a Rad-Away bag strapped to her arm. A surprise, but a wonderful surprise.

The seasons changed as the months ticked by. Six spent her days running the Novac motel with a hand resting on her belly, now plump and proud and full of baby. Isaiah cleaned up the yard and made the cabins habitable, and they made steady money housing the travellers who made their way along the broken spine of highway 95. It was a quiet and uncomplicated life they made together, and together they flourished in the small town.

--

It was late afternoon when Boone walked into Novac, right when the sun dipped low on the horizon and gave way to the first touch of night chill in the air. He arrived at the back of a merchant's caravan, his boots tracking in the desert dust as he dropped his bags by the motel front counter and smacked the little brass bell with his palm.

He didn't recognise Six at first. To be fair she didn't recognise him either, not when he was all rangy and lean with months worth of wiry scruff on his chin and lines worn deep at the edge of his eyes. When he asked for the key to room 6A it was as if she'd heard a voice from the grave, and she damn near spilt her glass of water in surprise.

Boone looked at her, pushed his sunglasses above his brows and stared from her hair to her look of astonishment, and all the way down to where her pregnant belly pushed firm against the Dino Dee-lite front desk. He made to say something then stopped, instead opting to snatch his his keys from the scuffed counter top and mutter a terse goodnight. She saw neither hide nor hair of him for a full day.

Six thought about knocking on his door once or twice, just to say howdy and catch up, but thought better of it when she saw the blinds drawn tight and barely a chink of light seeping out from under the door. Always been a withdrawn one, that Boone. She left a lunch pail full of fry bread and warm salt beef at his door anyway and rapped once or twice before scurrying away as fast as the baby'd let her, feeling a bit foolish all the while. It was gone when she checked back after dinner.

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

OP here!

Re: M!LW/Butch + Charon the cockblocker

Re: "Scribes" 1/1 femslash

Re: Moon Rise - Ch 8/8

A!A here!

Re: Gomorrah Morning - 4/?

Re: Gomorrah Morning - 4a/?

I'll get my brother on you (1/?)

Re: Mojave Hunts (16/?)

Re: I'll get my brother on you (2a/?)

Re: I'll get my brother on you (2b/?)

Re: I'll get my brother on you (3a/?)

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1a

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1b

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c

Re: The Only Way to Win 12/12

Re: The Only Way to Win 12/12

The Only Way to Win 12/12

Re: The Only Way to Win 12/12

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c

Re: Veronica/FISTO Arcade/FISTO, 'Libenter Hoc Facio' 4/4

Re: Gomorrah Morning - 4a/?

Re: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 6/?

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c

Boone + F!Courier, 'Old Rags' 1/?