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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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"Are you my mummy?" Courier+Adorable Baby Deathclaw
(Anonymous) 2012-03-22 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)Would like to see one or more of the following in any combination:
1. Courier getting all gushy and speaking to it in baby talk, irregardless of Courier's gander.
2. Deathclaw kicking Rex out of his favorite spot on the bed to snuggle with Courier.
3. Deathclaw becoming inexplicably attached to companion who DOES NOT WANT.
4. Courier has important and possibly volatile meeting with Caesar/NCR/Khans/etc. While in negotiations, some one comes in to inform Courier that the juvenile Deathclaw has eaten a person. Courier has to very quickly make excuses/apologies/reparations/RUN.
5. Deathclaw does things that vex companions and/or the residents of New Vegas to no end: digs giant holes, chews things up, does general puppy-like things but on a larger and more destructive scale. However, it's a perfect angel for the Courier and he/she has a hard time disciplining. Deathclaw eventually gains forgiveness (even if temporarily) for heroically rescuing companions or towns folk.
6. House training.
7. Courier's huge food bill for feeding baby cuts in on budget for other things (Boone: "What do you mean, "We're out of ammo?")
8. Half grown Deathclaw is too big and pointy for some of the things it used to do as a baby, but it still tries to do them.
9. Courier and fully grow Deathclaw being totally bad ass at the Battle for the Dam, kicking butt and taking names. Formally doubtful companions finally admit that keeping the Deathclaw hatchling was a good idea.
10. Any other funny, fluffy, totally awesome or just plain kickass things your wonderful author!anon brains can come up with!
Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-23 03:51 am (UTC)(link)Characters: Boone, Deathclaw
Other Characters: Cass, F!Courier, Rex
Gen fic
The little Deathclaw is mamma's growin' boy...
Noise, movement. Not the urgent or threatening sorts though. It was the shuffle of duffle bags and the clinking of metal cups, plates and utensils. Razor-mouth yawned, stretched, cracked one slitted eye and rolled it toward the camp fire. The Quiet One in the Hat had already awoke and was going about the motions of making breakfast. Razor-mouth opened both eyes and looked around the rest of camp. Beside him, mommy still slumbered, and squeezed up next to her other side The Half-Metal Dog kicked and twitched in his sleep. The Loud One with Flame Hair was still wrapped in her blankets and would make terrible, loud growls through her nose every so often. It would seem she even had trouble being silent in her dreams. As usual, it was The Quiet One that was first to awaken.
Razor-mouth liked The Quiet One in the Hat, whom mommy called Boom.
Or something like that.
Razor-mouth thought it was because that’s the sound his metal stick made. He would point at the enemies of their pack and it would thunder and jump in his hands, louder than mommy’s or The Loud One’s sticks... BOOM! The enemies of their pack would drop dead and Razor-mouth would feast on their flesh.
The Half-Metal Dog, whom mommy called Rex, had once laughed at him after he called The Quiet Man, “Boom”.
“Silly pup!” he barked with a wide grin- so wide that his tongue hung out- “The man’s name is Boone, not Boom!”
Razor-mouth did not know this word and it didn’t make as much sense. The Dog was Half-Metal and ancient as the desert sands anyway. If he wasn’t crazy, then he was most certainly just a bit deaf.
Sometimes there were more enemies than Boom’s stick could kill at once. That’s when Razor-mouth got to have fun! He would dash in with a roar of glee, slashing out with his claws and snapping with his teeth, felling their foes one after the other. Sometimes Rex would join him, barking obscenities that not even The Loud One knew (and which Razor-mouth suspected were mostly made up) and savaging the stomachs and throats of the interlopers. All the while Boom’s stick would keep shouting it’s rapport and the enemies that Razor-mouth and Rex could not reach would join their slain brethren on the ground. Razor-mouth never worried that Boom’s stick would hurt him. Boom never missed.
Boom had finally stopped moving about fetching things and had set up a cooking pot over the fire. He poured bits of dried things and powders from boxes into the pot and added water from the cleaner bottles, then stirred the whole mess. Razor-mouth snuffled and sniffed and found the scent coming from the cooking pot to be very enticing. His stomach rumbled softly, eager to be filled after the night’s rest. Being careful not to disturb mommy, he lifted himself to his feet and crossed the camp to stand beside Boom.
Something that would have taken him several strides to accomplish a few months ago, he now did in nearly two, and this pleased him. He rumbled to Boom and nudged his side with his shoulder in greeting, causing Boom to grunt and stagger slightly at the weight. This also pleased Razor-mouth, as those same months past he would have reached only up to Booms thigh and found an immovable wall of resistance against his affection. He was faster, bigger and stronger. Some day soon he would simply devourer all of mommy’s enemies, the ones that she called Legion and their alpha, Caesar the Bull.
For now, he was hungry and would devour breakfast from a cooking pot.
Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-23 03:52 am (UTC)(link)“No.”
Razor-mouth snorted. He did not like the word no. He disliked it most when mommy used it, because she did not use it often but she meant it when she did. Boom, on the other talon, only liked to think he meant it. Razor-mouth knew better.
He ducked a little lower, tucking his long claws closer to his body and nosed his snout under Boom’s arm. He had to be more careful than before, his horns were also starting to grow out. Boom pulled his arm away and the crease between his brows deepened. He said, “No,” again.
Razor-mouth grunted and trilled at Boom softly in supplication but the man still remained unmoved to share his breakfast. It looked like he would have to resort to a tactic that Rex had taught him. Cooing as sweetly as he could to get Boom’s attention one last time, he plopped into the sand then proceeded to roll onto his back. He curled his toes and claws in tight to minimize the effect the deadly weapons usually had and swished his tail playfully in the dirt. One last touch remained to finish the ploy and he added it. He opened his mouth an let his long, sticky togue loll out to the ground. Boom shook his head and sighed deeply.
“Fine,” he grunted. He picked up the metal plate he’d set aside and spooned some of the food onto it, then used a rag to quickly hook the handle of the cooking pot and pull it from the fire. He dropped it on the ground before Razor-mouth’s snout then walked away to sit on his bed roll.
“Don’t say I never did any thing for you,” he grumped from his seat then shoveled a bite of food into his mouth.
Razor-mouth rumbled enthusiastically as he popped up from the ground and quickly set to work consuming his prize. The food was hot and filling and tasted of starch and preservatives. Razor-mouth ate every last morsel and licked the pot clean. With a satisfied snort Razor-mouth finally deemed the food thoroughly eaten and licked his chopped free of any remaining crumbs. Boom was still eating his serving, thoughtfully chewing each bite before swallowing. Razor-mouth decided to show Boom his gratitude and trotted over to the broody soldier. The man glanced up at the young Deathclaw in time to get a face-full of it’s long tongue slurping against his cheek.
“Aurgh! Would you knock it off? You know I can’t stand that,” he grumbled.
Razor-mouth knew that he was lying.
Finally surmising that his job was done for the moment, Razor-mouth trotted back over to his mommy’s slumbering form and flopped down beside her. He sidled and snuggled up against her and she sighed and murmured in her sleep and threw an arm over his neck. Feeling full and happy and cozy, Razor-mouth decided to nap lightly till mommy, Rex and The Loud One woke up. He knew that when they did, the women would make them selves breakfast, of which he and Rex would share the leftovers. Then mommy would coo and squish his cheeks and call him baby and announce that she would get him a proper meal and they would go hunt wild Bighorners in the hills before setting off for an other day of adventure.
As Razor-mouth slumbered he reflected that today was going to be a good day.
Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-23 04:59 am (UTC)(link)If you ever decide to write a sequel...
Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-23 07:39 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) - 2012-03-23 15:27 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2012-03-23 12:20 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2012-06-22 05:23 pm (UTC)(link)BOOM.
All of my love, anon! This is wonderful! <3 <3 <3
Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2015-04-09 05:54 pm (UTC)(link)Claws (1a/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 04:16 am (UTC)(link)Tags: M!Courier, Boone, Arcade, crack
***
Boone’s feelings towards Deathclaws have always been one of distance. Stay the fuck away from them. That is all there is to it. Don’t try to kill one on a dare, or to mount its claws on your wall. Just don’t fuck with them. The Courier has a different take.
The Courier, as it turns out, feels like raiding a whole colony of Deathclaws and royally pissing them off for an egg is good reasoning. Boone declined to join him. So he waits what he deems to be a safe distance away, watching the Courier through his scope. The kid has talent, he’ll admit. Not as impressive with his sniper rifle as Boone is, but he is good on the solo jobs, darting from corner to corner. Certainly respectable how he has yet to get scathed with three Deathclaws down.
Boone carefully changes his view to look at the Courier’s next victim and something in him twists. It is the mother, with a whole cluster of little ones following her. The Courier also seems torn. Or maybe he is calculating the best course of action. Either way, he pauses in his slaughter. Boone knows logically there is no sense in sparing them. They’ll just grow up and continue being a problem. Best to kill them when they are little and weak. Maybe it is Bitter Springs, maybe it is Carla and their unborn child, but the thought of killing the babies makes Boone look away. He moves his head away from the scope altogether. He supposes it is better this way, but he still flinches for every gun shot. The enraged cry of the mother also doesn’t sit well with him, but soon enough that ends too. And it isn’t ten minutes later that the Courier is bouncing out of the quarry and towards Boone.
“Got it. I got it Boone”, he gloats happily, large egg under his arm.
“That thing looks like it is about to hatch”, Boone grumbles, eyeing it wearily.
“Yeah, got the biggest one. Figured more egg, right?”, Boone only silently questions the logic. Honestly, he thinks that it will be closer to fetal Deathclaw soup than Deathclaw egg omelet. “Here, hold it for me, it weighs a ton”, he jams the egg towards Boone, who takes it without complaint. Bossy as always, but Boone feels like good things will come to the kid. And him, if he tags along.
He tries for a moment to put the egg in his bag, but it just won’t fit, and no sense in breaking the egg trying to get it in. Fill his bag with vile stuff and put the Courier in a foul mood. He opts to just hold it, cradling it in his arms. It gets old fast and he is all too happy to let it roll away from him next break.
“What’ll it taste like, you think?”, the Courier wonders, tapping the egg. Food is always on his brain, it seems. Boone is still begging on it being more of a fetal reptile than a more traditional, yoke and white, egg, so he stays silent. “I don’t know what it’ll taste like, but I hope it is decent, considering how big it is”, he continues, never put off by the silence.
“Let’s just go”, Boone says, getting up and getting his stuff together. The Courier, as always, is not put down by the gruff nature. Instead, he just happily chirps ‘okay’ and follows suit. Boone usually isn’t so bad, but the whole thing has put him in a bitter mood. The only blessing is that the walk isn’t that long.
Claws (1b/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 04:17 am (UTC)(link)There is. Well, there is a particularly odd one. A cracked bump, like a small rock pressed into it, but from the inside.
Like something is trying to poke its way out. Boone blanches. The Courier says something about waiting there, and jogging away to buy some new ammo and maybe guns. Something Boone would partake in, if it weren’t for a very alive egg. He feels the weight shift around inside the shell and five new holes are poked in the shell, giving a nice preview of those claws.
“Ehhhh….”, Boone wants to say something, because the Courier’s lunch is hatching. But he is out of ear range and the egg just keeps cracking and breaking. A foot kicks through and an arm snakes through a new hole. Moments later a small head is poking out. Boone stares, like watching a train wreck. Nothing he can do. Just hold it. Though the shell gives way and cracks, and he is forced to cup his hands and support just the bottom. Entire chunks fall and now he is having a staring contest with a newly hatched Deathclaw.
The little pale ball of scales and a muddled look. Huge class too, right out of the egg. It could do some damage. In theory anyway. The little thing shakes and twitches and looks like it barely has the strength to sit. Feeling no threat, Boone ends the stare and brings the little thing to his chest, holding it similar to a human baby. His arms were getting tired, and the little thing clearly has no strength. Probably best to kill it soon, but he should check with the Courier. He’d hate to be left out of the decision making process, even if there isn’t much of one.
Boone takes a seat on a rock and looks towards the horizon for the Courier. Who still isn’t there. The Deathclaw makes an odd sound. Something between a groan and a mewl. Boone looks down at the thing. It certainly made its home, curled up against Boone’s chest, gnawing idly at his shirt. He supposes it is hungry. Supposes that once it eats, it might have enough strength to do damage. Supposes that it can’t do that much damage, even on a full stomach. Boone pulls out some squirrel meat and quickly goes down a yellow-toothed maw. Seems like hatching works up an appetite. Down the maw another piece goes.
“Dude, that my egg?”, sounds like the Courier is back.
“Just the inside”, somebody must have rubbed off on Boone. He never use to joke. Two over-sized claws grab his arm, and the small mouth of the Deathclaw moves towards the cooked squirrel, wanting more. Ah, what the hell. Not that far from the Lucky 38 anyway. He gives the baby Claw the entire squirrel. Happily, the little thing chomps away at the body.
“Dude”, the Courier says again, at a complete loss. Boone waits for him to say something more intelligent. “He’s adorable”, well, that is an interesting thing. Boone was still expecting some sort of untimely death. Though he had to admit, he might have gotten just a bit attached.
“What do you want to do with him?”
“Uhhhhmmmmm…..”, clearly, the Courier did not think that far ahead. Granted, he just found out a minute ago. “Keep him?”, to which Boone almost snorts.
“Going to get big”, and probably very deadly. Though the idea of releasing a Deathclaw on a Legion camp did bring a small smile to his face.
“Arcade is fairly big too. We make do”, Boone thinks Arcade will throw a fit over the little thing. That thought makes Boone smile too. Guess they could keep it for now, just to get a rise out of the others. It is docile enough, simply laying low, nestled in Boone’s arms. It has apparently accepted him as his mom.
Claws (2/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 04:18 am (UTC)(link)“What in the actual fuck”, Cass sputters. Arcade adjusts his glasses and mumbles well and a soft boss comes from Raul somewhere in the back of the room.
“Is that a Deathclaw?”, Veronica asks.
“Yep. Ain’t he cute?”, Boone retracts his arms, holding the Deathclaw to his chest again. Since he has gotten some food, he has become more lively. He now grabs at Boone’s shoulder, anchoring himself onto the man. Boone gets the feeling that, despite being only hours old, one could not remove him easily.
“Please tell me that is dinner”, Arcade finally talks. The look on his face makes it all worth it.
“Arcade, he is a member of this family, and we do not eat each other”, the Courier scolds. Maybe he is joking, maybe he is serious, but Arcade looks sufficiently distraught. Boone will sleep well tonight.
“It is a Deathclaw. I was under the impression that you understood what they are and hence, understand they are not pets”, his words have that formal casualness that Boone has come to associate with intense displeasure. He rubs the Deathclaw’s baby smooth head, earning himself a coo.
“A little one. A baby Deathclaw never hurt anybody”, the Courier points out. Boone, mostly just to continue with making Arcade squirm and whine, steps forwards. In two quick and certain strides, he is standing in front of Arcade. With his best, stoic face, he puts the little thing in Arcade’s arms.
Or tries to. Plan was to drop it in Arcade’s hands, forcing him to hold it for a few awkward and scared moments. Turns out that Arcade has no mind to doing any holding, and throws his arms up, allowing for a baby, not even three hours old, to fall to the ground. Turns out that Deathclaw babies are not like human babies. They don’t really fall.
With what Boone honestly believes is a happy little hiss, the little guy vibrantly enjoys the first trial of his body. Arms stretched out, he clings to Arcade’s stomach. Arcade hisses, maybe from shock, but considering the blood now leaking out of him, probably pain. And for a few peaceful moments, there are two creamy white eyes staring up happily as this strange but exciting father figure. Then, the Deathclaws wants a better perch, climbing up the warm and increasingly bloody form until he is nestled happily on his shoulder.
“I feel like this exemplifies my main concerns very clearly”, Arcade grits out, shaky hands going to the tears in his flesh. “Will someone please get this thing off of me before it decides that I am not losing enough blood”, Arcade once again verbally attacks the infant. Veronica looks like she is going to do something, but then she probably recalls that it is a Deathclaw and decides it is best not to get involved.
Boone steps in, holding out his arms and gently taking the little bundle of adorably ugly death off of Arcade. He doesn’t think that Claws won any hearts, but he certainly intimidated his way into their little family.
Claws (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 04:19 am (UTC)(link)Nimbly, the Legionary slinks through the brush. The tall blonde profligate mindless stokes the fire. There is a lone woman sleeping. He wonders if he could take her as a wife. It would make such a good story, especially if these two are involved. Have to kill him first. Best not to get too far ahead of himself.
No, he raises his machete, ready to draw blood and clean this world of one more profligate. Without even having to lunge to his prey, the Legionary prepares to make the quick and fatal blow.
Arcade looks behind him, towards the bloodied sounds. A strangled grunt, the sickly sound of bones breaking and flesh ripping, and the howl of a Deathclaw. Kind of freaks you out when it all happens two feet behind you. Cass jumps up from her nap just in time to see the mauling of the Legionary. He’s dead. He probably died as soon at Claws jumped at him. But Claws wants to make sure that he is dead. Best to decapitate and remove limbs, just in case. Arcade never tried to dissuade him.
“Aw, there, there. Nobody is hurt”, Cass coos to the ten foot beast. Like an oversized puppy, Claws jumps to her and nuzzles at her. He is always so nervous that one of his humans got hurt. “Yeah, I’m fine”, Cass scratches to the side of a horn. Claws happily groans, satisfied that one of his humans is fine. Time to check on Arcade.
With one leap, Claws is over the fire on Next to Arcade. Literally, just one little bounce, and the giant death machine just materializes next to him. He is apparently the only one of them that is concerned by its agility. No one else every wonders about if that giant, wild beast renowned for its disemboweling abilities ever decides that he is sick of them.
“It’s okay…”, Arcade tries to comfort. He goes to touch Claws, but his hand wavers. He never exactly felt comfortable petting a Deathclaw like a dog. Crazy him. Claws, not receiving the assurance he needs nor having the mental capacity to understand words, takes this to mean that Arcade is dying.
A loud, panicked screech and Arcade knows he should have just petted the damn thing. The large, scaled body pushes him onto the ground and begins frantically sniffing him, looking for any injuries. A mixture of Deathclaw snot and slobber coats his hair, face, and neck before Claws makes it to his stomach. With a frightening ability to dig his face into the gap between pants and shirt, Claws begins to lay his foul snot-drool concoction all over his bare skin.
“No, no, no, stop that”, Arcade laughs from the tickling. Well, hey, not he can say that he had a tickle fight with a Deathclaw. Another thought involving the Tickle Monster starts to form, but Claws stops. Apparently he has learned that laughter is a good sound, and not a dying sound. Which is good, because he doesn’t increase his panicked levels (Deathclaws, as one might reason, best be as calm as possible), instead wrapping himself around Arcade’s significantly smaller body.
“Looks like somebody’s got a sleeping partner tonight”, Cass grins. Arcade knows better than to try to fight off the beast. Instead, he is just grateful that they had taught him not to rest his full weight on them.
“Not exactly my Mr. Perfect”, Arcade says. Claws lets out a content breath, returning to sleep.
“Well, he is all yours for tonight anyway. I better get the Courier and Boone, try to find where that Legionary came from”, Cass stands and stands around the various body parts littering their camp. Arcade closes his eyes and tries to get use to the heavy breaths of the large chest that is currently his pillow. Yeah, Claws is part of the family now.
Re: Claws (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-04 05:42 am (UTC)(link)Re: Claws (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-05 04:34 am (UTC)(link)Re: Claws (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-09 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Claws (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2014-06-05 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 07:20 am (UTC)(link)Characters: Cass, Lily, Rex, ED-E, Arcade, Boone, F!Courier, Veronica, Caesar, Vulpes Inculta, Antony, Lupa
Pairings: none
Summary: She named it what?
(I know this just got a fill, but the wonderful fills for this inspired me! I love deathclaws, so I hope that's okay with the a!a's and OP. I hesitated to post it, because of length, then decided, what the heck, maybe somebody will like it?)
There is another tale told in the Wastes, besides the oft-mentioned ‘mole rat noodle incident of Primm’ and the ‘Cottonwood Cove spring break profligate party’. It is a tale of redemption and many chewed-on Freesiders, a legend almost as requested as that of the very Wasteland Messiah’s Roadshow.
It is the Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw.
The Courier should’ve said no.
‘Really’, Cass told her later, ‘you damn well should have.’
But Quarry Junction looked interesting, the Courier said (despite the fact, as Arcade would bring up, EVERY place looked interesting to her), and the chance to fight off a deathclaw was something she’d never tried before. ‘There’s a reason why you haven’t’, Arcade also supplied, ‘it’s also why you’re still alive.’
The Courier known as Friday ignored this, of course. In favor of the million weird interests that she had, apparently dying was now at the top of the list. Even Lily looked slightly hesitant when the Courier told her four companions they would be helping out Sloan, though ED-E presumably found the whole thing fascinating, buzzing around her head and beeping happily. (Actually, Arcade wasn’t entirely positive that the eyebot’s logic circuits had survived their last encounter with a Legion hit squad, so he figured its opinion really didn’t count.)
Now, they were, all five of them, stuck atop one of the quarry’s rock-crushing conveyors, peering down at an alpha male deathclaw. It wasn’t doing much but staring back, crouched on its hind talons as if inquisitive of their stupidity. The Courier pulled her grenade launcher off of her back, considered it, then put it away and unclipped an incendiary grenade from her belt.
“Are you right in the head,” Arcade stopped her hand seconds before she yanked the pin, “all you’re going to do is piss it off. You ever seen an angry deathclaw?”
Friday shook her head, giving him one of her stupidly innocent looks.
“Well I haven’t either,” he sighed, “and most people who still have all their limbs avoid doing that, from what I’ve seen.”
“Well he can’t reach us,” the Courier countered, “we just keep shooting until he dies. Lily can just use her assault carbine, it’ll work out.”
And it did, for all of a minute until everyone discovered, to their horror, that deathclaws were actually pretty good climbers. And problems solvers, for that matter, judging by how fast he was going to solve the problem they posed.
Lily eventually took matters onto her own blade and sliced off his head, but that still left the various juveniles, non-breeding adults, and the alpha female…somewhere. The Courier tried to convince Rex that he should go down there and flush them out, but the German Shepherd just looked at her like he couldn’t believe she had suggested that, then went and hid behind Arcade. She also petitioned ED-E, who, though formerly enthusiastic about the entire hunt, now seemed reluctant to take the dog’s place below.
“Seriously,” Friday muttered, “nobody is going to go down there for me? Well, you know what they say-”
The Courier re-positioned her pre-war bonnet and leapt onto the scaffolding below before charging out of sight with a war-cry of ‘UNICORNS AND RAINBOWS’.
Arcade watched her go with a mixture of denial and downright confusion.
“Think she’ll be back,” he looked up at Lily.
The nightkin shook her head, shoulders slumping.
“Yeah, don’t think so either.”
Re: The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 11:00 am (UTC)(link)Re: The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 03:53 pm (UTC)(link)The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1b/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 03:50 pm (UTC)(link)Her companions reluctantly left the sheltered area at the top of the conveyor and joined her below. She held the large egg out to Lily, who took it sheepishly, and then stuck a finger straight at all of them.
“See how easy that was? You’re all a bunch of pansies and I’m ashamed of you right now,” she turned her back and started down the quarry’s entrance draw. “See if I buy you guys dinner tonight.”
But a mere hundred yards from Sloan, the improbable happened, proving that they wouldn’t be having lunch either. Lily stopped suddenly and looked down at the egg, feeling something bump against her side from within its dark shell. She hesitated, and Arcade shot her a glance, the Courier continuing on in front, totally oblivious as always.
“Dearie,” she looked down at Rex, who was tilting his head at the egg, “there’s something wrong with this future omelet. Will you take a look?”
She set the egg down, and Rex licked it once, as if trying to give Lily some sort of assurance. A hole popped through the top of the leathery shell seconds later, the tiny tip of a horn bud poking its way to freedom. The cyberdog let out a yelp loud enough to cause the Courier to finally turn around, her eyes widening.
“What is going on? Ohmygosh!”
She dashed back toward them, just as the sides of the shell quivered and a perfect, blunted muzzle hesitantly sniffed at the wide world offered above. Then it pushed, mouth opening, and a small, wet bundle of soft, creamy scales and pinprick-sharp claws flopped out onto the sand, squalling as if the universe had just dealt it a markedly cruel blow. (Which it probably had, judging by the looks on the faces of those watching it.) It was about the size of a newborn bighorner or brahmin, the Courier thought, little more than thirty pounds though most of that was more ugly-cute than any cow’s calf.
“That is the most awf-,” Arcade started.
“Adorable,” Lily managed.
“Cute,” the Courier added.
Rex snuffled at the thing, his head sinking lower and then bobbing about as he tried to get a better view of it. The newborn deathclaw stopped crying and looked up at him, then made low, contented cheeping noises as Rex’s warm, wet nose started to sniff at its body, before his tongue began hesitantly licking at its shoulders. The deathclaw crawled shakily to its haunches, balancing there, glancing about with inquisitive, milky eyes and then started to rub his face against Rex’s cheek and sniffed back, clearly thinking this was exactly what he should do. Rex wagged his tail and looked up at the rest of the group.
“Well it’s not exactly a deathclaw anymore,” Friday laughed, “I’m pretty sure it thinks it’s a dog.”
“Great,” Arcade sighed, “just what we need, someone else who is confused about reality.”
“Isn’t that precious,” Lily balled her hands together by her face, if possible looking like the happiest nightkin in the universe, “even Leo thinks it’s cute. Reminds me of baby Becky, back at the Vault! Just like it was yesterday!”
ED-E zoomed closer and the baby snapped playfully at it, causing the eyebot to beep enthusiastically and bob around the infant’s open mouth. The Courier took a step forward, turning her head from side to side and then finally looked over at Arcade.
The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1c/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 04:08 pm (UTC)(link)“How am I supposed to know,” Arcade snapped, “I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian.”
“I was only asking because I wanted to know if it needs a boy name or a girl name,” she said, scowling at him.
“You,” Arcade looked down at the little abomination, then back at her, his face twisting into something that was a cross between confusion and disbelief, “you aren’t- No. Just, just not happening. Do I have to list the reasons why this is a bad tactical ploy, or can you just infer that for once from the sound of my voice?”
“What do you want me to do, throw it into the sagebrush for the radscorpions?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” he stammered.
“Not our new baby,” Lily picked up the tiny bundle of claws and fangs and it made a peeping noise, somewhere between that of a baby bird and a kitten before nuzzling into the crook of the nightkin’s inner elbow. “We have to take care of the little boy, Jimmy.”
She looked pleadingly over at the Courier, who still wasn’t sure why the giant super mutant called her by a man’s name. Did she look like a boy? She was wearing a dress. Friday shook her head. And how does she know that it’s male?
“Listen,” the Courier said, and Rex obediently sat and looked up at her, “it’s little, as in, well, mostly harmless. We could use this to our advantage in the Mojave. Wouldn’t it be, I dunno, really, kinda, AMAZING to have a pet deathclaw? We’d be, like, the most bad mothers this side of Vegas!”
“We’d also be the most dead ‘mothers’ this side of Vegas,” Arcade countered. “Do I really need to list the reasons why this will turn out horribly, horribly badly for us?”
Lily held the deathclaw out in front of her, cooing at it as if it were a newborn human baby. Friday probably would have laughed at the sight if she wasn’t already in such a bad mood from losing her omelet opportunity.
“Well,” she finally held up her hands, “give it a week. If the thing is climbing the curtains in the Lucky 38 and Mr. House is sending laser guided missiles at us across the whole Mojave because it peed on his core processor, then we’ll talk.”
“A week,” Arcade rolled his eyes, “why am I not surprised by this? Oh, I know, because it’s you I’m talking to.”
“Well,” she smiled up at him, “I’ll let you name it.”
He looked over at Lily, who had currently caught a live lizard and was trying to feed the squirming bundle of scales to the baby’s waiting maw.
“How about we don’t? Names have a way of making people keep things. And since you named your cowboy repeater, and now won’t let it out of your sight, I think you’re more prone than most to this clause.”
“NAME IT.”
“Mother of- Dammit, just name it something stupid, like Fluffy or Mr. Cuddlesworth, or the Gigantic-Half-Ton-Monstrosity, which is what it’ll be in less than six months.”
“Fluffy works,” the Courier spun around, “Lily, say hello to baby Fluffy the deathclaw, this is gonna be shiny!”
The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1d/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 04:35 pm (UTC)(link)“Huh?”
The former scribe peered around the open door to the bathroom, followed by the inquisitive face of Cass, peeking over her own.
“A baby deathclaw,” the Courier continued, “is it a calf? Pup? Kit? Cria?”
“How should I know,” Veronica rolled her eyes, “we’re doing our nails though, if you wanna join us.”
“Holy shit,” Cass slipped around her into the hallway, her mind jumping ahead to the obvious, “did you do what I think you did?”
Rex stepped forward, the tiny deathclaw hooked onto his back by the fur running across his shoulders.
“That is amazing,” Veronica said, stepping into the hallway herself, “and now we’re all going to die, right?”
Fluffy quickly decided that, though Lily was his mother, Arcade was a close second and Rex was his unofficial mentor in the zen of being a good dog. He helped Lily slice various meats for dinner sometimes with his rapidly growing claws, but mostly he followed the cyberdog around and learned how to pee on people’s legs while the Courier was trying to talk to them. When Rex did this, people generally kicked at him. But when a thirty-pound deathclaw attempted it, many people just tried to pretend nothing had happened. This finally got a chuckle out of Boone when Fluffy did it to President Kimball, and also a comment that the thing really needed some obedience training.
Friday gave this some thought. Veronica had convinced Fluffy not to chew on the pool table and also to nudge someone with his head (softly!) when he had to go outside, both good things, and most of the people he had mauled/tried to play with were chem Fiends anyway. But manners? For a deathclaw?
“The Kings are hosting a puppy training class in Freeside,” Craig finally planted a flyer in front of her one afternoon, “you’re going.”
The Courier found Fluffy behind H&H Tools the day of the class, gnawing on a derelict Securitron. He had already dug an eight foot hole, and was attempting to force bits of the robot into this. Upon seeing Friday however, he forgot all about that plan and dashed up to her, smothering her face with saliva-soaked puppy kisses.
“Aww, my baby,” she laughed, pulling the beast down by the spiked collar Veronica had bought him. “I luv you so much! We’re gonna have a really, really, REALLY great day to-day! Aren’t we, Fluffy-fluff?”
The deathclaw looked suitably impressed, even if he had no idea what was going on.
“And then…and then! I’m giving you a b-a-t-h!”
Fluffy must be getting smarter, she concluded later, because he shot off like a rocket after she finished spelling and didn’t come back until after dinner that night, which fortunately for Friday was right around the time the puppy class started. Unfortunately for everyone else in the class, however, Fluffy had found a very dead cazadore hours before that needed a good rolling, and there was no time to give him a bath.
The King himself was teaching the session, but he didn’t ask any questions (there were three kids with mole rats in the class anyway), and so two months later the Courier dashed into the Lucky 38 suite with Fluffy on a leash and a certificate of completion under her arm. She showed the crumpled thing to Boone, who she thought was going to asphyxiate himself from laughing so hard.
“Well now that he’s got good manners,” Friday said, “I should take him to The Fort to meet Caesar, he’d like that.”
Craig looked up at her, looked over at Fluffy again, and then went back to dying of laughter.
“That’s a five-star plan,” Cass sauntered into the game room, “about damn time we visited that place again, and with a deathclaw.”
“Wanna come with me Cass,” the Courier asked, “Fluffy listens pretty good to you too.”
“Hell ya,” she smiled, “there’s a lotta really nice ass that side of the river! When do we leave?”
Re: The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1d/?)
(Anonymous) - 2016-01-26 02:46 (UTC) - ExpandThe Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1e/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 05:45 pm (UTC)(link)Cass stayed outside of the tent with Fluffy while Friday made her way inside, and things went well for about ten minutes. Then Cass noticed that one of the guards was eyeing her, and she unclasped her shirt another button and completely forgot about the deathclaw snuffling around her feet.
Fluffy had an excellent radar for knowing when he could get away with something, and he glanced up at Cass only once before loping down the hill. The two young Legionaries in training that were climbing the stairs proved too frightened to play with him and so, feeling bored, he wandered listlessly through the camp until he spotted an interesting looking man playing ball with a dog. Talking to him was another man who appeared to be wearing a dog’s head over the top of his own and since Fluffy understood very little aside from Rex’s lessons of ‘you are also a dog’, this seemed the proper place for him to go. Feeling as if he had accomplished something great, Fluffy wagged his tail and bounded toward the little group.
Cass was unhasping her bra beneath the guard’s urgent fingers when she heard a strangled scream echo through the camp. She looked up from their shelter in the shade behind the tent, hesitating for a moment. Then the guard slipped a hand into her pants, and she realized she just didn’t care.
“My Lord,” Vulpes Inculta cried, his normal cool composure shattered as he darted into Caesar’s tent, his coyote headdress askew, “a mighty beast has mauled Antony and is attempting to take his head! I, I made a move to subdue the…abomination, but it lunged for me and I could not-”
“Vulpes,” Caesar leaned forward in his throne, “what is it you’re going on about now?”
At that moment, Fluffy burst through the tent flap, his muzzle covered in blood and trotted toward the Courier, dropping a spit-soaked head at her feet. Then, he sat down on his haunches and made a happy noise somewhere between a screech and a bark, before attempting to nuzzle her.
Friday looked up at Caesar, Caesar looked back at her, and Vulpes attempted to catch his breath, leaning against one of the tent poles. Then Friday looked around at the guards stationed by Caesar’s throne, and her face got very pale.
“That is the head,” Caesar said, “of my best Houndmaster.”
“Um,” Friday said, “I’m sorry?”
Somehow Cass managed to meet the Courier at the gate of The Fort, and the two guards stationed there did not even try to stop them when Fluffy growled in warning. Weapons and contraband reinstated, they then found that deathclaws were not such bad swimmers after all, before emerging on the other side of the Colorado, soaked but alive.
“You know,” Cass said, “I don’t give two shits about what you do over there, but me and that guard were just getting-”
“Oh shut up,” Friday said, wringing out the hem of her dress. “I’ll give you some caps to go visit FISTO again, it’s not my fault Fluffy ate a person.”
“No,” Cass continued, “it actually is. Arcade and I and even Raul warned you about this! That’s a fuckin’ deathclaw, Friday! It’s not a pet mole rat, it’s going to only get bigger, and it has twelve inch claws! Have you seen what those claws can do to someone? And what about when it starts missing, I dunno, the deathclaw version of pussy? That thing humps your leg, you’d probably die.”
Friday looked over at Fluffy, who was lying in the dirt watching her, looking pitiful. He whimpered at her, then crawled forward in the dust, wriggling his head along the ground.
“Okay,” she sighed, looking defeated, “okay. Um, I see your point. I’ll uh, I’ll uh find him somewhere else to live. Somewhere-”
She turned around and started back toward Camp Forlorn Hope, her face turned so Cass could not see the tears that were already starting to fall.
The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1f/?)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 05:55 pm (UTC)(link)“Do you think he’ll be okay,” Friday asked as they snuck cautiously away from the new family.
“Oh,” Arcade gave her a reassuring smile, “he’s a deathclaw. How many unhappy deathclaws have you ever seen? Or dead ones that you didn’t kill, for that matter?”
The Courier considered this, decided that the number was acceptably low, and then nodded.
“You’re right,” she said, “but I’ll miss him. Fluffy was the best deathclaw ever.”
Legate Lanius, the Monster of the East, now the Scourge of the West, stood over the erstwhile Courier known as Friday. He pressed his boot further into her stomach as she tried desperately to reach for her lost combat knife only inches from her fingers.
“So it would seem, girl who delivers mail, that your Republic threats were all hollow lies. Look at your dam,” and at this he gestured up to the fighting before them, “Caesar’s Legion is winning! Your companions have retreated! And now it is only you and I, as it should be.”
He raised his blade, ready to plunge it into her throat, and then hesitated. Friday had not expected him to do anything of the sort, and so she tilted her head, equally shocked, and looked in front of them.
A blurred, dark, screaming shape leapt upon the Legate, and he brought up his sword but not before the arm holding it was ripped from the socket. The Courier sat up, gazing on in shock as a deathclaw alpha male disemboweled Lanius, cutting through his bronze armor as if it were butter. Behind her, more howls of pain echoed through the Legion ranks, and Friday turned her head in time to see two soldiers run past them and back toward camp, screaming louder when they saw the alpha male perched atop their commanding officer’s corpse.
The deathclaw snuffled at the Legate’s body, then turned toward the Courier. She froze, unsure if this was luck or just death catching up with her. Instead, the deathclaw whimpered, dropped to the ground at her feet, and wriggled toward her embarrassingly.
“Fluffy,” the Courier managed, her whole body going cold and then warm all at once.
The alpha male made a chortling sound in his throat, like a contented parrot and rubbed his head against the front of her Ranger combat armor.
The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1g/1)
(Anonymous) 2012-12-08 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)Fluffy continued to rub up against her, practically lifting her off the ground with his massive head.
“Well,” she smiled, “wanna go see Lily, boy? She’s missed you terrible.”
The deathclaw backed up and stood, looking delighted at the mention of his foster-mother’s name. To anyone but the Courier, this would have caused instant panic, but she only smiled wider. Friday patted him affectionately on the shoulder and then they walked off the dam together, with the somehow-fitting cries of death and destruction echoing all around them like a victory anthem.
And here, it is told, The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw reaches its end. For many, it is not known what occurred after ‘That Damn Deathclaw Dam Disaster’, as Legate Vulpes Inculta so vocally tells his troops, nor is it recorded how many Republic men and women were indiscriminately chomped in the heat of the fray. (It’s war after all, Oliver told his remaining officers. Did you expect gift baskets?) But to those few who hear the fable, to those few that make it all the way to the NCR capitol of Shady Sands, there is something that always gives them pause.
In the square next to the Vault Dweller statue, there is another. It is carved of rock pulled directly from the granite on which Caesar’s tent once sat, and chipped into the likeness of a twelve-foot alpha male deathclaw, sitting on his haunches next to the much smaller chiseled form of a cybernetic dog. It’s said by many Veteran Rangers there are deathclaw bones buried beneath, though nobody has bothered to check, partially out of respect and more often disbelief.
But for those who venture close enough, there is also a tiny bronze plaque embedded at the base, a plaque with only five words.
And though it is only a sentence, it is enough.
Re: The Ballad of Fluffy the Deathclaw and his Reluctant Messiah of Doom (1g/1)
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(Anonymous) 2016-01-26 02:39 am (UTC)(link)