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

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

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About the only thing in the Mojave that scared her were centaurs, though he had to admit they frightened him too. He never confessed this outright to her, of course, except for the time he became trapped under a trailer and was swarmed by three of them. But she’d been there in time, and he’d tried to pretend it hadn’t caused him to almost need a new pair of pants. Later that night he had seen her trembling in her sleeping bag, and it took him only a moment to inch his lanky form around her, and realize that she was actually still afraid.

He didn’t know what this was, this thing between a man who liked men and a women who craved nobody. She favored him, she delighted him and though she wasn’t possessive he couldn’t help but want to be close to her. He felt odd about it some nights, when they would occasionally book an actual hotel room and curl up together under the same sheets, but he didn’t want to be alone. He wondered, as he lay spooned against her or felt her trying to shift into a comforting position against his long back, if she wanted that closeness as well.

Time passed, and the hell that was the Mojave changed seasons but either they were imperceptible or else neither noticed. The Joshua trees were in bloom when she finally parlayed with Caesar, far more scarred than when they had started but still infinitely wild and beautiful in an alien way that the Wastes made all who traveled the most barren stretches.

He had watched her climb aboard the ferry bound for Caesar’s camp with Lucullus and Rex and strongly protested when she asked him to stay behind.

“No, it’s better this way,” she’d told him, “I’m only going to see what he wants, and I know how you hate him. I’ll be right back.”

Arcade’s questions about what she would do if attacked fell on mute ears.

“I’m taking Rex,” she had said, “and you know I’m better even with my bare hands than you are with your plasma defender.”

It had stung, the truth, in that moment. He knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him, to break down his pride beneath her boot when so often pride was all a man had. But it still burned, cold and bitter, like the feel of a favored sister’s rejection. But he trusted her, believed that she truly wouldn’t need him and for once doubted that she ever had.

So it came as some small surprise, but a surprise none-the-less, when she didn’t return from the Legion camp and hours turned into a day and a half.

At first he had been frightened and anxious and he’d paced the floors of the Lucky 38 cocktail lounge and considered packing. Because Arcade Gannon thought about running when things became too frightening, and he had a lot to run from by now. Then that fear had turned to confusion, and that confusion to anger. She had said she would be right back, and she always meant it. Was she even okay?

He had donned his metal armor and was headed for the elevator when she met him in the hall.

“Caesar,” she told him, never needing an introduction when they spoke, “Caesar’s my father. He knew, Arcade, he told me things…things that only my father would know and I had no answers for until now. He used to own Rex…it’s, since the beginning it’s been rigged and-”

He couldn’t help thinking what an awful irony it all was. The Mojave’s very own ‘Wasteland Messiah’, fighting against the one man who held all of her secrets but she hated more than anyone. The first man to ever hold her, squalling, as she came into this sad, ruined world. It had been Edward Sallow, and Arcade wondered at the perversity of it all.

He let her have her silence, her moment to mourn for the father she could never have. He wondered then, glancing at her, putting an arm around her shoulders as she sank against his ribs, if having a father that was present but unreachable, or a father that was gone and one could never reach were not one in the same.

“I don’t have time for this,” she finally said, pulling away, “I have that meeting with Cachino about the NCR, and I’m already late. Come on, Gannon, get your suit on we have to go.”

And like that, she was away and into the bathroom of the Lucky 38, tugging at the pink pastel dress that Marjorie had given her upon her entrance into the self-appointed ‘better society’ of the Ultra-Luxe.

The Courier came out fifteen minutes later, different, and a woman. Her hair was no longer in its messy tight bun, but falling down to her shoulders in rippling waves like a bronzed sea. The scars on her cheek and temple were absent, covered by liquid foundation and soft powders. She smelled of lavender and ancient roses and the warm, good earth though the dust had been wiped from her knuckles. Her cheeks were rouged and her eyes painted. She was wearing glittering silver heels, and a shy expression of confusion at the feel of something soft upon her skin.

Arcade had seen her as a thousand different things, but never as a woman. He thought she cut a rather nice figure, artistically, and in another place and time perhaps she would have been only ordinary, though not here. He was reminded briefly of Helen of Troy, the woman who sent a thousand men to war by merely living, and he wondered if history didn’t just spiral out endlessly into the darkness, repeating itself like the stuck needle on a gramophone.

“You’re not dressed,” she’d said.

He’d told her that he would be ready soon, he needed a minute. Told her to go on without him and he would catch up. He was good about finding her, after all.

And then she had, leaving Rex to whimper in her wake.

***

Cachino was a beast, and not in the way that Arcade liked to think about some of his old flames. The Courier helped him to power because she realized that she didn’t want to run Gomorrah, but somebody had to. It was a catch-22 of the poorest sort, and Arcade also knew she remembered Joana every time she looked him in the eye. Eventually, he reasoned, the Courier would be the one to kill him.

He had arrived at Gomorrah a little late but hardly aware of anything sinister. The Omertas man at the door asked him for weapons, but he only had two and they were far too hidden for the thug family’s door mongrel to find. He waved the question away and asked for Cachino, only to be told by the greeter that the Courier never arrived.

But he found her, oh yes, for Mr. Gannon was very good at the games the Strip was wont to play. He’d found her with Cachino in the sub level of the Zoara Club, hidden away in one of its darkened private rooms. Cachino was gloating, his voice a purring whisper, having locked her in one of the gilded cages so frequented by his strippers so she could not ignore his words. He was trying to convince her to cave to some demand, and she was trapped, never mind that normally she was far too clever and skilled to be cornered in such a way. In his left hand he held a leash, and at the end of it struggled a centaur, watching her, waiting, unbelievably subdued and the true reason for her inability to run. Perhaps it had been the dress, or perhaps the trip to Caesar’s, or perhaps she was just too worn out to care, but she looked trapped and terrified, pushed as far back as she could go against the bars from the monsters before her.

Arcade did not question the absurdity of the situation, for he could only see the fright in her eyes. His ripper buried itself in Cachino’s back before the man could even turn around, and his plasma defender blinded the centaur before he sliced off its head in one clean blow and a growl of exertion.

The cuff on his suit had been singed by plasma, his hair was no longer perfect and his pants painted crimson with centaur blood when he threw the Courier the key to open the cage. But her look, and then the way she had run to him across the room, forgetting she was in high heels and that elegant pre-war dress, it was burnt forever into his mind. The Courier had hesitated only a moment before throwing herself, shaking and sniffling softly, into his arms.

He had lost his plasma defender then, and they’d ended up on the floor and she’d completely curled against him, like a small child, her head resting over his heart and her sobbing audible as she hugged him fiercely. There were no words to exchange, and none worth remembering anyhow.

Finding his pistol, he also found again how light she was when he carried her out of Gomorrah, her arms unwilling to let him go. None of the strippers dancing in the lounge even noticed him, their cares and bodies a thousand miles from the hopeless dreams that had brought them to the Strip. The blood on his suit dried by the time they reached the foyer until it was unnoticeable, and nobody batted an eye.

And he kept walking, until they were in the warm confines of the Lucky 38 and she was hunched up with her arms around her knees on one of the love seats in the lounge, realizing what a mess everything was all over again. He had brought her some tea flavored with agave syrup, and also strong black coffee for himself and they sat on the couch and listened to the radio for a while as she composed herself.

Then, she’d scooted closer to him in the dirty dimness, and their sides had touched like nervous youths at their first pre-war prom. She laughed then and called him something crass but playful, and her hands had squeezed one of his much larger ones. When he had reached down to pull her close, she had let him, and his sigh of pleasure at her touch had been far more real than any time he had ever touched a lover.

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.

He remembered her whispered ‘thank you’, and the warmth of her tears on his lapel. And when the morning sun rose, he half expected her to be gone, only to find her nestled innocently against him as if nothing had happened to frighten her there. Her dress had been rumpled, and his suit had been a mess, but it felt so perfect in the first rays of warmth through the grimy windows that he had merely remained, watching her breathe until her eyes had opened and she had smiled.

Their trek for the fate of the bear and the bull continued, and he no longer questioned these feelings. Together, they were like nothing, were nothing, the Mojave had ever seen.

And in truth, it no longer mattered. Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero, he reasoned. There was little meaning in the how and the why, the distance or the mission. He simply wished it would never end.

Fin

Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero- Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.

(Authoranon says: Well, I tried to think of something original for her to be saved from (as opposed to the overused 'rape' theme I seem to pull out of my hat wayyy too often), hope if wasn't too outlandish for you. I remember the first time my LW saw a centaur...the result wasn't good for anybody involved, so I hope the sentiment is understandable. Captcha says 'remnant save'...my God captcha, you are too good at this!)

Lovely fill. It's nice to see Arcade capable and in charge!

Thank you for enjoying it and telling me so. Like I said, different style for me, so it's nice to see people like that, gives me more confidence to keep filling things for the meme.

I really enjoyed this. There was so much personality to both characters, and the peril to be rescued from was unique and terrifying (Cachino would so do something that crazy!).

Thanks! Ya, Cachino is a crazy mofo as far as I'm concerned. Not to be trusted, and it never really felt right leaving him in charge, even as head of a strip joint. It was a weird scenario, and I was a little unsure, so I'm glad it worked, I wanted something original. As for the characterization, thank you for telling me that it worked too. That seemed to be what the OP wanted, so it's nice to know I succeeded there as well, since I always consider my fills to be gifts.

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.

AWWW OP, your comment made my night! Sorry I missed it for so long! I have to thank you for the prompt though, the fill practically wrote itself, and as I consider them gifts, the fact that you loved it makes the time spent worthwhileXinfinity :)

Late, but my God this is one of my favorites. I've never seen anyone pull off a romantic-but-asexual relationship before, and you write it perfectly. Your Courier is fun, intelligent and flavorful without being overdone, and your Arcade is smart and witty while containing a rich inner self that we don't see in the game but doesn't come off as out of character. Bravo damn it, and never stop writing.

I cannot find the words to express how much I love this fill, A!A. It's so beautiful and elegantly written and just- ahhh, I love it!

There are no words to explain this masterpiece. I could only wish I have a friendship like Arcade's and the Courier's in this fill *sighs dreamily*

And the rescue was very original and relatable (i never stop getting scared when I see those things), definitely a pleasant surprise. And that ending. Oh gosh, my heart.

Thank you very very much, A!A <3

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

Doors Unlocked and Open (1c/?)

Doors Unlocked and Open (1d/?)

Doors Unlocked and Open (1e/1)

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Re: Doors Unlocked and Open (1e/1)

Re: Doors Unlocked and Open (1e/1)

OP is so frickin' late.

Re: OP is so frickin' late.

Re: Doors Unlocked and Open (1e/1)

Re: Doors Unlocked and Open (1e/1)

Re: Doors Unlocked and Open (1e/1)