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yesmansyesman · 1 month

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Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

AN UNUSUAL NEW UPDATE

[ Includes ]

Wireplay (Sort of?)

Filthy, filthy smut

Dub con (I guess?)

Really, really enthusiastic con the immediate next line

Overstimulation

Robophilia

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

[ Heavily inspired by this AO3 Fanfiction]

It was a relatively slow day at the Lucky 38. Well, as slow as things can be around here. You’d sent Yes Man out on a small quest on your behalf; getting rid of some remaining Caeser’s Legion members hiding out in Freeside.

It wouldn’t be even remotely challenging for the both of you, especially compared to the other things you’d fought in the wasteland. Compared to an army of charging Deathclaws, a couple of Rome cosplayers were trivially easy to deal with. So, you sent Yes Man out by himself. It would simply be more efficient.

Quest completed

PICKING OFF STRAGGLERS

Ah, speak of the devil.

Almost like clockwork, the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open, a blood-soaked Yes Man entering the building. Needless to say from his now crimson chassis, the mission was a success.

“Hello Courier! I’m glad to say the last few members of Caeser’s Legion have been properly dealt with!”

“I could tell. You might want to clean yourself off, bud. Dried blood doesn’t come out too easily.”

Yes Man inspected his dark red chassis, examining his arms, coated in dried blood.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Yes Man began to make his way to a backroom in the Lucky 38, when he suddenly paused, and turned to face you.

“Oh, I almost forgot! On the way, I also paid a visit to Mick & Ralph’s!”

A hidden compartment revealed itself on Yes Man’s chassis with a satisfying hiss and click, as he reached inside, unveiling a slightly rusted holodisk. It looked fairly normal on the outside, only with a small label plastered on; ‘From, Ralph’.

“A man in a Buffalo Check shirt gave me this; he told me he’d ‘heard about how things turned out for you’ and asked me to help him deliver this! I’m not sure what it does, but boy, does it sound interesting!”

“Interesting, indeed. I’ll have Raul take a look at this.”

“That sounds like a great idea! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be thoroughly scrubbed down! Really, really thoroughly!”

Quest added

TALK TO RAUL

“Hey boss, how can I help ya?”

You passed over the holodisk, placing it gently on his desk.

“Could you help me take a look at this?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

He delicately picked up the holodisk, examining it closely. Inspecting the label, still on the device.

“Ah, from Mick & Ralph’s, I see.”

Raul lightly dusted the holodisk, before loading it into the personal terminal located on his desk. With a few swift clicks on his keyboard, the screen lit up, green text rapidly loading onto the display. He read the gibberish on the screen carefully, like it was a language only he could understand.

“Luckily for me, it ain’t some kind of malware.”

“Then, what is it?”

“It looks like some package of code intended for Securitrons. It’s not even anything major by the looks of it, just changes up some button inputs.”

Raul scrolled through the brief paragraph of code, discovering more text, this time actually understandable, product information, it seemed. Raul read through it thoroughly, scoffing when he finished. He rotated the terminal, facing the CRT monitor towards you.

“Boss, they wrote down what this thing does right here. Come and take a look, I think you’ll be… interested.”

Quest completed

TALK TO RAUL

Quest added

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest completed

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest added

INSTALL THE DISK

“Courier, are you sure about this?”

“Yes Man, I promise you; this holodisk won’t affect your personality in any way, and if you feel otherwise, you can always tell me to stop. You had that personality upgrade installed for a reason, right?”

“I-I’m not telling you to stop! I just sure hope you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t, this Securitron body may self-destruct! And that would be bad, really bad.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

You carefully installed the holodisk. Yes Man’s, unlike other Securitrons, circuits were haphazardly placed all over the inside of his chassis. Whatever Benny did to him, he sure did it messily. Eventually, however, after working through piles of unsorted wires and mismatched machinery, the disk was installed. With a brief system reboot, Yes Man had been successfully updated.

Quest completely

INSTALL THE DISK

Quest added

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t feel any different. Or explosive. Well, that’s a good sign!”

“Not so fast, Yes Man. There’s still one more thing I need to do. I need to see if the upgrade works as intended.” “Sounds interesting! How may I help you with that?”

“Don’t worry, just stand still. You’ll find out what that holodisk does very, very soon.”

Gently, you lead your hand towards Yes Man’s keypad. You deftly place a finger on a key, pressing it before he had a chance to react.

“O-oh!”

“How was it?”

“D-do that again…please?”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Click!

“A-ah!”

Click!

“Ngh-!”

Click!

“M-mph!”

Yes Man was losing his composure more and more with each deft click, his antenna spinning rapidly and a cool layer of condensation forming on his display. Of course, how could he have forgotten, Mick & Ralph’s had experience working on robots before with Fisto, didn’t they? Of course their idea of an upgrade would be… this.

Not that he was complaining, though.

“W-wow! That feels really, really good…”

You carelessly push a few buttons all at once.

“H-Hah-!”

There you go, just let me hear those beautiful noises.

“O-oh! S-six!”

You decide to go all in, discarding any resemblance of self-control. Using and holding as many keys as your fingers could reach.

“O-oh my-y-!”

“Having fun, bud?”

“I-I love you I love you I love you-!”

"I'll take that as a yes."

Yes Man’s vocal processor was being pushed to its limits, the audio scratched and staticy as Yes Man wore his metaphorical throat out singing moans of pleasure, screaming to the heavens above. His display was drenched in condensation as water droplets visibly dripped down his chassis. The tornado-like buzz of cooling fans were the only other audible noise amongst the squeals of pure ecstasy.

“Y-you’re my everything-g-g-g-!”

“Glad to hear it. You ready?”

“P-p-please!” Silly boy, his processors were already turning into melted plastic from the overstimulation.

“I’ll just press one more button, alright?”

“P-please please please please-!”

Click!

Quest completed

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

Quest added

CRASH LANDING

Quest completed

CRASH LANDING

“Yes Man? You there, bud?”

“W-what?”

“Oh thank god, you’re still alive.”

“Oh, hello Courier!”

Yes Man scanned his surroundings, having woken up on the floor of Raul’s workshop. His circuits were exposed, connected by several multi-coloured wires to a terminal being manned by the mechanic himself. He must’ve crashed.

“Luckily for you, your main circuits aren’t badly damaged. You just blew a few fuses.”

“Wow! That was… sure some upgrade!”

“Some upgrade, indeed.”

You deftly place a hand on his keypad, with a touch so feathery light that it didn’t manage to push down on any of the keys, but merely tease him with the warmth radiating for your hand. A sensation he could barely even feel, but felt so, so good.

“So, how about a round two?”

“Y-yes please!”

Raul scoffs, turning off his terminal and unplugging the several cords connected to it. He lifts himself out of his chair with a grunt, and makes his way to the door.

“I’ll let you two do your thing then, boss.”

Quest added

JUST A FEW MORE ROUNDS

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everydayyoulovemeless · 11 months

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Romantic Yes Man HCs

➼ Word Count » 0.5k ➼ Warnings » None

Yes Man is a veryyy romantic guy and always does everything he can to make you feel loved. He's constantly cooking food for you, snagging valuables you might like, or even just complimenting you as you're mindlessly walking in the Mojave.

He's very clingy. He doesn't really have anything else to do so he mostly just follows you around like a lost puppy, waiting for your attention to shift to him.

He's one of those guys who will try to give you statistics on why you should or shouldn't do something. He means the best, even if it can get annoying.

He's a little masochistic in the way that he wouldn't mind if you spat insults or undermined him in any way. He most likely fell in love with you after you freed him from The Tops so, no matter what you do, he'll always be head over heels in love with you.

He could honestly talk to you for hours, it could be about whatever you wanted and he'd gladly listen and ask questions, or if you preferred, he'd love to gossip about the things he's heard on the Strip.

He loves hugging you. There's just something so intimate in the way you let him wrap his heavy metal arms around you.

HUGE acts of service guy. You'll wake up to your home spotless and organized, or he went out and complete the quests you didn't want to do. He especially loves helping you bathe. Not necessarily in a sexual way, he just really likes taking care of you.

He gets overprotective and jealous quick. So many people were out for Benny and he's so scared that there are people out for you as well. He has a constant guard-up due to this and can come off as vaguely threatening to most.

He really likes the party hats. They're what he imagines friendship bracelets are and would be so happy if you agreed to wear one with him.

He really likes to fidget with or hold your hand.

Yes Man wants to have a more domestic life with you where you both live up in the Lucky 38, or wherever else you want, and just run a casino or something. Anything besides being in a constant state of danger wandering the Mojave.

The one downside with him is that he's horrible at planning dates. He just can't seem to figure it all out, so you'll have to be the one to initiate and plan outings like that.

He'd melt if you ever did something for him. It could honestly be anything, he'd just be so appreciative.

His memory is like a steel trap, there's not a single thing about you that he's ever forgotten. Allergies, important dates, favorite color, your likes, and dislikes, all stored away in his memory chip. He adores every detail about you.

He can also be slightly obsessive, but he means well <3

#fallout new vegas #fnv #fallout #courier six #yes man #yes man fnv #fnv yes man #yes man x reader #yes man x courier #yes man x courier 6 #yes man x courier six #fnv courier #courier 6 #romantic headcanons #yes man headcanons #fallout headcanons #fallout new vegas headcanons #fnv headcanons

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supercoolsuperqueer · 23 days

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fucking freaks....... god...

^ Real Carson Radrat Reaction ^

#i am a rabid animal #carson radrat #fnv oc #courier 6 #courier oc #fallout oc #oc/canon #yes man #fnv yes man #yes man fnv #yes man fallout #fallout new vegas #self ship #self ship art #self x canon #oc x canon #oc carson radrat #cringe culture is dead and i can do whatever i want forever #oc: radrat

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jasonslovesick · 3 months

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Fallout 4 kid goes to New Vegas and looses his mind over robot !!

This is my courier 6, Jason (self-insert to the max, I am free)

Jaw fucked up from Benny but still craves that human meat(left Mr. House immediately when he said no to white glove-eating people)

He uses a rebreather all the time cause of the dust and his 'slight' head wound (also helps him lower his voice cause he's TRANSGENDER! he/him)

(Writing)

Jason

-Can't see (the sun is way too bright)

-Too hot (why the hell is he in the desert again?)

-Deranged cannical lunitic

Yes Man

-Confused yet intrigued

-Kinda manipulative (the whole "I need you to like me" thang)

-along for the ride

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dotieeee · 4 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 6

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 6 Warnings:

Some noncon touching and canoodling (no spoilers)

Replay Level 5

Ready? Level 6 Start:

A knock on the ornate door reverberates inside the empty lab, giving you a tiny jolt in your chair. This must be him, coming over to ‘collect you.’

Like the Grim Reaper who’s come take your soul.

Or maybe it isn’t him. After all, the door isn’t locked, and he’s used to visiting by now to know he can just come in after a knock or two. You get up to open the door, willing your hands to stop shaking so he doesn’t see that you’re fazed by his mere presence.

How are going to win this if you start crumbling like a stale cookie whenever he’s around?

You yank the door open, expecting the Devil himself disguised in slick platinum-blond hair and a finely tailored suit, but instead, you get a man in a hat and a courier’s uniform.

“Ms Prunella Innis?” He inquires.

“Yes?”

He hands you a clipboard for you to sign and picks up this enormous white box wrapped in a satin crimson bow lying by his feet. He also hands you the bouquet he’s cradling, then strides past you to deposit the box on the nearest table. Judging by the red roses in the bundle of blooms, you know who sent you everything without even asking.

Coriolanus Snow never does subtle.

You thank the courier as he exits the lab, tipping his hat in response as he does. Gingerly, you prod the box with a finger, thinking maybe anything could come flying out of the box and rip your face out. It doesn’t move, so maybe the thing inside is dead and he just sent it for the funsies. You brace yourself as you unravel the bow, eager to just get it over with. You lift the lid and a subtle waft of roses greets you.

You gasp when you discover that the contents of the box are nowhere near what you’d been expecting.

They’re actually much worse.

Inside the box are three smaller boxes, all wrapped in red satin ribbons, placed on top of what looks like fancy crepe paper. A card lies atop the tiniest of the boxes with handwriting you can recognise from a mile away.

To my Sugarplum,

Wear this tonight. A car will pick you up from the Corso III entrance at six. We will talk about your response to my request then,

Your Coryo

The box underneath the note reveals a heart-shaped ruby necklace with a fine white gold chain, similar to the chain of that plum-coloured diamond he gave you. In the confines of the second box lies a small black silk clutch, embellished in minuscule silver beads, and embroidered with fine-spun silver, making up a pattern resembling roses. The third box contains a pair of single-strap black satin high-heeled pumps. Underneath those boxes, covered in what you originally thought was just wrapping paper, is a floor-length slip dress made of silk in the loveliest shade of crimson. Based on the superb craftsmanship of the dress alone, you can tell that it isn’t something one can buy off-the-rack. Tailor-made by Coriolanus Snow’s choice of tailor shop, judging by the logo sticker sealing the crepe wrapping paper together.

There was one time these extravagant gifts would’ve sent you in a grateful, ecstatic mood.

That feels like forever ago, now.

At the moment, your gut just stirs in discomfort, looking at this luxurious mess.

Your trepidation only mounts as you watch the clock trudge slowly from day to night. By four, you get home and prepare for the inevitable. You try not to be surprised with the way the dress hugs your figure perfectly, because then that would mean he somehow got lucky with eyeballing your dress size, or that he got ahold of your measurements through questionable means. By five-thirty, the girl in your mirror is barely recognizable – a girl you’ve never seen before, put together on the outside and nearly falling apart at the seams on the inside.

It certainly doesn’t help that the near-nauseating scent of roses still emanates from the dress you’re wearing.

The reflection staring back at you seems to mock you, telling you this is your life now, all preened up at the behest of a stranger whose pastime is pushing other people under his thumbs. Oh well. You’ll get out of this invasive mask soon, you assure yourself.

The driver who’s expecting you right at your building’s entrance wordlessly opens the car door for you. An Avox, you recognise – a product of one of the Capitol’s many sophisticated ways of punishing dissent. Because sometimes death by hanging takes the rebels out of their misery too quickly, so one brilliant mind in the Capitol one day had this brilliant idea of cutting people’s tongues off and shunning them into the lowest wrung of society so they could live a life of servitude, not subjecting anyone else to their worthless, wayward opinions.

And of course, everyone else agreed with how fucking brilliant an idea it was.

Would you have preferred Sejanus be sentenced this way and still have him alive instead of dead? You banish the thought as quickly as it had come – too morbid, even by your standards. Besides, there was no way the Capitol could’ve shut him up, even without his tongue. He still would’ve fought tooth and nail for the change he wanted to see in the world.

Ten minutes to six and you’re already pulling up to the entrance of what looks like The Palisades Hotel, the grandest luxury five-star hotel in all of Panem. There are many other cars already milling at the entrance, with small crowds forming to presumably greet each other. The Chauffeur opens your car door, and immediately after stepping out of the rental car, you spot the very man responsible for you being here instead of at home, guzzling hot chocolate and stuffing your face with angel food cake.

Coriolanus Snow seems to be engaged in a lighthearted conversation with a group of older men in flashy tuxedos you only vaguely recognise by face, but his attention shifts the moment he sees you emerge from the car. You could see him mouth ‘see you inside’ to them as one of them shakes his hand vigorously. His piercing blue eyes scan your frame a few feet away, his lilting grin never vanishing from his face as he approaches you.

He seems to have lured you into some kind of party under false pretences.

He looks flawless, as he always does: his platinum-blond locks combed back, his sleek crimson tuxedo matching yours, and a signature white rose pinned to his lapel; no wonder he almost fooled you – that blinding charm he has always allowed him to hide something sinister underneath.

You could feel your pulse race with every step he takes in your direction. It takes you a fraction of a second to realise he’s holding out his hand, which you tentatively accept. He never breaks eye contact with you as he brushes his lips over the back of your hand.

You might’ve yanked your hand away a little too fast for his liking, for you see his eyes flash danger before shifting to his usual semblance of warmth.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “Sugarplum, you are a sight to behold.”

You put on the best realistic smile you can muster. “Thank you. And thank you for the dress and...everything else.”

You stay frozen to your spot as he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers briefly brushing against your cheek. “There. Perfect,” he says. “And there’s no need to thank me. I like spoiling my sugarplum with only the best.”

But despite the rather depressing outlook you had coming here, there’s a glimmer of hope you see as an idea strikes you. Maybe you can get out of this early, after all.

“Coryo, Uncle Cas agreed,” you tell him at once. And then make up an excuse and bolt. Anything to get out of here and away from him. “He’s willing to transfer my apprenticeship.”

Coriolanus beams in delight at the news, his eyes twinkling as he takes the initiative to wrap your arm around his. “I’m so happy to hear that, sugarplum. The highlight of my night. Let me take you inside; a lot of people are dying to see you.”

Before you can complain, however, he all but steers you inside the lobby and to the entrance of the Palisades’ grand hall.

“Where exactly are we going, Coryo?” you ask. He never said anything about other people, but maybe they could come in handy in case you need to duck and make a run for it.

He releases a short sigh, looking apologetic and slowing his pace. “I may have forgotten to tell you that we’d be attending Mr Plinth’s birthday party tonight. I’m sorry, sugarplum, I’ve been meaning to invite you in person, but I’ve been so busy lately it slipped my mind.”

Your hand makes its way to your mouth as you gasp. “But haven’t brought him a gift…”

He is quick to dismiss your concern as he waves to someone exiting the hall. “It’s okay. I wrote both our names on the card on my gift.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, as the massive gold-painted doors open to a grand hall lined with marble and gold, revealing a crowd of people already chatting and enjoying the booze over a full orchestra playing at the corner of the stage. You could feel the blood drain from your face as a sea of curious, ogling eyes trails on you both entering the grand hall, but you power through and smile – there’s no escaping now, at this point.

“I’m simply taking responsibility,” Coriolanus responds in a teasing tone. “Would you rather have come here without a gift?”

You look up at him while you cling onto his arm for some support. He looks every bit at home with all the attention – so undeniably different from the eighteen-year-old Academy Coriolanus fidgeting with his collar all those years ago on the day of the Reaping.

You wonder inwardly if that’s the only thing in him that’s changed, while everything else that’s rotten in him had always been there, if not amplified.

“I guess not,” you acquiesce. “Thank you. Please let me know how I can pay you back.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Coriolanus’s arm veers you to Mr and Ma Plinth, who are both entertaining guests. You give Mr Plinth your well-wishes for his birthday and get a motherly hug from Ma, who gushes over how ‘you look every bit like a princess.’

“My sons sure have excellent taste,” she tells Coriolanus with a wink, earning a hearty laugh from him before she pulls him into an affectionate embrace.

The dress. She’s referring to the dress for sure.

But just when you think you’re finally free to just face the farthest corner and disassociate, his arm wraps around your waist and leads you away to meet other people. People you’d rather not associate with.

The horror.

But as usual, you paint on the demurest of smiles, trying not to be fazed by the flashing of cameras in the hall. The party is apparently heavily covered by the media, so Coriolanus does his best to mesmerise everyone with his wit, his looks and his charisma, while you play the role of the dolled-up, docile arm décor, beaming and chiming in only when spoken to.

It’s nothing short of demeaning, but you’re here to play his game, and losing isn’t an option.

Coriolanus proudly introduces you to everyone you meet as his official gamemaker apprentice, much to their admiration. A lot of them, powerful, important heads in the Capitol and their children, some of whom you know by face at the University. Most of them, unfamiliar faces, but they feel the need to give you unsolicited advice – somewhere along the lines of being seen more among peers of the same societal status.

“How come we don’t see you out that often?”

“You’re so pretty, you should go out more and have fun!”

“Nellie, we usually hang out at this bar, it’s super exclusive, you should come with us sometime.”

The same thing, over and over, and you just go along, nodding or shaking your head and laughing whenever a joke is told, crack a few yourself, exchange toasts over minuscule sips of booze, and tell them through gritted teeth that you’ll see them around, only to be snatched away again by the waist by Coriolanus and be brought over to another clique. Your Uncle Cas would be laughing his ass off at you if he could see you right now.

The cycle goes on, and you find yourself getting better at it with practice. Just like a loop, repeating a set of code for x number of times, automating repetitive, boring tasks on a computer application.

The only problem with loop conditions: when poorly written, can lead to infinite loops, which can cause the application’s unresponsiveness.

You vaguely wonder how long this loop is conditioned to last.

A guy you’ve seen in one of your classes approaches you and strikes up a conversation, just when Coriolanus is looking away, his hand slack on your waist as he speaks with a Mr Rutherford.

“I read your paper on the application of artificial intelligence in automating retina-scanning and other security measures,” he says, adding for clarification when you flash him a questioning look, “It’s in the library, along with your other research papers. It’s so well put together.”

He holds out his hand as he introduces himself as Ovidius Browne, the youngest of three sons of business magnate Octavius Browne. The Brownes own a number of factories in District 6. You shake his outstretched hand. He reveals himself to be in his junior year in computer engineering, a career he decided to take to help improve their company’s factory conditions. He wonders if such levels of automation would be possible in basic manufacturing tasks like quality inspection and inventory scanning without taking jobs away or being too invasive to factory workers. It’s a terrific concept, you say, and you get so pumped with exchanging ideas that you forget to put up your facade and instead engage wholeheartedly, at least until a cold hand travels from the back of your neck down to your spine, settling on the small of your back and tracing circles with a finger.

“Browne, is it?” Coriolanus Snow’s baritone chips in.

You introduce them formally and they exchange a brief and polite handshake.

“I’d like to discuss more of that with you Ms Innis,” Ovidius says. “If we could perhaps exchange numbers – ”

“Of course, we’d love to chat, Mr Browne. I can give Nellie your office number and she’ll get in touch,” Coriolanus interrupts genially. His fingers are still drumming over your back as he continues, “Apologies, I have to take my apprentice away; there is someone I’d like her to meet.”

He grips your waist to pull you away without waiting for a response from either of you.

You shoot him a confused look. “Coryo, he was just – ”

“About to ask you to put in a good word on his behalf to your uncle? Yes, he was.” He says with an eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“But we were just talking about...tech stuff. Are you sure?”

The conversation you had with him didn’t seem like it’ll branch off into that territory.

He nods once. “A little bird may have chirped to me about a certain Browne sibling’s internship application getting rejected twice by the Dean of Computer Sciences. It’s like you said before, sugarplum: just another one of those sycophants complimenting you in exchange for something.”

How much inside information does he have stockpiled on other people? Maybe he keeps them stashed in his closet labelled ‘in case of emergency, break glass.’

Just when you thought you could talk to someone about something you’re genuinely interested in for once this night.

You’re recognised by a surprisingly pleasant, popular senior and it-girl from your college, Ursa Talbot – daughter of Labor Solicitor Ursinus Talbot – who ropes you in with her gaggle of girlfriends, chatting to you about the exclusive, invite-only social clubs she’s joined and offers to vouch for you.

Ursa’s fiancé, a fresh graduate now working for her father, joins in the conversation, rolling his eyes as the women around him start giggling and making suppressed squealing noises at someone behind you. Before you turn around to see who it is, you feel a gentle squeeze on the waist.

“Ladies, my apologies, but I’d have to take my apprentice away,” he declares with a wink, and they swoon and blush behind their hands. “I hope you enjoy the night. Nellie?”

“Yes?”

Like you’re programmed to do, you look at Coriolanus with a cheerful smile and let him haul you off.

He tells you something you don’t quite catch. With the music now reaching its climax and the chatter getting livelier, it becomes hard to hear anyone, so you have no choice but to lean closer to him to make out what he’s saying. He takes this further and tugs you close to his chest by the waist. The proximity makes you inadvertently place a hand on the lapel of his waistcoat, while he whispers to the side of your face close to your ear, “I said I’m going to introduce you to Dr Volumnia Gaul.”

You peer to your side, to where he’s eyeing, and true enough, Dr Gaul herself was there, wearing a purple and gold brocade dress cascading to the floor and leather gloves to match, her straggly, greying hair adding to her distinct look. She’s chatting away with an animated Strabo Plinth holding a dainty drink in one hand and a beetle-shaped clutch in the other.

Even in something as completely innocent and normal as a birthday party, she still stands out against the crowd as a formidable presence.

She’s what you think Coriolanus is trying to be, except for the speaking-in-riddles-and-rhymes part. Wouldn’t it be funny, a snide voice in your head says, if Coriolanus one day just starts saying ‘hippity-hoppity?’

The thought is enough is cheer you up a little bit.

Volumnia Gaul’s mismatched eyes roam over the two of you as you near her spot.

“Dr Gaul, it’s a pleasure to see you tonight. I’m glad you could join us,” he says with a tip of his head. “I know we mustn’t talk of work, but I’m sure you’ll be happy to know I have secured myself the apprentice of my dreams.”

“Mr Snow, what delightful news you bring me,” she drawls toothily. “Oh my, oh my. Prunella Innis!”

Her unnerving gaze lands on you, her gloved fingers lifting your chin as if to get a better look.

Just smile, dammit.

“The apple of young Snow’s eye. I was wondering when we’d get to meet. Finally putting a pretty face to your name is such a treat!” She releases a pleased, throaty chuckle.

You try to keep your voice as steady as you can. “Pleasure to be of your acquaintance, Dr Gaul.”

The grin she has from ear to ear does not extend to her eyes. “Clever little girl, this. I can see why...” she trails off, then flicks an odd, knowing stare at your friend. “Keep your eagle eye on this one, Mr Snow; you wouldn’t want her flying away with her teensy-weensy wings...”

Seeing as this friendly, albeit bizarre banter isn’t in your list of programmed interactions, you settle for the automated smile, careful not to let it falter.

“Of course, Dr Gaul. I’m not planning on letting her go anytime soon,” he responds just as playfully.

Thankfully, the exchange ends there, as you’re both called by party ushers to your table where the Plinth couple are sitting. Odd sitting at the table for what seems to be family and close friends only, but you keep your thoughts to yourself while the ceremony begins. The night goes on with well-wishing speeches from the Plinth senior’s closest friends and colleagues. Then, the dinner courses are served right after an honorary toast for the celebrant. Everything brought to the table by the servers looks expensive and sumptuous – all a grand display of opulence that is the seemingly infinite Plinth fortune.

And yet you find yourself only able to nibble at the food, having your appetite diminished by the stress of interacting with so many people in just less than two hours.

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Coriolanus’s voice floats from beside you. His eyes are laced with worry as he asks, “Can I get you anything you’d like?”

Plus, having to deal with him dragging you from one place to another.

You shake your head once and assure him you’re fine. You partake of the food a little more when the dessert course comes around, much to his approval.

“I’d hate to see my sugarplum getting sick,” he says as he watches you eat a tiny forkful of birthday cake.

This you ignore in favour of savouring the cake’s decadent caramel frosting and rich custard filling, balanced with an airy lemon-and-orange-flower chiffon base. You figure if you can’t have fun tonight, the least you can do is enjoy the cake.

With the food out the way, more booze comes flowing, and it isn’t long before the orchestra plays a lively tune, and the dance floor gets filled with delighted, slightly inebriated guests waltzing and tapping to the beat, and while Strabo doesn’t join in, he and Ma both look thrilled to see everyone in high spirits, before they’re pulled separately into light chit-chat by their friends.

If Sejanus was here now, you’d both be sulking together in a corner of the grand hall sharing what would’ve been your third slice of cake, arguing over who gets the side with more frosting.

You take advantage of this moment to extricate yourself from everyone – mostly Coriolanus and his imposing presence – and excuse yourself to the powder room. Locking yourself inside a bathroom stall, you let out a drawn-out exhale of absolute relief.

Alone, finally.

You gaze wistfully at the bathroom window to your left. It’s too high for your reach, but you figure you could use one of the large potted plants as a booster and get as far away from this place as you possibly can, even if you had to go on foot.

Groaning to yourself, you stew in the fact that this freedom of yours from your deviously charming companion is short-lived. He’d soon be wondering where you’d gone, and he’d likely tear the place down just so he could find you. You doubt he’d appreciate it if he hears that you’ve locked yourself in a bathroom stall plotting your escape.

The dancing is on full blast as you step back into the grand hall. You make yourself as inconspicuous as you can, strategically darting between people to reach the open bar. You choose a bar stool that conceals you from everyone in the room and order a drink on impulse. The bartender is kind enough to humour your request for an alcohol-free concoction, which he serves with maraschino cherries on a toothpick.

“Rough night?” he asks as he wipes a glass, smiling sympathetically at you. With his greying hair and the lines on the corner of his eyes, he seems to be wearier than you are, probably from having to be at the beck and call of thirsty, snotty Capitol High Society all night.

“Very,” you sigh. “I hope it isn’t as rough as yours.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he shakes his head with a chortle. “I had a lady just a few clicks ago demand I make the same drink four times because she wanted a Cosmo without the cranberry juice and the lime. Coulda just ordered a shot of vodka and Cointreau, but what do I know...”

You let out a suppressed, dry laugh. “I’m sorry you to had deal with that. Thanks for the drink, it’s delicious.”

“Eh. It’s nothin',’” he shrugs. A server enters behind the bar and whispers something to him, and he promptly takes his apron off and exits, but not before bidding you a good night. He is replaced by someone younger and more stern-looking, who resumes the abandoned task of wiping the other glasses.

Just as you’re about to bite a cherry off the toothpick, a sudden waft of roses floats in your vicinity, followed by a cold hand on your lower back and an airy baritone whisper over your ear.

“I was afraid you had walked out on me.”

Coriolanus Snow’s lopsided grin is inches away from your face as he leans against the counter beside you, his eyes eventually landing on the drink you’re still halfway through finishing.

“Hmm. What would my sugarplum be drinking liquid courage for?”

You shake your head. “This is alcohol-free.”

“Good.” He straightens his posture to full height and, bending to a stiff, formal bow, he extends a hand and asks, “Prunella Innis, may I please have the honour of this dance?”

You hesitate, but knowing that every move you make is now under public scrutiny, saying no and leaving him out to dry isn’t an option.

He sweeps you away to the dance floor as soon as your fingers touch his.

With the orchestra blaring their lovely rendition of Strauss II’s Voices of Spring, you both begin swaying lightly as you place your palms on his shoulder while his hands encase both sides of your waist.

Coriolanus beams down on you as his cobalt eyes search your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice mixed with a tiny tinge of concern. “I really hope I haven’t overwhelmed you, I know you never liked these kinds of parties.”

Your lips thin to a wry smile. “It’s a change of scenery, alright,” you admit. “What about you? You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

His eyes twinkle as he lets out a throaty chuckle. “That’s only because I brought good company with me.”

“Really? I thought this was your whole scene.”

“Well, if you keep going with me to the next ones, it might just be.”

His air of mischief continues even as the music ends and you join in applauding the musicians. When he doesn’t make a move to cart you off the dance floor, that’s when you figure out he isn’t done dancing with you just yet.

The orchestra begins their rendition of the Snowstorm waltz, so you both exchange a curtsy, as is the norm. With his hand clasping yours and his other hand on your waist, you begin to dance, spinning and waltzing to the beat. You’re aware you shouldn’t be making a big deal out of something as trivial as a dance, but you’re still unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find. You settle for staring at his tux collar and concentrating on your footwork.

Thank goodness those etiquette classes in your early teens are proving to be worth your uncle’s money.

Soon enough, your surroundings become a blur, and all you can see is him, beaming down at you as you dip, then pulling you flush to his chest so he can spin with you some more. His gaze is heavy, feverish, never leaving your face. You see a split-second flash of the entire hall, which throws you further into a daze, discovering that eyes are trained on you both and most of the dancers have vacated the floor to give you room. The heady smell of roses, courtesy of the one pinned to his lapel, blurs your sense of reality, and you beg, you pray, that you don’t hurl what little food you ate and make a fool out of yourself. He angles his head in time to another dip and he whispers to ear in a low voice.

“You’re so intoxicatingly beautiful.”

Then he pulls you close again, your foreheads almost touching as he drinks all of you in with those half-lidded blue eyes. A few more trots on the floor and the waltz ends, and you curtsy as he bows, trying not to show just how lightheaded you are and how shallow your breathing is despite the dance itself being undemanding. The animated applause that follows echoes in the hall, and you join in mechanically.

Guests come milling in pairs to fill the dance floor once more just as the next waltz plays. Coriolanus entwines his fingers with yours.

“Come with me,” he says vaguely, and you both manoeuvre your way through the dancers and ignore some of the whispering and the staring that follows you as you exit the grand hall through the several ceiling-to-ceiling doors made of glass panels. He leads you down to the marble staircase and into the hotel’s expansive inner gardens.

“I figured you needed the fresh air,” he says as soon as you both reach a wall beside a well-manicured hedge, away from leering eyes and all the gossiping.

Your posture sags against the stone wall, letting out an exhausted exhale. “Thank you,” you say.

He just watches you wordlessly, his hands behind his back, as you compose yourself. When your head clears, you become aware that you’ve strayed a tad too far from the grand hall and are a little too alone with him than you’d prefer. Eventually, you straighten, your decision to go back to the party already made.

But Coriolanus is on you the moment you do.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

He gives you no time to complain, and he all but drags you by the arm further into a dimmer section of the garden, where you can barely hear the music and the chatter from the grand hall. A few more steps and you reach a large stone greenhouse covered wall-to-wall in creeping wisteria. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked, so he easily pushes the opaque glass door open and ushers you in first, with him following closely behind.

“The roses are to your far right.”

You hear the door’s dull click as it closes.

You shouldn’t be here, you think. But you get to the edge of the greenhouse, anyway, where the nearly overwhelming odour of a mishmash of different types of roses invades your nostrils. Despite the very little light coming through the opaque glass panels of the enclosure, you see the flowers sprawled in between a narrow path leading to the back of the building. Just more stone and glass panels, no doors.

No exits. No escape.

Your heart leaps to your throat when you feel a warm breath tickle the back of your neck and a pair of arms snake around your form. Tensing up in an instant, your breath hitches when that warmth reaches your ear.

Coriolanus’s deep, hushed tone sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been dying to have you all to myself the moment you stepped out of that car.”

In the blink of an eye, he turns you around and captures your lips with his.

It takes a while for you to realise what he’s doing, so he takes advantage of your momentary unresponsiveness and slips his tongue inside your mouth. As he’s moving his tongue all over yours, your back hits a hard surface. He’s pinned you against the stone wall, his body hunched over as he presses himself on yours, giving you no space to slip through or to push him away. His hand wraps around the side of your head to change the angle, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Coriolanus Snow is kissing you, passionately and possessively, and he kisses like he’s running out of breath and you’re his only source of air.

And all you could do in your state of denial, paralysis, and fear is to close your eyes and wish he was Sejanus instead.

When he shifts his angle, you tilt your head to the side so you can catch your breath. Perhaps he sees this as an act of defiance, for he cups both your cheeks with a growl, making you face him, and goes back to kissing you just as fiercely as before. This time, you instinctively keep your lips shut, but a light nip of his teeth leaves you gasping in surprise, enabling him to tangle both your tongues.

Your hands manage to wedge between your bodies, so you push him away with all the strength you have. As he reluctantly pulls away, he has the gall to look affronted, but you could’ve slapped him, too, or clawed his eyes out for putting you in such a vulnerable position; only reason prevents you from lashing out.

“I’m sorry, sugarplum. I’ve had quite the drink tonight,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his forehead on your temple.

Liar. You can barely smell anything alcohol-related on him; just the sickening scent of the flowers he’s partial to. This is all just a part of the game to him, to make you feel isolated and powerless against him. A play for power and control, and one he’s currently winning.

“We should go, Coryo.” You hate how close to begging your voice sounds. “Please, it’s a school day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Fuck.

Of all the excuses, that’s what you come up with?

He begins planting butterfly kisses on your temple and your cheek.

“Not for my uncle,” you scramble to correct yourself. “He often has Saturday classes and I sometimes help.”

“Skip it. You’re my apprentice now. Mine,” he says sternly. He seems to immediately amend his tone by asking, “I mean, doesn’t he have interns for that?”

Damn it.

“Yes, he does.”

You could feel him smirk against your cheek, seemingly counting this as a win. With you still effectively trapped in between the wall and his unrelenting embrace, he takes your chin with his forefinger and thumb to make you face him and latches his lips on yours.

His hand finds its way to your back, brushing against the groove of your spine. He then grips the back of your neck and turns your head to the side, allowing him to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, before moving down to the column of your neck.

You cave in and beg as soon as you feel his tongue on your skin.

“Coryo, please...please stop...”

It comes out as a broken whimper, making you hate yourself even more. The dread you felt when you opened his gift, the way you had to put on a mask that you hate for people you don’t care for, the way you had to pretend to him that you don’t despise how he kept making you feel so exposed and defenceless the entire night – everything you’ve been bottling up since this morning seemed to come spilling into that plea, rendering you to feel even more helpless and alone. It takes every ounce of self-control in you not to burst into tears.

You’re not supposed to act this pathetically in front of him, but here you are.

His grip on you grows slack and he draws his head back to observe you, his jaw clenched in disapproval. You don’t care; you try to wriggle away from him, your bodies still too close for your liking. You still refuse to meet his eyes, because if you do, he might see right through your crumbling facade.

He sighs and takes a full step backwards, finally giving you space to breathe in relief.

He still finds the nerve to let out a restrained chuckle. “I’m sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me. You’re right; this is neither the time nor the place.”

Neither the time nor the place. Does that mean he’ll do it again? At this point, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Can we go back? Please?”

He takes your hand in his with a nod. Stepping outside the greenhouse, you both stop in your tracks as you spot another couple nearby, seemingly trying to stay hidden in the bushes and in the middle of making out. It’s Ursa and her fiancé. They both pull away from each other and Ursa waves at you spiritedly while her partner looks away in embarrassment. She then drags him by the arm to the now-vacant greenhouse, both of them bursting into a giddy laughing fit.

Coriolanus just smirks at the sight. With him refusing to let your hand go, you continue your trek back to the grand hall, where the party is still in full swing, and the guests are still drinking and dancing the night away.

Your feet are sore, your lips are numb, and your soul is drained.

Yet you still put on a good final show until the party ends as if nothing happened. By eleven thirty, Mr and Ma Plinth instruct Coriolanus to call it a night and get some rest, but not before he escorts you home. Like the dutiful Plinth heir he is, he gladly obliges, and that’s how you wind up with the same car ride as he, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it through with a butter knife.

Coriolanus breaks the silence.

“I will have a car escort you from your home the Citadel starting Monday,” he says matter-of-factly. “As per Dr Gaul’s instructions, you will be excused from any summer class you’ve enrolled in.”

“But I took those classes for extra credit,” you protest mildly.

He encases your hand on your lap. “You will be granted full credits for all of them if we succeed. This is, after all, for the cause, not only of the Citadel nor of the Capitol, but of all of Panem.

“This Monday, sugarplum, is the dawn of a new era.”

You refuse point-blank to look at him or even acknowledge the comment, but judging by the excitement in his tone, despite everything he’s forced you to do this night, you already know he’s smiling and extremely pleased with himself.

After long agonising minutes, the car pulls up before the Corso III lobby entrance, so you bid him good night, which he returns with a swift peck on your cheek. You don’t even look back at the car once you get out; you run straight to the elevator, lock your apartment door and head to the safety of your bedroom.

Your first of two tasks as soon as you lock the door is to rid yourself of everything that reminds you of that accursed party – the dress, the shoes, the clutch, the necklace – and chuck them all into a corner where you hope you’d never see them again. You have a half-mind to shower to get rid of his smell on you, but you’re so tired to the bone you move on to the second and last task of the night:

Curl up in your blankets and cry your heart out.

Enter Level 7

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Next Level will include a portion of the ball in Snowball's POV!! I wanted it to be here but then it'll get too long so...🫣 also reader is going to have to work this incoming Monday lol and more sympathetic I cannot be, esp with Snowball observing 😛

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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nukabrain · 1 month

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Confession Series, Benny

Benny Gecko x Courier 6

“If you get together with me, you’ll be the first person to shoot a person in the head, and then date them later, and bragging rights too! Not everyone can shoot me and get away with it.”

Hello, nukabrain here, I decided to start a series where I go a bit beyond the "hey I was hoping we can be more than friends." cause what the hell is that. I wanted more! Of course there will be special cases, like Benny from FNV and Nick Valentine (ofc). Requests from other Fallout characters that are not companions will be accepted, but will be put on the back of my list. I don't write a lot, so it will take some time (also sorry for bad writing, trying to get back into the grove again. NOT PROOFREADED I WAS IN RUSH OK-

“Ugh, this trip was exhausting. If it weren’t for you sweet-talking them out of a high price, we probably would've been gunned down.”

Benny gave me a weird look. “But you would win against them anyway, right? You’re just saying that so you have a reason to take me on your trips.”

“True, but it saves me bullets, y’know!” I huffed, crossing my arms in protest. “So you’re coming with me on the next trip.”

Benny went to unlock the suite doors to head to the bar, grabbing the first thing off the shelf and pouring himself a glass. “You know the caps they received aren’t yours?”

“Yup!” I plopped on the nearest stool.

He let out a sigh of defeat, “Still don’t know why you haven’t shot me yet.”

I gave it a good thought before opening my mouth.

“Why waste a bullet-” “Why waste a bullet- HEY! If you knew the answer, why did you ask me?” :C

“Baby, you’re so predictable. Maybe I actually blew your brains out and it's just a hollow hole up there,” Benny sighed, taking another gulp of liquor.

“It is NOT hollow up there. I mean, if it was, I wouldn’t love you.”

Benny stared at me blankly, took another shot of whiskey, and looked at me again.

“What in the goddamn? Are you right in the he- right you aren’t.”

“I mean what I said,” I laughed at his reaction. “If you get together with me, you’ll be the first person to shoot a person in the head, and then date them later, with bragging rights too! Not everyone can shoot me and get away with it.”

“You twisted fuck. I like women so I'm not sure what you're doing,” Benny shooed the courier away but snuck in a glace at the man before him

Benny took in the courier’s dirty hair, his lips looking very kissable, and his eyes looking straight at him-

Maybe it’s the liquor.

He shook his head.

“Not happening, kid.”

“You were thinking about it!” I leaned closer to him.

“Was not.”

“Was too!”

Benny turned around in protest.

“Fine, I was. Are you happy?”

Courier's face instantly sparkled, to the point Benny thought he was staring at a second sun.

“Try not to smile so wide, baby. You might break your mout-.”

He was suddenly cut off with a quick kiss on the lips.

“I’m very happy you thought about it,” the courier whispered, holding his face.

Benny stared at him blankly.

“Oh fuck, kiss me again.”

Courier did not need to be told twice as he kissed him deeper, holding his waist and neck. When they went for air, the courier instantly loosened Benny’s tie, leaving a trail of kisses down the neck, and sucking on the collarbone, leaving a dark mark.

The man let out a sharp sigh, as his skin felt like it was on fire.

Before they could go any further, someone knocked on the door. Benny instantly got up and fixed his tie.

“Y-Yes? What the fuck do you need? I’m a bit busy here.”

“Sorry, boss, but there’s something you should double-check downstairs.”

Benny grumbled some unsavory words before giving a reply.

“Fine. Give me a minute.”

As the footsteps faded away, Benny finger-combed his hair a bit before getting up.

“Hey, so that’s a yes, right?” I asked, smirking.

“Baby, of course, it’s a yes. Otherwise, you would’ve been shot in the head twice.”

I laughed and gave him a kiss, which Benny grumpily took in.

Bonus:

“Hey, boss, are you really dating the courier that you shot?”

“Yeah, wh- hey, how the fuck did you find out?”

The henchman just pointed to the courier skipping happily, saying, “Ben-ny is my boy-friend,” in a sing-songy voice.

“Goddamnit.”

FOR MY POOKIE @songsaa

#fnv #fallout new vegas #fallout nv #benny #benny gecko #amater writing #nukabrain #how do i write smut scenes #helpe me #rushed by little brother pestering

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chaosintheavenue · 2 years

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Fallout Opinion Survey- Results!

Thank you so much to all those who took part! We had 421 usable responses in total :D

One quick note- the nature of the data this time around means that most of the auto-generated charts are usable as they are, which does mean this post will be very image-heavy. I’d be very appreciative if someone who knows how to write image descriptions for charts could add them on!

Without further ado, let’s get into the results...

The Basics:

Favourite DLC:

Dead Money- 115 (...nice) Old World Blues- 94 Far Harbor- 76 Lonesome Road- 53 Nuka World- 27 Point Lookout- 17 Honest Hearts- 11 The Pitt- 9 Mothership Zeta- 7 Automatron- 3 Operation Anchorage- 3 Broken Steel- 2 Vault-Tec Workshop- 1

Favourite faction:

Followers of the Apocalypse- 146 Railroad- 62 Minutemen- 45 NCR- 23 Kings- 22 Brotherhood of Steel (all chapters combined)- 20 Yes Man/Wildcard Courier- 18 Great Khans- 14 Enclave- 10 Caesar's Legion- 8 Raiders (76, Nuka World and general combined)- 8 Institute- 6 Chairmen- 5 Unity- 4 Atom Cats- 3 Mr House- 3 Boomers- 3 Freeside- 2 Responders- 2 Children of Atom- 2 Ghoul settlements in general- 2 Hubologists- 2 Tunnel Snakes- 2 And the list of those with one vote each: The Family, Think Tank, Reaver Movement, Ciphers, Broken Hills, Powder Gangers, Reilly's Rangers, Acadia, Goodneighbor, Underworld, White Glove Society, Omertas, Jacobstown, post-Legion Ulysses, Cult of the Mothman, 80s, and talking Deathclaws from Fallout 2

Favourite companion:

Arcade Gannon- 75 Nick Valentine- 53 Hancock- 39 Veronica- 38 Deacon- 30 ED-E- 26 Raul- 23 Boone- 22 MacCready- 13 Christine Royce- 12 Dogmeat (all)- 11 Fawkes- 10 Preston Garvey- 10 Charon- 9 Rex- 9 Butch Deloria- 8 Goris- 8 Cait- 7 Danse- 7 Piper- 7 Lily- 6 Marcus- 6 Rose of Sharon Cassidy- 6 Curie- 5 Porter Gage- 4 Dean Domino- 4 X6-88- 3 Strong- 3 Ulysses- 3 RL-3- 3 Ian- 2 Dog/God- 2 Codsworth- 2 Joshua Graham- 2 Old Longfellow- 2 Lenny- 2 Ada- 2 And the 'list of ones': Tycho, Katja, Follows-Chalk, Sydney

The Lore:

(other titles specifically mentioned in the final question: Metro and Doom)

Characters headcanoned as synths: The Sole Survivor (by far the most common theory), Sturges, Deacon, Preston Garvey, the Lone Wanderer in Broken Steel, James/Dad, Dogmeat, Three Dog, Parker Quinn, Charon, Courier Six, Tinker Tom, Zeke, Arthur Maxson, Father/older Shaun, Piper, Travis Miles, Mysterious Stranger, Caesar ('cause funny'), Joshua Graham, most Children of Atom, Desdemona, Myrna, Marcy Long, Mr Burke, Vault 76 Overseer, Trashcan Carla, Cricket, many BoS and Enclave members, Reaver Movement members, Redeye, Moira Brown, Dr Zimmer, Ranger Ghost, most birds, Arcade Gannon, Elijah, Lizzie Wyatt, Kellogg, Mama Murphy, Nat Wright, and Sierra Petrovita

(please note I'm not all that familiar with Fallout 4 lore, if any of the FO4 peeps here are canon synths then I didn't know about it lol)

Fan theories/headcanons from the final question that cropped up repeatedly (in approximate order of popularity):

Vault-Tec started the Great War

Alien involvement with the pre-war US government and/or the Great War

Horses are still around

Talking Deathclaws are still around

Occult/eldritch influence (e.g. the Dunwich building) is widespread

Charon is a survivor of Vault 92

Deacon is a founder of the Railroad and his 'real' backstory was another lie

Veronica and Christine reunite

Sarah Lyons is alive

Gen 3 synths and ghouls still need to eat, drink, sleep and so on

Ghouls only turn feral in specific circumstances (suggestions include prolonged isolation and relying too heavily on radiation instead of food as a source of energy) and it is not inevitable

International travel and immigration continues

Danse and Harkness were sent to the Capital Wasteland by the Railroad together

X person is actually multiple people- suggested for Deacon, Legate Lanius and Vulpes Inculta

The US is the either the only place that was nuked or the only place that hasn't rebuilt and recovered, and the rest of the world is just ignoring them and carrying on as normal

Cass is the Chosen One's daughter

Mama Murphy is the Chosen One

No-Bark Noonan is the Chosen One (lots of Chosen One theories popping up lol)

All subsequent Dogmeats in the series are named after the legend of the original Dogmeat

Father is not really Shaun

MacCready is lying about Duncan being ill (or one person even suggested Duncan existing)

Yes Man overthrows the Courier after being upgraded

The real Lone Wanderer died at the end of the vanilla game even if Broken Steel is installed, and the Broken Steel LW is a synth

Deacon once worked for the Institute

Deacon deliberately leads people to theorise that he is the Lone Wanderer to throw them off

Deacon is or was once a ghoul (also plenty of Deacon theories)

The Mysterious Stranger is a time traveller who protects the various PCs to maintain the timeline

Appalachia was turned into a barren wasteland by the nuclear trigger-happiness of the Vault 76 Dwellers (possibly interesting aside: my brother, who buys into this one, has gone as far as to theorise that the original Great War used very low-yield weapons and wasn't that severe on the environmental level (as far as literal nuclear war goes, that is), and it was the Vault 76ers nuking the hell out of Appalachia that triggered a continent-wide nuclear winter and sent the ecology of the wasteland into the state it's in in all subsequent games)

Glory is not a synth

The (in-game) reason for lore clashes and retcons is that the plot of each game is a retelling of the story as it's passed around in the wasteland, so some details have been embellished or mixed up

I’ll be coming back to the theories from the final question at some point, but aside from that, that's a wrap! There isn't really much potential for me to play around with the data here like with the OC surveys, so this was more just me presenting the data as it came in without commentary. Still, I hope this is somehow interesting/insightful!

#fallout #survey #this was a bit all over the place lol #but as I said there's not much actual analysis I can do with this data

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platinum-pussycat · 4 years

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CHAPTER UPDATE!

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Fallout: New Vegas Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Female Courier/Yes Man (Fallout), Courier/Yes Man (Fallout) Characters: Female Courier, Yes Man (Fallout), Arcade Gannon, Rose of Sharon Cassidy, Veronica Santangelo, Raul Tejada, Rex (Fallout: New Vegas), Craig Boone Additional Tags: Self-Esteem Issues, Awkward Crush, Drinking, Mild Language, Angst? Summary:

A story about a Six trying her best to run a government and casino with her friends all while trying to come to terms with herself and her feelings for the robot who mysteriously left her after the battle of the Hover Dam.

Fanfiction for my Courier Six's Tumblr https://platinum-pussycat.tumblr.com/ Almost daily comics

#yes man #yes man x courier #female courier #courier six #courier 6 #fallout new vegas #fic

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sable-the-zemblanist · 2 months

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Awkward Pillow Talk NSFW Yes man headcanon 😳🫣🤭

So, Benny kept Yes Man in his hidden shop right? The shop that is directly attached to his room.

Benny is most definitely getting laid quite a bit. He’s got that sleaze factor some girls like and he’s a relatively powerful guy on the Strip.

GIRL… Yes Man has had to have heard so much of that shit,, 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️ Like the “show me those Charlie’s” mess you hear if you use the Black Widow perk. He has probably heard an entire ALBUM of erotic Bennyisms. And that’s going to be his major frame of reference for like human pillow talk.

So imagine, you’ve finally gotten to the point where you’re gonna boink him somehow. t’s been really awkward to get to this level because, of course, he’s a bulky-ass killer-robot. But you’ve been waiting for this, y’all both have. So Y’all are, uh, getting down to business, but then he hits you with a “Havin’ a good time pussycat? You’ve got a pretty little bird.” Or even worse, talking about your “Charlies”.

Talk about ruining the mood. Like how would you even continue after that 😂😂😂?

#fnv #yes man #yes man fnv #fnv yes man #fallout new vegas #courier 6 x yes man #yesman #robot fucker

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yesmansyesman · 1 month

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Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

SURPRISE DELIVERY

[ Includes ]

Sending nudes (Bet you can guess to who)

Mentions of nudity

Yes Man practically going insane (In a good way)

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

“Wait, you’re telling me my Pip-Boy…broke?”

“Apparently, or at least that’s what my terminal says, boss.”

“Huh. Guess these things weren’t as indestructible as I thought.”

“Well, Deathclaws tend to make people say that about most things.”

Raul further examined your Pip-Boy, as it laid dormant on his desk. It had been dismantled, circuits and parts littering his desk, with several wires connecting the Pip-Boy to Raul’s personal terminal. A few moments of carefully scanning the Pip-Boy, Raul finally spoke again.

“Luckily for you, the main CPU wasn’t damaged at all. I reckon all you need is a new screen and a few replacement parts. It should be an easy fix, I have plenty of Pip-Boys to spare.”

“Plenty…?”

“Vault Dwellers aren’t as hard to kill as you are, boss. If you go looking, Pip-Boys are as common as dirt around here.”

“Huh.”

“Stay here, I’ll go see what I can find.”

Raul lifted himself off his chair, scavenging through an unorganized metal crate. Digging through piles of Pip-Boys, most of which were still stained with blood. After a few moments, he retrieved a relatively clean Pip-Boy, tossing it carelessly onto his desk.

“This should be clean. Enough.”

He delicately dismantled the Pip-Boy, removing its cover. Say what you want about RobCo, they sure knew how to pack circuits into a compact space. The Pip-Boy was practically overfilling with the amount of circuitry housed inside.

“Now, this is the Pip-Boy 3000D, which is a slightly different model than your Pip-Boy. But, it should still be compatible.”

You examined the Pip-Boy more carefully, noticing the slight differences between the two models after Raul pointed it out. After scanning and rapidly comparing the two Pip-Boys, you noticed something completely different.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, this? Just a camera.”

“Camera? They made Pip-Boys with cameras?”

“They’ve made Pip-Boys with everything. One model could play video games.”

“Wow. I learn something new everyday.”

“I can install a camera in your Pip-Boy if you want, boss.”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, just help me hold it still.”

Quest completed

NEW AND IMPROVED

You’d never imagine a camera being so useful out in the Mojave, but if you had to rank your best life choices in a list, getting the upgrade would probably be first. From taking pictures of notable locations for easier navigation, or helping you find your way after getting lost, it’s a wonder why RobCo didn’t add a camera into every Pip-Boy model.

Its best use, however, was taking selfies to send to your lovable automat companion. Your Pip-Boy already had the ability to send messages to any RobCo device, so using it to send small, frequent updates was as easy as it was fun. Not to mention it certainly seemed to make Yes Man happier.

“Courier!”

Ah, speak of the devil.

“Hm? Yes, Yes Man?”

“I just came in to remind you that we’re scheduled to go scout out the Mojave in 2 minutes! And you’re still…not dressed. Which is fine, take your time!”

“Oh, crap. I completely forgot, my bad.” “No problem! Just hurry up! Please!”

You hurriedly get off your bed, rushing towards your bathroom, armour and equipment haphazardly cradled in your arms. Once inside, you rush to take off your casual loungewear, haphazardly placing your clothes, and Pip-Boy, on the vanity.

Snap!

What was that?

You scan your surroundings, searching for the source of the sound. Just then, you notice a familiar prompt appear on your Pip-Boy; ‘New Photo Taken. View Photo?’

Oh. You must have accidentally hit the camera button on the vanity. You sigh, and pick up the device. You accept the prompt, expecting a blurry mess, and getting ready to delete the photo. However, what ended up appearing on your display was far clearer than you were expecting; in fact, a relatively well-shot picture showing off your nude body. Had you not known it was you, it could’ve been passed as some pre-war erotica.

Erotica, hm?

I think I know someone who might appreciate this.

Quest added

SURPRISE DELIVERY

Bing!

That’s odd, Yes Man thought to himself. He was receiving a sudden influx of messages from Courier. Weren’t they changing? Why would they be sending so much stuff? He sighed, temporarily disconnecting from his Securitron body to take a look. He examined the pile of notifications, opening one of them at random.

Oh.

Oh my.

Yes Man could feel his main processor stuttering slightly from the shock. All he could do was stare in awe at the picture you’d sent him; a beautifully taken view of your gorgeous, gorgeous body. He opened another in disbelief; an ass pic. Another; your thighs.

Wow.

Yes Man felt his Securitron body noticeably heat up. His antenna began to spin at alarming rates, and his claws twitched. He stared hungrily at the images, saving as many as he could.

God, you were so beautiful.

It was like Yes Man had just been stranded in the Mojave to starve, and your pictures were a gift from the heavens full of water and food. He couldn’t. Stop. Staring. His mind wandered, fantasizing about touching every inch of that stunning body. What he wanted to do, what he wished he could do. He was lucky that only his main memory bank wasn’t filtered for any inappropriate content, because all he wanted to do was memorize each pixel you’d sent him.

Quest completed

SURPRISE DELIVERY

Quest added

GAUGING THE REACTION

You walked out of your bathroom, donning your Ranger armour and of course, your Pip-Boy. You cheerfully walked down to the Lucky 38 lobby, where Yes Man was waiting.

“Hey, Yes Man. You look a little flushed, may I ask why?”

“...”

You chuckle, that mere few moments of silence proved your little surprise had worked. As you began to innocently make your way to the front door, a metal claw grasped at your wrist, tugging it almost as if anchoring you to the Lucky 38.

“Yes Ma-”

Your eyes widened in shock as you felt Yes Man pull you in, tightly wrapping his metallic arms around you, and practically smothering your face with the glow of his display. Was..was he kissing you?

“G-gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous-”

Crap, did I break him?

Quest completed

GAUGING THE REACTION

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everydayyoulovemeless · 6 months

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FNV Companions (+Victor and Yes Man) Ranked From Best to Worst Yandere's

➼ Word Count » 0.6k ➼ Warnings » Yandere Themes, Stalking, Manipulation ➼ Genre » Romantic/Platonic, Yandere, Whumpee/Whumper

1. Yes Man wouldn't ever dream of doing anything that you'd dislike. He's always at your beck and call, waiting for any orders he can carry out for you. He's complacent, understanding, and very loyal to you and whatever cause you're aiming for. That alone makes him the best on this list, only downside is that he’s wayyy too obsessive and worship-y.

2. Veronica is so head over heels in love with you that it's almost wholesome? You won't even be able to tell that anything wrong due to how gentle she is with you. She's always getting you gifts, taking you out on dates, and if you ever talked to any of the other Brotherhood members, they'd roll their eyes and say that 'of course they know you, Veronica never stops gushing!'. The only yandere aspect about her is the slight stalking she does whenever you do anything without her.

3. Cass might have a bit of a jealous streak, but she means well. She'd never dream of harming you or anyone you're considerably close to, she'd hate if you had to lose someone you cared for. Instead, she normally relies on her louder personality to scare off any 'competition' she might have. She's more of a bodyguard than a threat, only wanting your safety in the Mojave and you'll sure be getting that when you travel with her.

4. Victor’s honestly pretty chill. The only reason he’s below Cass is that he’s way more likely to ‘get rid’ of someone for your sake. He also, by default, has to be a lot more obsessed with you as he needs that extra motivation to override parts of House’s programming to be able to act in the ways he deems necessary. Such as wandering the Mojave with you instead of staying at his post, and shooting his rockets on his own accord.

5. Arcade isn’t violent, but he is manipulative. The others above him are way more relaxed than he’d ever be, which is why he’s been placed 5th. He’ll always make remarks about how you’re ‘friends’ are all fake, and that he’s the only one you could — the only one you should ever trust and confide in.

6. Raul manages to convince himself that what he's doing is in your best interest, and that's what makes him so dangerous to be around. Everything he does is justified in his mind and he won't be willing to compromise. Everything is on the table with him, whether that be making threats or full-on murder. He's done this all before and he refuses to lose you like he has everyone else, even at the cost of his own life.

7. Lily’s schizophrenia mixed with her fear of losing another one of her grandkids causes her to become incredibly controlling and overprotective over you. She’ll constantly be asking where you’re headed or who you’ve been talking to, worried that you’ll somehow be harmed or corrupted in some way or another. Leo doesn’t help either, in fact, he encourages her behavior because a part of it makes him stronger.

8. Boone doesn’t care how you feel about what he’s doing, he’s still gonna do it. He’s the lowest on this list for a reason, and that reason is he’s the quickest to act with violence. There’s nothing that could ever stop him from pulling out his rifle and taking out whoever it is he wants. He’ll isolate you, injure you, try and keep you complacent with horrific stories. As long as you’re alive, Boone is happy, but that state you’re in doesn’t matter.

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supercoolsuperqueer · 1 month

Text

this song makes me think of Courier 6 x Yes Man sooooo much

youtube

PLEASE SEE MY VISION PLEASEEEEEEEEEE

@megandoesart1 @techlove-1999

#like I just imagine the courier singing this to him :3 #also this song is just SO SWEET #fnv #fallout new vegas #yes man #fnv yes man #yes man fnv #YES MAN LOVERS WAKE UP #Spotify

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meetthehelper · 6 years

Text

Okay so here’s what I’ve gathered from the Fallout 76 trailer...

The new game apparently takes place in the year 2102

And New Vegas takes place in 2281

So what Todd’s trying to tell me is, with my meta knowledge of all the previous Fallout games, I can, in Fallout 76, write an extremely important letter to anyone who has yet to be born or created in the Fallout Universe?

We all know there’s only one option for who we should write a letter to, Todd...

Hand delivered by the player character in Fallout 76’s great great great grandchild - Courier 6, Yes Man receives the codes to be free of his oppressive programming, and the written permission to marry Courier 6

#they BOTH have 6 in their names #courier 6 was NOT from a vault as far as we know #AND THE DATES ADD UP TODD #I CAN’T BELIEVE BETHESDA BROUGHT BACK THE INTRICATE LORE OF THE PREVIOUS GAMES WITH MY COURIER 6 x YES MAN SHIP #Fallout #fallout: new vegas #fallout new vegas #fnv #yes man #fallout 76 #f76

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

you look after everyone, but who looks after you?

Summary: Penelope is sad and lonely and thinks nobody can see her struggling, but Emily does. When she shows up at her apartment unannounced, one thing leads to another, and soon a miserable evening turns into one of the best in Penelope's life.

Tags: hurt/comfort, sad penelope, angst w a happy ending, cuddling, tooth-rotting fluff, getting together, first kiss, friends to lovers

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Penelope Garcia

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I'm imagining s5/6 penemily for this one!

Penelope's small and bright apartment is her only source of comfort tonight, and although she does absolutely everything in her power to maximise the cosiness, to feel as safe and warm as possible inside its protective walls, it still doesn't feel like enough.

She's sad, and she's tired, and a larger part of her than she'd like to admit is bitter, which is an icky emotion, and she hates more than anything that it exists inside of her but tonight, it does, and there isn't anything she can do to stamp that stubborn little flame out.

She has always prided herself on the way she acts towards others. She makes sure that people are okay, and she bakes homemade muffins and puts them on their desks with one of her colourful toys when the bad stuff is getting to them, and she gives out hugs like there's no tomorrow; that's who Penelope Garcia is, and it's something that will always be important to her, no matter what.

But sometimes— sometimes she wants her own Penelope Garcia. It's easier to cheer other people up, to make them smile on a sad and rainy day, than it is to pick herself up out of her own all-consuming, utterly inexorable funks that creep up on her every now and then. And because happiness, colour, and bright smiles are who she can't help but be, people don't always see through that facade when it's no longer an instinct but a mask.

And because she would never dream of putting her bad mood or her sadness or her heavy, weighty grief on the shoulders of anyone else, she's left on her own.

When the last candle is the living room is lit, and her favourite lamps are on; when she's taken a hot shower, and she's put on her favourite pyjamas; when she's placed the order for her dinner-for-one, she sits down slowly on the sofa and pulls her knees up to her chest, staring at the inky blackness of the one window she forgot to draw the curtains over. As she stares, the inky blackness she feels on the inside only grows until it consumes her, swirling aggressively until tears are streaming down her face, and she's choking back sobs that threaten to rip her chest in two.

She's only brought out of her miserable, desolate stupor when the intercom buzzes with a visitor that she supposes is probably the delivery man with her Chinese order. She'd fancied Indian, but it reminded her too much of the team dinners Spencer always dragged them to, and that was just a little too painful for a lonesome night like this.

"Come on up," she says into the intercom, not bothering to hide the tiredness in her voice from a stranger she'll never see again, and without waiting for a response, she sits back on the sofa, staring at the purple walls of her apartment until there's a soft knock at the door.

Almost on auto-pilot, she stands up and opens the door, and her eyes widen as she stares in shock at Emily Prentiss standing in her hallway.

"You're not the delivery man," she whispers, still staring at her with wide eyes.

Emily chuckles sadly. "No, Pen. I'm not."

Penelope nods, blinking a couple of times, very unsure of what to do next or why the woman she's secretly in love with is standing in front of her at 10pm on a Tuesday night.

"Can I come in?" Emily prompts.

"Oh, uh— yes, of course." She opens the door wide enough for Emily to slip into her warmly lit living room and takes the opportunity of Emily's back briefly turned to scrub fruitlessly at her makeup-less, tear-stained face.

"This is cosy."

"Yeah, I just reread my favourite book about Hygge."

"Hygge?"

"It's uh. It's a Danish thing." Usually, she jumps at the opportunity to talk about Hygge and all the things she'd learned from her trip to visit her Danish friend last year, but right now, she's far too tired.

Emily nods, dropping her handbag by the door and walking over to take a seat on the sofa. "Come sit."

Penelope obeys and curls up in the opposite end to Emily, pulling a blanket over her lap and cuddling into it in another vain attempt to cheer herself up. Still, when pretty candles and the promise of takeaway can't make her happy, there really isn't much hope.

They stare at each other for a couple of minutes before Emily speaks, leaning forward a little. "How are you feeling, Penelope?"

Penelope blinks. "I'm fine."

Emily smiles, and again, it's sad. "No, Pen. How are you really feeling?"

She continues staring but doesn't say anything in response.

Emily scoots a little closer on the sofa. "Listen, I've watched you over the last couple of days. I know you're having a hard time, and I know that you won't say anything to anyone because you're brave and strong and quiet in your suffering. You look after everyone, Penelope, but who looks after you?"

Immediately at hearing those words, her face crumples, and she descends into the tears she'd only just managed to stop moments earlier. This time, though, the sobs she'd been choking back spillover, wracking her shoulders as she hugs her knees to her chest, desperate to hold herself together as she completely falls apart.

"Oh, Pen." Emily moves even closer and pries Penelope's hands away from her knees until she's able to guide her into a hug. Penelope usually tries to keep her physical distance from Emily, too scared of what she'll do if given a chance to touch her, but right now, she can't help but bury her face in her neck and cling on to her for dear life as Emily holds her back just as tightly.

"Shh, you're okay, honey," she soothes quietly, running her hand up and down her back gently as she lets Penelope fall apart in her arms. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She says everything Penelope needs to hear as she cries herself out, sobs eventually receding to tired sniffles as she pulls away from Emily slightly, a little embarrassed of her actions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry on you like that."

Emily brings a hand to her chin and lifts her face gently until she's looking directly into Emily's warm, kind brown eyes. "You have nothing to apologise for, okay? I'm just sorry you've been having such a rough time and haven't had anyone to talk to about it."

Penelope nods, still embarrassed that she fell apart so easily but feeling soothed and comforted by Emily's warm words and gentle hands.

Just then, the buzzer goes again. "That's, uh, that's my dinner."

"Ah," Emily says, nodding in understanding. "Is that who you thought I was?"

Penelope looks away sheepishly. "Yeah."

"That explains the abrupt invitation upstairs," Emily says, smiling at her as she gets off the sofa and buzzes the courier up. "You mind if I stick around while you eat?"

"No! Please— please stay," she says, hating the desperation that bleeds into her voice.

"Okay, I'll stay, of course I will," Emily promises, rushing to soothe her again as she hears the agitation and distress in Penelope's voice. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Penelope nods gratefully. "You can even have some of my eggrolls," she says, managing a little smile as she references the well-known fact that Emily despises eggrolls and makes such a big, dramatic deal out of it every time any of them order Chinese.

Emily laughs, her head tipping back a little. "You're so generous."

She opens the door for the delivery man and takes the bag from him, before bringing it over to the coffee table and laying it out in front of Penelope.

"You should eat up, sweetie," she says in that kind, concerned way of hers as she comes to sit next to her on the sofa, "I'm sure that crying took it out of you, hm?"

Penelope nods tiredly and tucks into her dinner as Emily flicks through the TV channels before settling on a rerun of Will & Grace. They sit in comfortable silence for a little while as the familiar sound of a 90s laugh-track sitcom fills the room and Penelope eats her dinner.

"You need another hug?" Emily asks once she's finished her food and is inching closer on the sofa, and Penelope might be delusional but she swears she sees an inkling of hope on her face, so she doesn't hesitate in nodding.

Emily beams and pulls her closer, arranging them until they're lying horizontally on the sofa, comfortably tangled up in one another, idly watching the TV while they enjoy the comfort of one another's company.

"Pen?" Emily whispers, after a good couple of episodes; after most of the tealights Penelope had lit earlier have burned themselves out. "You know I love you right?"

There's something in her voice that makes Penelope feel brave. "Yeah," she whispers back, burying even closer into her side. "I love you, too, Emily. More than you know."

The last four words are uttered with a weight the fragile air in the room can't hold, and they crash back down between them, making Emily shift to look at her properly. Her face is a myriad of earnest emotions, and Penelope can't look away.

"When I say I love you," Emily says, nerves and anticipation and hope in the whisper of her voice, "I mean it. I don't— I don't love you like a friend, Penelope. I love you more than that."

Penelope stares at her, her heart pounding in her chest as she looks at the woman lying next to her, anxious, hopeful features illuminated by soft candlelight.

"I love you more than that, too."

Emily's nervous features smooth into something warm and eager and happy. "You do?"

Penelope nods, and she's sure her face holds a similar expression. "I do."

"Can I kiss you?" Emily whispers, lifting her hand to rest in Penelope's blond, tangled hair.

"Please," she whispers back, and not a second later she's being kissed like she's never been kissed before; like the ocean's dried up and she's the last gulp of water to be found; like all the world's oxygen's disappeared, and she's the only gasp of fresh air left behind. She's kissed like she is Penelope Garcia and that is enough for Emily Prentiss, she's kissed like she doesn't need anything else but to exist in this moment, right here, right now.

She doesn't want it to end, but when it does, when they've pulled away and their faces are inches apart and they're breathing heavily, when she looks into Emily's eyes and sees everything she's always wanted to find in them, she's glad it did, because the first kiss ending means that they can do it again.

Yes, I'm gonna keep writing that Penelope is very invested in Danish culture okay, it's my fav headcanon, leave me alone. I hope you liked this one! <3

taglist: @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @reidology @spencerspecifics @hotchedyke @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @sapphic-stress @wifeyprentiss @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

#my writing #penemily #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #criminal minds #cm #penemily fic #penemily fanfic #penemily fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #penemily fluff #sad penelope garcia #hurt penelope garcia

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