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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CONTENT WARNING: None

A call goes out over the radio, at sundown, requesting backup at the town. Two legionaries down--out of commission by a woman, of all things. Burn and Tooth lay together, giggling, while Birdy rocks her baby under Runner and Dredge’s supervision. Siri reads; Watch walks a circuit around the camp, hops up onto the windbreak rock to study the horizon; Twist sharpens her machete on a whetstone. Photo stays huddled against the base of the rock, arms over her chest and knees tucked up and together, so her calves rub. Drummer sits at the fireside, at a careful 45 degree angle to Lucinda, far enough back that Burn taps her back with her toes. Lucinda presses her hand over her mouth as the call goes out, covers her smile, prods at the coals with the end of her machete while she waits for the corn to finish roasting.

“We did good today,” she says, finally, once the confirmation of more incoming troops comes through and the conversation has dropped off again, into near-silence. Watch is now seated behind Photo, braiding her hair. All eyes turn to Lucinda, who doesn’t look up. Her raven hops closer, digs into her pocket. She bops the bird on the head, presses her palm over the opening so she can’t get in. Watch looks away, so do Photo, and Birdy, and Tooth and Burn and Dredge. Runner and Drummer, Siri and Twist, all stay looking at her--Siri with worry in her eyebrows, Twist with her face carefully blank, Runner with one arm pressed across her stomach and her other hand dug into Dredge’s thigh, Drummer tracing a grid into the dirt at her side.

Lucinda looks up, makes eye contact with the women still looking at her.

“We did good today. We didn't kill anyone. We didn’t have to kill anyone.” She looks down again, wiggles her fingers at her raven so she hops into Lucinda’s lap. “Let’s keep that up.”

“Boss?” Tooth asks.

“Yeah?” Lucinda asks, turns around to look at her.

“What do we do when they fight back?”

“We make them listen,” Lucinda replies, turns back around to face the fire again. “Casualties will happen.”

The camp goes silent again, until Siri turns a page in her book, and Watch has tied off Photo’s braid and patted her shoulders, until Birdy’s baby makes a sad noise and Birdy shushes her, unbuttons her shirt.

Once the corn has been distributed, fruit lifted from the town and shoved into pockets peeled and shared around, once Dredge has co-opted Twist’s lap for a footrest and Twist has rolled her eyes at Dredge’s giant, supposedly-endearing grin, once things have settled back into the rhythm of camp life, Lucinda stands and dusts herself off, excuses herself past the edge of camp.

Birdy follows, baby passed off to Runner, who’s patting the baby’s back and bouncing her gently, trying to get her to burp.

“Boss?” Birdy asks, voice low.

“Yeah, Birdy?” Lucinda asks, half turns to face her.

“I--I don’t think I can do that again.”

“Alright.” Lucinda nods, digs for a match and a cigarette. Lights it before saying anything else. “Are you doing alright?” she asks.

“I--yeah. Alright,” Birdy agrees. “I just--don’t think I can do that again.”

“That’s alright,” Lucinda replies. “I’ll have Dredge do it, next time, I think.”

“She’s not very good at acting,” Birdy points out, taps her fingers against her arm. With the sun down, it’s getting cold, and the hair on her arms is standing straight up as she breaks into bumps.

“She doesn’t have to act. She just has to leave some truths out.”

“Do you trust Dredge to keep her mouth shut?” Birdy asks, grins sideways at Lucinda.

“She sure fucking better,” Lucinda garbles around her cigarette. “All I need is for her to not say she’s still with the Legion. The rest she can tell the truth about. I think she can manage that, especially if she keeps up the usual word vomit.”

Back around the campfire, Dredge laughs long and loud, starts in on a convoluted story about her husband and his brother hunting a family of deathclaws with just three skinning knives and a single arrow.

“Distract them with stories about that time she fought a yao guai in the woods when she needed to pee?” Birdy asks.

CW: None

“Exactly,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s not stealthy enough to case the place without looking like she's casing the place, especially if she’s fucking thirty eight weeks pregnant. So she comes in, looks for friends, starts motormouthing at them. They don’t notice that she’s looking at everything the room, and how the room is laid out.”

“It’s a good plan,” Birdy agrees, nods. Looks off to the horizon, where the Milky Way disappears behind a rise.

“If you think Dredge could case and empty room and give a reliable report.”

Watch materializes at Lucinda’s other side, voice low.

“Do you have a suggestion?” Lucinda asks, half turns to acknowledge Watch’s presence.

“Send Photo along. I rendezvous with the two of them, together, after three days--walk in, get the information from them, walk out, bring it back to you. If they’re there together, they might actually do what they’re supposed to.” Watch counts on her fingers--one two three--then opens her palm, taps her counting-fingers against the heel of her hand, then splays both hands, palm up.

“Dredge will do what I tell her,” Lucinda replies, looks back to the horizon.

“Don’t doubt it. Doubt how good the info will be.” There’s half a laugh in Watch’s words.

“And you think putting two of them together will help somehow?”

“Cross reference. Get one set, then the other, write off the variances and then work with what’s solid.”

Lucinda takes a drag on her cigarette, thinks for a moment before she offers it toward Watch. Watch shakes her head.

“You have a point,” Lucinda says. “I’ll pass the information along to them. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Photo wants to talk to you, too. About what happened in the town.” Watch pauses. “She still doesn’t want to think that’s what it’s gonna be like.”

“I know,” Lucinda replies. “But she’s going to have to grow up.”

“She’s fifteen,” Birdy replies. “Doesn't she get a break? She’s still young.”

“I was married a year older than her, I’m not sure why she should be coddled.”

“Because she’s not you,” Birdy whispers. “It’s not right. Not right what they do to any of us.”

“That doesn’t change the fact they did it, and continue doing it. Coddling her because she’s the youngest won’t do her any favors, and there’s a good chance it’ll hurt our cause.”

All three are quiet, watch the horizon as the breeze bends the handful of yuccas scattered across the landscape. Watch reaches across Lucinda, taps the side of her wrist, taps her first two fingers and her thumb together. Lucinda huffs out her nose, passes the cigarette over. Watch takes a deep drag before passing it back.

“Didn’t think you smoked?” Lucinda comments, takes her own drag.

“I don’t. Bad for stealth. Not stealthing now though.” Watch shakes her head.

Lucinda turns her head away, back more towards Birdy, tucks her nose and mouth into the bend of her elbow to cough, deep and phlegmy. Leaves her arm there for a minute when the coughing subsides, waits to take three clean breaths without the cough returning to lower it.

“You should have the Doc look at that cough,” Birdy says.

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Tomorrow, maybe. She’s busy tonight.”

“She’s never busy when it comes to you,” Watch replies, grin in her voice as she squats, dirt crunching as her boots turn in the dirt. Lucinda raises one eyebrow, looks down at her from the corner of her eye. Watch twists her head, grins up at Lucinda, teeth bared and eyes squinched near-shut. She looks like she’s on the edge of bursting into laughter. “She’d stop Dredge giving birth if you had a splinter you needed tweezed.” Watch mimes tweezers with her thumb and her forefinger. Behind Lucinda, Birdy giggles into her hand.

Lucinda harrumphs, glares off at the horizon, sucks down another breath off her cigarette. Watch grins up at her again, before giggling once and slipping away into the dark--two crunches of dirt beneath her boots before that stops, too, and only a dark shape moves back to the firelight to hunker down next to Runner, press their shoulders together as Birdy’s baby starts to fuss. Birdy turns toward camp again, takes half a step back so she and Lucinda are comfortably in each others’ peripheral vision.

“I’ll talk to them tonight,” Lucinda says, flicks ash off her cigarette. “We’ll get moving tomorrow.”

CONTENT WARNING: None

“The boss is asleep, so’s everyone else.”

“Even Watch?” Burn asks, leans in so her nose brushes Runner's shoulder.

“Well, not Watch,” Runner agrees, reaches for Burn’s buttons, starts undoing them from the top down. Burn starts from the bottom up.

“And Drummer? Are we going to round out this trio?”

“I’m here,” Drummer drawls, slides up behind Burn. “Watch says she’ll keep lookin’ the other way, so we got privacy.”

“Privacy of the whole night sky, yeah,” Runner laughs, low in her throat. She stands up on her knees, backs Burn up as Burn shucks her shirt, scoots back until she’s settled between Drummer’s legs. Runner rests one hand on Burn’s thigh, runs her other hand down Burn’s breastbone. “Might get a bit chilly.”

“I can handle chilly,” Bun snorts, unbuttons her pants and wiggles them down over her hips as Runner leans in to kiss her, and Drummer snakes her arms around to press warm fingers to Burn’s navel, then trail them lower.

“You’ll warm up quick,” Drummer murmurs, hooks her chin over Burn’s shoulder and wobbles her jaw so it touches Burn’s. “Here, up, sit on my scarf.” She unloops the baby blanket, folds it into something that might be a square, in the low light from the sliver of moon and the low coals, sets it under Burn’s butt whe she levers herself up, hands on Drummer’s thighs. “There we go,” Drummer murmurs, pats Burn’s bare legs with both her hands.

Burn settles back down, and Runner leans in to kiss her again, cups one breast in her palm.

Drummer is the one who snakes her hands into Burn’s underwear, Burn hooking one leg over Drummer’s to give Drummer better access, Runner hooking her hand under the other. It’s Runner who presses Burn back, cages her against Drummer as Drummer plays with Burn’s clit, slides a finger into Burn. Burn who throws one arm around Runner’s bony shoulders, drags her down, curls the other arm as best she can around Drummer’s side and back, tries to muffle her gasps into Runner’s shoulder, even as they turn into desperate whimpers, backed by the grind of dry dirt and loud gravel and fraying denim on both, hard rubber of Drummer's boots and the slick sounds of her fingers, Runner’s soft noises of encouragement and Drummer’s answering hum.

The fwap of a leather hat against their tangled arms, an angry groan from where the boss is huddled under a blanket, next to Siri.

“Pipe down,” the Boss growls, rolls onto her back, doesn't open her eyes. “I can hear you, shut up.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Drummer calls back, tries not to laugh. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” the Boss agrees, rolls back onto her side, faces away from them. Scoots across the ground until she’s inches from Siri--maybe even touching, hard to tell in this light--and then stills.

Runner pulls back long enough to raise her eyebrows at Drummer and Burn both, then lean down to muffle her giggles into Burn’s neck, while Drummer laughs into Burn’s hair.

CONTENT WARNING: None

“Can you read and walk at the same time?” Photo asks, kicks at the rocks on the road with her hands in her pockets.

“I could, maybe,” Siri agrees. “I’d really rather not try, though. The road is rough enough I don’t want to trip.”

“Hmm.” Photo scowls at the cracked pavement, chews her bottom lip like she can come up with a solution that doesn’t involve asphalt and two-hundred-year-old chemicals and equipment.

“Uhhhh, hey, Doc?” Drummer calls from up ahead. “I, uh, got a lil friendly with a cactus a couple days ago, right, and I thought it’d just heal up alright?” She stops, holds up her bandage-wrapped hand. Well, it was bandage-wrapped, now it’s unwrapped and a dangerous shade of red. “It’s lookin’ kinda funky today, and Runner’s agreeing with me, which means I probably oughta have you look at it too.”

“Bring it here,” Siri agrees, waves her over, sings her bag around on the new rope strap Twist wove the other day. Digs out the bottle of antibiotics and clean gauze, holds them up, shakes the bottle from side to side, one pinky extended. Drummer mimes a dramatic sigh, drags her feet for three steps before trotting over to join Siri, walk next to her as her as she tips the bottle over, dribbles antibiotic solution onto the gauze, presses it over the puncture wounds.

“Thanks, Doc.” Drummer trots back ahead, shows the new bandaging to Runner, who takes her wrist, turns her hand to admire it.

***

“Hey, Doc.”

“What is it, Watch?” Siri looks up from her medical book, sets it aside after placing the scrap of cloth that serves as a bookmark.

“I got a tickle in my chest, ain’t new, but I ain’t had a doctor before to look at it.”

“Sit down, then.” Siri turns, reaches for her bag, pulls out her stethoscope. Birdy had brought her a new one, from the doctor’s office in the first town, one with two ears and a shiny disc on the end, clean black rubber tubes. Brought a set of surgical instruments, too, a scalpel and forceps and bandage scissors, an aluminum tray to rest them on. A tangle of clean surgical tubing, now wound around an old yarn spool, counted out to something like thirty feet. A whole lset of new equipment, clean and unused and whole.

Watch settles down, legs crossed, hands in her lap. Sticks her chest out, breathes deeply a few times, until Siri places her stethoscope.

“Keep breathing,” Siri laughs after a moment. “I can’t hear anything wrong if you’re not breathing.”

“Right,” Watch agrees, manages half a laugh before she goes back to even, deep breathing.

“It doesn't sound like anything major, luckily. Most likely it’s a recurring chest cold, is all, or allergies.”

“‘S that really all?” Watch asks, plucks at her shirt collar as Siri sits back and puts her stethoscope away.

“Most likely. There’s a chance for a few other causes, but those are the most likely.”

“You got any theories about allergies?” Watch asks, picks her knees up so she can rest her elbows on them.

“Most likely it’s the barrel cactus pollen, although if you have a mineral allergy, there are plenty of those in all this dust.” Siri runs her finger through the coating of dirt on her doctor’s bag, holds up her finger, wipes it off on her pants after a moment of consideration. “It could be other environmental irritants, even just background radioactive particles.” Siri shrugs. “In that case, we could run a geiger counter over you, give you some radaway, but there’s no long-term condition to go with that.”

“Mm.” Watch nods.

“Boring?” Siri asks, quirks one eyebrow.

Watch raises one eyebrow back.

“A little,” she agrees, lets the smile creep across her face to answer Siri’s.

“Hey, Siri, can I use your tweezers?” Lucinda asks, holds up her hand where she's picking nat a splinter. “It’s wedged in there well enough I can’t get it with a fingernail.”

“That’s because your fingernails so short. Here, let me try.” Siri holds out her palm, and Lucinda shuffles closer, settles her hand into Siri’s.

Watch and Birdy look at each other, grin wide and then look to Dredge, just as soon as Lucinda can’t see them.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Siri murmurs, presses her fingernail into Lucinda’s palm, scrapes until the splinter catches and slides free. “There we go.” She flicks it away.

“Thanks,” Lucinda murmurs, grins up at Siri.

“Any time,” Siri agrees, grins down at Lucinda.

***

“Hey, Twist?” Photo asks, rolls over onto her stomach, props her chin up with her hands, elbows digging into the ground, kicks her feet up behind her.

“Hm?” Twist asks, flips out her switchblade, begins to pick at her fingernails.

“What was your town like? Were there a lot of people there? Did you have any family? Did you have a husband? Ooh! Or maybe you had a wife, like Runner did? Was your wife pretty?”

“Didn’t have anyone,” Twist replies. Flicks dirt off the end of her switchblade.

“What about family? Did you have any brothers or sisters? I had three little brothers, one of ‘em still wears diapers, and he always stinks like…” she trails off. Sizes Twist up, and Twist watches her from one eye. “He smells like shit,” Photo finally says, presses one hand over her mouth like she’s going to get in trouble. Twist snorts, smiles.

“How old?” she asks.

“He’ll be two next month!” Photo replies, beams. “He’s really cute, he just smells bad, all the time, even after Mama changes him.”

“Babies do that,” Twist agrees. “You have sisters?”

“I have one sister, but she’s four years old and no fun to play with because she’s not big enough to do most stuff yet. Mostly she just follows Mama or Papa around the house. She likes to play with Papa’s tools, especially all his pocket knives. You know how little babies are, they always wanna touch the stuff that’ll hurt them the most.”

“Always do,” Twist agrees. She flicks her eyes between Photo and Lucinda. Photo doesn’t notice.

CONTENT WARNING: None

“So do you have any? Brothers or sisters, I mean.”

“One sister. Older than me. Had, not have.”

“Oh no!” Photo moans. “What happened to her? Did she just leave your family or did she…? Oh! And if she did, was it at least a really heroic sort of, uh, going?”

Twist shakes her head.

“Caught tuberculosis. Long way to die. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

Photo makes a soft noise, frowns.

“I’m sorry.”

“Was a long time ago.” Twist holds her hand out, wiggles her fingers, squints, brings them in again. “I was your age, or younger.”

“How old are you now?” Photo asks, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed as she tries to figure.

“Call it twice you, or more,” Twist replies, sniks her switchblade shut.

“Mmkay, so you’re probably not older than Mama, that’s good to know.” Photo rolls onto her back, pats her stomach with her hands, tips her head back so she can look at Twist upside down. “What were your parents like?”

“They’ve been gone a long time too.” Twist puts her switchblade into her pocket, then pulls it out again a moment later to pass it back and forth in her hands.

“So you lived all alone?” Photo asks, smooths her dress down over her thighs.

“I had a dog,” Twist explains. “Big herding dog.”

“That’s still basically alone.” Photo argues, rolls back onto her stomach so she can sit up. She crosses her legs, spreads her dress over her lap.

“You’ve never had a dog,” Twist replies, smiles down at her hands as she turns them this way and that, checks her picking job.

“Well, no, but I’ve seen the village dogs around. They’re not very friendly. I don’t know why you would want to live with one.”

“Special bred, not a pariah,” Twist corrects. “Special bred are different.”

“Oh.” Photo taps her chin, considers for a moment. “Can you tell me about our dog?”

Twist snorts, but she smiles.

“Sure. Get comfy.”

CONTENT WARNING: None

“Boss!” Watch hops down off her rock, reaches for her revolver. “We got a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Lucinda asks, straightens up to meet Watch’s eyes.

“Problem by the name of ‘lone buck deathclaw, looks hungry enough to eat all twelve of us and your bird for dessert.’”

Lucinda snorts.

“That sort of problem. What’s ETA?”

“If we keep moving, I’d give him four hours. We stop, I’d say two.”

“Where did you sight him?” Lucinda swings the gun down off her shoulder, checks the magazine.

“Top of the last hill, long ways off.”

“How do you know it’s a buck, not a female?”

“Horns are wrong.” Watch taps her forehead with her knuckles.

“You can tell that, from this far away?” Lucinda raises one eyebrow, and around her, the others ready their weapons--Twist’s hand tightens on her repeater; Dredge breaks her shotgun to check both barrels; Tooth taps the magazine of her brush gun, considers for a moment; Runner and Burn swing their hunting rifles around; Drummer digs into her pocket for a handful of ammunition.

“Thought you kept me on watch for how good my eyes were,” Watch replies.

Lucinda smirks and shrugs.

“You got me there. Let’s get somewhere more defensible than this, we can set up a perimeter and keep him off us.”

“Uh, boss, y’know, no offense, but I’m not fighting a deathclaw,” Dredge gestures above her head, flattens her hand, indicates something a solid two feet above her head, “with a fuckin’ shotgun.”

“You’re also, what, nine months pregnant?” Lucinda asks. “You weren't gonna fight him anyway.”

“Well, shit, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for,” Dredge replies, grimaces.

“If it’ll make you feel better, you’ll be in the back, keeping it off Birdy, Photo, and Doc if he breaks our line.”

“With a fuckin’ shotgun?” Dredge asks, lifts said shotgun, her hand around the action.

“If it gets past the rest of us, your fucking shotgun should be able to take care of it. Watch, you’re with them too, since you’re not hunting a deathclaw with a revolver.”

“But, Boss, I heard you killed a deathclaw with a really small pistol,” Photo pipes up. “Why can’t Watch do it?”

“That story is an embellishment of the truth, and I had less to lose than Watch does,” Lucinda sighs, flicks her eyes toward the sky. Her raven is circling.

“Yeah, but--” Photo tries to argue, and Watch punches her in the shoulder.

“You want me around to shoot deathclaws for you, or not?” Watch asks.

“Oh,” Photo replies, goes quiet.

Behind them, Burn giggles.

They continue on in silence, everyone’s hands close to their guns, Watch hopping up a rock every chance she gets to survey the deathclaw’s progress behind them.

Two hours into their walk--Watch amends her estimate at hour one, to three and a half hours if they keep moving, two and a half hours from when she said it and an hour and a half now--Dredge falters, feet dragging in the gravel.

“Hey, Boss, I got another complication for you.”

“Is it what I think it is?” Lucinda asks, catches up to Dredge, glances up at her.

“If you’re thinking ‘Dredge’s baby’s decided it’s his time to escape the womb,’ then yeah, it is what you think it is.”

“Just what we needed to make our day a little more interesting.” Lucinda reaches up, claps Dredge on the shoulder, trots ahead. “Now you’re really staying with Siri. Watch, how do you feel about a shotgun?”

CONTENT WARNING: None

“Like my revolver more,” Watch calls over. She’s balanced on the point of a rock, feet together, arms out to keep her balance. “Birdy might be able to man the shotgun, though, if Photo’ll hold the baby.”

“Birdy?” Lucinda calls.

“Just show me how,” Birdy agrees, brows drawn down and mouth set. Her baby fusses in her sling.

“C’mere,” Dredge agrees, waves Birdy to herself. “Alright, see, here’s your shotgun. Don’t matter how it works, I can tell you all that later. You point the long end at the deathclaw, and you pull the trigger. You got that?” Dredge sets the shotgun into Birdy’s hands, rearranges until her hands are right.

“Mm-hmm,” Birdy agrees.

“Right. You can pull that trigger twice before you gotta reload, so make ‘em count. For a deathclaw, you wanna aim for the soft bits right below the ribcage,” Dredge throws her shoulders back, lifts her chest, pats the top of her belly, “or into their open mouth,” she opens her muth, taps one finger against its roof, “when they’re up real close. That way you’re gettin’ either the real soft vital organs, or you can maybe blow out their brainpan of your shot is lucky.”

“Got it,” Birdy agrees, levels the shotgun.

“Whoa, whoa, don’t go shootin’ it now. Twist is ahead of us, and I like her, and want her to keep havin’ a head, yeah? Here, off to the side, away from the rest of us.” Dredge shuffles Birdy in front of her, then off to her side, has her aim off toward the horizon, away from the rest of the column. Birdy fires off two shots, flinches at both, and her baby starts wailing.

“Watch, how much time do we have?”

“Give him an hour, boss, and he’ll be too close for me to be comfy.” Watch hops down off her rock and trots over to Lucinda. “My advice is to send those four ahead, maybe with someone with a gun along, and the rest of us go straight for him, meet him halfway, lay an ambush maybe if you feel so inclined.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lucinda agrees, nods. “Twist, you keep with those four. The rest of you, with me.”

“Lucy--” Siri starts, scowls and leans her head in.

“I’ve fought more deathclaws, by myself, without the backup.” Lucinda plucks at the lapels of her coat. “We’ll be fine. You help Dredge along, you prepare for any injuries we might come back with, you keep moving ahead as long as you can. Got it?”

“Lucy, I don’t like this plan,” Siri replies, puts her hands on her hips. Lucinda narrows her eyes. “If any of you is injured, we might be too far ahead to get her medical care in time.”

“We’ll be fine, Siri,” Lucinda repeats. She tips her chin down, her hat back. “Light a smoky fire so we can find you. Now, go. As far as you can, as straight west as you can.”

Siri takes a deep breath, holds Lucinda’s gaze for a moment, then blows it out in a huff.

“Fine. Do your best to not get any life-threatening injuries.”

“We’ll keep the friendly fire to a minimum, Doc,” Lucinda agrees, plucks the brim of her hat between her fingers. “With me, you five. Tooth, Runner, you’re on lead. Watch, stick with me, Drummer, Burn, you two follow in the rear.” Lucinda points, turns her back on Twist, Siri, Dredge, Photo, Birdy. Photo reaches for Birdy’s hand, and Birdy obliges, winds their fingers together. Twist drapes her arm over Dredge’s shoulders, steers her ahead, and Siri follows, swings her bag around to her front to start digging for what she needs, and Photo and birdy follow last, hand in hand, Birdy with Dredge’s shotgun gripped white-knuckled in her other hand.

CONTENT WARNING: None

“I’d give him twenty minutes, Boss, and he looks real starved.” Watch shields her eyes from the sun, wobbles on top of her lookout rock.

“Are all of you ready?” Lucinda asks. Tooth and Runner both nod, split to the right and the left, Tooth’s brush gun in her hand, Runner’s hunting rifle at her hip.

“Yeah,” Burn agrees, trots back a few dozen feet, scales a rock so she has a better vantage point, drops to one knee and readies her own hunting rifle. Drummer drops back, parallel to her, stays on the ground and readies her repeater.

“Watch?” Lucinda asks, squints up at Watch, who stays balanced on her rock.

“How long you think you can outrun him, Boss?” she asks.

“I can keep ahead for five minutes, at least,” Lucinda replies, drops her gaze to watch the moving speck on the horizon.

“Count five minutes and they get a move on. You should meet pretty close to that, and then you just gotta get him and and sprint back through our bottleneck here.” Watch drops her hand, glances down at Lucinda. “Hope you’re good at the roll’n’shoot, and that you’re as fast as you think you are. Doc’ll tan you if you’re not.”

Lucinda snorts, grins out at the deathclaw.

“I know I can run faster than her. She’s a town-born doctor, not tribe-born hunter. Had Runner after me, on the other hand, I’d be worried.”

Runner laughs from her place by a cactus, thumps the butt of her repeater into the dirt.

“I dunno, Boss, the Doc could probably give me some real good incentive to chase you down. You saw how she went off at Dredge for talkin’ about drinking while she’s got a baby growin’. Can’t imagine she'd be much nicer to you.”

“She would be,” Lucinda replies, tucks her shoulders back like she has her hands on her hips. “How well you know her?”

“I know her well enough to say she’d tan your hide if she caught you after the deathclaw did,” Watch offers. “Your five minutes are counting up, Boss, so you’d better get a move on and keep your legs moving good.”

Lucinda nods, rearranges her gun into the crook of her arm. “Be ready for me to come back through.”

“Salve,” Watch agrees, and Lucinda nods, begins her jog toward the growing shape of the deathclaw.

CONTENT WARNING: None

“We could make a run for it,” Twist murmurs. She’s kneeling next to Dredge, who has an arm over her shoulders, her legs spread so Siri can work. “She couldn’t find us if we just disappeared into the NCR now. They’d take us, gladly, we have information they--”

“No,” Siri replies. “We’re days out from any civilization, and I don’t know if you’ve met Lucy but,” she sits up, presses her palms into her thighs, look Twist in the eye, “she wouldn’t let you just go. Besides, Dredge is dilated enough the baby should be on its--”

“His,” Dredge corrects.

“His way out, any time now. They’ll deal with the deathclaw and be back before we could make significant progress.”

“When’s the last time you tried to run?” Twist asks. “Have you ever?”

“No,” Siri replies, bares her teeth, curls her hands into fists, can't meet Twist’s gaze. “Alive and enslaved is better than dead and free.”

“You sound like her.” Twist rolls her head, indicates Lucinda.

“Shit, Twist, you ain’t met her tribe. She’s meaner’n most of ‘em, but every single one of ‘em is like that.” Dredge grunts. “An’ she’s clearly picked up Doc here as one of hers so I mean, ain’t no talk against you, Doc, but you probably got that sort of bend to you too.”

“I can't help anyone if I’m dead,” Siri replies, takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it go. Closes her eyes as she breathes again.

“I’d rather be dead than Legion,” Twist murmurs.

“Then why ain’t you offed yourself yet?” Dredge asks, laughs and tips her head back until she hits Twist’s arm. “Think you’re more attached to bein’ alive than you wanan think you are.”

Twist grunts.

“If you aren’t all going to run with me, I’ll go by myself.”

Photo creeps closer, and Birdy lets her go.

“Can I come with you?” she asks. “I don’t wanna go to the next town. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Yeah, you can come,” Twist agrees.

“Photo, she’s not just gonna let you go,” Birdy murmurs. “She won’t just let you go either, Twist, like Doc said. She wants all of us with her.”

“I know,” Twist replies. “And how much would it cripple whatever the fuck her operation here is if we left? That’s what I’m playing.”

“Not at all,” Siri says, just as Dredge opens her mouth. Dredge nods and looks between Siri and Twist. “She’s done more, with less, and with greater handicaps than losing two people.”

“One of you doesn’t carry a weapon and ain’t got any sort of Legion-ing experience,” Dredge nods at Photo, “and the other of you barely listens to her anyway anymore. What’s she losing? A couple meat shields?”

Photo whimpers.

“Ain’t gonna slow her down, sweetheart,” Dredge says, reaches up to pat Twist’s cheek. “Might speed her up if she gets angry enough.”

“She won’t get angry.” Birdy shakes her head. “She told me she wouldn’t try to hunt me down, she’d just keep on doing this.”

“You ain’t Twist,” Dredge replies. “What are you gonna do to sell her out? No one listens to girls your age, anyway, even if they should. Ain’t saying they shouldn’t listen, just that they won’t. Boss is an asshole, not stupid.” Dredge snorts and shakes her head.

“I know,” Birdy replies, tucks her legs up. She leaves the shotgun laying next to her baby. “But she can probably take a town by herself if she wanted.”

“I heard she’s killed a lot of people,” Photo offers. “She would have to kill a whole town probably to take it.”

“She would,” Siri says, gestures for Dredge to shift back. “And, more importantly, she could.”

“You know that for sure?” Twist asks, fixes Siri with a dark look.

“I do,” Siri agrees. “I had a front row seat to everything that happened in the Mojave. Even with some embellishment, she’s--” Siri pauses, takes a deep breath. “She’s done worse than that, I’m sure.”

“Well, shit, what’s she gotten up to?” Dredge asks, laughs. “Gimme the dirt.”

Siri just shakes her head.

CONTENT WARNING:

She had fired one shot at the deathclaw, pinged his shoulder over his scaley parts, just pissed him off without inflicting any sort of damage.

And now she’s running.

She can see Watch perched atop her rock, revolver at the ready, Burn on her own rock, hunting rifle held steady, Toot hand Drummer and Runner too low to the ground, too well-camouflaged to be seen from this distance.

She can hear the huff of the deathclaw behind her, a huff and a wet growl and then a suck of air, a cycle that would be mesmerizing if she couldn't also hear the slice of claws into the dirt, the whip of his tail through the air, she scratch of scales against each other, the slick sound of a tongue against teeth and slobber dripping from his mouth.

If she lets her imagination work, she can feel his breath on the back of her neck.

The coat is slowing her down, so as she runs she hooks her rifle strap behind her neck, tries not to miss a step, sheds her coat with a roll of her shoulders and a shove backward, almost catches her heel on it as it falls. Makes three steps before his footsteps change, the sound of padded skin on leather, and then padded skin on gravel again, and now she can feel his breath on her neck, but she can see all the hunters, their weapons ready and aiming, and she tries for one last burst of speed, dodges between rocks, hears him scrape between them, claws scrabbling, breath hot and wet, and as she breaks from the rocks he’s right behind, one claw reaching, missing her by little enough she can feel the breeze form it, feel the slice that didn't connect frisson up her spine. She wings her rifle strap over onto her shoulder

Tooth fires first, the blast from her brush gun sending the deathclaw staggering, and Runner and Burn fire next, hunting rifles blasting together, then Watch fires, three shots in rapid succession, and then Drummer fires last, empties her magazine, eleven shots into the deathclaw’s belly that have him staggering side to side, limping, faltering, as Lucinda sprints past Watch, then Tooth and Runner, then Durmerm and Burn, her lungs burning and legs wobbling.

The deathclaw hits the gravel, lets out a low wheeze. Lucinda hits the gravel, too, on hands and knees, chest and arms prickling as the adrenaline overtake her and her arms start to shake.

“We did it,” Watch observes, quiet. There are cicadas picking up, again, although the crickets are silent in the afternoon heat. The only sound is breathing--Tooth and Runner and Watch, barely audible, Burn and Drummer breathing quick but soft, Lucinda still gasping for air, before she breaks into a hacking cough. Watch saunters over, squats next to her, offers a canteen. Lucinda takes it, leans her weight on it as she tries to catch her breath.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucinda chokes out.

“You really oughta have Doc look at that cough.”

“She’ll just tell me it’s from smoking,” Lucinda replies.

“Probably is,” Burn offers.

“Didn’t ask your opinion,” Lucinda replies. She finally sits back, breath still coming in short gasps, but no longer coughing.

Tooth comes trotting over, after a minute, hauling Lucinda's coat.

“The hell you keep in this thing? How d’you haul it around?” She drops it in front of Lucinda, who reaches for its pockets to fumble out a pack of cigarettes and a matchbox.

“Anything I might need,” Lucinda replies, lights a cigarette. “You’d be surprised.”

“Probably not, just, holy hell how d’you lug that thing around all the time? Weighs a fuckin’ ton.”

“The price you pay for bulletproofing,” Lucinda replies, kicks the coat open to show off the bulletproof vest sewn into the torso. “Let me finish this cigarette and then we can grab our packs, get back to the others.”

“We just gonna leave the deathclaw?” Runner asks.

“Unless you wanna work up something to haul it in to butcher it, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Don’t have the resources with us to get it in.”

Tooth grunts, leans back on one leg to survey the deathclaw. She shrugs at Runner, who shrugs back.

CONTENT WARNING: None

“They’re on their way back,” Birdy says. She’s moved up onto a rock, turned her eyes back the way they came as Photo tries to build a smoky fire under Twist’s direction.

“You think the baby is close to coming?” Dredge asks, whines low in her throat.

“Yes,” Siri agrees, doesn’t say any more.

“More of those,” Twist directs, and Photo obliges by tossing more yucca leaves on the fire.

“They'll be here in maybe half an hour. Before sundown, at the very least,” Birdy adds, opens her shirt as her baby starts to fuss again.

“Maybe they’ll bring back dinner,” Dredge laughs. “Could go for something right about now.”

“Doesn't look like they are,” Birdy offers. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, damn,” Dredge grunts.

***

Watch sits up next to Birdy, neither speaking, and Tooth, Burn, and Drummer drop down next to the fire, flank Photo, who can’t look at Lucinda as she and Runner kneel next to Siri. Lucinda doesn’t notice, doesn't look to anyone who stayed in the camp except Siri, who’s watching Dredge.

***

“What’s he look like?” Dredge asks, leans her weight into Twist, who pets her hair without a word. “He look like me, or look like his Da?”

“Well--” Siri starts, wipes the baby off.

“She mostly look squashed right now,” Lucinda laughs, offers the towel to Siri to wrap the baby. “Doesn’t have your eyes, though, must be her father’s.”

“Ah, shit,” Dredge laughs. “I fucked up, huh, babe?” she asks, takes the baby in her arms. “Yeah, you look like your Da, don’t you, sweetheart, look just like him. He’d be proud of you, hon, so proud.” She traces one finger across her baby’s hairline, down her nose, taps her chin with one fingertip.

“What are you going to name her?” Lucinda asks, helps Siri gather up the bloodstained blankets.

“Think I’ll keep that between be and the babe and whatever I can find of my tribe, Boss, if you don’t mind.” Dredge looks up at Lucinda, eyes heavy-lidded and tired. She gives a slow smile.

“Of course,” Lucinda agrees, nods. “You rest up.” She turns to the rest of the women. “We’ll camp here for a few days, then I’ll brief Dredge and Photo, and we’ll move on the next town.”

The rest of the women nod, look between each other before letting their eyes drift closed or turning their gaze back to the fire or the cured gecko Runner pulled from her pack to roast over the fire.

Charon begrudgingly opened his eyes as the hazy morning sun streamed into his room. He rolled out of bed slowly, feeling all of the aches and bruises he had acquired on their last expedition. His fingers brushed against the rusty ceiling as he stretched, and he quickly dressed in his armor.

He knew that after this particularly long trip, Elle would want to spend a couple days resting in Megaton, recounting their stories in a more sober mental state than last night and catching up with local gossip. However, the last thing Charon wanted to do was sit in the corner of the saloon, sexually frustrated as ever, with Nova giving him knowing glances every chance she got.

Charon had carried out horrific orders under his previous contract holders, but right now accompanying Elle at her gossip party was sounding almost as bad.

He had to find something to distract her, he thought as he trudged downstairs to the kitchen. Something that would be much more appealing than spending another series of hours perched atop a barstool.

Charon took down a box of Sugar Bombs from the kitchen shelf and gave it an experimental shake. Nearly empty. He gave a grumble of disappointment as he opened the box to grab a handful. Never did he think he would develop a taste for these stale, gritty empty calories, but they had been one of the first gestures of kindness that Elle had showed him after she obtained his contract.

_____________________

The two of them were camped out in the D.C. metro tunnels, not far from where they had been just a few days ago, on their way to Megaton for the first time as a duo. There had only been a handful of sentences exchanged between them at that point, and Charon wasn’t sure what to make of the young Vaultie.

As Elle sat in front of him, heating a can of beans over the fire, Charon tried to figure out how he felt about her. She was a pretty little thing and he had no idea how she had made it to the Underworld without getting captured by raiders or slavers. She had a decent stock of weapons, but her hands lacked the calluses that showed up with frequent fighting. The faint scars on her arms and legs indicated that she had lost a fair number of fights, as well. Perhaps that was why she had sought out his contract so eagerly… He was hired muscle and she would pass his contract on as soon as she got her bearings in the Wasteland.

After splitting the can of beans between the two of them, eating in silence, Elle turned to her bag and began rummaging through the numerous pockets. At last, she pulled a colorful box from a side pocket with a triumphant cry.

“Sugar Bombs,” she explained, seeing Charon furrowing his brow at her, “They’re my absolute favorite.”

She ripped open the top of the box and scooped out a handful. Charon could see the sticky, sugary coating on the cereal pieces from where he sat, even in the relative darkness of the tunnels.

“I was saving them for a special occasion and, well, this seems pretty special,” Elle said, regarding the box with a fond smile, “Here, have some.”

She held out the handful of cereal. Charon hesitated. His previous employers had never gifted him with silly indulgences like this. For so long, he had subsisted on the bare minimum of protein and rarely anything more. Elle was waiting, hand still outstretched, but her expression was gentle. It occurred to Charon that she knew exactly why he was hesitating.

He bit the bullet and took the cereal from Elle, being careful not to make contact with the pale skin of her hand. She might be sharing, but that didn’t mean she wanted to touch him. Smoothskins never did.

Elle seemed to be satisfied and returned to the box. Charon’s lip curled as he looked at his handful, but the last thing he wanted to was piss off the girl who had saved him from an eternity in the Ninth Circle and immediately shown him kindness. So, he carefully ate a single piece, making sure to keep his face expressionless when they were inevitably godawful.

He was pleasantly surprised.

Yeah, they weren’t fantastic and they were a bit on the stale side, but he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the taste of sugar after two hundred years without it. He continued eating them one by one, savoring the syrupy taste, and it wasn’t until he had finished and was considering licking the sticky residue off his hand when he realized Elle was watching him.

She held out the box to him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Want some more?”

_____________________

I AM BACK!!!! Senior year has been kicking my butt but I also managed a trip to Disney World and Harry Potter-land? Anyway, I'm back and I think I know where I'm going to go with this story. It's also occurred to me that it's going to be a lot longer than I initially expected. I thought this would be a quick fill but here we are, 4000 words in and they haven't even done the do yet :) Thanks for sticking with me and I'm definitely going to be updating more than once a month now, haha

CONTENT WARNING: None

It’s dawn, and if Dredge and Photo have the vaguest sense of time, and if Watch got everything correct, the town should at least be moving.

Instead, there’s nothing.

Door are locked, shut the way Dredge says they only do overnight to keep out the nightstalkers and the coyotes. There isn’t a single person out in the fields, no one at the windmill-well to the east of town, no one on the front porch of the general store on the main street in any of the half dozen rocking chairs.

“Twist,” Lucinda murmurs, stands at the top of main street, holds one hand up. The rest of the team--Runner, Drummer, Burn, Tooth, Watch, Twist--stops, spreads out behind Lucinda. “Twist, take Drummer with you to the south end of town. Check for anyone, anywhere.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Drummer agrees. Twist doesn’t even grunt.

“Watch, Tooth, Burn, you three take the east side of town. Runner, you’re with me, we'll take the west.”

“What’re you expecting?” Watch asks.

“Ambush.” Lucinda replies, grips her rifle for a moment before pausing, swinging it back onto her shoulder, and pulling out her machete instead. “Keep your eyes open and your wits about you, and keep your faces covered. Look for Dredge and Photo, first, make sure they’re not in danger, and then try to take anyone down. If someone shoots at you, you’re authorized to shoot back. Now go.”

They all nod, cover their faces, split the way Lucinda instructed.

“Boss?’ Runner asks, voice low as they circle behind the second row of shacks off main street. “Don’t like this. Too quiet, even for an ambush.”

“Someone made a mistake,” Lucinda agrees. “Matter is who made the mistake.”

“Had to be Dredge or Photo. Watch ain’t like that, Watch ain’t got anything to gain by lying.”

“Dredge and Photo don’t have anything to gain by fucking us over either,” Lucinda replies, bares her teeth.

“Well, shit, you met Dredge. Ain’t gotta intend to fuck up to say something wrong,” Runner points out. “And Photo’s real little, and she’s been listenin’ a lot to what Twist is sayin’. Twist has some points, Boss, you really gotta check in with her.”

“I will, later,” Lucinda snaps, bares her teeth wider. “Shit, I hope they only have as many weapons as Watch could guarantee.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Runner laughs. “Give ‘em at least half more.”

“If they have that many guns, we’re fucked,” Lucinda growls. “No one’s out, which means either the houses are empty or they’re waiting.”

“I’d bet on the second. Depends what either of ‘em said, but there ain’t many of us. Outnumber us five to one. Easy to fight numbers like that.”

“We’re Legion. It still won't be an easy fight, if I have anything to say about it.”

Above them, Lucinda’s bird kronks.

CONTENT WARNING: Violence, gore

“I thought the boss was supposed to be here today?” Photo whispers.

“She will be,” Dredge agrees, pats Photo’s back. Their guard watches them, shotgun slung across her lap, eyelids heavy, fingers tapping along to whatever song is playing on the radio now--something about a man and a guitar.

“If you can give us anymore information, we can let you go,” the guard offers again, as Dredge hikes her shirt up and off one arm, holds her baby in place so she can nurse. Dredge leans back against the shack wall, crosses her legs up on the grimy mattress. Photo huddles against her.

“Think I’ll pass, ma’am, if you don't mind.”

“Fine,” the guard agrees. Slightly less droop-eyed than she was, watches Dredge’s hands as she starts tapping to the radio too, studies Photo as Photo fidgets with the hem of her dress. “What time is your boss showing up here?”

“Dunno, wouldn’t share even if I did,” Dredge replies. “Don’t like bein’ locked up in a room and bein’ told my freedom’s dependent on how well I fall into line.”

“You know I can’t let you go,” the guard responds.

“Course not.” Dredge snorts. “But don’t go expectin’ me to tell you jack shit. Boss may be Legion, but at least she lets me out of a goddamn room.”

“Dredge, you’re gonna make it worse,” Photo whispers, casts a nervous glance at the guard, who is now watching them with open eyes and renewed interest.

“Ain’t no such thing as worse, kiddo,” Dredge drawls in response. “If it ain’t scraping for food, it’s Legion, and if it ain’t Legion, it’s shitty people being in charge, and if it ain’t shitty people in charge it’s bein’ locked in a fuckin’ room. It’s all fuckin’ the same, when you get down to it.”

There’s a crunch of footsteps outside, and the guard is out of her chair in a moment, throws the door open, levels her shotgun--

Boom and there’s the sound of a lever-action being cycled, and the guard goes toppling back, her face mangled and the back of her head pulped.

Photo stares in horror at the guard's corpse, makes a soft, high pitched noise as she scoots further away, presses her hands over her mouth. Can’t bring herself to blink as the guard’s blood begins to pool on the ground.

Lucinda steps around the corner.

“Got your shotgun,” Lucinda says, holds Dredge’s shotgun up by the action. “If you’re up for it.”

“Gimme ten minutes, boss, so El here can finish up with breakfast.”

“Right, Lucinda agrees, takes three steps into the shed--steps in the pool of blood with the first, tracks it inside. She holds out Dredge’s shotgun, and Dredge takes it without a word.

Lucinda looks to Photo.

CONTENT WARNING: Gore

“You can stay here, or you can go hide somewhere else, but if this is your reaction to that,” she points to the guard with the barrel of her gun, then swings it back around so it's almost in position to fire, “then this whole town is going to be a nightmare for you, Photo.”

Photo just stares with wide eyes.

“I brought your camera, if you want it,” Lucinda offers, swings the camera bag Birdy made for Photo off her shoulder.

Photo still stares, hands trembling. Lucinda blinks at her, then sets the camera bag on the edge of the bed, between Dredge’s thigh and Photo’s foot.

“Both of you, try not to get shot. I have questions, later.” She looks between them, expression unchanging, waits for acknowledgement.

“It was me, Boss,” Dredge says by way of acknowledgement. “Mouth got away from me, and they added shit up. My fault.”

“I have questions, later,” Lucinda repeats. “Now you feed El and then meet in the square. Catch up with Twist and Drummer if you can, if not, meet on the main street. Anyone tries to shoot you, shoot them first. Are we clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dredge agrees, nods.

Lucinda nods.

“Good.”

She turns and leave the shack, doesn’t look back, just raises her gun again. She’s out of their view in a moment, footsteps soft on the hard dirt, even in heavy boots.

Photo fumbles for her camera after a moment, still unblinking, and points it at the guard's corpse.

There’s a click and a whirr, and she puts the camera away.

“You gonna look at that some day any different than you’re lookin’ at it now?” Dredge asks, eyes focused on the back of the house in front of them, where the whitewash is peeling off under the eaves. Determinedly not looking at the pool of blood, the corpse, the footprints in the dirt.

“Maybe,” Photo replies, turns so she faces the wall easier, puts her hand up to block her own vision.

“Shit, kid, good luck,” Dredge murmurs, reloads her shotgun one-handed, watches the doorway for anyone’s return or appearance.

CONTENT WARNING: None

He’s young, so young, older than she had been when the Legion came, older than Birdy is now for sure, but still practically a boy. But he has a gun leveled at her, lip trembling, eyes wide, and she whacks the barrel away as he discharges it, shoots his bullet into the roof with an eardrum-shattering boom. She wrenches the gun from his hands, tosses it aside, and wrestles him around.

“You will go to the town square without incident,” Lucinda growls into his ear, keeps his arm pinned, twisted, pressed between their bodies. Two little boys peek out from behind a doorframe, eyes wide, and Lucinda looks the larger in the eye. “Bring your brothers with you.”

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, voice catching. “Please don’t hurt them, please, please, I can’t let them--”

“I won’t hurt them,” Lucinda growls. “Now you give me some information. Which houses have guns?”

“I don’t know,” he says, tries to jerk his head at his brothers to tell them to hide again.

“Yes you do,” Lucinda replies, leans her weight on him a little more, until he squeaks and gasps. “Which houses?”

“I don’t have to-” he starts.

“I said I wouldn’t hurt them but I said nothing about you.” She twists just a bit harder.

“Three houses up, blue door,” he whines.

“What kind of gun?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yes you do,” Lucinda replies. Keeps her voice level, listens to the room. The gun is still where it fell, the radio buzzes so low in the corner she can’t make out any words, outside her raven kronks once and then falls silent again.

“Like yours,” he finally wibbles after a long, near-silent second. “Lever action, but smaller.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, lets her actual thanks-smile leak into it. “Now, come with me. You too, boys, we aren’t going far, I won’t hurt you.”

“Come on,” he calls to his brothers, who lean out around the doorframe again.

“If you’ll just come with me,” Lucinda says to the boy, lets go of his arm, circles around so he’s in front of her, swings her rifle around so he’s at the end of the barrel. “That would be peachy.”

“Where are we going?” he asks, starts walking when her rifle bumps his back.

“The main square,” Lucinda replies. “You’ll stay there until we’re done.”

“How many of you are there?” He asks. Tries to couch it as a casual question, as if it’s not obvious what he’s doing.

“More than enough,” Lucinda replies. “Now pipe down.”

***

There are four of them in this shack: an old woman with a shotgun, arms withered but her expression hard; a man Twist’s age, probably, holding a screaming infant in one arm; a woman Siri’s age under his other arm, tear tracks down her face and dark circles under her eyes.

The old woman fires the shotgun as Lucinda steps through the door, sends Lucinda staggering back a moment before she hurls herself forward again, gets her hand around the barrel and wrenches it away.

“You’ll damn yourself for sure if you try that again,” Lucinda growls, gets into the old woman’s face.

“I didn’t make it this long so you Legion sorts,” the old woman grabs Lucinda’s centurion scarf, yanks her forward so they’re chest to chest, “could kill my daughter and granddaughter.”

“Then if you’re lucky, they won’t draw short straws, since you’ve already damned yourself into decimation.” Lucinda shoves the old woman back, and she staggers before toppling to the floor. “Get up, all of you are going to the town square. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“We’ll never bow to the Legion,” the old woman spits, gets up on her elbows as her son-in-law, apparently, tries to help without letting go of his wife. “Never.”

“If you two would go to the town square.” Lucinda turns to the couple with the baby. “That would be best. Don’t try anything funny.”

The woman nods, tugs her husband along. They nearly flee the house, hand in hand, heads down, the baby making soft noises of distress that turn into wails as they go down the street.

“You, come with me. You don’t go anywhere without a guard.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the old woman replies, crosses her arms over her chest.

Lucinda sighs, bends down, and hauls her upright by the armpit.

“Let’s go,” she grunts.

CONTENT WARNING: None

He swings, and she ducks easy, punches him hard in the gut, just beneath his ribcage, so he double over, gags, spits up bile on her boots. She leans down, fists the front of his shirt, drags him up to his knees.

“You try that shit again and you won’t even get a chance at the drawing.” She draws her bowie knife, holds the tip under his chin. He tips his head back, raises his hands to grapple, and she digs the knife in until blood beads. He whimpers. “Are we clear?” She asks, steps forward so her knees bump his stomach and he’s forced to lean back to meet her eyes.

He nods, eyes wide.

***

“Thought Legion territory was safer than NCR,” she says, holds her hands up when Lucinda gestures with her gun.

“It is,” Lucinda agrees. “And you’re still in NCR territory.”

“Guess I shoulda seen this coming, with the Dam, huh?” the guard asks, laughs. Her hand shoots for her sawed-off, and Lucinda fires a warning shot into the dirt next to her foot.

“Next time, I don’t miss. Unholster it, drop it on the ground, keep walking.”

“Sure thing, lady, anything you say.” She draws the gun, slowly, drops it, slowly, steps away, slowly. Lucinda keeps her gun trained on the middle of her back the entire time. “Where we going?” she asks, breathes loud.

“Town square. We’re running a lottery.” Her voice drisp with distaste, and the woman tries not to laugh.

***

“I’m sure you’ll understand why I ain’t so eager to join up with everyone in the middle of town,” the ghoul growls from behind his desk-and-mattress barricade.

“Thats’ too fuckin’ bad,” Lucinda replies, stands in the doorway, coat tucked closed. The ghoul has a pistol, already shot at her once, will probably do it again. “If you keep shooting, you have no chance. You come with me, you at least have some sort of chance.”

“Ain’t a real good chance under the Legion,” he replies.

“Is a chance,” Lucinda fires back. “Now come out here before I shoot you where you stand.”

There's a long moment of silence, their breathing loud in the empty room, before there’s a clack of metal on linoleum and the ghoul steps around the barricade, hands up.

“Don’t try anything funny,” Lucinda orders, steps aside, keeps her gun trained on him as he walks toward the door.

CONTENT WARNING: None

Most of the town is already in the town square, blockaded in by the rest of the team--all with their faces covered, all with guns drawn, all silent except to cut off escape routes as people jostle into each other.

Photo is off on the front porch of the general store, camera in hand and eyes wide. She has a bandana over her face, but nothing else to obscure her identity.

Lucinda is bringing the last ones in--a couple farmhands, and elderly man who leans so heavily on his cane it’s a wonder he can move at all, and a farmer, who had fired off one round from his varmint rifle before Lucinda had tackled him to the floor, pinned him with a knee to the groin and a hand on his throat, dragged him back to his feet with a machete at his neck and marched him in front of his farmhands.

That makes everyone, as far as they can tell.

She sends Drummer out with scraps of pre-war clothing and her box of matches, directs her to the driest fields. In the middle of the crowd, someone yells, shushed by the people around her.

Lucinda hops up on top of a stack of boxes Runner and Tooth assembled into something like a platform.

“We’ll be running a lottery!” she calls out over the crowd. “Everyone over sixteen, to that side of the square,” she points to her left. “Everyone under sixteen, that way.” She points to her right.

People begin to sort out, but a handful of families linger in the middle, parents clinging to children. The boy with two brothers hugs both of them, casts a nervous glance up at Lucinda, doesn’t move even as the crowd around him thins.

“I have a baby!” the woman whose mother put up a fight calls. “She can’t live without me.”

“Hand her to him,” Lucinda picks someone at random, points at the boy---maybe twelve--who stands at the front of the under-sixteen side. “He’ll hold her until we’re done here.”

“But I don’t--” the woman starts, and the blood drains from her face as she meets Lucinda’s eyes, as Lucinda’s face fails to even twitch. She steps across the gap, and the boy comes up to her, holds out his arms. She arranges him, passes the baby down, presses her palm to the top of the baby’s head.

Next to the general store, Dredge’s baby sets up a wail. Another follows suit, and then a toddler begins to cry.

“Twist, how many adults do we have?” Lucinda calls to Twist, who pauses a moment, taps out her fingers.

“We have sixty, even, ma’am.”

“Burn, how many dice do you have?”

“Two, ma’am,” Burn replies.

“Count the adults into ten groups of six, and then bring the dice to me.”

“Yes ma’am,” goes the soft chorus, and with some shuffling, Dredge starts pointing people around. Drummer comes trotting back, a column of smoke rising from the fields in her direction, and she joins Dredge.

The crowd is silent, except for the crying babies.

Lucinda keeps her gun poised.

Burn brings the dice up, and Drummer counts out the groups--one, two, three, up to ten.

Lucinda rolls the dice, studies the numbers for a moment, looks to the groups of people huddled together, counts. Looks down at the dice again.

“Are your dice loaded, Burn?” she asks, voice low.

“All roll the same dice, doesn’t do me good to load the dice if everyone rolls the same,” Burn replies, fiddles with the fraying button cover of her heavy canvas jacket.

Lucinda looks back at the huddled townspeople, meets the old woman’s eyes.

CONTENT WARNING: Violence, gore

Stares at the old woman, the farmer, the man who tried to punch her, the boy with two brothers, the ghoul with the pistol, the caravan guard, as they all stare back at her, some resigned--the farmer, the the caravan guard, the boy--and some near-incandescent--the old woman, the man who tried to fight, the ghoul.

“Group seven, your number rolled. Line up here,” Lucinda orders, points to the open patch of dirt in front of her platform. Side by side, face away from me.”

“Boss,” Photo starts, and Dredge rounds on her before she can say anything else, taps one finger against her own lips and points for Photo to go stand in the alley between the general store and the house next to it. Photo scowls, doesn't move, and Dredge nods once, slowly, turns her back.

Group seven slowly walks to where they were instructed, lines up.

The caravan guard stands at one end, the ghoul next to her, the farmer next to him, the man who took a swing next to him. The boy-- barely-man, Lucinda corrects herself, can’t think of him as a boy and still do this-- stands next to the old woman, second to last in the line.

She considers for a moment, then hops down off her box, lines herself up behind the caravan guard. Raises her gun, takes aim.

Boom, lever down, case ejected, lever up.

A single step to her right, lines the gun up again, ignores the crying from the under-sixteens, the gasps from the adults. The ghoul doesn’t move, stays standing stock-still, hands at his side.

Boom, lever down, case ejected, lever up.

A single step to her right. Can see the farmer’s jaw twitch, his hands clench. He twitches, not enough to throw her off.

Boom, lever down, case ejected, lever up.

A single step to her right. He’s crying, tears running down his cheeks and dropping into the dirt. The crying is coming from everyone, now, sniffles and strangled sobs, gasps as someone tries to pull in enough air that it won’t come out as a cry.

Boom, lever down, case ejected, lever up.

A single step to her right. He’s holding the hand of the old woman next to him. He raises one hand, waves to his brothers, and Lucinda can see him smile. He waves at his brothers, gestures for them to turn around, as they watch with wide eyes. She waits until they do to raise her gun.

Boom, lever down, case ejected, lever up.

A single step to her right. Photo is sobbing now, camera raised, hands shaking so bad that whatever photograph she gets will be a jagged, smeary mess. The old woman crosses her arms, raises her chin, scowls at the horizon.

Boom, lever down, case ejected, lever up.

Lucida turns and hops back up onto her box. Doesn’t look at the corpses in front of her, their bodies splayed, their heads pulped, blood pooling, running together and snaking its way away from Lucinda’s platform.

The rest of her team is watching her, eyes wide, mouths set.

“Round everyone up, take them to the barn.” She points toward the the other end of town. “They’ll stay there until the men get here to deal with them.

“Sure thing, Boss,” Burn agrees, nods, turns around to face the crowd as she drops the dice back into her pouch.

The rest of the team herds the crowd of people--merging back together, parents huddling with their children, someone taking charge of the two boys without a caretaker--over toward the barn, as Lucinda stands on her platform and watches them go.

CONTENT WARNING: None

They send Dredge to find her, when they’ve marked the houses and taken what they want, Drummer has headed back to camp with Photo, Twist and Runner sit out on the general store’s porch, Twist with her switchblade out, Runner jangling Burn’s dice in her hands.

“Hey, Boss.” Dredge’s voice is low, rough, friendly. “Reeks like a fuckin’ ashtray back here.”

Lucinda snorts and continues smoking.

“Look, Boss.” Dredge lowers herself to the ground next to Lucinda, picks her knees up and rests her forearms across them, dangles her hands out in front of herself. She looks off at the horizon. Lucinda follows her gaze. “We both got shit to say to each other, you to me and me to you, and I think what you wanna say you wanna say in front of everyone else, right?” She glances over. Lucinda nods. “And what I got to say to you I don’t think I wanna talk about here when you still got six corpses laying in the middle of the street, so I wanna say it back at camp. Doc’s gonna be worried about you because she always is, Birdy is gonna wanna know especially if Photo starts talking, and everyone else needs out of this fucking town.” Dredge pauses, picks at a hangnail. “The doors on the barn should hold for the day it’ll take of ‘em to move in. We aren’t needed here.”

“Still don’t like leaving before the job is all done,” Lucinda murmurs. Her raven croaks on the roof above her.

“They're all too scared to do anything, Boss, ain’t no reason to worry.”

Lucinda snorts, shakes her head, stubs out her cigarette.

“Let’s go. Get everyone together, get whatever you’re taking.”

“Got it, Boss.” Dredge nods, hauls herself to her feet, resettles El in her sling.

Charon contemplated the cereal box. There was barely a serving left inside. As much as he wanted to polish it off, he placed it on the rickety dining table, but not after stealing a single piece for himself. They were Elle’s favorite, after all, and he wasn’t going to deny her even the smallest source of happiness.

He sat down on the couch and pulled Elle’s bag towards him, sorting through the clutter and trinkets for his target. At last, he located her favorite weapon, a plasma pistol that she had painstakingly decorated with a mosaic of paint chips that she had picked up around the wasteland. It killed him to see his employer favor such a silly and needlessly complicated weapon, when his good old-fashioned shotgun did the job perfectly well. Nevertheless, he carefully cleaned the gun with as much care he would give his own gun.

Charon was applying a new clear layer of glue over the mosaic design when he heard creaking from upstairs. He carefully set the gun next to the Sugar Bombs and pulled his own shotgun into his lap as Elle began descending the stairs.

“Morning,” she grumbled, clearly afflicted with a headache from last night’s drinking.

He grunted in reply as he took apart the shotgun, pretending to be deep in concentration. He watched Elle out of the corner of his eye as she approached the table. She stood there for a moment and took in the odd display. Charon supposed that he had unintentionally arranged the Wasteland’s version of a continental breakfast.

“Did you clean my gun?” she asked, picking up the pistol and turning it over in her hands.

“Glue’s still wet,” he muttered and continued his act. He had taken apart the shotgun so many times that he didn’t need to look at it, so he watched her face instead. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile as she set the gun back down and picked up the cereal box.

“And you saved the rest for me?”

She grinned and popped open the box. Charon scooted to one side of the couch as she joined him.

“Here, you like them just as much as me,” Elle said, tipping the box’s opening towards him, “We’ll split the last of it.”

With the delighted sparkle in her big brown eyes, it was hard to say no. He opened his palm and she shook a bit of cereal into it. Was it a trick of the light or was there a slight rosy tint to her cheeks?

Charon let the thought wander around in his brain while they ate. As Elle finished the box and began shaking the crumbs into her mouth, Charon decided now was the time to propose his idea for the day, before the thought of Gob and Nova crossed her mind.

“You should practice with that sniper rifle we found,” he said, finishing with his shotgun and propping it against the armrest. Elle gave him a pout.

“But I have a headache.”

“So take some Med-X,” he retorted without hesitation, “Raiders aren’t going to take pity just because you don’t know how to control yourself around liquor.”

Elle groaned and leaned against him, burying her face in his shoulder and grumbling incoherently. Suddenly, going out into the Wasteland seemed like a dumb idea. Getting up from the couch sounded like a dumb idea, too, at the moment. Charon looked down at his employer, who still sat there with her face hidden. Her hand was resting gently on his forearm and he felt the urge to hold it in his own.

Then again, he thought as he felt his cock twitch, it would be so easy to just push Elle down into the couch and take her, right there. He imagined the look of surprise on her face as he slipped his hand under the waistband of her shorts, teasing at the delicate skin. She would moan softly as he buried his face in her neck, while entwining her fingers in his and pinning her hands above her head…

Charon felt himself hardening and quickly moved to conceal it. Elle grumbled at his sudden movement and gave him a glare. He knew that her eyes were staring daggers into his back as he got to his feet and headed up the staircase, hand carefully positioned to hide his crotch from her line of vision.

“C'mon smoothskin, get ready so we can get you some target practice.”

He shut the door to his room behind him and leaned against the cold metal, groaning at his stupidity.

Way to show off those “tricks” up his sleeve, he thought darkly as he let his head fall back with a soft thud.

GET IT CHARON!!!!!!!!

I'm also glad to see that you're back, fuck yes! <3

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Page 249 of 257

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

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (23a/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (23b/?)

aSay They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (24/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (25/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (26a/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (26b/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (27a/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (27b/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (28/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (29/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (30/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (31/?)

Re: Heavy In Your Arms - Part 3a/?

Re: Heavy In Your Arms - Part 3b/?

Part 3b/? Author's Notes!

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (32/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (33a/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (33b/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (34/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (35/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (36a/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (36b/?)

Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (37/?)

Re: Heavy In Your Arms - Part 3c/?

Re: Heavy In Your Arms - Part 3c/?