falloutkinkmeme_backup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
Entry tags:
Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
Welcome to the Fallout Kink Meme, Part IV! Please assume the position.
- Fallout Kink Meme posting guidelines
- Read something? Love something? No matter how old the story is, please let our amazing authors and artists know that you enjoyed their work with a nice comment, and share the love by recommending your favorite fills!
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (45a/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-22 01:41 pm (UTC)(link)Now she’s out by the fire, chewing a wad of tobacco. She’s glaring at some point off in the distance.
“Pissed,” Lucinda replies. Her raven flaps down off the roof, settles on Lucinda’s thigh. Lucinda digs out the string of cracked walnut shells and clattery beads, tosses it for her raven. The bird follows it, begins picking at it the same as always.
Siri grunts. She doesn't have anything else to say.
Lucinda grunts back, tucks her feet up against her butt, folds her arms over her stomach. She looks small like this. Fragile, small, underfed. Not enough for her job. Siri looks away.
“We’ll only be resupplied out of what they have extra. ‘You weren’t expected’ he told me. Not expected my ass. We’ll do alright, with all us tribals, but it won’t be fun.”
“It’s already not fun,” Siri replies.
Lucinda snorts, but it’s something like a laugh.
“Done worse,” Lucinda replies. “This is easy living. A mattress? Two meals a day? Ammunition for my gun? Ten women who listen to my every command?” she pauses, glances over at Siri. “A pretty girl who’ll hold my hand,” she mutters quickly, quietly, so Siri almost doesn't hear it. “That’s easy living. Grew up with less, been traveling with less. Legion men are still awful-” and Siri’s on high alert, now; they’re close to the edge of camp, right along the patrol route for the night guards, and God knows where they are right now, could be close- “but everything else makes up for it.” She pauses, must catch Siri’s nerves, because she adds, “They're on the other end of camp. Only come this way twice a night. Leaves us open to attack, if someone decides to. Gets rid of us first. Reason we set our own guard.”
And that eases the twinge in her gut, at least momentarily. Their threats are external, at least.
“Were you flirting with me?” Siri asks, tries to make herself think about anything else.
“Coulda been,” Lucinda agrees, nods. Spits into the dirt on the other side of her chair, and Siri can see her grin as she turns.
“Well, if that’s how you’re going to play it, boss.”
“I’m not flirting if you call me ‘boss.’ There’s a reason only you get to call me Lucy anymore.”
Siri tries to remember where everyone is, right now, who might be asleep, who might hear them flirting. Watch is off for the night, last seen sleeping wedged against Tooth. Drummer asleep across the doorway to the bedroom, Burn and Runner asleep next to her. Birdy and Photo together, Birdy half-sitting, Photo with her head on Birdy’s thigh. Dredge and Twist in the middle of the room, sprawling into each other. Breathing deep, sleeping hard.
“You should come sit over here,” Siri decides to say. Scooches over in her chair, raises her arm to offer a place to sit at her side. Lucinda huffs.
“Chewing, right now,” she replies.
“It’s bad for you, but I’ve accepted that you’re not going to stop. I’ll still let you sit with me.”
“More worried I’m gonna accidentally spit on your book,” Lucinda replies, but stands up shakes herself out. Smooths her coat down before she sheds it and folds it over the back of her deck chair. She steps around her bird--currently trying to work out the loose knots in the cord--and settles onto the edge of Siri’s deck chair. “You think it’ll hold both of us?”
“I imagine pre-war individuals weighed more than the two of us put together. We’re not particularly well fed.”
“Well, no,” Lucinda agrees, swings her legs up and around. Scoots back under Siri’s arm. The chair creaks some, but not badly. “But there are still two of us, as compared to the hypothetical one of them.” She bounces a little, makes it creak more by shifting her weight.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (45b/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-22 01:43 pm (UTC)(link)“If you keep doing that, it really won’t hold both of us.”
“Fine,” Lucinda huffs, presses herself into Siri’s side. She reeks like tobacco, cigarette smoke. Leather. Sweat, dogs, the mesquite smoke from the bighorner they had for supper. She smells like she needs a bath. Siri supposes she doesn’t smell any more pleasant. They could all use showers.
She’s warm.
Siri tightens her arm around Lucinda's shoulders.
They’re both quiet for a long minute, just breathing and the crackle of the coals and the occasional crack or pop or slippery noise from Lucinda's bird. Lucinda keeps chewing.
“You really should quit with the tobacco,” Siri finally murmurs. Lucinda laughs.
“I know,” she agrees. “But it’s my one vice. A girl has to have something to fall back on.”
Siri tries to ignore the twist up her spine, the thought not your only vice, and laughs too. “Still. Take up junk food, maybe, or knitting. Both.”
“I hate knitting,” Lucinda grumbles. She twists under Siri’s arm, so she’s on her side, her ear pressed to Siri’s bicep, her knees against Siri’s thigh. “Knitting is for old ladies who don’t want to travel anymore.”
“Did your tribe even have knitting?”
“One of our Vultures was good at it. Not--ours ours, but one of the whole tribe. She would knit people sweaters as they outgrew or shredded their old ones. She was old even before the war, wouldn’t let any of us forget that she had more than two centuries on any of us, even the ones we thought were older than anything.”
“She was a--” and everyone has different words for them, don’t they? The burned people, ghouls, what have you. Heard stories from the west, from the new slaves, about “marked men.”
“Yeah. Never learned how she turned into one of the burned, but she was.” Lucy moves a little, settles her weight differently on her hip. “Todl me I looked like her daughter did at my age. Told that to every seven year old girl, though, even the whiteblond ones and the dark skinned ones.” Lucinda laughs, rolls over, spits. Laughs again. “We all believed her.”
“Was any of it true?” Siri asks.
“Well, she was old. That much was true. None of us could figure which of us looked like her, with the peeled skin and radiation burns and all. We’d fight over it, the way kids do. Nothing at stake, but you always fight when you have something to fight over.” Lucinda rolls back over, looks up at Siri. “What about you? You have a knitter in your town?”
“My grandmother, in between her bouts of matchmaking.” She fights to not roll her eyes.
“She sounds like a grandmother out of a book.” Lucinda’s laughing, the deep, wheezy one that shows the toll of the cigarettes.
“Oh, she was,” Siri agrees. “Someone would show up on her doorstep and she would feed them and tell them who they should marry. Give them a scarf, send them on their way.”
“One-woman welcome committee.”
“She and--” What does she call the priestess just across the street? “Owl-Eagle” still seems too personal, but…”Owl-Eagle would get along.”
“Like a house on fire,” Lucinda agrees. She rolls onto her back, scoots closer again. “What are you reading about now?”
“Bone fractures.”
“Thought you knew all about bone fractures.” Lucinda bumps her calf into Siri’s leg. Her pants are riding up, and her socks slipping down, showing off the slick scar tissue over her entire shin.
“I thought I did too, but there’s always more to learn.”
Lucinda hmphs, leaves it at that.