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

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Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (45b/?)

[(Anonymous)]

CONTENT WARNING: None sorry i keep forgetting these


“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.