#Savageries of the Heart

[shiny-huntress]

Here is some art for @lorelylantana story, Savageries of the Heart. This is of a species of snake called the Faron Python, with Zelda receiving one that she names Noodle, who is said be white with blue markings, which I believe is intention in order to link her to Naydra. I chose to expand on this and add two other morphs in the colors of both Farosh and Dinraal, since the breed is apparently a common pet.

#zelink #huntress’ art #botw au #I am on a snake drawing kick and enjoying it #savageries of the heart

[lorelylantana]

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 9; Interruption

Tears of the Kingdom Title dropped and I’m back y’all

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

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Zelda stretched her back with a sigh before settling back into the couch in front of the hearth. Noodle was curled in her lap while Link rubbed her feet gently as he was scrolling through something on his slate. He’d called it ‘social correspondence’ but she’d declined learning more about it until she had a firmer grasp on her new duties. It took her a few days to name this warm, soft feeling in her chest that always grew in the evenings when Link settled down with her for the day. Currently, her top contender was ‘contentment’, but she still wasn’t certain. 

She didn’t have much experience with this strange absence of anxiety, but it left Zelda feeling very fulfilled. She’d been apprehensive upon first learning just how much influence the Mother of the Dragonlands truly held. She never expected to have much power in her life, and learning how to wield it was a delicate process. It was a heavy load to bear, but she found that she enjoyed the weight of it. After years of stagnation in the shadow of her parents’ early deaths, she knew the euphoria of progress. Rather than kneeling idly in prayer, now she could help people. It made these soft, silent moments all the sweeter. She had earned this respite.

Her slate screeched on the side table, stirring Noodle in her lap. Zelda reached around to grab the it, wanting to silence the unpleasant noise as soon as possible. It wasn’t fast enough, apparently, because Noodle was so agitated she grew to the size of a Zonai constrictor to expedite her path to the door. The second her head cleared the doorway she shrank back to cuddle size, tail disappearing down the hall a moment later. Zelda had never heard this particular alarm before, a far cry from the soft chimes that woke them every morning, but it must have been important, because Link seemed to have the same issue. She answered the call to see what the fuss was about. A Sheikah appeared on the screen that Zelda hadn’t seen before, but he did wear the uniform of the border patrol.

“We have a security breach. An unauthorized Hylian has been found along the road to Kakariko.”

“Where?” Link asked, swiping his finger up the Slate. In response, the screen’s image transferred from their slates to the smooth marble slab above their fireplace. The larger surface now sported a map of Zonai. A red dot flashed on one of the roads to the southeast of Mount Lanayru.

“They’re skirting around the Wetlands as we speak, Impa advises all Wardens to be present to give their verdict, preferably before they reach the city.”

Despite her expectations, they couldn’t simply warp to the council chamber, they would be riding something called the Zonai Railway.

“We can only warp to our respective homes and public venues for security reasons, but there are a few extra steps when the council meets to lower the chance of a possible threat,” Link had explained as they descended on a strange staircase that moved on its own. 

Zelda was fascinated. She’d read about the Zonai Railway after Amali had mentioned it one day. The idea of going from one end of the continent to the other was exciting, so much so that she’d asked for blueprints. Zelda was meticulous in her examination, but there was an ocean of difference between a schematic and the machine itself. 

The station itself was a marvel, underground but to a torch in sight. Instead, passengers idled their way throughout the station under the cool turquoise glow of luminous stones. The Zonai love of stonework clearly wasn’t a thing of the past, there were thousands upon thousands of lines and curves etched into every square inch of stone. Every walk of life was etched into stone, from farmers to weavers to warriors challenging Lynels. Even the paths underfoot held its own beauty, crevices had been filled with luminous ore and polished to a shine, making Zelda feel like she was walking on water. 

A quiet hum filled the cavern, drawing Zelda’s eye to the tunnel. A pinprick of light grew into headlights as she watched the train come closer at an incredible speed. Zelda practically flew across the station, weaving between other passengers to get a better view. Link had to hold her elbow to make sure she didn’t fall off the platform as she looked at the train car pulling into the station.

“You have to stay behind the blue line,” he said, a tad worried.

“They really don’t touch the rails,” Zelda breathed, shocked to her core as several cars came to a stop in front of them with barely a whisper. “How does it work?”

“We could ask the conductor,” he suggested.

Rather than take one of the public cars, Link guided her to a secluded section seemingly intended for the Zonai leadership. There were only two cars as opposed to the long processions she saw used for public transport. 

It was just as well, as the more secluded nature of their trip gave Zelda ample opportunity to grill the conductor regarding the railway mechanics, which turned out to be magnetically powered. Somehow.

Before he could elaborate, they arrived at their destination. It felt as though the journey only lasted a moment, but it was difficult to measure any time that passed when she was researching, so she couldn’t be sure.

“How long was our trip?” Zelda asked, incredulous.

“About fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen!?” Zelda scrambled with her slate to pull up the map. Where were they? Fort Hateno perhaps? Her icon had shifted out of Necluda in its entirety.

“We’re under the Temple of Time?” Zelda eyed the ceiling, straining to hear any of the typical bustle that she expected of the storied temple after her few visits. She couldn’t sense anything, but  there was no telling how deep they truly were. Link led her to a platform that began to ascend slowly.

“We’re not entirely sure what happened, but we think that the Great Plateau served as a base of operations during the Calamity. We lost access to most of the chambers after the Rift, but we’ve repurposed some of the rooms for our uses.”

Zelda wasn’t quite sure what he meant by Rift, but they finished their ascent before she could ask further. They seemed to be the last to arrive before a massive circular stone table. Zelda could see Urbosa and Impa, as well as a few of the other Wardens she had been introduced to at her wedding, but didn’t know very well beyond that. Not one for pleasantries, Impa ran a finger along the table’s edge, revealing another interactive map of Hyrule, or perhaps Zonai, and addressing the room.

“Kakariko’s proximity alarm has been activated. Whoever’s approaching the city, they aren’t one of us.”

The table’s map shifted, zooming in until the road itself came into view. There was a shadowy figure creeping not on the road itself, but crawling through the bushes next to it. A few paces behind them three Sheikah guards were walking upright on the road, awaiting orders and not feeling particularly inclined to put any effort into staying hidden. Abruptly, the shadow fell below into the foliage and a string of curse words could be heard over the live feed. 

“Oh, sweet Hylia,” Zelda muttered, recognizing that most grating of voices.

“It’s your dipshit cousin,” Link gasped, brow raised. 

Admittedly, Zelda hadn’t heard that presumed expletive before, but the sentiment seemed clear enough for her to consider it an apt description.

“That’s your cousin?” the Rito Warden, Revali, said with surprise and condescension.

“Unfortunately,” Zelda sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“He falls under your jurisdiction, then,” Impa declared, relief tinging the undertone of her voice, “What would you have us do?”

The council turned to look in her direction, and she suppressed the anxiety of being put on the spot. After all of her cousin’s tirades about his disdain for the Zonai, and if he came without an escort, then she wanted to know what he was up to. 

“Exactly how much does he know about Zonai’s . . . resources?” she asked, not wanting to reveal any more than necessary.

Impa huffed, “He’s already passed one of the more rural outposts we have along that road, so he’s seen some of our agricultural equipment and how they move on their own. I’d say the cat’s far enough out of the bag that contacting him over Slate isn’t that much of a risk.”

“Detain him in the nearest facility equipped for remote questioning. Before all else, we should know what his intentions are.”

Though she doubted it, there was a possibility that Hyrule needed help, and she couldn’t outright ignore that likelihood, however low it may be. Impa relayed her orders to the Sheikah standing around the bush Nohansen still hadn’t managed to disentangle himself from. One of the guards reached into the leaves to pull him out while the other fiddled with their slate. Nohansen was still squirming when they dissolved into blue strings and Impa cut the feed to connect with their nearest police station. Zelda could see the tail end of the teleportation, the last bits of their silhouettes converging until they were back in the real world.

“What are you doing, Nohansen?” Zelda asked, switching to Hylian for the first time in a while.

His head whipped around, eyes darting like a madman’s until he finally caught sight of her image.

“You savage wretch! Give back-”

“One of you smack him,” Link snapped, his usual expression of gentle kindness replaced with a cold, hard rage that sent a shiver down Zelda’s spine. He didn’t specify which of the two guards should be the one to carry out his order, but both of them seemed eager to waste time disputing who would do the honors. Two black eyes later, Nohansen seemed a bit more willing to cooperate.

“Let’s try again,” Zelda said, exasperated, “What are you doing here?”

“The crown.”

Zelda reached up to her head, where her headdress was resting with its ethereal blue glow. “What about it?”

“Not that you-” he flinched as the guards shifted behind him, “My crown. The one you stole.”

It took Zelda a few moments to realize he meant the golden circlet she used to wear as the Princess of Hyrule. That was more of a tiara, really.

“You mean the circlet I wore for ten years? That ‘crown’?”

“It’s not yours anymore! You stopped being the Crown Princess of Hyrule when you married that beast of a-”

“One of you smack him,” Zelda said, irritated and wanting this conversation over as soon as it could be.

 “A thousand apologies, your royal majesty,” he quipped, dripping with just enough sarcasm to rival his bloody nose, “But you had no right to take it and I want my birthright back!”

Zelda racked her brain to see if she knew what he was talking about. She didn’t take much in the way of jewelry with her after her marriage, aside from a pair of bracelets and necklace that belonged to her mother. Most of her luggage was research equipment and her old journals. She wasn’t wearing it during the ceremony either. She didn’t remember unpacking it either.

Perhaps Owlan knew something about it? He helped in her packing before she left Hyrule Castle. If she had put it with her other things by mistake, he may know about it. She opened the messaging thread she had with Owlan.

Zelda: You wouldn’t happen to know anything about my old tiara, would you?

Owlan’s reply came after a few more minutes of Nohansen’s insufferable screeching in the form of a picture he’d taken.

Owlan: Just sent it your way :)

Zelda pinched her nose while she tipped her slate to show her husband, and Link threw his head back and roared with laughter, which Nohansen didn’t appreciate in the slightest.

#link #zelda #zelink #Savageries of the Heart #writing #my writing #loz botw #botw #zonai link #zonai zelink #arranged marriage AU #botw zelink #racial tensions #there are a couple of racially motivated 'barbarism' themed insults #minor racism but still racism

[starikune]

Tag Dump Part 3.

#oh royal king‚ i love the way you wear your crown ✧ jesse headcanons #i'm a new soul‚ i came to this strange world ✧ jesse musings #you are a cosmic child; a celestial wonder ✧ jesse aesthetics #still wanna try‚ still believe in good days ✧ jasmine headcanons #i feel like i'm the worst‚ so i always act like i'm the best ✧ jasmine musings #sugar‚ spice‚ and everything nice ✧ jasmine aesthetics #eyes full of dreams‚ heart filled with love ✧ marshall headcanons #why does it feel so good‚ but hurt so bad? ✧ marshall musings #a rugged look of rose gold and stardust ✧ marshall aesthetics #a little context if you care to listen ✧ sofia headcanons #she held an elegant savagery ✧ sofia musings #i'll be the beauty queen in tears ✧ sofia aesthetics #alone in my head; i am content to pretend ✧ xavier headcanons #the empty field around me and my legs pounding along roads ✧ xavier musings #a vision in the morning when the light came through ✧ xavier aesthetics #tag dump

[blueheartbooks]

"Exploring the Abyss: Navigating Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness'"

Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" is a haunting exploration of the human psyche set against the backdrop of colonial Africa. Published in 1899, the novella follows the journey of Charles Marlow, a sailor captivated by the enigmatic figure of Mr. Kurtz, a renegade ivory trader in the Congo.

At its core, "Heart of Darkness" delves into the depths of the human soul, exposing the inherent darkness that lurks within. Through Marlow's firsthand account of his voyage up the Congo River, Conrad paints a chilling portrait of the moral degradation that accompanies unchecked power and colonial exploitation. As Marlow travels deeper into the heart of Africa, both literally and metaphorically, he confronts the brutal realities of imperialism and the savagery it engenders.

Conrad's prose is richly evocative, immersing readers in the dense jungles of Africa and the oppressive atmosphere of colonialism. The novella is replete with vivid imagery and symbolism, from the ominous shadow of the jungle to the haunting cries of unseen creatures. Through his masterful use of language, Conrad creates an atmosphere of foreboding and unease, drawing readers into the heart of darkness alongside Marlow.

Central to the narrative is the enigmatic figure of Mr. Kurtz, whose descent into madness serves as a potent metaphor for the corrupting influence of power. Kurtz embodies the extremes of human nature, oscillating between lofty ideals and base instincts in his quest for dominance over the African wilderness. His final words, "The horror! The horror!" resonate with chilling significance, encapsulating the moral abyss at the heart of colonial exploitation.

"Heart of Darkness" is also a searing critique of European imperialism and the hypocrisy of so-called civilized society. Conrad exposes the brutality and dehumanization inherent in the colonial enterprise, challenging readers to confront the legacy of exploitation and oppression that continues to reverberate through history. Through Marlow's journey, Conrad forces readers to reckon with uncomfortable truths about the human capacity for cruelty and indifference.

The novella's enduring relevance lies in its exploration of themes such as power, morality, and the human condition. Conrad's indictment of imperialism remains as potent today as it was over a century ago, prompting readers to reflect on the ongoing legacy of colonialism and the darkness that resides within us all. "Heart of Darkness" is a timeless masterpiece that continues to captivate and unsettle readers with its profound insights into the human soul.

Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" is available in Amazon in paperback 12.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 122

Language: English

Rating: 9/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

#Joseph Conrad #Heart of Darkness #Colonialism #Imperialism #Africa #Congo River #Charles Marlow #Mr. Kurtz #Exploration #Darkness #Human psyche #Moral degradation #Exploitation #Power #Corruption #Madness #Symbolism #Jungle #Civilization #Savagery #Ambiguity #Moral ambiguity #Oppression #Hypocrisy #Brutality #Confrontation #Psychological depth #Descent into darkness #Moral conflict #Exploration of evil

[blueheartbookclub]

"Exploring the Abyss: Navigating Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness'"

Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" is a haunting exploration of the human psyche set against the backdrop of colonial Africa. Published in 1899, the novella follows the journey of Charles Marlow, a sailor captivated by the enigmatic figure of Mr. Kurtz, a renegade ivory trader in the Congo.

At its core, "Heart of Darkness" delves into the depths of the human soul, exposing the inherent darkness that lurks within. Through Marlow's firsthand account of his voyage up the Congo River, Conrad paints a chilling portrait of the moral degradation that accompanies unchecked power and colonial exploitation. As Marlow travels deeper into the heart of Africa, both literally and metaphorically, he confronts the brutal realities of imperialism and the savagery it engenders.

Conrad's prose is richly evocative, immersing readers in the dense jungles of Africa and the oppressive atmosphere of colonialism. The novella is replete with vivid imagery and symbolism, from the ominous shadow of the jungle to the haunting cries of unseen creatures. Through his masterful use of language, Conrad creates an atmosphere of foreboding and unease, drawing readers into the heart of darkness alongside Marlow.

Central to the narrative is the enigmatic figure of Mr. Kurtz, whose descent into madness serves as a potent metaphor for the corrupting influence of power. Kurtz embodies the extremes of human nature, oscillating between lofty ideals and base instincts in his quest for dominance over the African wilderness. His final words, "The horror! The horror!" resonate with chilling significance, encapsulating the moral abyss at the heart of colonial exploitation.

"Heart of Darkness" is also a searing critique of European imperialism and the hypocrisy of so-called civilized society. Conrad exposes the brutality and dehumanization inherent in the colonial enterprise, challenging readers to confront the legacy of exploitation and oppression that continues to reverberate through history. Through Marlow's journey, Conrad forces readers to reckon with uncomfortable truths about the human capacity for cruelty and indifference.

The novella's enduring relevance lies in its exploration of themes such as power, morality, and the human condition. Conrad's indictment of imperialism remains as potent today as it was over a century ago, prompting readers to reflect on the ongoing legacy of colonialism and the darkness that resides within us all. "Heart of Darkness" is a timeless masterpiece that continues to captivate and unsettle readers with its profound insights into the human soul.

Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" is available in Amazon in paperback 12.99$ and hardcover 18.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 122

Language: English

Rating: 9/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

#Joseph Conrad #Heart of Darkness #Colonialism #Imperialism #Africa #Congo River #Charles Marlow #Mr. Kurtz #Exploration #Darkness #Human psyche #Moral degradation #Exploitation #Power #Corruption #Madness #Symbolism #Jungle #Civilization #Savagery #Ambiguity #Moral ambiguity #Oppression #Hypocrisy #Brutality #Confrontation #Psychological depth #Descent into darkness #Moral conflict #Exploration of evil

[yeyinde]

Outlaw!Price, the enigmatic leader of the notorious and deadly 141 gang, who stumbles upon you one evening near the stables (attempting to steal the mare he had his eyes on, no less) as you try to sneak out of the city (and away from the awful, awful man you're supposed to be married to in the morning), and decides to help you get away.

But if you think it's altruism that's making him lend a helping hand to a stranger, you're wrong. In this life, he knows it's kill or be killed.

And most importantly:

finders keepers.

“How's this,” he begins, and everything inside of you screams to run. “I'll accompany you across the desert. Get you somewhere safe.” 

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure,” you sneer, edging backwards. “As if I'm dumb enough to believe that.”

“Can't leave a maiden—” your scathing hiss makes his lips twitch beneath the thick moustache; “—all on her own like that. I know these parts like the back of my hand. No harm will come to you. That, you have my word for.”

“And what's that worth?” 

He dips his chin. “Far more than you could imagine, love.” 

You swallow. “I don't know. I don't trust you—”

“Smart,” he nods, drops the cigar on the ground before snuffing the end out with the heel of his boot. “But I ain't very patient. Better make up your mind quickly.”

“Well, in that case—”

“But," he cuts your scoff off with a low hum. "I'll put it this way for you: do you want me to be the one to accompany you across the desert or the one they'll pay, handsomely, tomorrow morning to drag you back home, mm?”

“You scoundrel—! You dirty, rotten—”

“It's business, love.”

“I don't have any money to even pay you to—”

His eyes are searing when they catch on the threads of your lace collar, razing over exposed skin like he's owed the privilege. You've never seen such hunger on a man's face before.

Your skin prickles. Heart sinking low with each rasping sweep of his eyes across your body. It's as if you're meat. Something to be bartered with. Bargained.

The rasp in his voice makes you shiver. “You're a smart girl. I'm sure you can figure something out.”

“I—”

“I'll leave it to you, then, mm?” He starts forward, then, chin ducking low into his collar to stare down at you through the wide brim of his hat. Each thud of his boots echo against the floor in haunting harmony with the metal clink of his spurs. 

More of his bulk is revealed as he steps out from the shadows and into the pale moonlight, and somewhere in your chest, the air becomes trapped. 

He's huge. Bigger, now, where most of him blended in, almost seamlessly, into the shadows. A massive mountain of a man. 

His shoulders seem to stretch the fabric of his vest and waistcoat taut, pulling sharply on the straining threads. The heavy brown of his jacket sweeps down to midthigh, the seam tucked behind the leather holster of his gun tied tight at his waist. The brass buttons of his dress shirt crease against the pull of his broad chest and barrelled stomach. The softness around his midsection speaks almost highly of a luxurious lifestyle—pure hedonism. The sort ladies back home whisper about. Violence, women, and booze—ruffians, the lot of them! But it seems to belie the power in his gait. In the flex of his thick, corded thighs bunching in the tightness of his denim trousers and the leather caps covering them.

He has the walk of a bear. Lumbering, sloven. A touch clumsy. 

And yet—

The softness about him hides the raw strength under the thick pelt. Deadly. The slow, meandering trawl of a man who knows, unequivocally, that he needn’t run or rush anywhere. 

It lodges somewhere inside of you. This knowledge, this fact. He'll outpace you in spades. Catch up no matter where you flee to. 

Your stomach folds, looping over itself. It's nausea, maybe. And something else—

He's so big. Burly. Thickened like the strong trucks of ponderosa pine. A man cut from the wilderness; made in the likeness of the savagery of the wild. The brutality of the desert, of mother nature herself. Kin to the affinity this land seems to have in taking every ounce of a man and leaving him bereft in the face of the looming unknowns in the vast desert.

None of the men you've ever met before look like him. Grizzled. Hardened.

His scarred, tanned skin speaks of a life living outdoors. On a horse, on the run—hard work made with his bare hands. You think the softness, the callous-free palm that gripped your fingers tight in a vice, and can't help but to lean, just a little, into him. Drawn there, like a moth to a flame.

There's something about this man that makes you tremble. Something that curls inside of your guts. Something deeper, darker than fear. Primal. Animalistic. There must be something wrong with you, then. Most know to run from the predators—not move closer.

He comes to a halt less than an arm's length away from you, close enough that you can scent the heavy musk of him so thickly in your nose. Something purely masculine—loam, humus—and yet unfathomably different from the men you've known your whole life. Horse, and sweat. Sun. The headiness of riding nonstop through the sprawling deserts of New Mexico. Leather, and gunpowder. 

The novelty of it all is enough to make you dizzy. And, as if to reinforce it, he leans down, the brim of his hat narrowly missing your forehead, and he rasps, guttural and dark, 

“and I do expect to be paid back in full, love,” his voice is felled timber. Low, and firm. “Or you'll find you don't like the consequences very much. Am I clear?”

The unmistakable iron in it snags on the tendrils of your resolve, pulling messily at the threads. No escape. It winds tighter, tighter— 

Still. 

Your only other option is to stay here, and in the morning, marry a man who made it abundantly clear that the sole use he has for you is to rebrand a dwindling legacy (women ought to be seen, not heard, darlin’, and I think it's high time someone teach you that); or— 

Make off on your own. Through the unmapped, untamed wilderness of New Mexico with nothing for protection except whatever you could reasonably steal away with uninterrupted, which. Isn't much. Not only that—this man, this outlaw, had made it abundantly clear that there would be a bounty on you come sunrise. One he'd be most eager to fulfil. 

Rock, hard place. No escape. 

You steel yourself, grappling with trembling fingers against the dwindling options in front of you, and offer a slow, jerking nod. 

He heaves a breath in response. “Good choice, love.”

It doesn't feel very much like one. It doesn't feel very good at all, even. 

In this little stable just outside of town, you sell your soul to the devil in New Mexico while the cicadas in the background scream through the ink black night. The sounds they make seem to ask, 

what have you done?

#price x reader #outlaw price x reader #lil sneak peek under the cut because i feel bad for going mia forever #and!!!!!!!!!! burly husky outlaw!Price my beloved #he has a tummy and thick arms and ughhghghghghgh #listen #i'm not well #outlaw!price #this is so unpolished and raw but enjoy

[spacedace]

Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.

Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.

(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)

-

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.

A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.

It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.

Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.

Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.

But they were still kids.

Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.

Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.

Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.

Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.

They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.

Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.

Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.

They all knew why.

The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.

That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.

Robin II was an Alley Kid.

A true child of Gotham.

Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.

Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.

He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.

Bad things happened to good kids all the time.

And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.

Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.

The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.

Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.

Or so the rumors said, at least.

That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.

Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.

And then the news came in.

There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.

Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.

Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.

Alone.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.

The Joker wasn’t most folks.

And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.

When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.

Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.

And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.

Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.

But the Bat would find him.

They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.

It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

The Clown still lived.

The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.

No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.

That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.

They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.

And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.

Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.

Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.

Not Robin II either.

Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.

No.

It was a new Robin.

A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.

Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.

Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.

The Clown had killed Robin II.

Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.

Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.

The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.

But he never did.

Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.

Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.

And then the Bat stepped in.

Revived the fucking Clown.

A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.

The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.

He was a good kid.

He deserved better.

Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.

Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.

It was their turn.

#batman #batman au #batman rogues #batman rouges gallery #dc penguin #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd robin #dick grayson robin #bruce wayne #the joker #tim drake #dc robin #gotham city #open season au #i don't go in for Jason being the 'angry' robin or the 'violent' robin #he was the lil chainsmoking ball of sunshin robin that made sure to do his homework first before going out to fight crime #dick was the scariest robin because he was BOTH incredibly violent & full of rage AND a ball of sunshine & unrelenting hope #Jason was a Gotham kid (an Alley Kid) and I think a lot of the rogues would have respected that #dick got his respect by teaching them how many of their bones a tiny 9 year old could break in a single kick #feel like there's a scene in the extended au in which Tim gets kidnapped but instead of being held for ransom or threatened #it's just the Rogues aggressively mother-henning him and trying to make sure he's alright #Dick gets a call from Harley later that the newest Robin is fine he and Riddler are coming up with deadly traps together #No she doesn't see anything wrong with that - it's just some enrichment activities for them - why do you ask?

[alwaysbewoke]

Ota Benga was born around 1883, in what is now the Republic of Congo. Theirs was a hunter-gatherer society. When he became a man, his teeth were chipped into sharp points, part of his tribal customs. His world came crashing down when King Leopold II of Belgium (The butcher of Congo) established a colony in the Congo to exploit its valuable resources. The demand for rubber was increasing around the world and Leopold wanted to corner the market. He subdued the native population to force them into laboring on the rubber plantations. In Belgium Congo, women were held hostage until their men returned with enough rubber for the colonizer King Leopold. Some had their hands chopped off for not meeting rubber quotas. Ota was out on a hunting expedition when his village was attacked by the slavers. Whether they were Force Publique or an African group working to collect people to sell to them varies from story to story. He was taken captive. On the other side of the globe, a man named Samuel Verner was preparing exhibits for the 1904 World's Fair. The fair's organizers wanted to do an exhibit showing the progress of mankind “from the dark prime to the highest enlightenment, from savagery to civic organisation" He was given a hefty budget to collect living "specimens" of people from Africa to represent the "savage depths" from which mankind had sprung. The experience of young African men at the 'fair' aka Human Zoo, was not a pleasant one. Billed as cannibals, they shook spears at the crowd and grimaced with their filed teeth, modeling their "war dances" Verner sent Ota to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. In 1906, Verner found a new home for Ota: The Bronx Zoo. Ota was put as an "exhibit" A plaque was erected, describing him in the same way an animal would be described and put into a cage in the monkey house. The Minneapolis Journal declared Ota to be the "missing link" between chimps and humans. On March 19, 1916, he stole a revolver gun and shot himself through the heart.

x

[ozarkthedog]

summary: despite your reluctance, joel wants to fill you up.

kinktober ii: cnc + breeding

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. Joel Miller x afab!reader. consensual non consent. threat of breeding. rough sex. asphyxiation. slight mention of aftercare. no beta.

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: per this post and @thornsnvultures sliding into my DMs with this thot. probably not my best but i'm posting it anyways. 🤷‍♀️

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

He missed the power. The control. The brutality. 

The topic had been discussed only once but the point was clear. Joel did not want to raise a child in this new, horrific world.

Settling down in Jackson with you had been good for him. The boring monotony of day-to-day life. It wasn’t just surviving. It was making something out of nothing, growing together. Helping your fellow man; not just stealing from him (or worse).

Still, that unsettling need would return from time to time. It’d take root in the base of his skull like one of the countless bullets he’d left in his victims. The savagery beckoned him like a gnat scratching at the surface. The urge to claim sinking its fangs in once again.

Normally he’d go on a long hunt. Seek out unseemly folk and leave a path of destruction in his wake. This morning, however, a storm brewed outside. The windows glitter with a layer of frost as the wind howls through Jackson.

You flinch awake. Trepidation settling in your belly. You know this feeling. You’ve been here many times before. You’ll stay by Joel’s side until your last breath. So you do what you’ve both discussed; wait.

A brute hand forces you onto your front. A gasp falls from your lips as a heavy weight settles on your back. Your lungs seize under the pressure making blood pulse behind your eyes. 

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Joel sneers. He drags the hook of his nose up the side of your face, smiling as you struggle to suck a breath in. “Got you right where I want cha’, pretty girl.”

You jab an elbow back hoping to clip his jaw but he easily cages in it a steely grip. He yanks your left arm out from under your body with a dark chuckle and roughly secures your wrist in one of his large palms. 

“I like ‘em feisty.” he grits, dipping his head down and brushing his lips along the shell of your ear. “Gets my blood pumping” he drawls, a sick grin tugging at his lips. “and something else too.” 

He shifts his weight, lessening the pressure on your upper body, and grids his hard cock against your ass. You instinctively twist in his grip, bucking your hips and tugging on his hold. Joel hollers above you, “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how tough you are, sweet girl.” 

You whine, knowing there is no way out. He was much too strong. Still, it was part of the game.

“You know, it’ll be better for you if you just give in.” the warm, soothing words flutter into your brain calming your heart for just a brief moment. 

You know what he’s capable of. You’ve seen the brutality, the rage but you also know about the quiet side. The way he holds your hand when you walk into town. The soft eyes he gives you when you cuddle into his side. The way he’s so tender with you when he cradles your face in his hands.

“Wanna fill you up.” Joel murmurs. Pulling your right knee up to your chest before sliding a large hand along the apex of your sex. “That’s my pretty pussy.” he groans as he drags a lazy finger up the slice of you. “Can never get enough of it.” he coos into your hair before kissing the top of your spine. “Of you.”

“Joel- no, please.” you whimper, shaking your head. “You can’t.”

He “tsks” behind you. A brute hand catches the back of your neck and digs his digits into the tender column. Warm breath brushes the shell of your ear as he leans in close. “You think you’re in a position to call the shots? Stupid girl.”

A gasp catches in your throat when he taps the heavy tip of his cock on your barely wet opening. He notches the bulbous crown just past your folds before sliding in ever so slowly. He takes his time filling you up. He wants this to last. Doesn’t want to know where he begins and you end. 

Your core envelopes the weight and size of him. Molding around his thick length until you’re busting at the seams. “Thatta’ girl.” Joel grits through clenched teeth as your velvet walls make room for him. His cock brushes your cervix with a brazen kiss as he bottoms out making you wince.

His fingers dance cruelly on the crux of your mound, tugging on the hair that grows earning him a sharp cry before moving south. He circles your clit with expertise, knowing your body better than you did. A dense knot of unsavory pleasure forms in your belly, slowly growing tighter with every flick of his wrist. 

He finally rocks his hips and the air punches from your lungs. He sets a constant motion, sawing his length in and out. In and out. From his bulbous tip to the soaked base of his shaft, he takes. He defiles.  

Joel tugs your body close, wrapping his left arm around your font and splaying between your breasts effectively caging you against his broad form. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweet girl.”

He grinds his cock deep after a weighty thrust, pushing his hips against the cushion of your ass. “Gonna fill you up.” he grunts, snapping his hips and pressing into the deepest part of you. “Make ya all round. Leave ya a drippin’ mess.” 

Joel’s hips snap hard. It forces the air from your lungs and shakes your bones. If it weren’t for his hold you would’ve rolled to the other side of the bed. 

A pathetic mewl tumbles from your lips, anxiety boiling over. “Joel, no!” you cry, praying he pulls out before it’s too late. 

Without thinking, you toss your head back and catch the top of his brow, bruising his eye socket with a curt blow.

The room goes eerily still. The man behind you is deathly silent as your heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest.

A heavy hand circles your neck and tugs you backward. Your neck is instantly constricted, barely allowing any air to pass by under his palm. He pins your head against his shoulder forming his large, powerful frame against your shivering one. “Wrong fuckin’ move.”

Ice runs up your spine, chilling your insides to the bone as his fingers press on your veins, seeking out the one that makes you comply every time you try to revolt.

"Just for that, I'm gonna keep fuckin' ya after I fill you up." he sneers. "Make sure it sticks."

Blood pounds under your skin as the room spins. Your sight glazes over while he shoves his cock past your walls as they involuntarily clench around his girth from the rough treatment. 

His cock swells, bigger and bigger with every drive. “Shit.” he hisses, clutching your throat just a bit tighter as his hips stutter. A black mist slowly begins to crowd your sight, your eyes roll backward, mind and body go numb.

In a flash, he loosens his grip on your neck and pulls from your warmth, circling his shiny, soaked cock with a tight grip. He pumps his length, chasing his high before coming with a raspy moan and spilling hot ropes along the curve of your ass.

A heavy blanket of silence falls over the room while Joel catches his breath. He feels the rage melting away as his heart slowly beats to its usual rhythm. That all-consuming need has been stamped out. For now. 

In a moment, he’ll scoop you into his arms and leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. He’ll hum words of love while you relax against his chest and eventually fall back to sleep. 

You close your eyes and wait like you always do.

running away now. 😅 feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miler x you #dark!joel miller #pedro pascal

[midryss]

Little Beastie (The Ghoul x Fem Raider Reader NSFW)

Smut with plot PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU'RE A MINOR!

Warnings- Blood play, spanking, rough sex, hair pulling, fingering, p in v, creampie, knife play, addiction, choking, biting, overstimulation, light degrading, night terrors/nightmares

Word count- 10482 Yep it's a long one, you're welcome 😜

Summery-Coming off the chems and trying to turn your life around was a challenge considering you were brought up a raider, but you wanted more out of life. Wanting to escape all the rage and violence, an unlikely alliance with The Ghoul makes you question whether you're truly capable of leaving behind your psychotic tendencies, unless he can tame the beast.

Your lungs burned, muscles screamed, heart thumped hard through the adrenaline but you couldn't stop. Vicious snarls gained quickly on you as the Deathclaw chased you down.

It was just one bad affair after another with you lately. Escaping the clutches of your former raider clan by the skin of your teeth, before foolishly interrupting the dinner of one of the most feared beasts in the wasteland. All in all the past week has been pretty rough, but you were a survivor, determined and resilient.

You swerved and clambered frantically through crumbling buildings in an attempt to lose the beast on your tail. The wounds you had earned just days before from your so called "family" began to weep. There are few who can say they made it out of raider life, mostly because so few wanted to leave at all. It was all they knew after all. Being brought up following their barbaric ways most raider folk never thought twice about the savagery. Like a cult, they had you trapped. Loaded you with chems to keep you high, addicted to the feeling, to all the violence. But as the years went by, you began to refuse the chems and your thoughts became clearer. This isn't the life you wanted.

Of course your attempt at persuading the other raiders to drop the chems fell on deaf ears. You knew it was a matter of time before the "new you" would become another one of their victims. Just another nameless face piled on the bonfire. So in a final "fuck you" to your former clan you destroyed their supply. Making a very narrow escape with only the bare essentials in the process.

Those essentials didn't last long in the blistering heat of the desert. Nor did the ammo you foolishly used up on the Deathclaw you disturbed. Making matters worse you lost the crudely made pipe rifle a while back.

Skidding through the doors of what you can only assume was some sort of office before the bombs fell, you shot a quick glance behind you as the beast pounced.

"Shit!" You dove behind the pile of desks and file cabinets to avoid its clutches. Scanning around the room for something to defend yourself with, your eyes landed on a crate of alcohol at the bottom of a crumbling staircase. You ran for it, bottles clinked together as you used the momentum to pull the crate up to the second floor. Praying for a miracle, you tore rags of cloth from your dusty flannel shirt while scanning the room.

"Thank fuck" you breathed a sigh of relief snatching a little gold lighter off an office desk. Stealing a glimpse out the blown out window, you watched the Deathclaw forcing its way through the surprisingly sturdy walls below you.

"Die, bitch" you mumbled as you dropped your hastily made Molotov's. It let out a furious roar, prying itself back from the wall. Its jaws snapped at you perched at the window above it. You watched it writhe in the flames but to your surprise it wasn't you that killed it, but a powerful gunshot from behind it. You snapped your gaze up to the owner of the gun. A cowboy, clad in dusty worn leather. You tilted your head to the side curiously, squinting for a better look through the rising smoke. He marched over his latest kill through the dying flames and you saw his scarred skin, thick like leather. A Ghoul.

You let your body relax, not at all caring who your saviour was, just that you were alive to tell the tale. Slouching down in a nearby office chair, you rubbed your tired eyes in your palms and released a heavy sigh.

"The fuck do you think you're doin!?"

You didn't bother lifting your head.

What now?

The Ghoul stormed through the office, pure rage written across his marred face. Before you could react, he grabbed you harshly by your tattered shirt and thrust you against the wall.

Confusion was clear in your expression so he explained, frustration and anger laced his voice.

"Been tracking that bounty for days!" His grip on your shirt tightened as you struggled to free yourself "You and your pet just cost me the trail!

"The fuck was I supposed to know!?" You snapped, "I'm just tryna survive."

"Oh Yeah? See if you survive this, Sweetheart!" he brought the muzzle of his pistol to your jaw and you saw red. The psychotic raider in you erupted. Letting out a vicious snarl, you leapt on him like a rabid dog, teeth bared as you defended yourself like a cornered animal.

He didn't shoot. Releasing you from his grip, he brought his now free arm up to protect himself. You clamped your teeth down into the filthy leather of his coat. Initially you were aiming for his neck, not at all deterred by the textured flesh, it's still just skin at the end of the day.

The force of your attack sent him stumbling backwards, seizing the opportunity you hooked your foot around his ankle, forcing him to drop the pistol and catch himself as he collided with the concrete floor. You wasted no time in snatching up the gun and scuttling away leaving him coughing and spluttering. You didn't look back, thinking only of running once again.

You ran clumsily through buildings and across rooftops in an effort to deter The Ghoul from tracking you down. You stole from a bounty hunter after all, you knew he'd be after revenge and his pistol back. Finally you were able to scavenge some resources and re patch your wounds left by your raider buddies. You slowed your pace as you heard sounds of civilization ahead and reflected on the hell of a day you had.

You beat yourself up over that Deathclaw. It could have been so easily avoided had you not been in such a hurry. And that damned Ghoul. Would he really have killed you? Over a bounty!? Surely he could pick up the trail again, it was his job after all.

Through all your wonderings about the Ghoul, a pang of guilt struck you, knowing you had killed for less. Maybe he should have pulled the trigger. Many would say you deserved it for your previous wrongdoings, and you would have to agree.

Shaking your head, you did your best to push the self loathing away. The hardest struggle you faced being clean was the constant guilt, knowing all the shit you've put into the world, when you could have helped rebuild civilization, to create something instead of destroying it.

You focused on the sounds coming from behind a heavily barricaded gate in the middle of the dilapidated concrete jungle. It sounded like a city. You could cry at the thought of being part of a normal community, a small smile crept its way across your quivering lips as you approached the gate earning small nods of greeting from the guards.

With no caps, a stolen pistol and a face that looked like it was dragged through hell, you had no idea where to go from here. Feeling out of your depth in a bustling community of people just trying to survive, you were quickly becoming overwhelmed. Wandering aimlessly you tried to blend in while taking in your surroundings.

Until something caught your eye. A scuffle in the centre of town and a small crowd beginning to gather.

"Fuck off I had him first!" a gravelly voice threatened. 

"Like hell you did!" Another replied, equally as angry. 

Two men both widely built and decked out in leather armour were about to fight it out over a feeble little man cowering on the ground, his wrists were bound with rope and he’d clearly been beaten more than a few times.

"There's a hell of a bounty up for this piece of shit, I ain't giving up without a fight!"

You froze, wide eyed at the pathetic looking man on the ground.

The bounty

You grinned to yourself, sneaking through the crowd. With enough chaos you could slip the target away and return him to the Ghoul. Strike a deal with him, gain protection while you establish yourself in society, or at least till you get your own weapons and armour.

You slipped an empty bottle from a nearby barrel and launched it at one of the men through the crowd. That did it. Within moments a brawl broke out between the bounty hunters and the crowd. Slipping through the frantic bodies you pulled the target out of the chaos and didn't stop until you were both hidden in a darkened ally.

It didn't take long for the crowd to dissipate as the bounty hunters frantically searched for their prize.

"If you want to keep your balls, come with me!" you hissed as you dragged him by the collar to the patchwork metal walls surrounding the settlement. The boundaries were tall, with barbed wire wrapped around its peak. In a panic you both kicked and tore your way through the most rusted panel available, before scuttling through the tight space.

Hauling your captive from the dust you retraced your steps, running as fast as your weakened muscles could with the weight of the bounty target behind you. It didn't take long for The Ghoul to find you as you stood in the middle of the dusty road, gun to the trembling little man's temple. The Ghoul narrowed his eyes at you, he was pissed.

"Well, look what we have here," he said, surprisingly calm, despite the threatening look in his eye.

"Gonna offer you a deal, Ghoul!" You announced, a slight shake in your voice. You weren't used to bargaining, you hoped you were doing it right.

He tilted his head to the side, a questioning look on his face. When he didn't respond you continued.

"You get the target and your gun back on one condition"

"...which is?" He asked through gritted teeth, he was growing impatient.

"Take me with you for while"

The threat in his eyes was replaced with amusement as he started to laugh. You scowled, nudging the barrel of the pistol harder into the hostage's temple earning a whimper from him.

“Just until I get on my feet” you were stern but there was no denying you were practically begging for help.

"And what if I refuse, little lady? Better yet, what's stopping me from accepting this deal and just killing you, hm?"

You smirked "honour"

He laughed once more, louder this time, almost sarcastically.

"I'm returning what I took from you and I know you have some decency left in you." he stopped laughing and his harsh glare returned.

"Oh, you don't know shit about me, sweetheart"

"I know you could have shot me earlier, but you didn't" His eyes narrowed. Time was getting on and it was only a matter of time before the other bounty hunters would search outside the settlement.

"Look, other bounty hunters are on their way for this bastard right now. So you can either accept and I tag along, or decline so I can blow this fuckers brains out" You hissed the last bit in the captives ear, an almost evil gleam in your eye letting them both know you would do it and you wouldn't lose any sleep over it.

The Ghoul glanced behind you, searching for the other bounty hunters, frustration clear on his face.

"Not givin me much of a choice, Sweetheart. Fine, you got a deal"

You grinned, proudly. Relief washed over you as you tossed the target and the pistol to the floor at the Ghouls feet.

"Pleasure doin business, Cowboy!"

The Ghoul gagged his prize and tied him with his lasso for good measure before laying down ground rules.

"Now if you try to escape or run or do anythin that makes me think you're plotting, I'm gonna let my pretty little companion here take your eyes, understand" His tone was calm and he spoke with a malicious grin, making his threats that much scarier. The little man sniffled but nodded.

You had journeyed in silence for a while and it was starting to get dark. You were growing chilly as the sun began to fall and your torn shirt did little to protect you from the elements. Of course The Ghoul noticed, he knew you were tired, you were dehydrated, hungry and weak but he didn't stop. He wondered how long it would take for you to give in or just collapse, but you never did. Unknown to him you needed to keep moving. You had to keep your mind focused on something other than getting high. The pain helped, kept you distracted, made you feel something. After so many years on the chems, you forgot what it was like to be anything other than numb, fueled with rage and craving violence. The pain was hell but at least it was real.

Hours passed and finally the Ghoul decided to set up camp. The hostage wasn't in great shape either and The Ghoul needed him alive. You sat by his fire still in silence, getting lost in the flames as your eyes started to feel heavy. Your thoughts snapped to the last family you killed on a raid. Innocent blood spilled because of you and your psycho addiction. The shock shook you awake and you noticed him watching you curiously on the other side of the fire. You rubbed your eyes hard.

"I'll keep watch" You announced, the little man had already passed out and The Ghoul smirked.

"Don't trust me to stick around, Darlin?" You looked at him, it was better than telling him you were plagued by nightmares every time you sleep.

"Would you?" You asked, his smirk turned into a sideways grin.

"Clever girl" He lay back, covering his face with his hat. You were alone with only your thoughts and the crackle of the fire. Doing anything you could to stay awake and distract yourself you paced for a while, before drawing crude pictures in the dust with your knife until eventually your eyes could no longer stay open and you slipped into your nightmares once again.

You woke with a start, tears cut through the grime that painted your cheeks. Your heart raced as you looked around wild eyed, slowly coming back to reality. The sun barely broke over the horizon but The Ghoul was already awake. You caught his glance but you were unable to read him. You stood up suddenly, too embarrassed to look at him, for him to see you like this.

Fuck!

Your muscles were tense, every movement felt like you were tearing yourself apart. But the pain, the reminder that you're alive; that you’re free, was worth it. You hissed as you stretched, feeling his gaze still on you. You tried to ignore him, to compose yourself quickly before kicking the bounty target awake. He was flustered as you dragged him to his feet.

“We need food and water” You said, taking in the state of the hostage who was somehow starting to look worse than you. You heard the ghoul kicking the burned embers of the fire behind you, scattering evidence of the camp.

“So scavenge” He said, as if whatever you do is none of his business.

Raising an eyebrow you ask “think I trust you not to leave?” you cross your arms “Gonna need a guarantee, Cowboy”

He sighed, knowing the hostage would die before making it to the client at this rate. But he already lost too much time.

“Lotta work, you are, woman” He tossed the pistol to you “One mag, that’s all ya gettin. You waste it, it’s your problem.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, holstering the gun in your belt. “I’ll not stray far” you assured him. He didn’t really care but you figured you’d let him know his weapon wouldn’t be too far from his side.

The wasteland was just that, desolate, save for the odd farm house. Not even a pitiful rolemat made itself known. After hours of walking with the distant silhouette of the Ghoul still within sight, you had only picked up scraps. The stimpak was useful and you chewed greedily on some iguana bits which tasted foul but at least it was better than starving. What made you return was the increasing amounts of chems you had picked up. You figured the ghoul would have use for them and the further away from you they were the better.

You forced the deviled eggs down the bounty target's throat, letting him know he’d be dehydrated a while before gagging him once again. You were surprised to see the glee on The Ghouls face when you presented him with the jet and mysterious yellow vials you’d found in the wreckage of one of the farmhouses. 

“Well, would ya look at that! Not so useless after all” he didn’t waste any time in gulping the liquid like it was holy water.

“Never seen a chem like that before” you exclaimed

“Lucky ya found it, little lady. Been looking mighty delicious for a while now” He grinned maliciously. The shock was clear on your face, accompanied by a surprising blush. You shook off the strange fluttering feeling his comment gave you.

“Don’t know how long we can go without water” You changed the subject

“Next town’ll have somethin” his mood had improved greatly since taking the medicine. The tension between you lifted slightly, making travelling together much more tolerable for the pair of you. You tried returning his gun but to your surprise he allowed you to keep it.

“Give it back when the job’s done. Might need it till then, an I ain’t protectin ya like some damsel”

Finally after hours of idle banter the next town held promise. You found a new shirt and a jacket with lots of pockets, perfect for scavenging. You filled your jacket with as much as you could carry: food, ammo, more chems and finally…

Water!

You wept at the sight. Purified water, finally! You gulped down your share before catching up with the Ghoul, a spring in your step. Your prisoner's eyes lit up as you approached, a canteen full of clear refreshing water. The Ghoul yanked him back as he lunged for you.

“Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?” you feigned offence before tossing the canteen at him.

The Ghoul raised a brow at you “That it?” you tilted your head at him in question “Thought you were the type to have fun before dishing out rewards” he explained

“Sounds like you want me to tease the poor fucker…Unless you’re the type who likes to watch” You slowly drawled, inching closer to The Ghoul.

“Oh, Darlin, I’m more of a doer than a watcher” he stepped towards you, confidently, almost asserting dominance over you. He was close. Closer than you would normally allow but something about him drew you in. He wasn’t like the raider men. He was harsh, cruel and selfish but there was still some shred of human decency in him just like you said and he was unexpectedly charming. You were curious about him, and you found yourself studying his face properly for the first time. His teasing smile fell as you caught his eyes, the way the sunlight hit them made them look like jewels, they were beautiful in that brief moment until he hardened his gaze.

“You askin to be made a meal of, Woman?” He broke you out of your trance, his tone impatient, defensive even, as if he knew you were searching him. 

“N-no!” You finally shoved him away. 

You forced the trio to move as long as possible until eventually your hostage collapsed. The Ghoul glared at you.

“If he dies, I’ll sell you to raiders! I’m sure they’d love to have their way with a sweet thing like you”

You scoffed “Try it, they wouldn’t know the right way if it shot them between the eyes” He stopped suddenly, tilting his head in question. You smiled innocently in response, knowing you’d said too much about your predicament and hoping to throw him off. He was clearly curious but he didn’t delve any further. The pair of you set up camp under cover of a department store, barricading the door and window with shelves and pulling old moth-eaten pillows and sleeping bags to the middle of the room. Thunder could be heard from a distance and the air began to feel thick, The Ghoul approached a small crack in the window.

“Betcha glad we stopped when we did, darlin” He shot you a “told you so” look and you narrowed your eyes at him as you lit the small candles around the room.

“Radstorm?” you asked, he nodded 

Time passed in silence as you both got comfy in the sleeping bag pile. You normally enjoyed the blissful silence but this time it was almost awkward.

“So what’d he do to get a bounty on him?” You asked suddenly. The Ghoul turned his gaze from the chems he was organising to you.

“Mean to tell me you’ve been followin me round like a puppy for a bounty an’ ya don’t even know what he did?”

You thought for a moment “yup”

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief “You’re a strange little thing ain't ya?”

“I never said I wanted the bounty by the way. But since we’re on the topic, what do you say to splitting it?” He laughed at your confidence and the radstorm outside rattled the boards on the windows.

“Ya lost me the target to start with, cost me time, stole my gun, used my ammo, made the target collapse from exhaustion and you got the balls to ask for a cut? Lucky you’re still breathin, Sweetheart!” he was amused as he called you out on your mishaps and you returned his tone with a small smile.

“I also kept both you and your target alive, remember!”

He scoffed “Fact of the matter is, I don’t owe you shit, Princess. You travel with me under my terms. Don’t like it, then leave” he spat almost daring you to leave. You crossed your arms in a dramatic huff. 

“Don’t get bratty now, you chose this” he began devouring the yellow liquid from one of his vials before taking a hit of jet. You watched hungrily, his eyes fluttered closed as he breathed out a satisfied sigh. You couldn’t deny you craved the high he was on. He caught the look in your eye and the slight shine on your lips from where you had unknowingly licked them.

“Dangerous to look at a man like that, sweetheart” he teased. You blinked hard, a light blush dusting your cheeks as you avoided his gaze. 

“It’s not…I mean…I wasn’t…nevermind” you trailed off, finding the seams of the sleeping bag you were on suddenly very interesting.

The little red inhaler landed suddenly beside you. You looked at him wide eyed, shocked at his generosity.

“All you gotta do is ask, princess” you picked it up with slightly shaky fingers.

“Oh…Um, thanks…but I, uh don’t…anymore” you were almost embarrassed to say you were clean, it must seem like such a trivial thing to a ghoul.

“Oh…” He realised but said nothing more as you handed it back. He shoved it as well as the assortment of other chems back in his pack to help you avoid temptation. You were surprised at the respect he showed and you smiled at him in thanks. Thoughts about teasing him crossed your mind but you refrained, revelling in the moment of genuineness.

He scanned the room before his eyes landed on scattered bottles in the corner, he let out a long whistle.

He gestured towards the bottles asking if you drank, you thought for a moment before nodding. It had been a while since you drank but you figured you deserved some reward after the shit show that had unfolded recently.

You both shared a bottle of old whisky. It burned your throat and you coughed at its foul taste, but you gradually warmed up to it as the radstorm grew louder. You chatted for a while as you carved a little chunk of wood with your hunting knife. He lectured you on whisky as most old men do but it led you to wonder.

“How old are you?” the effect of the alcohol started to set in as you began to feel fuzzy and more carefree.

He glared at you for interrupting him “How’d you end up with raiders?” he snapped back as if to say I don't ask you questions so don't ask me. You sat up, frowning at him realising you weren’t as sneaky as you thought.

“They were my clan,” you admitted after a moment before falling back onto the soft sleeping bags.

After a short silence he mumbled “Over two hundred, don’t know exactly”

“Woah!” You snapped your head to look at him, “so…you were there when the bombs dropped?” you asked eagerly.

“So this clan of yours, everyone inbred? or just you?” he returned your gaze with narrowed eyes letting you know he wasn’t comfortable with the personal questions.

“Cheeky fucker!” you launched the bottle of whisky, it landed on the concrete behind him with a smash.

“Now, now, princess. Don’t make me punish you for being a brat” The way he spoke in that low gravelly tone mixed with your now tipsy state made your heart beat quicken with excitement. He noticed the way you flustered and he chuckled “How’d a raider end up as innocent as you? Squirming like a virgin” he teased. Your blush deepened. Although you weren’t technically a virgin, your only experience had left you woefully disappointed and you never bothered with sex again afterwards. 

“Ain’t drunk enough to discuss this” you admitted stumbling over the passed out captive to the other bottles rolling around behind the tills.

“Come on, princess, indulge an old ghoul” 

You bit your lip and grabbed the biggest bottle of vodka on the bench.

“Fine, what do you wanna know?” You asked, removing your jacket and making yourself comfy beside him.

“These raiders of yours…they make you feel good?”

You took a big swig from the bottle before passing it to him. Shaking your head you asked naively  “Should he have?” He looked at you, his eyes widened slightly.

“Oh, oh darlin, you poor thing” 

“Don’t patronise me, asshole!” You glared in embarrassment but also curious to learn more you continued “Just…answer the question”

He loved watching you get hot and bothered, loved teasing you and your lack of experience.

“Course he’s supposed to make you feel good!” He answered as if it were obvious.

You took another swig getting lost in your thoughts, wondering if you even knew what sex was anymore. What else had you missed out on?

“How long did it last?” he continued

“Not long, like a few minutes maybe. Prolly a good thing considering how bad it was” You found yourself laughing along with him. It was nice having someone to confide in, even if he was teasing you.

“Well, you’ll get no judgement from me, Princess. All you gotta do is ask” he said with a charming smile.

“Thanks, Cowboy…so, that lasso see much use?” you gestured to the rope tied round the snoring bounty target.

He raised a brow “might be a bit too advanced for you, dontcha think?” 

“Not for that, dumbass! I meant in fights, bounty hunting, that sort of thing” He laughed. 

“It has its uses” he caught your curious gaze, pulling your face by the chin with his fingers, firmly but not too aggressive. “And yes it can be used on misbehaving brats” you gulped as the fluttering feeling returned. The urge to lean in, the urge to feel his lips against yours grew. Maybe it was the alcohol clouding your judgement or maybe his words just made you that excited.

He grinned, knowing he could have you so easily if he wanted, but he was a patient man and he loved the game “Get some sleep, Princess, you’re exhausted” he removed his hand and leaned back against the sleeping bags as you crawled back to your spot opposite him. You didn’t want to sleep, worried about the horrors you’ll see but at the same time, he was right and you didn’t want to be a burden. Accepting the fact The Ghoul would have to face your whimpering and cries in the night you fell into another restless sleep.

You were back home, at your settlement with your clan. Fellow raiders were laughing by the fire, sparring, getting high or fucking. But a deep rich red began leaking through the walls, flooding the settlement fast. You ran for the doors while everyone around you paid no mind to the flood or you. You moved so slow, frustration caused tears to roll down your cheeks and the gates were forever out of your reach no matter how hard you tried to run. The liquid rose up higher until eventually you could taste it, it spilled into your throat, the familiar metallic taste.

Blood

You thrashed around wildly, panic took over and suddenly brightness blinded you.

You blinked through the sudden white light of dawn. The Ghoul was on top of you, pinning your wrists beside your head, his chest heaved like he’d just been fighting, blood splattered across his chest. You relaxed under him, not realising how tense your body was and you heard a clink of metal hit the ground as your grip on the knife eased. 

You were both speechless, so many questions whirled through your mind and finally the metallic taste hit you.

Fuck that familiar taste of blood, of victory. You were ashamed at how much you loved it, how much you still craved violence. You thought it was the chems at first but this feeling, this primal urge to slaughter…maybe it was just you. A raider, a criminal. 

He tilted his head at your slight smile. He was utterly confused by you, enthralled almost as you lay beneath him, dishevelled, breathing heavily, coated in sweat, his blood staining your plump lips.

“Fuck” he hissed as he leaned in, unable to resist the urge to taste himself he slowly dragged his tongue across your bottom lip. Your mind spun, still dazed from your night terror, not yet completely aware of what happened. 

He pulled away, releasing his grip on your wrists “lotta fuckin work you are, princess”

You felt the weight of him lift as he made his way to the quivering target who had been watching in horror at the animalistic transformation you went through in your sleep. Lifting your body from the ground you winced at the stiffness in your limbs. You licked the spit he left behind from your lips and rubbed your eyes trying to gather your thoughts.

“What happened?” You asked as he began dragging the makeshift barricades from the door.

“You tell me, darlin. Been restless all night, cryin and thrashin round like a caged animal” He pulled the shelves down, a cloud of dust enveloped you as you stood to help him.

“But this” he gestured to the bleeding gash across his chest “this was a result of waking a damn beast” He grinned as you blushed from embarrassment. “Shoulda known better than to wake you” He jested as if it were nothing.

“I ain’t a beast…least I’m tryin not to be.” You followed him into the light of the morning sun, shielding your eyes.

“Making backwards progress there, sweetheart. Wasteland turns people to killers, not the other way round”

“Just tired of destroyin things, y’know. Tired of bein a raider…” you trailed off not really sure how to explain your feelings. Spending so many years swallowed by anger, you weren’t sure how to express yourself any other way.

“Not what it looked like to me” he scoffed “the way you licked my blood, smilin all the while mind you. Looked damn near feral to me.” 

You were glad his eyes were focused elsewhere as you lowered your head, knowing you should feel ashamed but something in his tone made you almost proud, like he was complimenting you. You bit your lip as the jumbled images in your mind started to slot into place. The way you pounced on him, knife in hand when he woke you, the adrenaline rushing through you as you straddled him, slashing as if your life depended on it. The taste of his warm blood on the knife. The worst part is, had he not flipped you both over and pinned you to the ground, you would have licked the wound.

“Sorry, I cut you, cowboy” 

He laughed “The fuck you apologisin for? Lemme tell ya, not much surprises me anymore, but you…” he turned to look at you “you keep me on my toes, beastie”

You frowned at his new nickname “Y’know beastie’s not your best one”

He shrugged “Suits you more than Princess” 

You rolled your eyes, but wondered if you would ever tell him your name, whether it would even be worth it. You didn’t plan on travelling with The Ghoul for long so names were never a priority, and he felt the same. The sense of anonymity felt like protection, like if all else failed at least you were never tied to one another.

You continued your routine of scavenging, while The Ghoul marched ahead, only this time he gave you his pack.

“Fill it with all the chems and valuables you find” He ordered, you weren’t really sure what was considered valuable but you did your best, jumping from building to building picking up all sorts of bits and bobs. You felt energised, despite the nightmares, a few hours sleep and opening up a bit more to The Ghoul had helped lift a heavy weight off your shoulders. 

He waited for you with the target by the tall wire gate of your final destination. He let out a long whistle upon seeing his full pack. 

“Hooo, now that’s what I like to see!”

“Me or the pack?” you teased

“Both, sweetheart” you smiled, enjoying the new dynamic between you. He was no longer as harsh with you and you had relaxed a little more around him.

“So what happens now?” You ask. 

“Now we take the payment” 

You followed behind him as he strolled through the gates, tugging on the lasso that kept the bounty target close. The familiar sound of his spurs faded into the sound of the settlement. It seemed smaller than the previous one yet somehow busier, The Ghoul watched as your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.

“Wow!” you whispered in awe. Farmers had stalls set up in the middle of the dusty road, selling various produce, brahmin and travelling merchants wandered the street to trade, lights hung from building to building and purified water poured from pumps in the ground. He noticed you drifting away from him, getting caught up in the chaos so he clamped his hand on your shoulder and brought you back to his side.

“Careful, Beastie. Don’t want you getting overwhelmed” he whispered. The nature of your condition was unpredictable, recalling the same feeling you had the day you met The Ghoul, biting him in a defensive frenzy. The Ghoul took to calling it feral, neither of you really understood it yet, but the last thing either of you wanted was to be exiled. Particularly as this was one of few settlements that accepted ghouls.

“Maybe we need a safe word” You suggested, sticking close to his side but still looking around wildly, taking as much of the hustle and bustle in as you could.

“You fucked once and think you’re an expert, huh?” he teased

“Not everything is about sex, Ghoul!” you sighed.

You strolled through the town, finally reaching an old police station in a quieter part of town. He took the lead and you watched as he spoke with a man in the biggest suit of armour you’d ever seen. You hadn’t noticed your jaw drop till The Ghoul pressed his index finger to your chin and pushed it back up. You had never seen power armour up close, knowing better than to face an enemy with such strong defences. It was so much bigger than you expected, and intimidating too. 

The man in the armour completely ignored you as he opened a safe on the wall behind him and presented The Ghoul with a bag of caps. In return The ghoul released the target from his Lasso and shoved him towards the man in the armour.

The Ghoul tipped his hat to him and gestured for you to follow.

“Think you deserve a reward, Darlin. Whaddya say?” Your eyes lit up. 

“Can I get a gun? Oh! And some armour? And can we get some food, I’m starving!” you rambled in your excitement, wanting to see and experience everything and to your surprise, he let you.

“Hold your horses there, sweetheart, one step at a time.”

You followed him through town noticing the locals giving the pair of you a little more space than everyone else, some cast scowls and muttered cruel words under their breath as you passed by. The Ghoul didn’t seem phased by the obvious resentment people had for him. Feeling suddenly defensive you glared back at those who cast you intimidating looks. 

“Easy there, Beastie” The Ghoul caught onto your silent threats and guided you towards a very questionable looking bar. The lights flickered above the door which was shoddily patched together after what you can only assume was many years of bar fights. The windows were smashed in and the walls were riddles with bullet holes.

“Just like home” you mumbled as you followed him to the bar, he laughed at your pessimism. 

“Don’t be picky now, Princess” he warned as he gestured with his hand to the Mr Handy behind the bar for two drinks. 

“You a regular or somethin?” you asked, scanning the building, pleasantly surprised to see the roof still on tact. There were few patrons, but none paid The Ghoul any mind. You on the other hand were new. Those who weren't passed out, watched you closely with your Cowboy companion. You shot them warning glares, as they eyed you up and down.

“Somethin like that” he followed your gaze “As much as I’d love to watch you go feral on them, I'd like a drink first” The cowboy passed you an unlabeled bottle, you assumed it was whisky, the burn in your throat was familiar.

“I knew you liked to watch, you freak” you joked as you slouched against the bar. His confidence in your ability to fight eased your mind and you found yourself starting to relax.

“Careful, Beastie” he grinned “they're no match for you but I'm a whole different monster” his tone darkened as he tested you. 

“Oh really?“ you took the bait with a smirk “You sayin I can't handle you, Cowboy?“

He scoffed, “Darlin, I would break you, and you know it” he turned to see you biting your lip gently, squirming in the bar stool, avoiding his gaze. He chuckled, before tossing a handful of caps at the Mr Handy barkeep and paying for a couple of rooms for the night. You took another mouthful of the liquid fire and grimaced before taking your room key “Gonna get cleaned up” You slid your bottle closer to your companion, hinting for him to keep if safe for you before hopping off the barstool. 

“Mind the peeping toms” he called as you made your way upstairs, you laughed in response hoping he was joking.

Your room was small and underwhelming. Only a bed, bath and small chest of drawers which were barely standing occupied the space, but at least it was clean and had running water. It was more than you had as a raider, there was even a little bar of soap. You rummaged through the drawers as you let the bath fill with water, hoping to find some towels or spare clothes but you found only bedsheets.

“It’ll do” you mumbled, shaking the dust from the sheet. You began undressing, tossing the discarded clothes into a bucket to clean as you soaked. The water was cold but you didn’t mind, the contrast against the sweltering wasteland heat was pleasant. You let out a long sigh as you submerged yourself in the tub, feeling content for the first time in a long while. Strange, in such a short time you and the ghoul had warmed to each other more than you had expected. You were reminded of his teasing at the store as you drank together.

All you gotta do is ask

You were embarrassed at how easily you opened up to him, and how curious you were. You had made it clear how clueless you were about sex, you scarcely even pleasured yourself, making you wonder how much you had missed out on. The foreign tingling feeling in your belly returned as you remembered waking from your nightmare, straddling him and the way his blood tasted on your knife. You shuddered as your hands drifted over your body under the water. Not really sure where to touch, you closed your eyes, imagining what The Ghoul might do. His textured flesh would feel every inch of you with confidence, every touch would have a purpose, a reason, he would start with your breasts, groping and pulling your nipples until you whined then he would work his way down…

A slight scratching noise made you pause, snapping your eyes open. You listened hard hearing the faint sounds of the town outside before it happened again. 

Mind the peeping toms 

You glared daggers at the wall where the scratching came from. The wallpaper was peeling and small cracks and bullet holes painted the length of it. Grabbing the bed sheet you wrapped it around your naked form and took your knife from the bed, listening as the scratching stopped. It was probably nothing, it could have been a cat or something in the walls but you didn't want to take the chance. Turning your back to the wall, you slowly began removing the sheet as seductively as possible until the scratching came back, vigorously.

“Fucking creep!” You shrieked, covering yourself with the sheet once again before plunging your knife into the wall. It was flimsier than you expected, just a thin layer of rotting wood which your knife sliced through with ease. You heard a surprised yelp and the creep scruffle away but you weren’t satisfied. The feral rage built up inside you again as you tore your way through the wall, the sheet barely providing coverage as the water from your body seeped through. He was startled, caught with his buckle un done, his jeans barely pulled up as he tried to dash for the door but you were faster, plunging your knife into his shoulder as you dragged him to the floor, releasing all your rage in a frenzy of knife slashes and unhinged verbal abuse. Everything became a blur and you didn’t even notice The Ghoul until you were being dragged, kicking and screaming away from the body.

“I warned ya, beastie” He had one arm tightly wrapped around your waist and the other gripping your knife hand as he lifted you back to your room. He shook the knife from your hand before tossing you onto the bed, pinning you to the mattress. He waited as you thrashed under him for you to tire yourself out. He smirked as the bed sheet now drenched in blood twisted around you, just barely covering your nipples as your arms were pinned above your head. You were panting heavily, growing weak from fighting against the Ghoul and your vision started to become clearer.

“There you are, Princess” he cooed as you came back to your senses. You began to relax under him, licking the blood from your lips, he groaned as he watched you, never releasing his grip from your wrists.

“Did you know” You started, through heavy breaths “You taste different to other men” he chuckled as you continued to surprise him.

“That so? How’d he taste compared to me, Beastie?” 

“Disgusting!” You didn’t hesitate, showing revolution in your expression. His confident grin made your belly tingle again and he released your wrists from his grip, gliding his gloved fingers down your arms. You shivered at his touch

“You weren’t by any chance teasing that peeping tom, were you? After all I did warn you.”

You blushed and turned your face away from his fiery gaze, remembering the filthy thoughts you had of the Ghoul as you touched yourself, knowing a stranger was getting off on it.

“Didn’t think you were serious” you pouted, he brought his gloved fingers to your chin and forced your eyes to meet his. He dragged his thumb across your lips and you responded by bringing your tongue out to meet his thumb, licking the tip of the leather, letting him know how needy you were. It tasted like him, like gunpowder and metal but you craved more, just a few more drops of his blood. Your breathing quickened once more and your eyes had a wild look in them as you resisted the urge to bite

“I told ya, sweetheart. All you gotta do is ask” 

He wanted you to beg, to submit to him and you would if it meant tasting him again.

“Can I taste you again?” You asked in a hushed whisper, but he was already removing his gloves.

“On one condition” he brought his now glove free hands to your bare thighs gently pulling your legs apart to fit himself between them. You gasped at his warm touch, his skin just like you imagined, leathery and firm. 

“I wanna taste you too, Darlin” You nodded your head in response to his request, desperate for more. You watched as he reached for your knife on the floor and brought it to the palm of his hand with a devious smirk plastered on his face.

“Open wide, my little Beastie” 

You obeyed, sticking your tongue out as he sliced the blade down the palm of his hand. Drops of warm crimson liquid landed on your face and tongue. He hovered his hand over your lips for a moment before moving it down your throat to your breasts where your hardened nipples poked through the thin fabric. His blood seeped into the fabric and he watched your chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. He curled his fingers over the thin fabric before searching your eyes for consent. The way you looked at him, pleading with dilated pupils was more than enough for him. The cool air pricked your skin and you squirmed in embarrassment, unable to look at yourself. You couldn't bring yourself to see what he saw, all the scars and bruises, your ribs and collar bones visible from malnourishment and years of addiction. You watched his eyes darken as he groaned at the sight of you. 

“Fuck, Darlin, look at you…perfect” you were surprised he praised you so much considering how damaged you felt. He admired your body from above for a moment longer before smearing his blood across your lips and down your throat, leaving his prints all down your chest. His movements were rougher than you expected and you arched your back into his hand as he kneaded your breasts just as you thought he would. You licked the blood from your lips and let out a small moan as he pinched your nipples. It felt so much better when he did it. 

Feeling a little braver and wanting him to share in your pleasure you picked the knife up from beside you and glided the blade across your collarbones, inviting him for a taste.

“And to think you were the one calling me a freak. Look at you know, filthy little thing” his tone became almost a growl as he took the knife from you, gently pressing the blade against the soft flesh of your breasts before carefully slicing. You inhaled sharply and flinched away from him but he was quick, only leaving a small cut and the cold sharpness of the blade was quickly replaced by the warm wetness of his tongue. You gasped and panted beneath him, throwing your head back against the mattress as he teased your nipples with his fingers and tongue. Grasping his shoulders you pulled him closer, signalling your want for more. He chuckled against your skin

“So needy” 

You moaned in frustration.

“Look at me, Princess” You hesitated but did as he asked, your mouth opened and eyes grew wide at the beautiful sight before you. He was panting, hat tilted slightly casting a perfect shadow across his face. His eyes were overflowing with lust and your blood painted his lips and chin beautifully. He smirked

“Tell me what you want”

“...Y-you” you barely recognised your own voice as it whispered desperately for him.

“C’mon Princess tell me” he drawled as he brought his face up to your neck, nibbling and licking, awaiting your response.

“P-Please, fuck me” you moaned.

“Good girl” he growled before biting your neck, his hat tumbled from his head and onto the floor as his actions became rougher, more impatient. You cried out in pleasure as your body shivered, your grip on his shoulders tightened and you arched your back, desperate to feel more of him.

He attacked your neck with his teeth as his hands grazed your thighs, you spread your legs wider to give him access and he smirked against your blood smeared skin. 

Growing tired of his teasing you thrust your hips up to meet his, feeling his hardened cock restricted in his pants. He groaned, thrusting himself against your wet folds again before dragging his fingers down your thigh. He pulled away from your neck to watch your face twist in pleasure as his fingers slid the length of your folds before inserting a finger. You released a long moan as you felt him slowly slide his rough finger in and out.

“fuck, you're so wet, Sweetheart. I turn you on that much?”

All shame abandoned you as you thrust your hips into his hand, all you thought of was him, wanting to feel him, to let him use you.

“y-yes, please…more” you whined, moving your grip from his shoulders to the fabric of his shirt.

“Aww well since you asked so sweetly, Princess” he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you as his movements grew quicker and more forceful. 

“fuck!” Your moans bounced off the walls and the tingling feeling in your belly grew. Your body tensed and the grip on his shirt tightened as pleasure soured through your body. You had just barely gotten used to being stretched by his second finger when he suddenly added a third. Your eyes widened and you let out a pleasured gasp at the sudden intrusion. He was growing impatient and his fingers were not as gentle as they once were. Your soaked pussy clenched around his fingers as the pleasure built into something almost overwhelming but to your dismay he pulled out.

“n-no, please… S’too good” you whined desperately, grabbing his arm to guide his hand back to your aching cunt. His touch was intoxicating, everything he did was better than you imagined, you had never felt anything like it and you needed more. 

“Oh, Darlin” he loved the effect he had on you, making you drunk on pleasure, knowing he was the only one who made you feel so good. “You cum only when I allow it” his eyes narrowed and his tone was dark, he was so much more intimidating than before but it excited you. He smeared the blood from his palm up your neck and you leaned your head back to allow him access, squeezing gently at the sides of your throat a slight smile graced your lips as you heard his free hand unbuckled his belt. Your arms fell from his shirt as you brought one hand to play with your tits and the other to mimic his movements on your pussy. 

“Like it rough, little slut?” he growled as he watched you play with yourself, his grip around your neck tightened as he freed his cock from his pants, stroking the length of it. You couldn't find the words to respond, your thoughts only focused on the heightened pleasure shooting through you.

You wanted so badly to cum, to finally feel release but he wouldn't let you. He roughly grabbed the hand that was stroking your pussy and pinned it above your head. 

“Not yet, Princess” he cooed as he brought the hand around your throat to the back of your head. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding your head up to meet his fingers, sticky with your wetness. He traced his thumb across your lips and you brought your tongue out to meet it, moaning at the taste of yourself on his leathery flesh. You hoped his focus was entirely on your face as you crept your fingers back to the wetness of your folds, but he knew. He glared harshly at you for disobeying him. Snatching his thumb from your mouth he pulled you onto your knees hard by the hair.

“I warned you, Darlin, you cum when I allow it” You hissed at the sudden pain in your scalp. 

“hands behind your back” you obeyed. “good girl, tongue out” he gave you short orders and after obeying each one he made sure to praise you.

He guided your head down to his cock, saliva dripped from your open mouth, sliding from your tongue onto his cock. He was bigger than the raider but not frighteningly big, and despite the mottled texture of his skin you could still see thick veins. You took the hint and slowly ran your tongue around the tip. He kept you steady by your hair but allowed you to go at your own pace, not wanting to push you too far. After tracing small circles with your tongue you took him gradually into your mouth, gently bobbing your head feeling the base of him with your tongue. He tasted familiar, like his blood there was a distinct metallic taste to his textured flesh and you loved it. You could feel your pussy dripping from anticipation, your fingers intertwined behind your back just like he asked. “atta girl” he groaned as he began to rock his hips back and forth. Feeling a little too confident you tried to take him into your throat but you struggled, frightening yourself as you gagged, he pulled himself from your mouth with a chuckle. 

“Too eager, Sweetheart” you looked up at him, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you pouted.

“You can make it up to me by spreading those perfect legs” you didn't need telling twice. Lying on your back you raised your arms above your head showing him your obedience, waiting for your reward. He slapped his cock against your clit a few times before rubbing it up your soaked cunt, earning an excited moan from you as you thrust your hips up, grinding against him. 

“Please…” you begged. It was shameful how much you craved him but you didn't care, your thoughts were focused only on him filling you up, on finally chasing your release.

“such a filthy little slut” he growled as he slid himself inside with almost no resistance. You threw your head back against the mattress once more. An animalistic moan escaped you as he finally filled you up with his fat cock. You were tight but not too tight, gripping him perfectly as he slowly pulled back then slid himself deep inside again, savouring every inch of your pussy squeezing him.

“Fuck! ” he hissed as he picked up the pace. Pleasure rippled through your body, and your jaw hung loose letting out shameless animalistic sounds. You allowed his fingers to invade your mouth, twirling your tongue around them messily, saliva dripping down your chin as you moaned in ecstasy. He kept your gaze locked with his as he pounded into your pussy mercilessly. The grooves of his cock rubbed against your walls and you spread your legs wider inviting him deeper.

“Think you can handle more, Princess?“ he groaned,almost begging to be rougher with you. He slid his fingers from your lips allowing you to moan a breathy “yes” in response. Almost immediately he sat upright on his knees grabbing you tightly by the hips and pulling your body up to meet him with a hard slap. The new angle filled you perfectly as you arched your back to accommodate his length inside you. Your eyes rolled back as waves of pleasure crashed through your body, you grabbed fistfulls of the bedsheet beneath you as your orgasm crept closer with every hard thrust. 

“P-please, let me cum” you begged

“Go on, Princess, cum for me” that was all you needed to send you over the edge, you screamed as you drenched him, squirting over the fabric of his shirt. Your body trembled as you pussy tightened around him, squeezing his cock as he continued to thrust into you.

“atta girl“ he praised riding you out of your high before pulling out, you whimpered feeling empty without him but it didn't last long. He dragged you by the ankles to the edge of the bed and flipped you on your front bringing your hips up so you were standing over the rusty bed frame. You were still reeling from your first orgasm, your legs wobbled and you weren't prepared for him sliding forcefully back inside your swollen cunt from behind. You let out a surprised gasp at the new position. He somehow felt bigger, reaching a new depth of your soft cunt which sent sparks of pleasure through you. You arched your back to accommodate his length, throwing your head back, your jaw hung open releasing lewd sounds you didn't even know you could make. His grip around your hips was tight, fingernails dug into your flesh, the pain was perfect, matching the burning pleasure in your gut. 

Your legs barely held you up as he fucked you over the bed, overstimulated and almost unable to keep up you moaned incoherently, trying to tell him how good it felt. Your fists clenched the bloodied bed sheets beneath you as you thrust your hips back to meet his. Suddenly he brought his bloodied hand up from your hips and cracked it across your ass cheek with a hard slap. You let out a surprised moan at the sudden pain but found yourself asking for more. 

“fuck, you really do like it rough, don't ya?“ 

“A-ah! Y-yes!“ you whined, bringing your fingers up to stroke your clit. You felt filthy, touching yourself as a Ghoul fucked you but the thought of your controversial behaviour only heightened the pleasure. 

“Such a good little slut, you like it when I use you?” 

“yessir!” you whined as he thrust hard into you, making sure to fill you up with all of his cock. His hand smacked your ass again, the stinging feeling of the spanking mixed with his dick pounding relentlessly made your body tense up as you felt yourself approaching the edge once more. Unable to keep yourself upright anymore you shoved your face into the bloodied sheets, taking in the metallic  taste as your jaw clenched around the fabric. You let out muffled moans as your legs shook violently. He grabbed you by the waist with both hands once again, pulling your ass back to meet his strokes so hard you bounced on his cock over and over until your legs gave out and your cunt clenched around him. He didn't let up, pounding you into the mattress as your body twitched and your muscles gave out. You were exhausted, your pussy was sore, your cum dripped down your legs, drenching his pants and you loved it. 

“Knew I’d break ya, Darlin” he laughed, sliding out of your cunt to manoeuvre you. You couldn't respond, your mind was cloudy. You let out a small whimper as he threw your legs back on the bed pulling them together, he straddled your bright red ass cheeks and slid inside you one again. You lay gasping and moaning as he rode you, pleasure spiked all over your body. You felt him everywhere, his hands groping every inch of you, his touch felt electrifying. 

“Just a bit longer, Princess, you feel so fuckin good!” he praised and you smiled weakly at his words. Hoping to please him more you brought your arms behind your back. Reaching for your ass cheeks you groped the soft flesh, pulling them apart for him to see himself fucking your pink cunt. 

“good fuckin girl” he growled as your cunt squeezed his throbbing cock. He was close, his thrusts became messy and his breathing became heavy.

“F-fuck,” you moaned as the new rhythm sent spasms through your body, another orgasm approached. “please…” you begged, but you couldn't get the words out. You gripped the soft flesh of your ass cheeks harder, stretching your pussy wider, feeling the grooves of his cock abuse you.

“Cum inside” you cried as the last tidal wave of pleasure flooded through you. Your pussy clenched around him as he fucked himself to completion in your wet hole. 

“fuck!” he growled, leaning over and biting your shoulder as he pumped his seed deep inside you. You moaned at the blissful pain you felt as your pussy milked his cock. He slowly pulled back leaving just the tip in before pushing his length back inside, forcing his cum deep within your sore cunt until he was satisfied. 

He finally released you from his grip, sliding from your abused cunt and tucking himself back in his pants. You hissed at the stinging sensation from his radiated cum and lay completely immobilised on the mattress. Fluids dripped from your folds and down your thighs, blood sweat and saliva covered your body.

“gonna need some radaway” you broke the silence with a weak voice. He collected his hat from the floor with a chuckle before looking over your broken form with pride. 

“Maybe a stimpak too,” he suggested. You smiled.

“Mind if I travel with you a while longer, Cowboy?” 

He sat on the end of the bed with a chuckle “Stay as long as you want, Beastie.”

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout tv series #spicy content #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x female reader #fallout prime #the ghoul #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #degrading k1nk #spicy fic #spicy creator #teasing #tongue #hard k1nk #bd/sm kink

[lorelylantana]

Savageries of the Heart Chapter 10; Reminiscence

First-Previous-Next

Ao3

Chapter Rating: G Overall Rating: E

Impa shut off the feed with a sigh of irritation, sending word to the guards to transport Nohansen to a facility in Hateno so Zelda could deal with him at her leisure. After a few seconds passed in silence, Zelda decided to speak up.

“Right, with that settled, I propose that we extend this council meeting so we may begin any discussions that were,” Zelda cleared her throat, cheeks flushed, “postponed.”

It was quiet for a moment longer, and Zelda had worried she’d overstepped, but the Rito Warden on the opposite side of the table shrugged his shoulders. 

“We’re all gathered here anyway. Might as well make it worth the trip.”

The others nodded in a consensus, and Zelda caught a gleam of pride in Urbosa’s eye.

Impa swept a finger across the map, adjusting the point of view to settle above the entire continent. 

“In recent years it has come to our attention that the upper echelons of Hyrule’s ruling class have been infiltrated by Yiga clansmen in an attempt to sabotage not just the Kingdom, but the entire continent.”

“Why would a threat to the Kingdom of Hyrule affect the Zonai?” Zelda asked, brow raised, “forgive me for saying so, but my time in the Dragonlands has made it very clear that my Uncle has catastrophically underestimated you,”

“Us,” Link cut in, gently nudging her elbow.

“Us,” Zelda corrected, warmth fluttering in her chest, “the point stands, Hyrule’s isolationist policies have kept them out of international politics for as long as I . . .” Zelda trailed off, thinking back to the maps her uncle had pinned in her study, how he’d pored over them, paranoid at a threat that lurked across every border. 

“War,” Zelda breathed, shocked to her core. When her uncle had informed her of her upcoming marriage, she hadn't taken the necessity for Zonai military support seriously. It’d been peaceful since the Calamity, and Hyrule field didn’t provide any resources the other territories didn’t possess themselves, so she saw no strategic motivation. If what Impa said rang true, and someone was whispering in the regent turned king’s ear, that was another tale entirely. “They intend to instigate a war.”

“That’s the least of our problems,” Urbosa said, pressing a button to highlight all of the border outposts and the bridges surrounding the Kingdom. “Hylia river makes holding back any forces they send our way child’s play. Daphnes likely believes us to be more reliant on passage through your territory, and would likely build his strategy on the assumption that we’d want to avoid damaging any major thoroughfares. Depending on whatever narrative the Yiga fed him with, he might even think he can cross the borders without us noticing. Since the Railway’s completion, we’ve been able to bypass Hyrule Field in its entirety. In the event of an all out war with Hyrule, we’d blow all of the bridges and make sure they stay that way.”

“It would be simple enough to manage, even in the long term,” Mipha confirmed. Link nodded, but his brow was creased with worry.

“What worries us isn’t the possibility of conflict, but the timing. The Zonai have been unified for centuries, but there was a time when the territories were still separate. If conquest was the goal, the time for it passed generations ago. What the Yiga most likely want is division. They want to keep us from negotiating with the people of Hyrule, and more specifically, the royal family.”

“Negotiating for what?” Zelda asked. This time it was Impa who took the lead, waving in two Sheikah carrying some mechanism in their hands. They placed it on the table, and its six legs rolled aimlessly. Zelda gave it a closer look. It had the shape of an upturned pot, and she noticed what almost looked like an eye.

“As you know, Hyrule’s king grew paranoid after the Calamity, he was afraid our technology was too powerful, so he demanded that we destroy it. Instead we decided to retreat to Kakariko, and when he attempted to take military action against us, the Zonai intervened. We were able to keep some of our knowledge thanks to the protection they provided, but the majority of it was lost due to our main database’s location underneath Hyrule Castle. The Princess Zelda of the time helped wherever she could, but the king destroyed any scrap he could get his hands on. The best she could do was hide away the biggest cache of data with a seal of her own making, keeping her father’s hands off it. 

“For thousands of years, that seemed to be the end of it. We were able to regain most of our knowledge and we went on with our lives. It wasn’t until years ago, with the death of your parents, that we began to suspect things weren’t right.”

Impa gave Link a look, ceding the floor, he nodded and spoke, “My predecessor, Rhiannon, felt herself grow weak shortly before your parent’s deaths reached our ears. She didn’t like the look of it, how they both died on the same day and how she was fading in a way none of the doctors or monks could explain. She consulted with Lanayru at the Spring of Wisdom for guidance. They said she only had a few years left, and she needed to find her successor before Calamity rose again. She found me,” he drifted off, taking her hand.

For the first time since becoming Mother of the Dragonlands, Zelda felt ice pour down her veins. Chilled to the core. She’d heard whispers of Calamity's return, of course, she’d paid it no mind, thinking it was another one of her uncle’s games.

“I’ll admit all this techno stuff is a few steps out of my quarry, but what I do know is the Calamity is returning, the army we built against it hasn’t moved in an age, and they won’t be unless we get our hands on that data,” Daruk muttered. He was large, even for a Goron, and this room clearly wasn’t built for him, so the mere act of scratching the back of his head almost sent Link into the ceiling. Despite the gravity of the situation growing heavier, Zelda found herself grateful for her husband’s reflexes. Across the table, Urbosa nodded, looking Zelda in the eye.

“A princess created that seal, a princess can destroy it. But first, we need to take back Hyrule Castle”

It was a strange thing, to stand atop an ice capped mountain without so much as a shiver. It wasn’t natural, or maybe it was, and Zelda’s understanding of the world was simply wrong.

So, so wrong. 

Zelda wasn’t used to taking power for granted, yet here she was, looking out over her dominion as the sky brightened, one shade of blue at a time. After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped into the spring, waters warm and soothing as it caressed the skin of her ankles and seeped the fringes of her cerulean wrap skirt.

The first time she’d stepped into a sacred spring, she had faced the goddess like an adversary. An obstacle to overcome before she could at long last hold her head high with the assurance that she deserved a place in Hyrule Castle. 

What an insidious ploy, drafting Zelda to fight a war against herself.

Zelda shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She didn’t come here to wallow in past miseries. She came here to brace herself. Walking through the spring up to the statue, she pulled herself onto the shelf and let her feet dangle into the water. Perhaps she should have been more hesitant to sit on what could very well be an altar, but she couldn’t bring herself to worry. Something in the back of her mind told her that the Spring of Wisdom was hers and she could use it as she pleased. It seemed all the continent’s hopes were placed on her shoulders, and she had no idea how to carry them. It would be one thing if her mother still lived.

 No.

It would be one thing if even a single text written by the women who came before her survived. But they were gone, and Zelda had to stumble blindly forward. Looking to preserve their future by grasping at a past that was ripped from her hands more than a decade ago.

Alone in a sacred spring atop an ice capped mountain, Zelda prayed. In the light of the rising sun, she desperately hoped for just one hint of wisdom from her ancestors. Not the histories written and corrupted by paranoid kings, but the princesses of legend that faced, and brought down, the evils threatening the land with their own hands.

Outside of the Spring of Wisdom, Link’s footsteps crunched into the snow. Zelda opened her eyes to watch him step into the water. 

“How are you?” he asked, coming to kneel before her, chin resting lightly on her knee. She took a breath, searching for words before answering.

“I feel set adrift and pinned down all at once,” she mused, “It is clear to me that Hyrule is corrupted, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to fix it.” Link’s hand curled over her knee, fingertips drifting over her skin.

“I’m the youngest Warden in Zonai history,” he said, a musical tilt coming into his voice when Zelda began running her fingers through his hair, “I was terrified stepping off the boat after Rhiannon’s funeral, because there were patrols to be organize and warriors to train and I hadn’t the faintest idea where to start. Maybe I would have felt better if I was from a different region, but being Warden of the Dragonlands means being Keeper of the entire continent, and that’s what suffocated me. It would be one thing to mount a defense here, where I know each forest, shore, and river like the back of my hand, but everywhere else? I knew next to nothing about them other than the short trips I’d taken. 

“I just panicked, so I ran. After a Warden dies, there's supposed to be three months of grace for their successor to take down a great beast before their claim can be challenged. I ended up tracking a Lynel into the mountains that very evening.”

He paused, and Zelda could feel him swallow against her leg. She scratched his head gently, trying to soothe him in whatever way she could. He took a shuddering breath, then began again. “I spent hours looking at its corpse, waiting for it to change me, somehow. I thought that completing the Rite to Ascend as Warden would make me feel calmer, more ready, but it didn’t. I was the same as I ever was.” He looked up at her then, and Zelda could see the calm, steady look in his eyes. “But I was enough Zelda. I was ready, even when I felt anything but. I think we need a little blind faith in ourselves when dealing with new things. There’s never been a Hyrulean Queen among the Zonai before you, so the challenges before you are unique.” Link gave her a grin that warmed her chest and put a small smile on her own face. “Just because there’s no one to guide you down this path doesn’t mean you aren’t ready for it. Follow your instinct, and the answer will come when the time is right.”

Zelda leaned back against the statue as she mulled his words over. It was a new concept, that she could be naturally suited for anything, but Zelda couldn’t shake the confidence she found in his warm gaze. Besides, she handled her duties as Mother of the Dragonlands well enough, could saving Hyrule really be beyond her reach? 

Link didn’t say anything more, just soaking in the warmth of the dawn with her, but she was content to fill the silence herself by humming a quiet tune as she used the serenity of the moment to pull herself together. Her hands moved out of his hair and skimmed down his neck, fingers tapping imaginary notes into Link's shoulder. The song behind her closed lips shifted, transitioning from her childhood lullaby into a song that struck her as familiar yet indescribably ancient.

Time passes, people move

Like a river’s flow, it never ends.

A childish mind will turn to noble ambition.

Young love will become deep affection.

The water’s clear surface reflects growth.

The final note had not left the confines of her throat when Zelda’s husband disappeared into thin air.

#zelink #fanfic #botw #botw zelink #au #Savageries of the Heart

[fayeriess]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: restless nights come with revelations.

warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )

a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!

Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.

In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.

For the lives erde took, less was given. 

The greater the loss, the greater the greed. 

That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.

She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.

Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms. 

Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears. 

And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you. 

At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes. 

Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides. 

If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread. 

Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.

A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.

A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.

Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.

Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.

“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back. 

Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.

“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward. 

“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.” 

Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”

Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.

 “He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”

Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together. 

Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?

Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.” 

Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.” 

Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.

He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.

“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.” 

Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.” 

“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.” 

“I am worried the babe might be suffering.” 

Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.

“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought. 

There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”

Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail. 

“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.” 

Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.” 

Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be. 

Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”

In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger. 

It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes. 

Including you.

His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.

Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.

“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.” 

It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come. 

Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.

“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”

The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows. 

He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his. 

“The rain.” 

You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?” 

The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”

Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls. 

And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.

#house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond targaryen

[ystrike1]

Taming a Corrupted Slave Man - By Purple Village (8.5/10)

Love is off the table. Everything is a lie. Constant mind games. It's exhausting. Our protagonist is kind of a sociopath but I get it. Being the only woman with healing powers in the country is crazy stressful. The problem is everybody is crazy, and all of the love stories here end in blood. There's a surprise twist yandere too.

Aren is the only daughter of a very special family. Literally only the current king knows she has healing powers. It's a rare thing. Her family gets tons of royal cash because her existence is so convenient. She's VERY sheltered and her father loves her VERY much. He refuses to have more kids, because he loved his wife who died in childbirth. He spoiled his special daughter too much.

She dies at the hands of her fiance, Duke Daiman. He's a strong, brilliant Knight...with a heart condition. She cured his heart, because she fell for his good looks at first sight. Daimen took advantage of her. He is a genius with royal blood. He uses her family money to attempt to usurp the throne. He also brings in a lover named Lillian, because he thinks she's that stupid. He thinks she will let him have a lover, because she's so lonely and she loves him so blindly.

Her father died in war. Her fiance is all she has.

She stands up for herself.

She says she will not let another woman in.

She attempts to break off their engagement, and he stabs her in the back.

Why?

Well, he doesn't want her to marry into another family. She's too useful. Her healing powers are too valuable. If he can't use her no one can.

His lover smirks while she dies.

Aren basically wakes up evil it's wild. She values her servants. She adores her father utterly. She will not let him die in war. The law dictates that a man from every family must go to war, so she decides to adopt a "brother" into the family. A meat bag to be used so her beloved father may live. There's not even a whiff of romance.

Aren knows who the most talented swordsman is.

She goes out to pick him up.

It's a slave named Cassadim. He became a royal servant under the Crown Prince in her past life. He was known for his unreal beauty and his savagery in battle.

Aren feels a little guilty for like a second, but she uses the royal money she has to buy him. From then on there is zero remorse. Her father knows, by the way. She literally tells her father he should adopt a fake son to use, if he's still not willing to remarry. Aren and her father are both actually interesting because they're "nice" on the surface, but if you annoy them...well...bye? Aren is against(?) traditional slavery. Kinda. She doesn't like torture. She intends to let Cassadim live well as her brother. As a noble. If he doesn’t die in battle he will lead a charmed life...but omg buying him to take her dad's place is soooo messy. Evil ice princess dang.

(Also Cassadim was used for "night services" as a slave, so she does save him from that. She NEVER does anything sexual to him. She also uses her powers to fix his scars, and health issues that piled up when he was an arena fighter. He's getting a pretty good deal. A healthy body. The possibility to survive as a noble son. Yeahhhh. Slight problem though. SHE NEVER TELLS HIM. HE DOESN'T KNOW HE'S A WAR HORSE UNTIL IT HAPPENS. AH! but by then he is willing to die for the family so I guess...the plan worked...)

By the way nobody knows Aren is a healer. She of course steps in to save the prince.

Cassadim doesn't know EVERYTHING, but he knows. He doesn't trust Aren. He's totally right to be suspicious. He also uses her. He mistakenly thinks the King is the one who destroyed his home country. So he uses knowledge he gets from Aren's medical book collection to create poison. He goes to the ball with her.

He poisons the prince, Leon.

And now he's in love....not really. Leon thinks Aren is the most perfect and convenient wife. She says no and he gets pushy. Cassadim finally gets jealous. He likes living with Aren and being her brother on paper, but he doesn't know how to feel about her getting married. He starts to act immature for the first time. He has been spoiled, on purpose, by Aren. This is the way she wants him to be. Clingy. Protective. Willing to die for her.

She tells him she knows everything. She knows he poisoned the Prince. He did it because HE used to be a prince, but his country was burned to ash.

The King didn’t do it.

Duke Daiman's father did.

How convenient.

Aren jumps on the chance. She convinces Cassadim to go against the Duke with her. She pins the blame for the poison on the Duke too. Her revenge is perfect...Cassadim snaps for the first time. He accuses her of being a seductress. A liar. Someone who will never care about him as much as he cares about her.

He's sort of right. They fall in love later, but Aren is totally obsessed with revenge for half the story.

He actually attacks her.

Things get tense.

Then we get the classic yandere ramblings. Yes, after years of "love" Cassadim loses. He is putty in her hands. Unable to stand the thought of her getting married or even sleeping next to someone else. He starts begging her to use him when she has "urges", because he doesn't want another man to do it. The Prince, and actually lots of people, start to comment about how weird he is. His worshipful love is an open secret.

Aren grabs her last puzzle piece. Tol. A slave that was tortured by Daiman and his butler. Aren does a great favor for Tol. His tongue was cut out. She grows it back for him. Tol is grateful and he agrees to lie for her. Someone must be blamed for the poison incident.

The plan is:

Aren pretends to be a foolish girl in love with the Duke, who visits him in prison.

She will then claim the Duke encouraged her to commit treason and hide signs of his crime.

Tol will pretend to be a witness, as he has been a slave in the ducal house for a while.

She unleashes the plan when Daiman thinks he is safe. When he's out of prison with an alibi, at the Prince's royal birthday.

It goes off without a hitch. Daiman freaks out and has a seizure in front of everyone. Then, all of his enemies know about his secret weakness. If he doesn’t go to jail that's fine. One of his many enemies will take advantage of that weak heart of his.

Aren gleefully laughs about how she easily could have been his savior. He had the LITERAL ONLY MAGICAL HEALER in his grasp, and he chose to abuse her.

He falls from grace, and even the prince acknowledges how scary Aren is.

Plot twist.

Daiman was obsessed with Aren in their shared past life. He cut her off from the world. He kept her his secret and he coveted her power and he was madly in love...but he was a bad yandere. He was not openly affectionate. He enjoyed controlling every step of her day. He knew she loved him unconditionally, so he made her chase him and beg for his love when she was lonely.

He brought in Lillian, a random woman, purely to make Aren jealous.

When Aren lashes out for the first time ever Daiman stabs her because he sucks, and he doesn’t want her to leave him. He didn’t want Aren to hate him. He just wanted her to be lonely whenever he wasn't around. He stabs her the second she falls out of love with him.

Lillian desperately tries to seduce him to save her own life, but Daiman cruelly torments her before he kills her too. He blames Lillian for ruining his perfect Aren.

Cassadim is a little less crazy. He gets the right to wed Aren after he does well in the war.

The audacity.

.

#Taming a Corrupted Slave Man #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #otome isekai #otome games

[miioouu]

Mean dad's best friend! John Price Ending

Helloooo! I’m back from the dead to drop this horrible, disgusting, bad bad final part for Price’s route! I’ve been dealing with some personal issues as well as some terrible creative blocks, so please I know it’s bad, ok? Tw: smut, breeding kink, mention of fingering and oral (female receiving), female reader Wc: 1.4k 

Your eyes kept glancing between the two men. Why are you having such a hard time making a choice? It should be obvious right? Although Simon has always been on your mind, the one you're always crawling back to, you know better than that. The voice in the back of your head is telling you to let go, no matter how much your heart will break, there's someone who'll mend it back together.

The thought alone made you smile, you gazed into ocean blues and suddenly, it wasn't that difficult to choose. His grin alone made your heart skip a beat. His hands, the way they smooth down the skin of your waist as he pulls you closer, is enough to make you melt. And you weren't supposed to feel anything for that man; only here to make Ghost jealous, only a mere distraction at first, but he's become so much more, someone you like…loved even.

You try to voice out your choice, although Price stopped you “It's ok sweetheart, I think he got it, right?” His warm eyes turned icy just by looking at the other man. And again, you hate their silent communication, you hate always being left in the dark, but the moment Simon scoffed, giving you his infamous eye roll as he turned away and slipped from your room, it was enough to make you forget all about their lack of communication skills.

It was the way his arms wrap around you as he holds you close, and the way his warm eyes gazed into yours as he smiled so adorably, that’s one of the reasons why you chose John. The way he cared about you, never talked about other women, never told you what to do. Never stern and never rude, only sweetness outside the bedroom and in it too. His hands are always soft as they gently lift your shirt up, just like he is doing right now, calloused but gentle as they brush against your skin, leaving scatters of goosebumps in their trail. His words, praising you with devotion “Maybe I don’t make you feel as good as him. Maybe he really is better than me…But you know, he doesn’t like you the way I do. Noone ever will.” But you only shake your head. Maybe you have been blinded by Ghost’s pure rough lust, but you’re not stupid enough to disregard gentleness and awe. 

His lips trailed down your neck, down your collarbones, and when usually he’d like to bite and nibble, he feels as if he doesn’t need to mark you anymore. You’re his, you know it, he knows it, Simon knows it. No need for unnecessary roughness, of reminding that you enjoy him just as much, if not more now. It’s obvious, from the way your head falls back against the pillows, they kind of smell like him. From the way your nails dig in his shoulders as you guide him back down, further down. Soft lips on your soft tummy, making the butterflies erupt in your stomach, the way he kisses you, so carefully, like you were crystal, like you were the finest porcelain, like you were the most fragile thing that has ever seen the light of the earth. 

This military man always felt like he belonged in chaos and brutality, the savagery of bullets and loudness of bombs, never did he think he’d find relishing in tenderness and kindness. Cold nights when he’d stay awake praying god would let him see another day of life, now between the warmth of your sheets, god is forgotten, John can only sin and sin over and over again, if this is what hell is like, then so be it, nothing will ever taste as sweet as your arousal. A sloppy man by nature, saliva and drool dripping down his chin as he messily makes out with your folds. Between your thighs, that’s where he truly belonged. 

Doe eyes looking up at you from below, it made you smile, how a man like him can’t contain his eagerness. Your fingers ran through his hair, pulling him closer to your core, even closer when your back arched, his fingers suddenly plunging inside you. That’s how he always did it “Wanna make sure you’re ready sweetheart. Don’t ever want to hurt you, not that way at least…”  He’d constantly say, to the point where it kept on replaying in your mind, even at the worst possible moments. He’d always make sure you’d cum on his fingers or tongue first, for comfort, as he puts it. But deep down, that’s not the reason. Knowing that he as you wrapped around his fingers, literally, always did something to him. The way you purr, thrash against your sheets when he overstimulates you with just a flicker to your abused clit, the way you beg him “Please, please! Just…put it in, fuck me!” the way you ramble, voice dripping with desperation, high pitched, and whiny. Your whining, your begging, your crying is why he does it. You’d always tell him how nice he is, but he’s cruel really, selfishly so.

It’s only when he thinks you’re ready, or in other words, it’s only when your tears are staining the pillows, only when your nails drew crescent reds on his back, only when he couldn’t take it anymore, would he push you further up the bed and hover above you. He wouldn’t even give you much time to process what’s happening. He already got your legs wrapped around his waist, and when usually he’d growl and complain about having to use protection, this time he skipped it all together. Your eyes went wide, a small gasp escaped your lips when you felt his tip nudging between your lower lips; he found your behaviour just so cute. He chuckles, leaning down, folding you as he does so, whispers lightly in your ear “You’re so adorable like that, sweetheart. So pretty folded in half for me like that…Got to take advantage of that now, soon I won’t be able to do that at all, hmm?”  It doesn’t take a genius to know what he meant by that, and even if you had any doubts, he slid into you, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your tight walls around his cock, reinforcing his idea, making it clear. 

And why did he ever doubt you? Was the way you scream his name not enough proof that you loved him? The way you squirm, the way tears cascaded down your cheeks, the way you grabbed into him, all of that, was it not enough to make your decision easier? You’re both too stupid to realise that there shouldn’t have been any hesitation in who you’d choose in the end. 

His hips moved against yours, drilling into you at a speed you’ve never experienced from that man before, or anyone for what matters. His hands dug into your hips as he held you steady. You’re panting, biting your lips to keep your moans at bay, but to no avail. He won’t be having that. “Don’t be selfish now my darling. I’ve been patient enough, the least you could do is appreciate me by screaming my name, don’t you think?” And who were you to deny him this request? Your lips parted at his demand, his name rolling off your tongue has him picking up his pace, faster and faster, he’s reaching so deep. Although not in the fields, when Johnny puts his mind into something, he’ll make sure it happens, no matter what it takes. His fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves, it has you twitching underneath him, squirming and shaking, your voice is all choked up when you cum. Your vision is blurry, your limbs feel like jelly as your gummy walls spasm around him, really, he’s not surprised at how fast he cums when he’s with you anymore, never once did it hurt his ego. Your exhausted smile warmed his heart. A kiss on your forehead and a soft whisper of “Thanks for giving me a chance”  has you wrap your arms around him to press a sweet peck to his lips. And you thought that was the end of your night, you’re ready to be tucked in and cuddled up against his chest and be lulled to sleep by his heartbeat as usual, but no. “Oh no, where do you think you’re going, darling? No, no we’re not done yet. I got to make sure it takes, wanna see you all round for me. We’re gonna show him, I can give you what you want. I am what you need…”

#john price x reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price smut #smut #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #price smut #price x reader #female reader

[sgiandubh]

What happened with Barbour ?

Dear Barbour Anon,

My favorite kind of Anon, even if I know the question has recently been asked again and not in this corner. Never mind, I think it's time to talk about it, too.

I bought my first Barbour (entry-level, so olive) Bedale wax jacket 25 years ago, from their (long gone, now) shop on Boulevard Raspail, in Paris. It was a mandatory clothing item to own if you wanted to properly mingle with the law school crowd (it still is) and it ended up being one of my most prized possessions, possibly a part of me. I still have it somewhere, back home. Two more followed, along with a fetishist array of shirts, scarves, beanies and even one of those sturdy crossbody bags you can fit half a house in. So you can imagine my absolute thrill when I found out, very very late, that S had had a rather substantial collaboration with them, from 2016 and until 2019.

I am very bad with timelines, as you probably know and possibly even cackle about, but still: S was appointed as the company's first ever Global Brand Ambassador on July 16, 2016. His mission statement was very precisely defined by the brand and for some reason we'll analyze a bit later, this is important:

(Source, heh: https://www.astonbourne.co.uk/is-barbour-a-luxury-brand-unraveling-the-mystique-of-classic-outerwear/).

A shirt and vest signature collection followed in 2017 and 2018, with the contract being renewed. Advertisement was absolutely gorgeous and designed to shape a very positive image, both for S and the brand. Last autumn's SS Gin promo retained some of that irresistible aesthetic DNA and I discussed it at length.

See for yourself, Anon. The fandom endlessly discussed the first long clip (with the chocolate labrador), but I have no idea if these two have been seen, let alone debated. If they did, let that be my nostalgic mistake.

Spring/Summer 2018:

Fall 2018:

And then disaster stroke, with S's trip to Ha-wa-wee 1.0, in the spring of 2019. A short reel, featuring a rather agglomerated boat trip, was posted on socials. Unfortunately for S, it also featured an allegedly horrifying scene involving the 'traditional' bludgeoning to death of a tuna fish. Emotions ensued and as it often happens here, they spun out of control. Many people, including some of the most vocal S haters, tagged Barbour in their diatribes, filled with environmentalist indignation. They suggested this guy (who did not participate to the savagery and I would be even unsure he realized what was going on) was, by no reasonable means, a proper 'embodiment of the brand's identity, values and aspirations' (remember that mission statement?).

Tone deaf as ever in the midst of a serious PR crisis, S put friendship above anything else, and publicly praised the boat's owner, calling him 'the heart and soul of the island', if I remember well. I still would like to think he has no idea what the hell exactly happened. And then, when somebody finally (August 2019) asked Barbour on Insta about their collaboration with S, they got this politely dry, but clear answer:

"We don't have any plans for a collaboration with SH in the near future" means, in my book and to my understanding, "we are never going to work with this guy again". Truly, some people in here who dare to give morality lessons to others, should be proud of themselves: they did it knowingly and in a very organized way, using multiple sock accounts, to give the impression of a collective retching reflex. To cut the story short, the dread of any ad campaign on this planet.

The effort was genuine. The result of that collaboration was very good. Take, for example, this somewhat heartbreaking customer review by an American guy who has no idea who SRH is and who bought one of those jackets from a Barbour factory warehouse, in 2021, with a hefty rebate (70% off). Clearly something Barbour wanted to get rid of at all costs - what a pity and really what a SHAME on all those hypocrites who will never admit to a public assassination by the book:

This time, I am absolutely not sorry for the length, Anon. This is something that still makes me boil. Unfairness and cheap nastiness simply disgust me.

(Thank you, sweetheart, for the screenshot, always. You know who you are 😘😘😘).

#anon #fandom #shitshow

[usiel21]

The Trauma of Enid Sinclair.

After her fight with the Hyde, Enid can't forget that night, seeing Wednesday covered in blood, the knife wound that was going to kill Wednesday haunts her dreams. Every night. Her dreams filled with an image of Wednesday dead, slumped over, knife sticking out of her gut.

It fills Enid with a ruthless determination.

Every morning at home she wakes up and does 100 push ups. No exceptions and then goes for a run.

The six full moons over the two month period should be ones of joy, but she spends each one, alone, away from the pack, hunting. Honing her instincts. Each one culminating in a kill so bloody and so savage that even her mother can't bring herself to criticize it, the deers and a singular bear have been mauled beyond the point of reason. She leaves the carcasses on the back porch with the other kills.

Her brothers begin to fear the savagery that their little sister is now capable of.

The return to Nevermore is a quiet one, her heart sings in elation at seeing Wednesday again. Seeing that she is alive but still recovering.

But Wednesday is far from stupid, she notices the changes in Enid immediately but doesn't comment on it, she finds herself silently counting every push-up and every sit-up. The colour of her roommate is still there albeit jaded.

Enid takes an almost obsessive interest in the investigation revolving around her stalker. Enid studies outcast bestiary encyclopaedias. Making notes and annotations to them. Specifically notes on where the arteries run, where vital organs are located and how far she would have to cut in order to reach them.

Enid wakes up in the night, pads over to Wednesdays bed and carefully presses her fingers to her pulse and hovering her hand by her mouth, feeling the slow outtake of air. She would heave a sigh of relief before going back to sleep.

Thing tells Wednesday everything, the notes, the checking to see if she's still alive. But still she make no comment on it.

The first boy that tries to ask Wednesday out doesn't even get a chance to speak to her, Enid is already there.

"She's not interested, back off" the last two words come out as a growl as her fangs descend and her claws elongate. Once the boy runs away terrified she sheepishly turns to look at Wednesday who only gives her a curt nod in return, it makes Enid preen all the same.

People soon learn that Wednesday is off limits. Well almost all of them that is.

Xavier fucking Thorpe.

It happens on the third botany lesson of the year, with the new teacher, Miss Reeves. Enid watches with intensity and a boiling, bubbling anger as Xavier attempts to flirt with Wednesday, who shows no interest in return.

Yoko notices it first, the extended claws, the yellow eyes but has no time to stop it as Xavier makes a play to hold Wednesdays hand. The other girl flinches away, disgust evident on her face. And Enid sees red, every emotion, every bit of fear, every piece of anger coming to the forefront.

Xavier has no time to react as Enid bolts over her table and tackles Xavier to the floor. The boy screams 'What the fuck?!" as he hits the floor.

the half-transformed wolf snarls and growls above him.

"DO NOT TOUCH HER!" She screams down at him. "Miss Sinclair!" Miss Reeves roars but gulps and takes a step back as the wolf's eyes round on her, a genuine murderous intent gleam there. But Enid backs off but doesn't back down instead she turns until Wednesday is behind her, keeping the her precious raven safe, all eyes are trained on her, all of them now threats to Wednesday.

And all that runs through her head is a singular, terrifying thought.

Protect Mate

Until she feel's Wednesday's hand tentatively come up to brush her fingers.

"Enid, I'm okay, it is okay." Wednesday's soft whisper comes from behind. She whines and whimpers as Wednesday's touch is like a spark upon her skin, so gentle and so soft. Yet Enid doesn't back down, it just gives her an even more greater reason to protect and defend.

Wednesday's whisper is barely audible but regardless everyone hears it.

"My sweet and savage wolf" Wednesday whispers, taking her hand. "Stop...please." the last word is almost pleading. And it shakes Enid out of her kill rage, the claws retract and her face returns to that once sweet girl that everyone would describe as being like sunshine. She ducks her head away, ashamed and mortified. But their eyes meet conveying everything she can't say.

Wednesday's sharp eyes turn to Miss Reeves.

"Inform the rest of the teachers that Enid and I are returning to our room. I will handle this in what way I deem fit." She pauses "If the new principal does not approve then inform him that anyone that messes with Enid will incur the wrath of the Addams clan."

Wednesday pauses to look down at Xavier.

"Touch me again and I won't stop her next time."

Xavier incredulously looks at the girls joined hands and at Enid who is now clinging to Wednesday's arm like a koala bear. But wisely says nothing.

"Come, mi sol" Wednesday gently says, leading Enid from the room.

Miss Reeves rounded on Xavier "You foolish, idiotic boy!" Xavier nearly choked on the words that died in his throat in protest "You know better than to touch a werewolf's mate!"

The walk back to the dorm is a quick and silent one. Until Wednesday locks the door behind them as Enid retreats further into the room.

"You must hate me so much right now, Wends" Enid mutters tearfully.

Wednesday steps forward.

"Why would you think such a ridiculous notion Enid?" Wednesday questions.

"Because of what just happened, Because I'm a shitty friend... because i'm a failure." Enid says, all but breaking down. The tears come thick and fast, every bit of despair, every fear finally letting itself explode.

"If i could have wolfed out you wouldn't have been stabbed!" Enid wails. Wednesday can't say nothing other than watch Enid rip herself to pieces with guilt that isn't just.

"If I had beaten the Hyde faster, if I had been better!" Enid laments "If I had known Thornhill had taken you if I wasn't too busy sucking face with Ajax! I could have stopped it!"

Wednesday moved towards Enid until she was right in front of her, their eyes met.

"If you died I would have died with you." Enid confesses softly.

And Wednesday had never been told something so terrifying. Enid turned away and continued to sob. Wednesday moved until she was right in Enid's personal space.

"But i didn't die, I'm right here Enid. Look at me." Wednesday said. Shimmering Blue eyes met hers and Wednesday held out her hands. Enid's shook as she placed them into the ravens.

"Do you think i care for you so little that if you died against the Hyde i wouldn't have met him in battle knowing that i would come to you even in death?"

Enid's lip quivered at Wednesday's words. Wednesday stepped closer.

"Do you think i could ever hate you? Even when we first met I found I simply couldn't as much as i wanted to."

Enid whimpered.

"Do you think I love you so little..." Enid's eyes widen at the proclamation. "...that even death would have been able to keep me from you?"

"Wends..." Enid can't help but utter, hearing the most loving and romantic thing anyone has ever said to her.

"Your not the only one that lost a part of themselves that night Enid, I lost a part of myself to you and I never want it back"

"That is literally the most loving thing anyone has ever said to me..." Enid whined, bringing their clasped hands to her chest.

"This is not the way I wished to tell you..." Wednesday said, casting her eyes to the floor.

"It was perfect Wends." Enid said stepping closer as Wednesday looks at her again "I..." Enid begins, her words hitching in her throat. "...I..." Wednesday steps closer, they're both so close now that they can feel each other's breath.

"Yes Enid?" Wednesday prompts softly. Enid composes herself enough for the briefest of moments. "...I... I love you!"

And Wednesday is the one that takes the final leap of faith by pushing forwards, their hands clasped tightly together between them at chest level, capturing Enid's lips blissfully with her own, the spiderweb window directly behind them.

Enid cries during their first kiss. The wolf, exhausted half drags Wednesday to her bed, before collapsing upon it with Wednesday in tow, their bodies entwined. Her final thoughts as she drifts off a comfort as she tucks her face into the seers neck.

Mate safe.

Mate in nest.

Mate warm.

Mate happy.

Mate alive.

#wenclair #they're so gay #these are just meant to be small drabbles that somehow end up being 1500 words long Lmao