#desert thief

[desertfangs]

I haven't yet read the books (there's so many!) I've only watched the iwtv movie and TV show and I love Claudia in both but I've had people tell me in the books she's awful and considered to be one of the series villains. Idc about spoilers I just wanna know how true that is bc I dunno if I'd want to read that lol

Hi anon! I was excited to see your ask this morning because I'm gonna tell you something: Claudia was one of my first favorite characters in the series and her death devastated me. Louis was my first fav (understandable, he's literally the protagonist of the first book, we're meant to sympathize with him!) and when he lost Claudia and became numb in his grief, I related. I hated Armand for what happened to Claudia and I held a grudge for a long time.

Anyhow, I can't speak to the show so much as I've only seen season 1, but if you like the 94 movie, you will probably like the novel Interview with the Vampire. It's a pretty close adaptation.

To get to the heart of your question, no, Claudia not an awful villain. Anymore than Louis or Lestat are. If anyone is a villain in IwtV, it's Armand, and even he is not a mustache-twirling evil guy.* Everyone in this series in morally gray and does terrible stuff. I emphasize that because I've been in this fandom for a long time and I've seen all kinds of arguments about who is evil and who is not, and the fact is, all of our vampires do questionable things. That's sort of the point. So it's arguable how much there even is a villain in IwtV outside of Louis' own depression and grief, but Armand probably gets that honor.

Claudia in the books was turned around the age of 5. She is a very small, doll-like child who doesn't seem to retain much, if any, memory of her human life. She is more purely a vampire than Louis or Lestat can really fathom because she lacks that humanity and a connection to humans. She's a natural hunter and killer.

She doesn't understand Louis' sentimentality for humans, and resents Lestat for withholding information she knows he has about their kind. She is a complex and fascinating woman trapped in the body of a small child to the point where even Louis, who loves her dearly, cannot really see her as an adult and struggles to accept her agency. She does manipulate both her parents, in part because they don't often see her as a capable equal, which she very much is.

She does eventually rise up to kill to Lestat out of desperation. She believes he will not let Louis go and knows she can't travel around alone, given her appearance. Lestat himself is devastated by this and by her loss, and even says later he understands why she did it. That he probably deserved it for what he'd done to her, which was trap her forever in the body of a very young child, something he admits was selfish. (And something Marius had actually warned him against doing beforehand, LOL!!)

Like in the movie and the show, she does die at the Theatre des Vampires, and Armand is more responsible for that than I've heard he is on the show (he tells Louis he couldn't have stopped it, only to later reveal he orchestrated it, which Louis knew the whole time).

She appears later in The Tale of the Body Thief mocking Lestat and acting as a sort of voice for his subconscious, but she is just his hallucination in he book. He's dealing with a lot of trauma and grief and that manifests itself as Claudia's ghost.

Where you might be hearing she's a villain is from Merrick, where both her diary and spirit appear and are... not very nice. I gotta say, I am not convinced that is actually the spirit of Claudia that gets conjured, and even if it is, it's possible she's been warped somehow. But I also haven't read that book in decades and often tend to ignore it, so I am not an expert on that score.

I hope this helps! I'm always happy to answer questions about the books! (They are my special interest, if you cannot tell.)

But I do want to say that if you are a fan of the show and curious about the books--which are very different!--I highly recommend you read at least the first few yourself. The best way to judge if you'll like the book versions of the characters and story is to experience it yourself. There's a lot of misinformation that gets passed along about the books, and a lot of misinterpretation due to that because people just repeat what they've heard without having read them. And hey, they still may not be your cup of tea, and that's totally fine! But you won't know if you don't try, you know?

Anyhow, thank you so much for the ask! 💖 Claudia is awesome and deserves more love in the book fandom, but because she dies so early on, she doesn't get as much attention sadly.

*And even when he is, we love him.

[blitheringbongus]

Desert Duo

[insectduck]

My niche Keith Kogane headcanon is that "Thief" by Imagine Dragons from the Smoke + Mirrors (Deluxe) album is HIS song, no if ands or buts, it just screams mullet emo 'delinquent' in the desert bonus with space motifs. If you told me it was written by the angsty fuck himself I'd totally believe you lmao

[azzyfree-art]

Repost of a redraw of Tempest I did back in 2020. It had been full on 12 years since I drew this lizard last. Look at him. A little waterthief.

[w0rld0flight]

What is up with Nintendo and IntSys having really cool ideas for FEH banner themes and only doing them once or twice

Seriously, there are a lot of really cool themes for the banners in FEH, but for some reason, Nintendo and IntSys only do them for one or two times and never again 😭

The pirate banner? They did it twice. One in 2020 and another one in 2021.

The ballroom banner? They did it twice too. One in 2019 and another in 2020.

The thief banner? They only did it last year, 2022, and never did it again.

The picnic banner? They only did it in 2019, and never again.

[chiropteracupola]

in a wilderness where the law can't hear me

[you guessed it, I am still collaborating with @dxppercxdxver]

[maramuntonart]

The second of a small series of DnD Party commissions I completed recently - Aiouston the Simic Hybrid.

[keitheaverage]

came back from a walk today with the worst, uneven sunburn I've had in a while which is making my face & shoulders hurt so I made this edit to cope bc tbh?? how tf did he not come back from the desert with the most goofy ahh tan lines known to man???

like ik it would have been a nightmare to have had to animate him this way but STILL. if I'm not exempt from misshapen suntan lines, neither is he. 😤🔥 /lh

also this was slightly inspired by the first TTATC tweet I ever made after watching it for the first time:

[skirwitte]

do you guys HEAR this shit??????????????? idk what it is but they put crack in it

[eccentric-enby-entity]

WHY IS THERE NO FANART OF MY OCS. WHY IS NO ONE DRAWING THEM. WHY CANT I GO ON TUMBLR AND LOOK UP "SKELA MENDER" OR "BLESSING OBIERE" OR "DROP"

[howifeltabouthim]

In any event, I have grown by now to love him. I wonder whether he is going to leave me after all.

Renata Adler, from Pitch Dark

[bloodstainedembrace]

this combination. augh.

[eupheme]

— on the fence [into the fire, part ii]

part i | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3.8k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, oral (m), exhibitionism, spanking, biting, hair pulling, light choking, sub/dom elements, PiV, irradiated creampie

a/n: hi! I had a couple ideas I wanted to explore, which turned into a mini-series. I have them all mapped out & I hope to have them up for you soon! 💖

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

(Or - the Ghoul gets you out of your Vault Suit.)

You’re not sure you like the look of this town.

It sprawls wide and low across the desert, the inhabitants gathering in the shadows to escape glare of the sun. A low buzzing murmur that carries with you through the streets.

It feels suffocating, after the open miles before.

Following the dark figure of Ghoul, as you wind through the streets. Partly because you have to - that leash still pulled tight, wrapped around a fist.

Partly because you want to stick close, always.

“-don’t need you slowing me down.” The Ghoul gives the rope a yank, and you scowl, “You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

Your frown softens. His words still just as harsh, snarled out. But they’re a far cry from before.

Before, when you were certain he was going to hand you right back over to your Vault, in spite of how far you’ve come. Something significant passing in the journey through the desert, as he had taken what you wanted.

The taste of him has since faded, but he still lingers.

“Gotta earn your keep, too.” His head turns, eyeing you from beneath the brim of hat, “You good at anythin’?”

Unable to help it, you smirk - a brow raising. He scoffs in response, eyes narrowing.

“Anyone can be good at suckin’ cock, sweetheart.” He drawls, unimpressed, “’m not so bad at it, myself.”

Your lips part in surprise and he’s the one that grins, now.

The Ghoul picks up another bounty here. A shady, alley-way deal - keeping you close to his heels as he snatches the faded paper contact off a tattered board.

Running into another pair looking for jobs - a fresh scar splitting across the nose of a man who tries to start a conversation, before quickly retreating.

“Fuckin’ amateurs” muttered in reply to your heavy, silent judgement.

The client is tracked down for more information, after. Wasn’t hard to find the man with cage over the lower half of his face. Spikes that scream Raider with the way they jut through his clothes.

Fifty caps for the “goddamn no-good thief” that wiped out his stall in the night, taking every last bullet and can of cram. Last seen about two days ago, heading north.

Dead or alive, the client doesn’t care.

“Did you see ‘em?” The Ghoul frowns, “What they look like? Give me somethin’ to go off of.”

“Course I did,” The man huffs, “Looks just like me, don’t he? He’s my own damn brother.”

You can’t contain your own sideways look in disbelief, only to see The Ghoul returning it.

He bargains for a hundred, and gets it.

It’s hard not to wonder if he had taken your bounty this way. If your face had been scrawled across a piece of paper. Exchanged in a no-nonsense, disconnected way.

How much had your life been worth?

You never asked him. It’s something you’re not sure you even want to know.

The rest of the afternoon is spent stocking up. Caps exchanged for some more ammo. A couple bottles of watery chems, shoved deep in his bag to join the others.

A way the ease the cough that rattles him every few days. The smallest bottle kept out, wrenched open with a tight fist.

It snags at you - the way he swallows it like ambrosia the second he steps away. Gasping and groaning as if it’s air he needs to breathe.

“I’m good at medicine,” You tell his back - following again. Memories of the Vault pushing their way to the surface, “Could make that for you, if we find the stuff. Wouldn’t have to dilute it.” You almost run into him, with the way he’s gone still. The tilt of his head, a single sharp eye piercing through you under the brim of a hat.

Shifting over your shoulder. Narrowing.

His hand fists in the collar of your jumpsuit instead, hauling you down the nearest alley and into the shadows.

“Hey!” You protest, your back knocked against the wall. He cages you in, knuckles pressing into your jaw with his tight grip.

The vial is pinched between his fingers, dangled in front of your face.

“You can make this?” He confirms.

You’re able to confirm it now, never quite getting a good look before. RadAway. It would be simple, compared to some of the stuff you’d had to cook up.

“Get me to a lab, some supplies,” You nod, “And I will.”

“Huh.” He’s close - you can’t help squirming in his grip, as he considers you, “Ain’t that something.”

A second, before his grip eases - but he doesn’t let go. Your bound fists rest against his chest, but there’s no force behind them to drive him off.

“Could’ve just asked.” You huff, “You don’t have to man-handle me.”

He almost smiles - his voice coming low, with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t I?”

It flusters you, how his body presses against yours. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your chest brushing his with each short breath.

His thumb sweeps, ghosting against your skin. Those sunken eyes dropping to your collar, with a frown.

Another glance down the aisle, before they’re dragging over you - voice lowering.

“Need to get you out of this suit.”

His words make stiffen in his arms, a sharp inhale of anticipation.

“Not so smart, are you?” He husks, his gaze dragging from your parted lips, up to your eyes, “Runnin’ around like this. Downright advertising you’re a Vaultie, when someone’s lookin’ for you.”

He’s not wrong. He tracked you down easily enough. You nod is small, a pang of regret as his fingers drop - as he steps away.

“Come on, then. I know a place.”

The place is an old saloon, the windows blasted out over two centuries ago. The gutted insides filled out with a patched-up bar, the mended tables and scattered chairs filled with patrons. Rooms to rent lining the first - and second floor - if you were brave enough to risk the staircase.

A few stalls set up alongside a wall - a barber ran by a Mister Handy with a looping stutter, the second by another Ghoul. Her few racks are filled with a patchwork of fabric, all in stained and faded patterns.

He gestures, a tilt of his head at the racks, “Pick something out, quick like.”

You’d gape at him, if you weren’t afraid he’d change his mind. Serious about your suit - you’re quick to grab a shirt in your size with only two holes. A pair of trousers, a rip at the knee.

“This ain’t for you.” The Ghoul clarifies darkly in your ear, “This is a trigger-happy town. Don’t need to be wasting my bullets.”

You hum in agreement - undeterred by his tone. The package clutched to your chest as he hands over a couple caps. Stuck over a full two weeks now in the same suit - you’re itching for the soft cotton against the skin.

Turning to leave, but then you’re halting. A couple of the patrons look familiar, hovering just inside the door. Something about that scar-

You’re trying to recall, in the crowd of people you’ve seen today - when a hand clamps down on your shoulder. Wheeling you around as the Ghoul turns to the shop owner.

“You got a room she can borrow?” There’s a change in his tone, almost a sticky-sweet edge to his drawl.

It must work - you’re shown to what used to be an old parlor room. An array of broken chairs, a heavy wooden table. The wallpaper torn and faded, the shades of cream long stained a dull, dirty yellow.

He fills the doorway - an arm propped against the frame, and you hold your wrists out to him dutifully.

You’ve worked at the knots before, to no avail - only to scowl now, as he undoes them easily with one hand.

A moment of silence hanging then, as you give him a pointed look - rubbing at sore wrists.

“You gonna leave so I can change?” You ask, “I’ll just be a second.”

The Ghoul steps forward instead, pulling the door shut behind him. An audible click, as he thumbs at the lock.

“Oh, I don’t think so, darlin’.”

A heat flares to life in your cheeks, “You’re staying?”

“That’s right,” He sinks into an old loveseat, propped up on concrete blocks near the boarded-up window, “Can’t leave you alone in a place like this. Fuckin’ vultures would swoop right in.”

You hesitate, watching him warily as an arm slings across the back, legs stretched out against the floor. If you didn’t know better then you think it was something almost akin to concern in his tone.

Or then again - he might just want to keep your bounty to himself. You had hoped you were past that, but-

“What?” His tongue pokes at his cheek, tone taunting, “Gettin’ shy again?”

The clothes are dropped unceremoniously on the table, your Pip-Boy following. A glare, as you reach for the zipper of your Vault Suit, starting to yank it down.

“Hey, now.” His hand raises, “Slowly. Got it?”

There’s an immediate urge to resist, to test him - but then, you’re catching the look on his face.

It’s hungry, beneath the brim of his hat. You start to feel like you did in the desert, and then the alley - intrigue, and desire, and an ache from his words, all melding together.

So, you take it slow. The zipper slipping from your throat, to breasts, then belly. A roll of your shoulders as you slip your arms from the tight sleeves.

His eyes follow, lingering on each inch of bare skin that’s revealed.

“Turn around.” He growls when you reach your hips, and for him - you do.

Bending at the waist as you unlace your boots and step out of them. Back arched as you wiggle, pushing the suit down past your knees. Down soft legs that part, so you can step out of them.

A glance over your shoulder, then. His head tilts, eyes sweeping from your ankles to fix on the crux of your thighs. They press together on their own, a thrill at being on display for him.

He catches you looking, his hand lazy as it drops to his lap. A lift of his hips as he adjusts, palming himself. The other hand leaving the revolver shotgun that rests on the cushion next to him.

Crooking two fingers at you, silently beckoning you over.

You fit between thighs that inch wider. His hands curl on his lap, before he’s slowly peeling his gloves off. Warm, against your hips, biting into your skin.

“Don’t make ‘em like you above ground anymore,” He idly comments, a flatness to his tone that betrays nothing.

Soft and smooth skin. You wonder if he’s thinking about ruining it - sinking his teeth in and taking a bite. Leaving a mark that you’ll carry.

You think you’d let him.

His grip dents your skin, before his hands are dropping. A heated look thrown your way, as his face tips up to yours.

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

It sends a heat rushing through you, knowing that he’s right. You’re locked in a room with the most dangerous man in the city, and it does something to you.

A boldness, in the way you reach behind. His growled out “fuck” when you let bra loosens - joining the blue and yellow suit on the floor.

The wood is rough under your knees. Letting your hands wander, lifting his hips while your work open his belt. Drawing down the rusted zipper.

You grasp at his hips, tugging the faded fabric until he’s free. Fingers tracing over thighs, just as rough and reddened at the rest of him. It’s still not much, but it’s more of him than you’ve ever seen.

Bare beneath the stained pants, cock already thick and full where it curves against his hip. All from just watching you - perhaps a strange thing to be proud of, but fuck, you are.

Your hands curl around his knees, as your head dips. Taking more time than you did before. Lips pressing against the taut base, as a hand twists in your hair again.

“Come on and thank me, sweetheart.” He growls - urging you upward, “Gettin’ those clothes for you. Make it worth my while.”

It’s different this time. A familiarity in the way your tongue presses against the flushed head. The taste of the salt on your tongue, before your lips are part around him.

A soft groan, when he’s filling your mouth again. You’ve thought about it often since last time. Wondering when he would have you on your knees again. If he’d want more, the next.

Your heartbeat thuds between your thighs, with the shift of his hips into your mouth - chasing his pleasure.

An urge to make him feel good. Without thinking - your hand wraps around his shaft, as your head eases back.

“Easy, now.” He grits, though his eyes are fixed on how your fingers curl around him. How it pumps, squeezing him with spit-slick fingers.

Jerking him into a mouth that parts so prettily for him. Your other hand slipping against his thigh, with feather-light brushes. A short inhale before you take him deep again, your fist sliding down to the base.

The next time you pull him from mouth for a breath, drool stringing from his cock to your lips, he hears himself growling out, “Stop.”

You’re being too tender, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Should have kept you bound, like last time.

The Ghoul’s fingers bite into your chin, your mouth glossy from how you swallowed him down.

“I’m taking you this time. Know you’ve been just aching for it.” He husks, his thumb pressing against your lip. Watching your tongue peek out to taste it, “Go on. Get up, and get your ass over to that table.”

Your desire nearly eclipses everything else. Pushing on his thighs for support, crossing the three steps to the side of the table.

“No,” He follows - the gun clattering on the table top, brought over from the couch. His hands at your hips, guiding you until you’re facing the door, “Right here, sweetheart. I’ll be keepin’ watch.”

It has you remembering where you are - that you’re just supposed to be getting changed. Wondering if you should worry that you don’t care - the thought of piping up, having the risk of losing this chance and denying pleasure again has you quickly adapting.

A hand presses at the small of your back insistently, bending you over it. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, sticky against your skin.

“Cross your wrists,” His thighs shift against yours, as you fix your hands that has flattened against the tabletop.

Making it easy for him to grasp at them with one hand - stretching them further, pressing them against the wood as he kicks your thighs further apart.

Leaving you on tip-toe, arched against him.

“Look at you, listening.” He almost coos, with another lazy rock. His cock shifts, fitting between your thighs, nudging against you.

“I think-” You start, but it’s punctuated by a moan, “Think you just like tying girls up.”

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” He drawls, “Though I don’t discriminate. Theres just something ‘bout havin’ you like this-”

The Ghoul leans over you then, his grip tightening. Pinning you firmly between him and the table, unable to do more than squirm as his free hand slips between your thighs, cupping you.

It’s the first time he’s touched you like this, and your muscles string tight - trying not to buck into his palm. Against fingers that rub against your clit, pressing the sticky fabric to your skin.

“Fuck.” He rasps in your ear. Nails bite into your hips, as he tears the fabric down to your thighs.

Coming back to press against your bare cunt, fingers slipping against your folds. You’re unable to help the soft whimper as he parts you, two fingers teasing at your entrance.

“Please,” You whine, as he pets against you. Smearing your slick up to your clit again, his fingers parting just as he reaches it.

His cock presses against your leg, thick and stiff. A roll of his hips until it’s pressed snug against your cunt - jutting between your thighs just below his hand.

“Your pussy is downright leakin for me, sweetheart,” He growls, “You need it that bad?”

You whine, your head turning to look - watching how he arcs over you. That blown-wide look in his eyes again, as you nod.

There’s a split second as his hand leaves you, before it’s cracking down on the meat of your ass. You gasp in shock as you go still beneath him, the pain unexpected and swirling with your heady need.

“Say it out loud,” He barks out, “Tell me just how much.”

Your skin stings, his fingers twitch before he kneads roughly at the flesh - the burn of it akin to way you ache for him.

“I need it,” You keen, “Need your cock. Want you to fuck me-”

The words cut off - a rough hum of approval before he’s lining himself up, a hand curving to grip your hip. The other flexes around your wrist, before he’s driving himself deep with a single, powerful thrust.

Your cry is loud, this time. Low and rough, pushed from your lungs as your pussy makes room for him.

“Fucking christ, you’re tight,” He grunts, unable to help the shallow buck of his hips, “Better than my goddamn dreams.”

It makes you moan - the gritted-out admission not lost on you.

Even with how wet you are, you still feel like you’re stretched wide. An ache radiating through you, sparking to life as he inches out, only to plunge deep again. The table bites into your hips, back arching as he sets a rough rhythm.

The sharp twinge starting to fade, as you begin to accommodate him. Growing accustomed to the heavy weight of him inside you, the steady stroke against your walls that has you starting to clench down around him.

Your breathing grows shorter, faster. Face turning to bury in the curve of your shoulder, muffling the moans that are pushed from you - until his hand is leaving your hip, twisting in your hair with a sharp tug.

Forcing your head back, his grip anchoring you.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. Know you saw those eyes on you,” He’s lost the steady edge to his voice, words turning rough, “Go on, be loud.”

The Ghoul’s hips pound harder, the rough texture of his cock stroking deep. Each sending a current through you, leaving your fingers and toes flexing, aching for just a little bit more.

“Saw you come in with me. Show ‘em who you belong to.”

“Fuck!” You cry, wishing you had a name to scream. Unable to muffle your ragged breath, the moans he pulls from you.

It fills the room, melding with the slick punch of his cock into your wet and needy cunt. Better than before, because his hands are on you now - leaving your hair, blunt nails dragging down your back. Ghosting across your hip, where your skin presses into the wood.

“Touch me.” You beg, again, “Let me touch myself, I can’t-”

His hand withdraws, and you whine - backpedaling. Afraid that he’s going to pull from you, finish himself across your back or your ass for asking.

“Please. Fuck, please. Don’t, I’m so close-”

He groans at your plea through clenched teeth.

Releasing his grip on you, only for his hand to slide to the base of your throat. His other arm looping beneath you as he hauls you against him, flattening against your ribs.

Palming at a soft breast, as you’re pulled up and pressed flushed to his chest.

“Listen to you, miss manners,” He grins - teeth bared, “That’s more like it, honey.”

The bandolier cuts into your skin, the wood into your thighs. And change in the angle that has your cries growing louder as his cock pounds against a soft spot inside you. Warm breath ghosting against your neck, deep rumbling growls in your ear.

Everything fades, growing hazy. His fingers tighten, but not enough to fully choke the air from you. An implication - your own hands wrapping around his wrist to anchor yourself to him. 

You can hear him inhale you, the scrape of teeth against your skin above the heavy press of his fingers. Salvation in the way the hand splayed beneath your chest drifts lower, his voice smooth in your ear.

“This is for listening,” He husks, “You understand?”

Relentless, when his fingers press against your clit. Slick and circling until you’re grinding into his touch, meeting the hard slap of his hips.

The gasping chant of “fuck, fuckfuckfuck,  please-” turning into mindless whimpers, his rough rhythm growing sloppy.

“Goddamn, you feel good.” It’s a ragged sigh, “Feel your tight little cunt squeezing me. Gonna make a mess, sweetheart?”

It sounds muted, layering with a ringing white noise. Your nails bite into his wrists as the swiftly building tides breaks. Almost missing the sweet growl in your ear.

“Let them hear how a pretty thing like you sounds coming on a cock like mine.”

You do, with the next swirl of his rough fingers - the sound broken as he rips it from you.

Bearing down around the cock that fits so deeply into you, with each blissful pulse of your release. Forgetting about the rest - about the outside world - as your nerves alight with pleasure.

His hand drops from your throat to brace against the table. Bending you flat again as he feels you flutter and gush around his length, crushing you against the top as blunt teeth close against the pulse point of your throat, biting down.

The sounds of his own orgasm muffled - a ragged groan as his cock throbs, as he fucks himself deep into you. Tasting the salt of your skin as you yelp, clenching around him - milking him until your walls are coated with his spend.

He hadn’t meant to - but the urge to pull from you had wavered the moment he buried himself in your cunt. Abandoned completely, after feeling you come so sweetly around him. An instinct lingers even now - to enjoy the soft press of your body against his, your warmth.

You shiver as his lips brush your neck, the closest thing to an apology as you’ll get - before he’s pulling away from you, leaving you clenching and empty.

A ragged hand slips between your thighs as you prop yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Pleasure still radiating from your core as fingertips swipe through the come that is just starting to leak from you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He laughs - the sound ragged, with a flash of yellowed teeth.

“Guess this means you better start cookin’.”

The Vault Suit is left beneath the table, a crumpled up reminder that you’re happy to leave behind.

Your cheeks burn as you leave the saloon - the strangers from before cleared out. A definite wobble to your steps - something that The Ghoul certainly notices, the low tilt of his hat hiding the curling pull of his lips.

Outlining the path towards the next bounty as you find your way out, guessing where you might find a lab along the way.

And it’s only as the city starts to fade, that you realize -

He never bound your wrists again, after.

I have the brainrot for this man for sure! Thank you for stopping by & reading 💖 (and I have also been reading so much about the new chem the Ghoul takes! For plot & smut reasons - I am going with RadAway, haha)

[evermore-fashion]

Evermore-Fashion: Women of Marvel

Ororo Munroe is a powerful mutant with weather-manipulating abilities, also known as the infamous and influential hero Storm. She is also the descendant of an ancient line of African priestesses, all of whom have white hair, blue eyes, and the potential to wield magic. After becoming an orphan Ororo became a sneak-thief on the streets of Cairo under the tutelage of Achmed El Gibár, who provided her a home. As a teenager, she felt the urge to travel to the south, arriving at the Serengeti plains. Venerated by the locals as a goddess, Ororo used her abilities to ease the droughts in the arid desert. Eventually she was approached by Professor Xavier to join his X-Men, a mutant group aimed at implementing peace between humans and mutants. 

(Zuhair Murad Spring 2023 Haute Couture Collection)

[sweet-and-sour-bites]

https://www.tumblr.com/sweet-and-sour-bites/763257255073349632/can-i-have-burning-spice-cookie-x-reader-who-is-a?source=share

Different anon here....saw this and loved it and one line gave me an idea for a request....can you do burning spice x ticklish scardycat reader? Like reader was very scared of him at first and burning spice took em in as a 'you are so adorably pathetic, unable to even defend yourself because of your fear and you bend at tickling? Someone that weak needs to he protected...that's it, you're mine now' and then just throws them over their shoulder lmao...

Of course hun! Love this idea.

☁️Burning Spice Cookie x Scaredy cat Gn!Reader

The sandy wasteland stretches on and on before your eyes. The air is dry and makes your throat cry out for a fresh cup of sweet juice. Though you hate to cross such a deserted wasteland, you must. Sent by Dark Cacao himself to warn Golden Cheese Cookie of the arrival of the Beasts.

Your feet ache as you cross from the snowy ice land to the sandy plains to reach her. You dare not stop in fear of what could happen, though. Just as you begin to lose yourself to your thoughts, a loud noise startles you. Up ahead, you see a large cloud of dust and sand. Though scared and trembling from the thought of trouble that is just over yonder, you brace yourself and run towards it.

Reaching the area in a few minutes, you walk through a chasm of fallen rocks. Looking around, you notice the gashes and burn marks littering the ground and cliffs. Suddenly, something is flung just before you into the wall to your right. Stepping back, you brandish your sword at the new hole in the wall.

*Cough* *Cough* "Goodness me, what and utter brute." Your eyes widen as you see Golden Cheese Cookie herself stumble out of the hole.

"Your majesty!" You rush over to her and help her to her feet as best as you can. Though you only reach about waist height for her, you know it's better to have some support than none. She's looks down at you confused and worried.

"Young one, what are you doing here?! You shouldn't be here! You need to leave at once!" You shake your head.

"I am a messenger sent by Dark Cacao. He needed me to warn you of a Beast coming to claim your soul jam for himself." You saw her grimace.

"Unfortunately, it is too late. He is already here."

"So, you think I'm the thief, little cookie?" Your eyes widen at the sound of a deep and rough voice from above. Looking up, you see a large cookie that just screams danger. With a golden smirk, he leaps from his perch and drops down just aways away from you and Golden Cheese Cookie. The dust around him settles, and you find yourself staring at each other. Him, filled with curiosity and excitement. You, terrified and worried.

"You carry a sword, will you fight against me too?" He points the tip of his weapon at you, but Golden Cheese Cookie pushes you behind her.

"Don't you dare! She's but a messenger, not a soldier." She glares at the large cookie with a fierce look that could send you running home. For a moment, the Beast looks over at her the back at you before smirking and raising his weapon.

"She should've thought about that before coming here." Without a second to waste, he charges at the two of you. Golden Cheese Cookie pushes you away from the fight and parrys his attack.

"Run! Get out of here now! Warn Dark Cacao!" With that, you high tail it away from the fight in hopes of making back to your king. That Beast was right; you're no soldier. The sword you have is simply to deter others from attacking. You don't know how to fight.

The sounds of the battle draw further from you as you run. You'd say over twenty minutes have passed since you left, and you now find yourself in the ruins of an old palace. What can you say, you can't fight but you can sure run. Slowing down you take a breath and pull out a sheet of paper.

"Your Majesty, I find myself sending you this letter on behalf of Golden Cheese Cookie. She is currently fighting the Beast Cookie that is out for her soul jam. I am running from the fight in her orders. Please send immediate assistance to the Golden Cheese desert asap. With regards, (Y/n) Cookie."

With the letter written, you bring out a small blackberry bird and tie it to its foot. "Hurry, give this letter the his majesty Dark Cacao. Waste no time. Go!" At your words, the little bird flys off in a hurry. You sigh in exhaustion and slid against one of the old crumbled pillars.

"Oh little cookie~ Come out, come out wherever you are~"

You shoot up quickly and run over to a more hidden pile of rubble. How? How did here reach you so soon?! Shouldn't he be fighting Golden Cheese Cookie?! Unless......oh no. She must be badly hurt for him to be here without worrying about her. Oh, you hope the king will be here soon.

"Oh come now, no need to be scared. I won't hurt you. Much. Hahaha!" You close your eyes and cover your mouth to prevent any sound. Sliding down to the ground, you begin to shake in fear. Dammit! You know everyone else was busy in the kingdom, but why did they have to send you?! You can't fight!

You're too scared too.

All becomes silent, and with what little courage you have, you open your eyes. Oh fuck. You feel a shiver go down you spine as you see a large shadow block what light was on you. Slowly looking up you see the large beast stand above you, looking down at you with a sharp, golden grin. "Found you~"

"Ahhh!" Fear course through you as you dodge his attack. Without much haste, you run deeper into the ruins. You hear the loud steps of that brute not too far behind you. Risking it, you look behind you and see him gaining on you. That is until your world fumbles and you fall.

You feel a pain course through your leg as you hit the ground. You take a peak at it as you see a gaping would with jam running out. You let your head fall and curl in on yourself. "Why? Why me? Why was I sent here? I can't fight, I can't." You wallow in your self-pity as Buring Spice stalks towards you. Standing over you, he lets his eyes wonder over your form.

Normally, seeing a cookie wallow would bore or anger him. However, he must admit, you are quite the looker. Soft dough and a soft heart. You cower from him, which is odly...satisfying. He takes the end of his weapon and puts it under your chin, moving your head to look at him. You look up at the beast with tears in your eyes and fear in your heart. He smirks down at you and bends over.

"Mhm, how about a deal, scaredy cat?" You give a little nod, not trusting your voice. "You'll come with me as a sort of...pet or spoil of war, and I won't turn that so called queen to crumbs." Your eyes widen at his words. Either way, you're at his mercy, but hopefully, you can bide time for Golden Cheese Cookie and his majesty. At least then you can help in some way.

"I'll go with you." Your voice comes out just a little above a whisper. Cracking from the running, crying, and heat. He smirks and pulls you up, tossing you over his shoulder.

"Haha, wise choice, scaredy cat! Ha, I think I shall call you just that. After all, with how much you tremble and cower, it is but a fitting name." You don't say anything as you try to make resting on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes a little more comfortable. He begins to walk out of the ruins, and you feel yourself sawy to motion, causing you to feel a little sick. Stupid motion sickness. You really are a miserable fool. You can't fight, you're always scared, and now, motion sickness to top it all off.

Burning Spice notices this and stops walking. He pulls you from his shoulder and holds you with one arm. You look up at his with confusion. "This seems to be better. Don't want you throwing up your guts now, do we?" You nod, a little embarrassed, and the two of you continue on.

Good grief, what have you gotten yourself into. From a simple cowardly messenger to a Beast Cookies' pet. Damn, you feel as if your body is shot with how anxious you are. You can only hope Dark Cacao will save you in time. You do wonder though, what will become of you, as Buring Spice Cookies' little pet.

[belqva]

₊˚⊹౨ TAKE ME TO CHURCH [T.M.R.] ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: domestic violence, mentions of murder (it’s tom riddle are we even surprised?)

summary: At the hour of the owl, driven by anger and hurt, you left your dorm and wandered towards the Black Lake. There you encounter Tom Riddle. Your enigmatic conversation with your academic rival took an unexpected turn, leaving you with more questions than answers as you headed back to the castle.

pairing: tom riddle x ravenclaw fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is a draft that I didn’t plan on posting but I’m so busy atm I don’t have time to write anything else 🥲 again english is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes! as always my inbox is open and I’m happy to hear any criticism or requests as long as you are polite 🤍 not incredibly proud of this but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless <333

It was the hour of the owl when you left your dorm room. Strictly forbidden, yes, but as a prefect—even if off-duty that evening—you were willing to risk detention. Quite unusual for an obedient Ravenclaw like yourself, but here you were, sneaking out like a thief in the night.

“Oh, bloody hell,” you muttered, consumed by anger that clouded your thoughts. Hatred and adrenaline coursed through your veins. The Ravenclaw common room was empty; everyone else was already in bed, even those who usually stayed up late. No one would see or question your departure. It was nearly three in the morning, dark and silent.

You made your way across the empty common room and down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, not entirely sure where you were going, but driven by a need to escape everything. The ancient Hogwarts castle was cold and empty, its walls whispering secrets. Some might find the silence unsettling, but you found it oddly comforting. The cool evening breeze was soothing against your warm skin, though you would likely regret leaving your sweater behind later. Dressed in your usual uniform—a skirt, a white button-up, and the silver-blue tie— you moved carefully through the deserted halls, avoiding even the faintest creak.

The castle felt unimaginably vacant. Your anger had begun to ebb, replaced by a gradual calmness. The walk and fresh air had helped. As you meandered through the halls, you decided to venture outside the castle. It wasn’t entirely safe, but you had your wand and weren't afraid of the dark anymore. The stars shone brightly above, and your worries seemed to drift away.

Heading towards the Black Lake to clear your mind, you noticed a figure on the shore. Your heart raced with fear. Quickly gripping your wand, you crept closer, only to recognize the familiar figure of Tom Riddle. His jet-black hair, piercing dark eyes, and imposing stature could not be mistaken. The sight of him was both intimidating and oddly magnetic.

“Riddle,” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet. As he turned, his wand aimed at the ready, you saw his defensive stance relax.

“Y/L/N,” Tom said, his tone sharp as ever. “It is rather uncouth to approach someone unannounced.”

You had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. What began as a snarky rivalry in your first year had escalated into a fierce competition. Each of you tried to outdo the other, pushing boundaries and limits, reveling in victories and defeats. Despite your mutual animosity, there was an undeniable, if twisted, connection between you. Tom was not like other boys; he was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Yet, he maintained a facade of the humble, ambitious scholar. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and though you would never admit it, you found his intensity compelling.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t my intention, Riddle. My apologies,” you replied sarcastically.

As you approached, you noticed Tom’s irritated expression and the cigarette he had dropped. He took out another one, lit it with his wand, and took a drag before addressing you.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Y/L/N,” he said, ignoring your remark. “It’s never easy with you, is it?”

“You’re the one to talk,” you retorted. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Tom’s unimpressed glance betrayed his indifference. “Well, I’m delighted to catch you off guard.”

The sight of him indulging in such a muggle habit was unexpected. Given his staunch pureblood beliefs, it was surprising. But you supposed it made sense, considering his upbringing in a muggle orphanage. Where he got the cigarettes from was another mystery.

His reaction to your mention of muggles was intense. “I have nothing to do with those filthy creatures. The mere idea is offensive. Muggles are obsessed with pleasure, indulgence, and waste. They are nothing but animals in disguise.”

Tom’s passionate tirade was one of his defining traits. His ability to articulate his disdain with such fervor was both disturbing and strangely admirable. You had learned to disregard his over-the-top responses, focusing instead on his more genuine moments.

“Merlin, Riddle, calm down. It was just a question,” you said, trying to remain unfazed.

“And I am just answering you,” he countered, his demeanor quickly reverting to his usual composed facade. He took another drag of his cigarette, and a heavy silence settled between you.

After a moment, he broke the quiet. “So what is an obedient Ravenclaw like yourself doing out at this hour? I thought breaking the rules wasn’t your style.” His smirk was maddening.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the earlier anger fading, replaced by an uncomfortable shudder of vulnerability. Tom noticed the change in your demeanor and his expression grew serious. His perceptiveness was unnerving, a reminder of why you found it hard to trust him fully.

“Well, it’s stupid really. Foolish,” you admitted, defeated.

Tom raised an eyebrow, puffing smoke as you locked eyes. A silent understanding passed between you, a mutual recognition of the truth. You began to speak, revealing the turmoil behind your nighttime escapade.

You sat on the edge of your bed, struggling to focus on your assignments late into the evening.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your quill scratching parchment and the occasional rustle of pages. All your dormmates were out at a Gryffindor party celebrating their victory over Slytherin in the Quidditch match. You weren't worried about their early return; it was Friday, and with no classes the next day, they were likely to be out until afternoon, lost in firewhisky or other indulgences. They'd tried to drag you along, but you'd claimed a severe headache and a need for rest. None of them believed you, dismissing your excuses with rolled eyes and playful jabs.

As they left, one of them teased,

"Have fun trying to turn rubbish into a raccoon dog," and they all laughed.

You rolled your eyes, knowing their words were harmless. You were close friends who respected each other deeply; this was just part of your dynamic.

Just as you were settling into the quiet, a sudden interruption shattered the peace. Someone opened your dorm room door, and annoyance flared at the disruptive noise. "Jane, is that you? Because I swear on my mother's-" you began scolding as you turned, but your words faltered when you saw the dark mop of slicked-back hair. It was your boyfriend, Wiglaf Siggurdson.

"Sorry to disappoint," he chuckled, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You were relieved it wasn't one of the girls, but his presence did little to uplift your mood. You liked Wiglaf; he was smart, confident, and everything a girl could wish for. Yet, you often questioned if you truly loved him, if you loved him enough to be with him. He was the one who had asked you to be his girlfriend, and being the polite person you were, you had accepted. He came from a wealthy family, had impeccable manners, played Quidditch, and was almost perfect in every way. But you appreciated him more as a friend and couldn't bring yourself to admit it. You tried hard to convince yourself that he was the one, but your heart wouldn't comply. He was kind, brought you flowers, carried your books, walked you to classes, and treated you like the most special girl on earth. Yet, his presence stirred a surge of irritation.

"I was studying, you know, before you decided to interrupt me unannounced," you said stiffly, turning back to your work. Wiglaf stood in the middle of the room, unsure of how to proceed.

"So, no greeting? No 'Hello, my dear boyfriend who decided to ditch a party to come and see me'?" he remarked sarcastically. "And it's not like you're not always studying.

Nothing new really," he muttered under his breath. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Well, I didn't ask you to come see me," you said matter-of-factly without turning around. His frustration was evident as he moved closer to you.

"And not all of us have a rich father to secure a job at the Ministry as soon as we graduate, you know," you said, tone sharp. He sat beside you and sighed heavily. Dressed in a blue sweater and casual dress pants, he looked dejected.

"And not all of us have a rich father to secure a job at the Ministry as soon as we graduate, you know," you said, tone sharp. He sat beside you and sighed heavily. Dressed in a blue sweater and casual dress pants, he looked dejected.

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he said softly. You still refused to look at him. "Sure," you mumbled, uninterested.

"And anyway, if you marry me, you won't have to worry about things like that," he added, beaming with self-satisfaction. You froze, trying to process his words. "Excuse me?" you said, clearly offended. It wasn't unusual for women not to work after graduation, but you had made it clear that you intended to. His casual joke about it now was hurtful. You had hoped he understood you better. Even if you did marry him, you wanted to work and maintain your

independence. You didn't want to rely on anyone, especially not someone you weren't sure you truly loved.

"What's up with you?" Wiglaf groaned. "You're always so wound up and offended by everything I say.

You're always busy studying, and it's always some excuse for why you can't go or can't do this or that. You never actually want to spend time with me." His voice rose with anger. "So far, I'm the only one putting any effort into this relationship It's supposed to be a two person job.”

You frowned and buried your face in your hands. "Wiglaf, I'm not in the mood for this right now. I want to study and go to sleep. Can we please save this lecture for another time?" you said wearily.

"No!" he thundered unexpectedly.

"You don't get to do this. You don't get to treat me like some dog on a leash," he hissed. You sighed, exasperated. "Oh, come on, stop acting childish, Wiglaf," you said, rolling your eyes as you began packing up your papers. You had no intention of continuing this argument; all you wanted was to go to bed.

"I come here, ditching all my mates to spend time with my girlfriend, who doesn't even bother to greet me, and now I'm the one acting childish?" He stood up, his frustration reaching a crescendo. "Oh, please," you muttered, standing up as well. As you tried to gather your papers, they slipped from your hands as Wiglaf gripped your wrists. The sudden contact shocked you, and your eyes widened in surprise.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson," he said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. You could see the lust taking over his gaze. "Wiglaf, let go of me. I'm not in the mood right now," you said, your patience fraying.

But he was too enraged to listen. He pulled you closer, his grip painful.

"Wiglaf, let go! You're hurting me!" you protested, struggling against his hold. Instead of relenting, he pressed himself against you and forcefully kissed you, gripping your face and preventing you from breaking free. In a desperate attempt to escape, you kicked him in the shin. The contact caused him to release you, and he hunched over in pain. You stood there, stunned by your own actions while he grunted, recovering from the kick.

The room was silent except for his pained breathing.

When he regained his composure, his eyes burned with rage. "Wiglaf, I-" you started, but before you could finish, he slapped you across the face.

The force of the blow left you reeling, and you felt the sting and warmth of blood on your lips. Wiglaf stood there, stunned, as if he couldn't fully grasp what he had just done.

Your fight-or-flight response kicked in, and you pushed past him, fleeing the room. He didn't try to follow you.

After a few moments, he collapsed on the floor, staring at the floorboards as he grappled with the gravity of his actions.

As you ran through Ravenclaw Tower, a whirlwind of emotions swept through you: shock, shame, disgust, guilt, sadness, and finally, red-hot seething anger. The only thought that brought you any comfort was the imagined cold, lifeless body of Wiglaf.

How could he do this after everything you had shared? It was unfathomable.

And that's how you found yourself sitting beside Tom Riddle on the shore of the Black Lake.

...and then I just left," you finished quietly. A heavy silence followed your explanation, and Tom's features darkened. You chuckled at the irony of it all. "Well, I suppose that's what l get for thinking that I-"

You didn't get to finish your sentence as Tom interrupted you. "I'm going to kill him." He stated plainly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You flinched at his violent intentions.

"What?" You quaked hoarsely. He couldn't be serious... could he?

"You heard me." Tom's eyes were sharp as he took a few steps closer. But you never knew Tom Riddle to be the type to joke about things like that.

"He dared lay a hand on what's mine, and now he's going to pay for it." His tone was cold.

What's his? By day, you were nothing but an academic rival to Tom Riddle, but by night, you were suddenly his treasured possession? What a twisted mind indeed. You sighed at his words, rubbing your temples, trying to make sense of everything. "Tom, you can't just-"

"Yes, I can and I will. Because tell me, do you not think about me when he's inside of you, when you touch yourself, when you wake up in the morning? You don't love him, Y/N. We both know it. And don't try to deny it. I see right through you." His voice was dark. "And don't tell me what I can and can't do. That's not for you to decide."You were stunned, your mind blank.

Tom Riddle was a confusing enigma.

One moment he hated you, the next he was willing to kill for you. For him, it was all the same. Wiglaf would just be another addition to his growing collection of Horcruxes. It was a win-win for him: a Horcrux, the removal of an annoyance, and you-all in one plan. Three birds, one stone.

Tom's body was now facing yours, and his cold hands brushed a stray hair from your forehead. "Don't waste your mind on people like him. I don't even know why you're with that dimwit..." he muttered quietly. His fingers traced the curve of your lip and the bloody spot Wiglaf's assault had left. As he touched you, the fire in your body reignited, and the magic you only felt around him came to life.

You never felt this way around Wiglaf.

With Tom, it was like you were alive for the first time. You burned for him.

You loved him. He knew it, and you knew it. Yet both of you understood it could never work. Your ambitions were far too... different.

You let your head rest on his palm, closing your eyes for a moment, letting all your worries fade away. Dreaming about a world in which Tom was capable of loving you. Or perhaps a world in which you were able to go against your moral compass and accept his twisted mind. You kissed his palm gently and then pulled away.

"I ought to get back to the castle before someone catches us. We'll both be in trouble." You cleared your throat and spoke.

Tom simply hummed in response.

Reluctantly, you moved away and started for the castle. Before you got too far, you turned to speak softly so he could hear you. "Good night, Tom."

His gaze was on you, but he didn't reply. You continued your way back to the castle, his eyes following your retreating form. When you were far enough away that Tom was sure you couldn't hear him, he spoke softly,

"Good night, my love."

The next morning, you didn't see Wiglaf at his usual spot at the breakfast table. You approached one of his mates to inquire about his whereabouts, wondering if he was hungover or something. But as you spoke to him, a look of concern crossed his face, and he regretfully explained that Wiglaf had ended up in the hospital wing the night before. No one knew how or why.

You felt a pair of eyes on you and turned to the Slytherin table. There they were: two onyx eyes staring back at you, deep into your soul, letting you know that once again, he had emerged victorious.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

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