#pretty much i want an Ahzrukhal

[cannibalcreeps]

Again, this is asking a lot from Bethesda, and I wouldn't worry if they didn't consider or think of this.

But it would be so, absolutely so amazing if they had a sleazy scummy antagonistic Ghoul whose trying to take advantage of the fact that Lucy is naive and new to the world to oversell things, who doesnt affect the plot of the story but is a recurring character, possibly a merchant of type.

Just so we get a nice variety of Ghouls, as a fun treat.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I hate to do this to you but can we get some Ahzrukhal (fo3) Head cannons, he’s my least favorite ghoul and yet Im currently reading to the end of his Ao3 tag, which is my personal hell but I have mixed feelings about it

I mean, I'm not gonna sit here and pretend I didn't at least think about what it would be like the first time I walked into the Ninth Circle and sized him up. I'm also not gonna pretend like I haven't been in that AO3 tag. Some of this is fairly dark, but I feel like that just falls under "typical of canon".

Ahzrukhal (Fallout 3) Headcanons

SFW

Genuinely one of the slimiest, most underhanded people you'll ever meet. Not only will he fuck you over the second he needs to in order to benefit himself, he actively searches for opportunities to fuck over others. He's absurdly embittered by multiple lifetimes worth of mild slights and disappointments, a true whiny and entitled piece of shit. If he existed in the year 2024, he'd be a basement-dwelling incel.

He's definitely pre-war. There's no way this sniveling miser hasn't been around screwing people and being a rat with a loogie problem for quite a while now.

Charon was absolutely correct in killing him before the two of you leave. If he'd been allowed to live, he'd have sent someone after you to steal the contract, or kill you and bring Charon back to him. I suspect he's done this before, and that's why 1. he's so eager to offer to sell the contract to you, and 2. Charon is so quick to kill him when he has the chance. At least, I think that's part of the latter.

He's a bit fatter than the average ghoul, and I wonder if some ghouls have the ability to better retain body fat long term while others are prone to wasting away into skin and bones, as per the design of the ferals.

NSFW

The "Uncle Ahzrukhal" thing is exactly what you think it would be. The man is big into ageplay and incest roleplay, usually combined. If you won't do the ageplay stuff, whatever, but he'll do whatever he needs to do to get you to do the incest stuff for him. He'll beg, he'll grovel, he'll pay you extra.

Speaking of which, he would definitley enjoy a sort of "antagonistic sugar daddy" dynamic if you were amenable to it (or desperate enough to need it). Knowing that you don't necessarily want to spend time with him makes him all the more eager to get you to do so, even if you act like you hate it the whole time.

Actually quite big into degredation, moreso receiving than giving, just with the huge caveat that there are (rather quite a few) things you just aren't allowed to say to him. Really, he mostly likes to be told how perverted he is, how gross his proclivities are, what a disgusting old man he is...but he wants you to tell him that pretty much exclusively while he's actively fucking you or eating you out. It's the idea that you really do find him that disgusting, and yet, for whatever reason (almost always because he has something over you or is paying you) you're giving him access to your body.

If he has you over a barrel enough, he won't hesitate to use you to settle his debts, or even full-on pimp you out if you piss him off enough. He doesn't like to share, but he wants to teach you a lesson more than he doesn't want to share his toys. The guys he gives you to might even make him seem a little better by comparison. Make you show a little more gratitude. Why would he have a problem with that?

[its-a-humanriot]

Common Language, pt. I

(This is the beginning to a bunch of Fallout 3 works I have knocking around my brain. I’ll post bits and pieces here and then post the full work to ao3 once it’s done)

(pt. I) / (pt. II)

---

Charon realises very quickly that he does not understand his new employer very well.

In the first instance, this is very literal.

Not many words were exchanged during her introduction as his new employer and him subsequently blowing Ahzrukhal’s brains all over the walls of the Ninth Circle. It’s not until after they make a very rapid exit and they are out in the quiet of the museum atrium catching their breath that he really pays any attention to her. Not much about his employer’s appearance immediately seems wildly unusual – she looks pretty healthy for a wastelander, if somewhat pale, and probably one of the youngest people to come through Underworld in several years. Her face is grubby with the expected dust and dirt of travel under her mop of short curly brown hair, slightly pink from sunburn across her nose and a clean strip of pallid skin around her eyes from the goggles that now hang around her neck (the look of it reminds him briefly of some small animal from before the war, though he can no longer recall its name). Although they look relatively well maintained, her armour and rifle have clearly been scavenged at least third-hand, and a faded red bandanna is tucked around the collar.

Charon takes all this in with a practiced eye, trying to evaluate what kind of person he is now bound to – as satisfying as it is to know that Ahzrukhal’s head is now spread all over the Ninth Circle, it has come at the cost of knowing his opponent. The girl in front of him does not look wealthy to be spending the number of caps he knows Ahzrukhal would have asked for his contract, nor hardened enough to have carried out whatever unscrupulous task he would have accepted as alternative payment. He can’t quite pinpoint it, but something doesn’t seem right. When she opens her mouth, his instincts are proved right.

“Well, fuck. I came to Underworld to cop a flop and a sling and hang loose for a while, maybe zee out for the night, and buddy up with you. I was not expecting to have to beat feet with a dead body behind us.”

Her accent is like no wastelander he has ever heard, and he doesn’t understand half the things that come out of her mouth. Charon can’t claim to be up to date with young people (as so few of them come through Underworld and most of Ahzrukhal’s associates were people who should absolutely not be allowed anywhere near children) but even among the various communities in the Capitol Wasteland there is usually a fair amount of common ground. This – whatever this is – is something else entirely.

His well-practiced poker face seems to keep his confusion hidden at least up until she turns to him with an uncomfortable smile on her face – she certainly has cleaner teeth than a lot of wastelanders, and not even any missing that he can see – and sticks her hand out in his direction.

“This isn’t how I was expecting to have this go but, uh, I’m Billie. Nice to actually meet you properly, Charon.”

He stares at it. A lot of people would avoid unnecessary physical contact with ghouls, even if they weren’t outright ghoul haters, and certainly none of his previous employers have ever tried to engage in something as cordial as a handshake. When he doesn’t react, she leans in a little sheepishly. ���…I think you’re supposed to shake hands when you meet someone new, right?”

His stare moves up to her face. She looks about as confused as he feels. What rock has this kid crawled out from?

“What?” It’s hardly the first thing that he means to say to his new employer now they have time to talk, but this whole interaction is leaving him feeling entirely unfooted. She tilts her head at him and looks even more awkward, her outstretched hand dipping slightly before she withdraws it entirely and starts to comb it through her hair instead.

“Uh…I’m not used to meeting new folks? A couple of people have told me what passes for manners above ground but honestly, I’ve not had so many chances to try it on people who weren’t trying to vent me first.” Her face twists in an embarrassed grimace. “Is it the accent? I’ve been told it’s a little hard to understand. I can try, uh something else,” She drops her hand, brushes some stray curls out of her eyes and clears her throat. She offers her hand again and manages to take him by surprise yet again: saying clearly in an almost perfectly pronounced pre-war Transatlantic accent “Hello Charon, my name is Billie Morgan. Pleased to meet you.”

The sound hits Charon like ice cold lead in his stomach, a noise he hasn’t heard in decades beyond the occasional old holotape. It rings in his ears as fresh as it was then with all of the other memories he’d tried to bury - the cloying surgical smell of the lab in his nose, the claustrophobia of the sim pod – Scanning vitals… Welcome subject: 2875, identifier Charon. Beginning training simulation in 3, 2…

A hand touches his arm and the tension in his body spikes – Charon finds himself staggering backwards into a defensive stance. His hand, still moving on instinct, gets as far as the handle of his combat knife before his conditioning kicks in with a short shock of pain – the subject cannot harm the employer – and the opposing reactions form a strained stalemate and force him to a standstill, buzzing with adrenaline, as his presence of mind returns. His employer is now a few feet away, her brown eyes wide as she raises her hands.

“Woah, okay. Won’t do that one again. Sorry.” The artificial enunciation is gone and her original accent has returned, but she is speaking more slowly and clearly than before. He can’t tell if she’s just doing it to try and pacify him or if she is consciously trying to make herself easier to understand. Now that he has the frame of reference for it her natural inflection definitely has something pre-war about it, but it’s hard to pinpoint. “Easy there, big guy. I’ve got no scrap with you and I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

Charon has at least a full foot of height on this kid, and while she looks healthy she does not look strong – the idea that she would be able to hurt him in a close quarters fight is almost laughable. Slowly, he forces himself to let go of the knife handle. The tension in his shoulders stays where it is.

“I am unable to harm my employer. Physical violence on your part invalidates our contract.” The default line gives him something to fall back on for a moment while he straightens back up to his resting position.

“That’s…something.” She doesn’t look reassured, but she drops her hands. “So we’re shiny? Cause you looked real ready to stab me for a second there.”

“I am unable to harm my employer.”

“…Right.” She appears to wait a moment for clarification that does not come before continuing. “So about your contract – it’s kinda hard to read and I didn’t really get the full shakedown before you greased Ahzrukhal so I don’t know what your rates are. I’m a little low on caps at the moment but I can pay you some upfront and then I can earn a bunch back from whatever scavving we do in the next few days to get you the rest of your cut, then we can work out an arrangement. Sound okay to you?”

“I do not require payment.”

“So what, I keep you watered and fed and breathing and we’re square? Seems like a pretty cheap deal to me.”

“I do not require protection and you are not required to provide for me, though several previous employers have chosen to do so.”

“Wait.” Her brow creases. “What does the contract say?”

“The holder of my contract is my employer.” The words come readily to his tongue after many decades of repeating them. “My employer has my services in combat and in any other duties as they see fit and I am honour bound to do as they command for as long as they hold the contract. The contract prevents me from harming my employer while I am in their service. Physical violence by the employer against me invalidates the contract.”

She stares at him hard for a long moment before she speaks again with horror in her voice.

“You’re a slave?”

“I belong to no one.” The response is automatic, the only protest he is able to make. The words taste sour in his mouth.

“You’ve just told me that you don’t require payment of any kind and that you have to do what I say. If that’s not being a slave, I don’t know what is.” She turns away and pulls on her curls for a moment while she paces before turning back to him, her face stormy. “If I’d know that skeezer was a slave owner on top of everything, I might’ve taken a pop at him myself before you ventilated his face. Fuck.” Her eyes widen again. “I bought you from him.”

“If you find the terms of my contract objectionable, you may pass it on to another.”

“I object to you being bound to the contract. Passing it over to someone else doesn’t fix that.” Pulling a face, she pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, then pulls his contract out of her pocket. She looks over the worn paper for a moment, then a takes a single step closer to him and thrusts it in his direction. “Here.”

The ebbing tide of the adrenaline rush in his veins suddenly leaves all at once, and he is left staring at his employer’s hand again. There must a misunderstanding here. Again.

“You wish me to…hold the contract for you?”

She rolls her lips together before making deliberate eye contact with him.

“I want you to have it. Permanently, free of charge. The contract belongs to you - no more employers to boss you around.” Turning her eyes skyward for a moment, she takes a deep breath. “I’m hoping that greasing former employers of yours isn’t like a tradition or something, cause I kinda like being alive out here in the fresh air despite everything. And I have someone I really, really need to find.”

He stares at her for a long moment, stupefied. She stares back, with an expression that is perhaps supposed to be comforting despite the fact that her hand is shaking slightly. After the events at the Ninth Circle, she doesn’t have much reason to suspect that anything else will happen apart from her apart from the inside of her skull being spread all over the atrium.

“I cannot accept.”

At the sound of his voice she seems a little calmer, and gives him a warmer smile.

“Sure you can. No charge, no nothing, just like I s-”

“You misunderstand. I am physically not able to accept.”

“What?” The look of confusion is back.

“I am not able to hold my own contract. It is stated clearly in the contract terms.”

“You didn’t say that thirty seconds ago!”

“The contract terms are long. I paraphrased.”

“You paraphrased.” With a furrowed brow she pinches the bridge of her nose again with the hand holding the contract dropping to her hip, though her mouth pulls up at the corner – whether it’s from amusement or concealed frustration, he’s not sure. She takes in a breath, then drops her hand. “Right. Okay. And if I destroy the contract?”

“I am compelled to stop you from doing so, through any means necessary.”

“Even if you harm me? I thought you said you couldn’t do that.”

“Preservation of the contract takes priority over the life of my employer, though I must also take all possible actions to preserve your life.” Comforting people is not a talent Charon considers to be in his skill set. From the look on his employer’s face, he evaluates that this is still true.

“There must be a section in the contract for how it ends though, right? Surely no contract is gonna be able to hold you forever.” The naivety of the comment grates on his nerves more than he expects. Maybe it’s the aftermath of the adrenaline rush and the bewilderingly abrupt turn that this already baffling interaction has taken, but Charon’s response come out with more of a bite than he means it to.

“It’s not that simple, smoothskin.”

“But you don’t want to be bound by it, right?” Seemingly undeterred by the epithet or the warning in his tone, she continues earnestly. “If we just-”

“I said -” His voice is sharper than he would ever dared let it be speaking back to Ahzrukhal, louder than he has spoken in so very long, and he wrests control of himself back too late – his voice echoes back to him from the polished granite walls so that it rebukes him as much as it does the kid in front of him. Her eyes are wide, shoulders bunched up to her chin level, and he realises that he has unconsciously drawn up to his full height. The echo hangs in the air for a moment, and when it dies his words are back to their normal volume, even if the tone is strained: “ – it is not that simple.”

The moment continues to stretch out thin and the young woman doesn’t move or answer – just keeps staring at him. The silence leaves him feeling as unbalanced as the conversation did - worse now that he feels exposed in the wake of his outburst. Charon takes a rattly breath and fills his ravaged lungs to their full extent as he winds himself back under control – shoulders down, arms by his sides, he reverts to his typical guarding stance. When he speaks again, it in the direction of the young woman’s clenched hand rather than to her face

“For good or ill,” Charon says towards the faded scrap of parchment “I am in your service.”

[just-another-ghoul-lover]

I don’t want you to know that person. Pt.1

Fallout 3 fanfic

She had always found the name “the lone wanderer” pretty funny. She was almost never alone.when her dad was around she was attached to his hip,never leaving his side. Jonas would joke ever so often that she was his little shadow. She loved her father more than anything,she even pursued a job in the medical field when she was in the vault. Of course James wanted her to explore her opportunities and to not blindly follow in his footsteps,but when she Adamantly told him that she was going to be a doctor if he liked it or not he was very proud and happily tried to teach her what he knew.

After leaving the vault to look for her father,that was probably one of the few times she was truly alone. It took elizibeth weeks to find him,she wasn’t that strong,she never was built for fighting. When she finally found her father she wouldn’t leave his side.Telling him all the stories of the things she was able to do in the wasteland,All the people she was able to help,that she was able to help save a town by dismanteling the bomb in the center,and that they had a home to go back to in the town once they were done. James was so proud of his little girl.despite having faced the wastes she was able to find the good and was able to help people,he saw so much of her mother in young elizibeth.

Of course good things rarely last in the wasteland.with the touching reunion overwith the enclave decided that they should take over the purifier and the rest is history.After James died Elizibeth was tasked with getting all the scientists safely out of the building,but something had broke. Not in the building but within herself,she had no reason to keep going,no reason to protect these people. So she just left. She was able to escape with dr li but no one else made it out of that building alive.once she reached the citidel elizibeth just started walking away.

A few months passed ,soon after her father’s death she had been asked to come back to the vault to a mixed reception, but it didn’t matter. The only people she really gave a damn about were dead,so she went down to the air purifier and shot it three times with her sniper rifle before leaving the vault. After that she wandered around for a while,getting her ass handed to her at every corner until that is she stumbled into underworld.

She’d never had problems with ghouls before so it wasn’t unexpected for her to come here,really she just saw this as another place she could pick up some jobs. After doing some quick trading she decided to head to the bar to see if anyone needed a merc. Surveying the room she was instantly drawn the the man standing in the corner,any attempt to try and talk to him was instantly shot down though so finally she decided to ask the bartender about him.even a young naive girl like her could tell that this bartender couldn’t be trusted worth a damn,but still they are one of the few people you can get information out of as long as you pay them. As soon as she found out that she could infact buy Charon’s contract and not have her ass handed to her everyday she instantly took up the offer and payed Ahzrukhal the full 2000 caps much to his surprise. Elizibeth may have been young,but after some jobs she had done recently she had almost the exact amount for the contract,she’d never let on that if she made this purchase she would be left basically capless,so she pretended as though the 2000 caps were nothing to her and handed the bag over to the old ghoul who carefully counted each bundle of currency. At this point the deal had caught a few eyes,sure people had asked to buy the contract before but the high price tag always scared them off,the idea that this scrawny little kid was able to rake in so many caps had people interested.”not to pry but how does a kid like you run into so many caps? And why do you want to use them on a body guard?” The old ghoul asks eyeing the girl up and down trying to figure out if he could get more out of her. “Need someone to watch my back with the kind of jobs I do. Now are we done?” she replies curtly,already tired of this interaction. “We are.I’ll let you go and do the honours.” He hands the young girl an old piece of paper. Finally she Let go of a bit of the tension in her shoulders as she runs her finger over the worn contract before folding it up and walking over to Charon. After showing him the contract he simply went over and shot his previous employer point blank twice with his shotgun,she knew that should probably worry her to some degree but it was clear he wasn’t the best person and probably deserved it,but even so,after that little altercation she was quick to exit underworld before the both of them got in trouble.

Once they got out of underworld it was time to go and look for a place to set up camp because she was not risking it down in the city for a while. By the time the sun was setting they had set up a small fire and some cover,her sleeping bag layed out behind her,some cram toasting over the flame in an old pan. As she cooked she finally had time to get a better look at the man she had decided to travel with. He was far taller and more imposing than any man she had met in her life,he had red patches of hair similar to hers just a slightly darker shade,and Hazy blue eyes that seemed constantly alert to something around. “Sooo...any extra rules with you that aren’t written down? I got the vibe that this might be some sort of slave situation and that’s not what I want” without skipping a beat he glared down at her and simply said “I’m not a slave,you are just my employer,simple as that” a small shiver went up her back as he said that,despite the fact she knew he wouldn’t hurt her,Elizibeth still didn’t want to get on this man’s bad side. “Sorry,sorry....just want everything to be clear that’s all..” as she pulls the cram off the fire and puts it on two plates with some insta mash she lets out a sigh before handing him one of the plates. “I’ve never travelled with someone besides my father before.” She lets out a sad chuckle as she places her meal on her lap “I haven’t even introduced myself,that’s really unlike me” looking up at him with sad eyes she holds out her hand “Elizibeth Barker, or the lone wanderer...guess not so alone anymore” he hesitantly takes her hand and shakes it,his grip very soft around her hand before he quickly retreats back to his food. “You already know my name,no need for introductions” he grumbles before quickly eating his food. The rest of the night was pretty quiet but the awkwardness that lingered in the air before their introduction slowly faded as the night went on.

[adarlingwrites]

Restraint

noun: control over the expression of one's emotions or thoughts

Given the circumstances of their relationship, with Charon being the Lone Wanderer's patient, and the Lone Wanderer being Charon's employer, acting on any attraction they had for one another would be out of the question.

Still, they kept each other in their thoughts.

II - Pillow Talk

(Part I)

How did it get to this?

A few months ago he was rotting in his corner in the Ninth Circle, and now he’s living with a smoothskin girl in a house in Megaton.

It’s not that Charon was complaining. No, he’s thankful for her. No employer of his gave him this much respect and freedom. Percy’s been an angel.

And that’s the problem.

Being brainwashed into his contract, Charon never knew friendships, much less romantic relationships. Percy calls him her friend but he had never known what that was. Slow and steady, her words and actions teach him friendship.

So whenever he feels aroused at the sight of his mistress, he feels confused.

Was it normal for friends to experience this?

Charon feels dirty, looking at her while she’s bent over that motorcycle she’s been trying to get up and running. His eyes trace the curve of her ass, clothed in that stupidly tight Vault-tec jumpsuit, and he felt himself harden under his armor. She turns around, pointed nipples poking through her sweaty, grease-stained shirt, and gives him that damn smile of hers.

He shouldn’t be thinking of her in such a way. This employer of his gave him free room and board, ammunition, and above all, privacy. If she finds out that her hideous ghoul bodyguard is thinking of her in such a way, she’d probably get rid of him. He’d lose the one good thing that came into his sad excuse of a life.

So, after acknowledging her silent greeting, he tears his eyes away from her and goes up the stairs, into his room, closing the door shut.

Charon sheds the pieces of his armor and puts them in a neat pile beside his mattress. Head against the pillow, he closes his eyes, planning to take a nap. Maybe it would take his mind away from the shameful thoughts he has about his mistress.

The problem was, the pillow smelled like her.

Percy found a cleaner pillow a few days ago, so she gives him the one that she had been using ever since she moved in. At that point, her scent is imprinted on it.

As much as he tried to will it away, thinking of his unsavory experiences with other employers, or literally just Ahzrukhal’s ugly mug, his thoughts always go back to Percy, and his dick isn’t going limp anytime soon.

It must be the damn pillow.

Grabbing it, Charon looks at it with a frown. It’s soft, just like Percy.

He remembers a wet dream he had about her, sweating like the real one a floor under him, desperate to be touched. Of all the fucking dreams to have...

Fuck it. If he is granted privacy, he might as well make use of it.

The ghoul unzipped his pants and released himself from his boxers, the cold air making him hiss. A drop of precome has already formed at the tip, and he smears it all over his length, thinking of his mistress’ fingers in place of his.

In Charon’s mind, Percy is eager, and he thought that it’s what made the fantasy dirtier. Humans and ghouls don’t fuck. At least, that was the norm. Bigots would lynch both parties. So, imagining this pretty smoothskin girl going crazy over ghoul dick amped up the perverseness of the fantasy and made his cock get harder.

The ghoul would run his tongue against his smoothskin mistress’ neck, and feel her shudder underneath him as he sucks on the pale skin on her throat. He’ll kiss and lick every inch of her body.

Percy would moan and sigh his name. An angel like her deserves all that attention.

Then, Charon continued where he left off in the dream: his cock, skin rough and some tissue underneath exposed, poised to service his mistress.

Pressing the pillow against where his nose would be if it didn’t fall off from his ghoulification, Charon inhaled Percy’s scent. In his mind, he was sneaking some licks and bites on her nipples as he slowly rocked her.

Her small hands would pull at what little hair he had, begging him to go faster, and using the word “please”.

But he was made aware of reality by his rough hands, and he felt disgusted at his own touch.

Sighing, he lets go of himself, and puts the pillow down.

“Dammit,” he cursed to himself, member twitching and still eager for stimulation.

How will he make this work?

Sitting there unsatisfied, Charon was even more frustrated than when he started.

Eyes flicking to the pillow, an idea forms in his head.

His rough hands reached for it, and he shoves it under his crotch, pressing his hips against it. The pillow’s now pressed against the mattress, and Charon’s pulsing cock.

Performing an experimental roll with his hips, he grinds himself against the pillow. Soon enough, he finds a steady rhythm, and he closes his eyes. In his mind, Percy’s ass was in the pillow’s place, slapping against his hip as he fucked her raw, dick stretching her virgin pussy.

Their size difference would make things look even more depraved. The mental image of a cute and petite smoothskin getting penetrated by a monstrous ghoul twice, or perhaps thrice her size would make anyone dizzy.

His mistress would writhe and whine under him, and he’d toy with her clit before shoving his digits in her mouth, making her taste herself on his fingers.

The imaginary Percy looks up to him with a lustful gaze, and tells him, “Charon, I want you to be rougher, please?”

And he would oblige. He would flip her over, place her legs over his shoulder, and fuck her deep and hard. Charon would reach to grab her tits, rolling and pinching her nipples, and allowing it to bounce as he fucked her.

Percy would say his name, over and over, and her muscles would clench and pulse around him as she comes, milking his cock of his own orgasm.

But he wasn’t done yet.

The ghoul would flip his mistress over again, and this time, he’d make her ass feel good, too. Imagining Percy lying on her stomach, he’d prop her up, and he’s ghost his fingers over her back entrance as he continued to fuck her from behind, balls slapping her clit.

He can imagine her voice.

“Charon, please, put it in.”

And he’ll obey. He would put his thumb in the vaultie’s ass, the tight ring of muscle clenching and unclenching around his digit. It’ll drive her crazy, moaning and crying under him as he pounded her. Then, he’d remove his thumb, and make her whine for more.

The imaginary Percy then presses herself against him, allowing him deeper entrance.

“Charon, finish inside me, please.”

Eyes screwed shut, Charon’s thrusts become rougher, more precome staining the unfortunate pillow, pouring his frustrations into every single one.

“Fuck, Charon, make me yours. Please, make me yours.”

In his head, he’s curling a large hand around Percy’s neck, pressing her against his chest possessively. His other hand would fondle her tits, or reach for her clit, he wasn’t sure. One thing he was certain about is that he was hers and hers alone, and in his fantasy, she belongs to him too.

Oh, he was so close.

Wild, dark eyes would look up to him. The imaginary Percy’s pink lips parted, and her cheeks were flushed. She’d reach up and wrap her arms around his neck. She’d give him that look the real Percy does; the one that’s filled with trust and devotion, but it would be tainted by shameless fucking desire.

“Charon, please. I need you. I love you.”

With one violent thrust, Charon shudders and comes, his thick, radioactive cum staining the unfortunate pillow. He started to slow down, eyes still closed, imagining how his seed would both paint his mistress’ inner walls white, and how it would leak from the tip of his member to her smooth belly.

Breathing hard, Charon opened his eyes.

He made quite a mess.

Shit, how will he clean this up? The entire thing is soaked in cum.

Poor Charon is mortified. Maybe he might need to throw this damn thing out after all.

While dressing himself and trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do, something about his earlier fantasy made him stop.

Did he just get off at the thought of his employer telling him she loves him?

Oh, he’s in deep trouble now.

[valen-dreth]

ok here it is, charon ramble

.

so like everyone else, i think that he was the first companion that i got really attached to.  i don’t remember a whole lot but i do know that he and my lw were pretty buddy-buddy for a while (whenever he wasnt yknow chasing super mutant behemoths and getting himself killed), but i never did ship him w my lw.  i always thought that they would free him from his contract just before going into project purity as a sort of final act/favour toward him.  tried enacting that in game, i dismissed him while we were on our way from the citadel to the memorial and he uh.  disappeared. its been a year and i still havent found him

ANYWAY i don’t have any animosity toward him ingame, despite how it might seem.  i appreciate his sense of humour, i hc that he’s actually hilarious and he doesn’t have to try.  while i was travelling with him i liked his little remarks and how he taunts enemies by like,, almost singing??  it was Neat, i really wouldn’t have expected it from him tbh.

if i ever get the time i’d love to expand more on my recovery charon, maybe extend it into a fic, since i havent really seen any centric around him like.  as a character.  i also have to work on solidifying my hcs for him anyway so i think that’d be a good place to start.

so far as seeing charon in fic thus far…yall know im not really a fan of it.  i’d like to see more of him acting by himself once out of ahzrukhal’s contract, apart from the lw’s will and affections.  i want to see charon turn down their advances.  i want to see a fic where the lw doesn’t make any advances toward him at all, allows him to grow and recover on his own.  i want to see him make up for his forced behaviour to the residents of underworld.  charon has so much potential as a character but i feel like so much of what i’ve seen other people portray of him is mostly just the same-old.  it’s hard, coming up with a solid character for him based on how little we’re given in game.  but i think that there could be better.  he deserves better.

and while im considering it, i think a lot about moral swap charon lately.  i think i have one or two moral swap fics started already, not sure that i’ll post them anywhere but i am excited to start including swap!charon in some of them, particularly where ahzrukhal and edith might be involved.  i’m looking forward to exploring the almost inverted dynamic between swapped charon and ahz, just gotta.. get the energy to write it sometime.

[red-flare-art]

Had some free time, so I doodled Charon & Ruby in my high school AU I’ve been dreaming up. If you wanna know my headcanons about them, I wrote them under the cut. It gets kinda long, so I apologize. ^^; 

Charon had served a sentence in juvenile hall for a year, so he’s a year behind, putting him in the junior class with Ruby. His “dad,” Ahzrukhal, is still serving prison time, so he lives alone. Charon’s real parents died when he was young & he grew up moving from foster home to foster home, until he ended up living with Ahzrukhal, who of course, is an asshole. He treated Charon like shit & made him do horrible things, including getting him involved in his last mix up with the law, landing them both in prison. Charon only had to serve a year because he was a minor & because he gave the police a ton of incriminating info about Ahzrukhal. Since he’s almost 18, they let Charon live on his own instead of putting him back in foster care. Also, the foster home thought he might scare the other kids, so they didn’t want him there. He does have a sort of “sponsor” that checks up on him every few weeks to make sure he’s keeping up with his schoolwork & staying out of trouble. His old school was Lincoln high, but he was transferred to Jefferson high (where Ruby is) after being released from juvenile hall, so he doesn’t know anyone or have any friends. Charon is very quiet & keeps to himself, trying not to cause any trouble or draw any attention to himself. He looks intimidating, but he really just wants to be left alone. Most of the kids at school are scared of him due to his past, his rough looks, his height, & his muscular build. Rumors about him spread fast around the school. None of them are true, but the other kids still keep away from him...except for Ruby.

Ruby is a bit of a social outcast at the school. Her dad, James, is the school physician, & when your dad works at the school you go to, it automatically makes you a target for teasing & jokes. She’s also kind of a tomboy, so the girls (& most the boys) at school avoid & mock her. She’s super scrawny & kind of short, so all her clothes are always too big for her, making her look even more awkward. She usually wears black band t-shirts of various rock & metal bands that she likes, but again, they never have her size, so they always look really big on her. She used to be friends with Amata growing up all through middle school, but once they got to high school, Amata started hanging out with the popular girls instead, leaving Ruby alone. Amata’s dad is the Principal of Jefferson high & doesn’t get along with Ruby’s father, so that doesn’t usually help things either. Ruby is also constantly picked on & bullied by Butch & his gang. Butch has been bullying her for years, but Ruby was never one to take shit from him & has shot some stinging insults & landed some solid hits on him in a fight. She’s not very strong, but she’s fast, so she can dodge & avoid hits pretty well. Usually a teacher will come along to break it up before anything gets too serious. Despite being an outcast, Ruby isn’t all that shy & will speak her mind freely to anyone who will listen. Problem is, no one wants to listen. But she does speak up in class & participates often, which some teachers appreciate, & others do not. Ruby is very smart & has good grades, especially in science. The only class she was never really good at is gym.

When Charon shows up at school & everyone starts avoiding him, Ruby sees it as an opportunity to make a friend. She approaches him during lunch, since he is sitting by himself, & asks him if he will be her friend. Charon is confused, thinking this is a joke or a prank & asks her why she would want him as a friend. She mentions that she doesn’t really have any friends & she gets picked on a lot, especially by Butch, so if he would be her friend, maybe Butch & the others would finally leave her alone. Charon asks if Ruby believes all the rumors about him & asks why she isn’t afraid. Ruby says she doesn’t care about stupid school rumors, & even if they are true, then it was all the more reason why she would rather be his friend than his enemy. She can see that he seems hesitant, so in desperation, she tries to make him a deal. If he would be her friend & help her keep Butch & his gang off her back, she would help him with his homework, & even give him some of her allowance as sort of “protection money.” Charon thinks the money part is a bit much, but he’s not gonna turn down extra cash. And he did need a lot of help with his homework, since he had been out of school for so long, & he was never really all that good with school in the first place, so he agrees, making a “contract” with Ruby. (You see what I did there? ;))

From then on they sit together at lunch, walk together to classes, & they already have the same chemistry class, so they become lab partners. Charon even walks her home from school, since right after school is when Butch & his gang like to corner her without teachers getting involved. With Charon now being with her, they tend to back off. Charon never spends the money that Ruby gives him. He saves it, since he feels guilty about accepting it, but feels awkward about rejecting it from her as well. Further down the line, he gives it all back & tells her she doesn’t need to pay him to be her friend.

God, there’s so much more to this AU that I could go on & on about, but I’ll leave it at that for now, lol. Bless your heart if you actually took the time to read the whole thing. I’ll probably add more later in a separate post where I bring in Red & Hancock, & even MacCready & Scarlett.

[symvasi-blog]

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out.

tagged by: stole it from @makercursed tagging: uhhhh whoever wants to steal it

muse: charon

BASICS

▸ is your muse tall / short / average?  strangely huge. he’s a full head taller than any npc in the game, even male brotherhood paladins in full power armour. he’s gotta be at least 6′5, if not bigger.  ▸ are they okay with their height?  he doesn’t think much about it, honestly. it can be a hassle to find clothes that fit him, but being a veritable tank of a guy means that he gets through battles well, so that works in his favour. ▸ what’s their hair like?  minimal. he only has a few locks of hair left clinging to his scalp; he’s lost most of it, due to being a ghoul. the bit of hair that’s left is a deep auburn / ginger. ▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair / with their grooming?  no. he’s pretty aware that nothing he does is gonna make him look better, so he doesn’t spend any time on his grooming, apart from making sure he’s reasonably clean. ▸ does your muse care about their appearance?  nah. he’s a little insecure about being a ghoul in general, since he was forced into the change by the cult that raised and brainwashed him, but there’s not much he can do about it now. he’s accepted it, at this point. ▸ does your muse care about what others think about them?  not much. he knows that most humans see ghouls as just mindless monsters, so he’s stopped caring about their opinions. 

PREFERENCES

▸ indoors or outdoors?  outdoors. ▸ rain or sunshine?  rain. ▸ forest or beach?  forest. ▸ precious metals or gems?  metals. ▸ flowers or perfumes?  flowers. ▸ personality or appearance?  personality. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd?  alone.  ▸ order or anarchy?  order. ▸ painful truths or white lies?  painful truths. ▸ science or magic?  science. ▸ peace or conflict?  conflict. ▸ night or day?  night. ▸ dusk or dawn?  dusk. ▸ warmth or cold?  warmth. ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends?  acquaintances. ▸ reading or playing a game?  reading.

QUESTIONNAIRE

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? he almost never talks, even when people ask him direct questions. he comes off as very cold and uninterested, because of that. he’s also quite reckless in battle, which ends up with him getting hurt pretty often. this one isn’t really his fault, but due to his conditioning, he doesn’t really know how to make decisions for himself anymore. if someone asks him what he wants instead of giving him a direct order, he’ll be a bit taken aback and confused.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? he lost his family, although he was too young to remember that. apart from that, he’s never really gotten close to people. that wasn’t an option in the cult, and all of his employers / owners have been so shitty to him that he’s never formed connections with them.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? none, honestly. his life as a de facto slave is pretty much all he knows, so there haven’t been many good times to look back on.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? yes. that’s what he’s been raised and conditioned to do, for as long as he can remember. the contract that binds him pretty much makes him into nothing but a killing machine with no say in what he does. as ahzrukhal puts it, “pretty much, i point at something, and charon hurts it.” he has his own opinions on the things he has to do, but he doesn’t have a choice in whether or not to obey.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? intense. when he breaks down, he breaks down hard. he hasn’t done it in decades, honestly, because it’s just... not an option. his employers see him as a killing machine, like i said, and he doesn’t have the luxury of doing things like crying, no matter how upset he is. if anyone ever got him to express his emotions and really break down, it would be pretty messy. he’d probably cry for hours. 

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? it would take a lot. he’s pretty used to every contract-holder just using his contract to manipulate him, so he doesn’t trust any of his employers. if someone tries to tell him he can choose for himself and do what he wants, he’ll just be suspicious of their real motives.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? he wouldn’t do anything about it, honestly. there’d be a lot of lingering, longing looks, but he wouldn’t say anything. he’s too used to being treated like he doesn’t have a mind of his own --- he doesn’t think expressing attraction is even an option for him. 

[hired-help]

I went to sleep for a few hours and I feel slightly less aimlessly on edge now :| Thank you for being as kind and patient as you are, my dudes.

Soo... I know I probably do too much pre-game human and synth C//haron posting, and I'll be working on that once I'm free to thread properly and am off this stupid lurkmode. In the meantime, since it's a good foundation for everything else, probably gonna spew some more pre-game. Today's dash space eater: face claims. I haven't chosen one, I still don't want to use one or anything, but. Can you see it or is it just me? (Under cut in case you don't like this stuff!)

So, this guy is one of my favourite musicians ever and I was staring at an album cover while I listened to it on YouTube the other day thinking "... why do I feel like you would work?". And I think I figured it out. Apart from the hair colour - which isn't perfect, but C//haron's red shade in game is a little unnatural anyway, looks like he hasn't been allowed to wash the blood of Ahzrukhal's enemies off himself yet - there's also the face shape? Kind of squarish? And the slightly pronounced cheek bones. Of course, ghouls in game are a tiny bit exaggerated in that respect, otherwise they'd have contourless meat textured discs for faces, but... He looks like he could be tall enough as well, I don't think Justin is himself, but you could imagine it pretty well.

I don't know. What do you think? Like I said, not planning to use icons or anything, and this isn't what I picture in my head, but if anyone else really likes face claims and wants to envision one, it could work, I think, with some tweaks.

Nobody tell him he looks like someone's hipster niece, I know this is too modern a Look--

Resolution might be messed up on this one, I'm saving them off google on my phone so I can't quite tell.

It's definitely a Younger thing, but I started thinking about it and now I can't stop thinking about it and now it's on the internet. :|

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Kindness; Part Eleven

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Only the epilogue to go! Whoo!

Spoon insisted on butchering the dead deathclaw and taking the meat with them. Charon could feel his happy-go-lucky rad-induced attitude starting to slip away, and it relieved him. He'd said too much when he was content and he definitely wasn't at his fighting finest when he was in a goddamn euphoric fog. He kept his shotgun ready, scanning the horizon for threats while Spoon peeled the hide off the corpse.

  “I'm definitely taking these claws with me.” She said finally, tugging down the bandanna she'd used to protect her airway from the rather rank smell of the dead animal and scrubbing the blood off her hands with some clean dirt. A dribble of snot from not breathing through her nose trailed down her face and Charon couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

  “What? Aw ew, ew.” Spoon groaned, wiping her nose on her bandanna and shooting the still-grinning ghoul a dirty look. “It's not funny!”

  You look good no matter what, smoothskin. But goddamn, do you look wonderful when you want to knock my teeth in . “No, of course not.” Charon agreed, making her huff in annoyance.

  Spoon yanked her old boot back on, the remnants of her bloodied pant leg dragging in the dust as she stood. “I don't care, it fits me so I'll keep wearing it.”

  She seemed defiant, and Charon shook his head. “You don't have to rationalize to me, Spoon. You know that.”

  “Yeah...” Spoon shakily stood on her tiptoes and patted his shoulder. “Let's go, big guy.”

  “Lead the way, smoothskin.”

    When the leader of the settlement pulled a pistol on them, Spoon was hardly even surprised. It wasn't a settlement, it was a trap for her. Everyone knew about ' The Lone Wanderer and his seven foot tall ghoul ' thanks to a certain loud-mouthed radio DJ, and the bounty for her from the Talons must be pretty ludicrous if they were willing to set up a fake camp next to deathclaw territory.

  Charon, without a word from her, grappled with the man and snapped his arm like a twig. “Anyone else want to try? Anyone else want to get beaten by the zombie?! ” Charon roared as he stood over the man, teeth bared.

  Oh he's pissed , Spoon gulped as another man came at her with a knife, and she slammed the butt of her rifle into his head after sidestepping his blade almost without thinking. Then, there was no time to think after Charon issued his challenge, mercs on them like feral ghouls.

  Spoon soon found herself back-to-back with seven feet of snarling, swearing ghoul, a grin on her face as she heard him holler, “Watch out for the rotface , you cowardly pricks! ”

  “My ghoul!” She yelled proudly over the din.

  Charon's body stiffened for a moment, and then a low rumble from his chest indicated his approval of Spoon's claim. Spoon's grin widened when he answered, “My...smoothskin.”

    Charon couldn't help the sound that came out of him when he heard the small scavenger call him hers in the middle of the brawl. Her ecstasy was tangible when he replied in kind. He knew he must look like a maniac, cheesing from ear to ear while slaughtering a group of poorly-organized men. There was no helping it, though. The two of them could anticipate each others movements seamlessly, a literal dynamic duo of guns and fists against the pitiful horde that clashed with them.

  They finally stood victorious, hardly a scratch on either of them. Spoon smiled up at him, looking thrilled. That smile seemed to sing through his blood, his bones. Charon dropped his gun and swept her up, pressing her into the wall of the shack. He groaned into her neck, his codpiece feeling too small with her up against him. “ Fuck smoothskin, you can't do that.” He admonished, “Not in a fight. Christ. You'll kill me.”

  “Scold me later, okay?” Spoon breathed, her fingers framing his jaw as he easily held her. “Are you hurt at all?”

  “Scrapes. This old hide is tough.” Charon smiled down at her. “You?”

  “I'm fine, thank you.” Spoon looked at his mouth, then back to his eyes. “Could I...?”

  “Yes.” Charon growled, surprised when she slid her hands to the back of his neck and carefully tugged him down to her like he was delicate. The kiss was soft, quiet. Which was great in its own right, but...“You're not gonna break me, smoothskin.” He protested when she pulled away.

  Spoon shrugged, her flush back. “I don't really know what I'm doing. I thought it was okay.”

  “We kissed before...wait, what do you mean 'I don't know what I'm doing'?!” Charon's voice threatened to crack as the realization hit him. Oh my god, what if she's never kissed anyone else except me. Holy fuck she's never kissed anyone except me. “Fuck's sake Spoon, you could have let me know.” He grumbled, tucking a lock of her hair back behind her ear.

  “It's embarrassing!” Spoon blurted, “I can fight and smoke and drink but I wasn't kissed until you came along? Shit Charon, I'm an adult in an adult body over here.”

  “...please tell me you've at least fucked before? Someone's given you a roll in the hay, right?” The relief he felt when she nodded was short-lived.

  “I've never come though, so I don't know if it counts. At least I don't think I have? I don't really know what it feels like, so my frame of reference may not be that great.” Spoon bit her lip.

  She was so shy about the kissing and then this? Jesus Christ . Charon felt like all the air in his body had been knocked out by a massive punch. He was suddenly aware of the heat he was putting out, and the smoothskin's legs wrapped around his hips. “Smoothskin, that's not normally information you'd volunteer.” He pointed out weakly.

  She rolled her eyes. “I want you to know what you're getting into, Charon. I'm probably not the best in bed and I don't want to disappoint.”

  Charon closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to be as patient with her as she had been with him. Smoothskin, how can you even say this stuff. As if the only thing I want is to get you into bed so I can 'test you out' or something. “Smoothskin...I'm a fucking ghoul , okay? That doesn't make me quite as desirable as I used to be, what with the missing skin and all. But I don't 'hook up' with people loosely, smoothskin or ghoul.” He said slowly, trying to be as clear as possible. “Ahzrukhal rented my 'services' out to a lot of people. It's fucked with me, and I don't know whether I'll...I don't know how non-ordered intercourse would go. So I mean, if we're gonna talk about someone being bad in bed...” Charon trailed off, grimacing.

  Spoon looked upset, and he felt like he ought to apologize. She waved off the stammered ' sorry ' as he let her down to stand regularly, her 'upset' quickly turning to 'infuriated'. Spoon stood up on her tiptoes, making Charon bend down so she could drag him in for another kiss.

  “Don't...” Her voice shook. “Don't ever say that about yourself, okay?”

  Kiss.

  “I mean it's one thing for me. I've had a relatively easy life. Me being bad in bed is more funny than anything else.”

  Kiss.

  “You've had the shit kicked out of you; you've been passed around and treated like an animal.”

  Kiss.

  “You being ordered to do things you don't want to is never a light matter. And if...I mean, if we try to do uh, something, and you can't? Then we'll stop.” Spoon murmured, her tone matter-of-fact.

  Charon realized that he had hoisted her up against him again, wondering when that had happened. “Just like that?” He asked, closing his eyes when she began pressing those damn kisses up his neck.

  “Yeah. It'll be a mutual thing, okay?” Spoon mumbled against his skin. Charon barely suppressed a tremor at the feeling.

  “I'll be careful with you, smoothskin.”

  “I'm not worried about it, big guy.”

    Spoon laid out on the bed, smiling at Charon encouragingly. “I figured we could start with undressing each other? It's safe enough, we've kind of already done it.” Charon's eyes met hers and then darted away. The ghoul fidgeted in the doorway, making Spoon's smile falter. “Are you alright, Charon?” She asked, not expecting the strange-sounding whimper that he made. “Hey...” She soothed, scooting out of bed and running to him. “Hey it's okay. It's alright. Shh, it's alright.”

  “I'm fucking terrified,” Charon croaked, “what the fuck is wrong with me?” He hid his face in his hands. “What the fuck, Spoon. I've kissed you, I've held you. What the fuck is wrong with me, why am I so scared?”

  Spoon carefully pulled his hands down, proceeding to kiss the knuckles on his left hand. Charon's breathing stuttered. “Tell me what's going on, Charon.”

  He made a noise in his throat that sounded like a sob. “F-Fuck, smoothskin, what do I do?”

  “Is it because this is planned, instead of spontaneous? Because it's here in front of you and you have to focus and over-focus on it?” Spoon asked.

  Charon's brow furrowed. “I don't...I mean, that makes sense smoothskin. I just don't know. I know I'm not in any danger, but half my skull is calm and the other half is screaming bells and goddamn whistles.”

  “What does the calm half want?” Spoon softened her voice. “What does it ask for?” She held her breath when Charon cupped her face in his hands.

  “It wants...I want everything. Everything you can give me. I'm a greedy son of a bitch, Spoon. You bought my freedom. You put food into me when I was starving. You patched me up when I was bleeding out.” Charon closed his eyes for a second, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I want to make you feel good.”

  Spoon started unbuttoning her shirt, reaching behind Charon and closing the door as an afterthought. He took his hands off her, watching warily. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to feel good.” Spoon replied. I can't fix everything, big guy. But let me try. “This is what I do when I'm safe and happy.”

  “Fuck.” Charon's reaction was really all the gratification she needed. Spoon considered anything else after this point to be a bonus.

  She folded her shirt and dropped it on the floor, doing the same with her pants moments later. Spoon then knelt in front of Charon in nothing but her underwear, her heart pounding in her chest as she smiled up at him encouragingly. God, the way he looks at me.

  Charon seemed frozen, the only thing moving was his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. A nervous gesture, not hostile. He finally seemed to snap out of it; Spoon could feel the heat radiating off of him. “Smoothskin...Christ.” Charon breathed, crouching so they were eye-to-eye. “You make me so fucking hungry.”

  Spoon gulped, hoping it was too quiet for him to hear. “Hungry?”

  He nodded, hesitantly reaching for her. “Like I'm fucking starving and you're the banquet in front of me. Will I get my ass handed to me if I try to take some? Do I even care anymore?” The ghoul rumbled, carefully pushing her back to lie down. He crawled over her, still fully-clothed and staring with wide, unseeing eyes. “Can I have it? Should I? Will I fucking take it? No, never.” Spoon's breathing quickened as he bent closer. “But would you give it to me, if I tried?” Charon mused, running his fingers through her long hair until he reached the tiny beads braided in. “Would you fight me? Or would you just give in to me? What if I want it and you don't? What if I hurt you? What if I kill you? You've gotta' understand smoothskin, I was probably on a fucking leash for a reason.”

  “I know.” Spoon's mouth had gone dry. He's right. He's leaps and bounds stronger than me. He's been fighting for ages. He knows so much more. But... “You don't scare me.” Her bold statement seemed to shake Charon out of his blind-staring ramble, the ghoul looking at her like he'd never seen her before. Spoon was surprised herself to find that it was only the truth she had spoken. She wasn't scared of him, even after that little rant. “You're gonna have to try a lot harder if you want me to run.” she continued, unbuckling his first belt.

  “Jesus Christ smoothskin.” Charon pressed his mouth over hers, hungrily kissing her. Spoon arched up against him, making him groan. “How are you so fucking brave and fucking beautiful and fucking smart.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” She grinned, laughing when the ghoul rolled his eyes.

  Spoon had pushed him onto his back and was fighting with his second belt when Charon stilled. “Smoothskin...I uh. It's. Been a while. Since I've even wanted anything like this. I'm probably not gonna' last that long.” His chuckle was nervous. “So, sorry if I blow my load like a teenager.”

  Spoon felt something throb beneath her fingers and she cursed the complications a simple buckle could cause. Charon sighed out a breath as she struggled with his zipper and yanked it down. Spoon's eyes widened, his brazen words to the raiders so many months ago ringing in her ears.

  “It's all in the skin...”

  Charon's cock pulsed, tapping against the ghoul's stomach and leaving a smear of precum there. “Spoon uh, maybe this is...” Charon began.

  “Just a second.” Spoon murmured. Gathering her wits and willing herself to be a little less turned-on, she pressed a gentle kiss to the base of his shaft, earning her a stream of curses and a tightened grip on her shoulders. It was just as gratifying the second time she did it, thumbing across the slick head of his cock as a follow-up.

  “Fuck...” The ghoul hissed, tilting his head back. “God Spoon it's been so fucking long-”

  “You've been so good to me, Charon. Let me be good to you.” She said softly. Spoon wasn't prepared when he groaned and dragged her up to his mouth. His rough cock slid between them, pressing against her stomach and making her gasp into his kiss. “Hmm, I don't know if you'll fit.” She teased, leaning back to make a show of measuring his member against her stomach. “Should I get you off once and then we can try?” Charon was just watching her wide-eyed, swallowing hard every few seconds. Spoon smiled encouragingly at him, unhooking her bra. “Touch me, please?” She asked, “It's less fun by myself.”

  The ghoul jerkily rolled his hips up against her, scooting himself into a sitting position against the wall. Spoon sucked in a breath, almost startled when Charon began gently kneading her breasts with his hands. “What do you like, Spoon?” He asked in a voice that shook. “H-How can I please you?”

  “Goddamn, you could do that for forever and I would not mind one bit.” Spoon sighed, nuzzling his neck.

  “So like this?” He murmured, cupping her breasts and rubbing his thumbs across her nipples.

  “God yes Charon yes more.” She begged, rocking somewhat excitedly on his lap. Charon groaned, grinding his cock against her.

  “What'd I tell you, smoothskin.” The ghoul grumbled, hands leaving her chest and balling into fists at his sides. “Fuck's sake. For fuck's. Sake.”

  “It's okay! Please, I want you to!” Spoon's fingers wrapped around his cock, slicked with spit. Charon swore under his breath, fucking into her hand. “I don't care, okay Charon? Please come for me?” she pleaded as Charon gritted his teeth.

  “Fuck's sake smoothskin y' can't beg me-” Charon stopped mid-sentence, come spurting through Spoon's fingers and dribbling onto his stomach. The ghoul sucked in a breath and released it in a clearly startled, “Uh.” Spoon kissed him hard, moaning into his mouth. His fingers dug into her hips, urging her against him. “Spoon, you still want...?”

  “Are you kidding me Charon. Jesus Christ. That was literally the hottest thing I've ever seen.” Spoon breathed, holding his face in her hands.

    Charon pressed his forehead into hers, grinning the widest he'd ever grinned. “Well then, hop on up little lady.”

  Spoon stood up to take her underwear off, blushing prettily when the slick sheen on them came into view. Whatever Charon was going to say escaped him as he drank in the sight of her fully naked in front of him. “Would it be alright if...?” He trailed off, tapping a finger lightly against her pubic mound.

  Spoon nodded jerkily, her hands resting on his shoulders. Then she cried out, the sound music to the ghoul's ears as he slid a hand between her legs.

  “Beautiful...” Was all Charon could muster up, his mind going quiet as he felt how easily his fingers slid against her clit. Christ. “Is this alright, smoothskin?” Spoon whimpered, flushing at the way Charon tried to keep from groaning by biting his lip. “So tight smoothskin...” Then, “Such a good smoothskin. You're doing so well, Spoon.” He growled, making her knees quake. “I know my fingers are big. Say the word and I promise I'll stop. I don't want to hurt you.”

  “I want more, please.” Spoon begged, her hips shuddering with his careful ministrations. “Please please please.”

  “You're killing me smoothskin, goddamn. You just want all of me right now?” Charon asked, his tone half-joking as he wrapped a hand wet with her slick around his cock, giving himself a few lazy pumps. Spoon keened, watching him hungrily. “I'll take that as a yes. I'll be gentle, Mistress.”

  Spoon covered her face, whether from embarrassment at his teasing or being flat-out overwhelmed Charon couldn't tell. After a few deep breaths, she slowly sank down onto him.

  Charon hissed out a breath, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. “Shit Spoon, you're fucking tight. Too much?” He managed to say.

  “Mmmm...” The smoothskin's eyes were half-lidded and dazed, her arms draped over his shoulders. “Nope, pretty sure I've got the best seat in the house.” Spoon murmured.

  Charon's laugh was breathless, quickly dissolving into a moan as Spoon began to ride him. His hands found purchase on her hips, pushing her down as he thrust upwards. “I'll stop. If you need me to.” The ghoul growled, laughing again as Spoon shook her head, brushing her hair back over her shoulders in an act of defiance. Charon carefully twisted a hand into her hair, feeling her tighten around him when he gave an experimental tug. Trusting her to let him know if something went wrong, he slowly increased the pressure. He bent her back, shifting beneath her until she rested on the floor under him, writhing and making noises that shot straight to his cock. Her legs were wrapped around his back, thighs tightly gripping his hips.

  Her eyes were murder on the ghoul, pupils blown wide in the afternoon light. She looked content and needy all at once; demanding and helpless an enticing mixture on her face. “Don't forget to tell me if something hurts.” Was the last thing Charon said before coaxing her knees up onto his shoulders.

    Spoon had never felt so thoroughly taken care of in her whole life. Charon fucked with the same fluid motions he fought with, whole body rippling over her in a powerful display. The uncertainty of earlier had been replaced with a purpose and it was very, very obvious. Spoon cried out when he tugged her hair again, loving the delicious shock it sent through her body while he thrust into her. “Yes!”

  “More?” Charon growled in her ear, his voice alone almost as good as his teasing hair-pulls. Spoon tensed her thighs, feeling and hearing the startled exhale from the ghoul above her. “Fuck. Alright, I'm goin'.” He released her legs and slid a hand under her hips, sitting back on his haunches.

  “Charon!” Spoon's voice cracked as the new angle made his cock rub relentlessly against her front wall, the ghoul's breath hitching as she clenched around him.

  “Good?”

  “Jesus!”

  “Some people call me that.” Charon grinned, holding her hips tightly and pulling her into him. She could feel every inch, every throb of him and it drove her insane. She arched against him, whimpering and not even caring how loud she was being. Because he was just as loud, vocalizing his approval in her. “You fuck me so damn good smoothskin, Jesus. You're goddamn beautiful, fucking perfect.” The swears dropped in his husky voice made Spoon feel like she was on fire. She was impossibly wet and impossibly turned on and impossibly well-fucked and that fucking voice was going to be the death of her.

    “Fuck me until you're satisfied!” She burst out. Charon's rhythm stuttered for a moment, taking in the way she was moving beneath him and hungrily meeting him thrust for thrust. “Don't stop, please don't stop, you fuck me so good!” Spoon rambled, her hands fisted in her thoroughly messy hair.

  “God.” Charon rasped, kissing her as hard as he dared. Her lips looked swollen when he pulled away, and he rumbled his approval. Spoon moaned suddenly as she crested, body in spasm around Charon's cock. The ghoul seized up, choking out a groan when she quivered around him. “Fuck--”

  “Charon...” that blissed-out sigh was all it took to tip the ghoul over the edge, his orgasm making him cry out and shudder while he spilled into her. His arms threatened to give and he quickly dropped to his elbows over Spoon, gasping for air.

  Her arms wrapped around him and pulled him down to lay on top of her, a breathy moan of contentment escaping Spoon as his body fitted to hers. Charon wheezed, “Okay? Not crushing you?”

  “Nope.” The woman murmured. Then, “you're fucking amazing, you know that?”

  “Not so bad...yourself.” Charon replied, smiling against her neck.

    “Hey Charon...?” Spoon breathed, her heart rate still on its way to slowing down to normal.

  “Mm.” He grunted, tightening his grip on her. “What, smoothskin?”

  “Would you have bought my contract, if I'd had one?” The befuddled look the ghoul shot her almost made her laugh. Almost.

  “Hell no.” Charon growled, stretching his arms out and crossing them behind his head.

  “What?!”

  He held up a hand, quieting her. “Let me finish, smoothskin. If Ahzrukhal was the one with your contract? No way in fuck with that two thousand caps bullshit. I'd get your contract out of his cold, dead hands. I ain't a diplomat like you, Spoon.”

  “I'm really glad that you gave me a chance.” Spoon murmured, wrapping herself around him and tugging the sheet up over them. “When we started out I was pretty sure I was going to irritate you to death.”

  “Well as you can see,” Charon gestured downwards at the bed, “I've had a change of heart.”

  Spoon laughed, smiling against his chest. His hand fell to her head and he started stroking her hair. “All it took was a little kindness, big guy.”

Epilogue

[shorelineshelter]

I Roam The City In A Shopping Cart: Fallout 3

((OOC: Warnings- Descriptions of Sex Slavery and Past Torture))

When the man walked past Charon, he’d expected to see a slaver following his wake.The collar was a dead giveaway, not to mention the painfully thin frame. Ahzrukhal did order him to keep an eye on everyone that came in, so he was bound to notice things like this. Especially when an owner didn’t breeze in behind him.

Ahzrukhal noticed too. “Hey, smoothskin, where’s your master? I don’t hide your kind. Not for free at least.”

“Ain’t got one.” The man smirks, his voice strong and proud. Most slaves had weak, broken voices from being ordered into silence. (Or from screaming.) Before Ahzrukhal could open his mouth to respond, the human had turned to look at Charon, giving the ghoul in question a good look at the broken control mechanism on his collar. There was something he couldn’t place in the man’s expression.

“See something you like, pretty boy?” Ahzrukhal had to be the center of attention, as per usual. If it wasn’t about him, he’d get huffy and try to fix that. “I see you making eyes at Charon. He’s quite a catch, yeah?”

The newcomer nods, not bothering to look back at Ahzrukhal.

“Wanna see a trick?” Charon knows where this is going. “Charon, put our lovely guest on your shoulders.”

He easily hoists the small man up. Things like this made him feel like a circus act.

“Neat, huh?” Ahzrukhal has a nasty grin on his face, thinking he’s being impressive. “Does anything I tell him, he’s one hell of a loyal mutt.” His eyes light up for a moment, gesturing a bit. “You can even hit him if you want, Char’ let him sock you-”

“Fuck you, I’m not hitting a man who can’t fight back!” The stranger tenses with every word out of Ahzrukhal’s mouth, his hands resting on Charon’s head.

Ahzrukhal just shrugs, chuckling. “Aw, you’re no fun. Char’ you can put him down now.”

As he did, Charon got the feeling that shit was about to go down. Ahzrukhal must have felt it too because he tuts before saying, “Don’t look at me like that, smoothskin. Don’t get any funny ideas either. He ain’t just for show, get outta line and he’ll shoot you before you reach the counter.”

“Oh. I see.”

Scratch feeling, Charon knows shit’s going down tonight. He can see it in the way the man fists his hands into the ridiculous flowy pants he’s wearing.

When he strolls up to the counter, he’s staring Ahzrukhal down. “How much.”

“Beer’s-” Ahzrukhal can’t reem off prices before the man bangs a fist on the bar, cutting him off.

“I’m not asking about booze , you asshole, I want to know how much his-” The smoothskin struggles for a split second before spitting out “-contract is.” like it’s poison on his tongue.

Ahzrukhal barks out a laugh. “You can’t fucking afford it, pretty boy!”

“ Try me. ” he demands, voice hard, fingers tight on the counter.

When Ahzrukhal realizes he’s being serious and gives a price, he balks when the human starts pulling out measured bags of caps and doubles it. This does nothing except make the process take a little longer. He finishes, and holds out his hand while the bartender sputters.

Charon almost expects to be ordered to take out the smoothie so Ahzrukhal can steal the abundance of caps he’s carrying on him. Instead, he feels the mood shift as his contract changes hands. The human turns to face him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Unfinished business?”

He nods.

“Have fun.”

It’s not like he was going to ask for permission to gun down his former owner, but it felt much more satisfying with his endorsement. After the smoke quite literally clears from the room, Charon looks to his new boss.

“Better, big guy?” He says with a lopsided grin.

Again he nods.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t plan on ordering you to do anything you don’t want. Name’s-” he pauses, making sure there’s no one within earshot. “Name’s Kevin Gray.”

It’s one Charon recognizes. “Birchgrove?”

“Damn it, word’s seriously gotten this far?”

Charon shrugs, “J Starr’s been tracking a wayward comet of his, word gets around the Mall fast.”

“He can track me all he damn well likes, I’m out and he’s never gonna catch me. I go by KG in public, though. Ready to head out?” The man says as he retrieves his caps from the counter.

“Yes” Charon replies. This would be interesting.

KG was without a doubt, the tiniest employer to ever hold his contract. Barely reaching 5’ on a good day. Admittedly, having a runaway slave at the helm was...honestly it was refreshing. The man seemed to pick up on his well hidden reactions faster than he could realize he’d done anything in the first place.

It had been months that they’d been traveling together. Months of quiet understanding from a rowdy smoothskin. It was fucking with his “Don’t get attached to employers” rule. They traveled far and wide. It made sense. KG was on the run after all. They were more than used to each other. They spent many nights back to back, unable to find a safe place to crash. They shared meals, even when the supplies ran low, he insisted that Charon ate too.

It was easy to get along with him. Charon was surprised, Normally he disliked flamboyant employers. But when it got down to brass tacks, KG knew what he was doing. He held his own in a fight, better than many of his former employers. He wasn’t good with a gun, but he know how to take anything that wasn’t nailed down and turn it into a weapon.

So when the man asked to help him shave his hair, and dye it, he complied. His fingers were blue for a week. Seeing the man grinning and twirling made it better though. His nimble frame dancing circles through Underworld was an image that stuck with him.

They’d gotten into a fight with a huge pack of ferals that day and were in desperate need of a bath. By the time they found a tiny bedsit with one, it was long into the night. The woman behind the counter glanced at them suspiciously.

“We’ve only got enough water in the tank for one more bath.” she drawls, scarred eyebrow arching judgmentally.

KG rolls his eyes, “That’s fine. Where’s the tub?”

She hands the key to Charon. It was pretty normal for folks outside of Underworld to assume he was the one calling the shots. He took it, and didn’t bother masking his contempt for the woman.

When the shack door clicked open, he was more than prepared to just wait outside.

“It’s a big tub. We can share.”

“Excuse me?” he questions, unable to hold his tongue.

“We’re both walking health hazards, there’s enough room for us to share. But it’ll be unusable if we take turns. And -” KG continues before Charon can cut in. “No, you can’t just wait, you’ll be drawing deathclaws by morning. C’mon, lock the door behind you.”

Charon had learned by now that he wasn’t meant to take such things as literal order as he had with past contract holders. When he had done this in the past, it made the man extremely uncomfortable. It was the obvious choice, though. So he went in, thumbing the lock shut behind himself.

They maneuver around each other easily, Charon the only one to hesitate before disrobing. A question had been bothering him lately, and as he pulled at the straps of his armor, he felt it was time to ask it.

“Boss, can I ask you something?”

“You always can, Char’.” KG hummed as he drew the bath as hot as it would go, fingers testing the water.

“Why’d you take my contract?”

The reply is so matter of fact that he almost misses the meaning of it. “Because conditioning recognizes conditioning.”

Charon’s face must give him away, because KG gives him a look before elaborating.

“I was part of the sex trade. They have to ‘train’ you to do plenty of things. Like not ripping the dick off the first man that shoves it down your throat-” the man continues as he eases into the water. “The tone of voice to use if they want you to be vocal, how to take it up the ass, how to make people want to buy you for the night just by walking into the room...lots of things like that. If you don’t want to, or you do it wrong, well…” he trails off, turning to shut the tap off, giving a clear view of the countless scars scattered across his back. “You know how it is.”

“Though-” KG adds on, “I’m sure yours was much worse than mine…”

“That doesn’t invalidate your trauma, boss.”

KG blinks up at him, struck by this, watching as Charon finally settles in the bath as well. “Most would say it does.”

“Most folks don’t have context.” The moment is interrupted as the water overflows, splattering on the cold floorboards. Charon stares at the collar and thin necklace (his former owner had a habit of using these for symbolic purposes. They were easy to break so it showed how “well behaved” his slaves were.) strung about his neck. The ghoul’s hand twitches. “Might get better if we dealt with those collars.”

It was like a mini-nuke went off. The human practically launched backwards, ass sliding over the rim of the tub, causing him to topple over and land with a wet slap. Charon immediately moves to assist, head throbbing from (inadvertently) causing pain of any sort.

“No! No, nono, no!” KG shouts, clutching at his chest voice strained fearfully. His eyes had this wild panic in them, searching for an escape route. Seeing him afraid felt alien to the ghoul.

“You said it was deactivated, it can’t blow up anymore?” He offers carefully, trying to help KG to his feet, only for the man to jerk away from him.

“ Yes it’s deactivated, no I can’t take it off!”

Charon reaches out, fingertips barely ghosting over the metal, “I can do it.”

“Charon, don’t you dare touch it!” he shouts before freezing.

KG never gave him orders. Nothing beyond directing him in battles. He’d made it clear that the concept sickened him. Judging by his face, it still did.

“Ch-Charon, wait I’m sorry.” The human was shaking, his voice unsteady. Charon’s skin was crawling.

The ghoul shakes his head. “I overstepped my boundaries.” he rattles off the old lines without stumbling. The words leave a rotten taste in his mouth. “My actions, while inexcusable will no-” Charon’s throat seizes when he dares to look at KG. Tears were welling up in those brown eyes. Fuck. He forces himself to keep going. “-will not happen again. If desired, acceptable punishm-”

“C-Charon y-”

“-ents include: Ordering silence, verbal reprimands, minor and/or indirect physical punishment, or-” the final part sticks to his tongue like broken glass. He can’t look at the smoothskin again. “Or choosing to break the contract. You-”

There’s a hand on his arm but he has to finish the speech.

“You can chose to sell it, trade it, auction it, or break it with extreme physical violence.”

It feels like his bones are aching. Of all the ways he’d ended a contract, this would be the most idiotic. Damn it all, why did this have to happen? It was karma, he thinks. Of course he’d get fucked over when he actually got a good owner. Fuck. He didn’t want to leave this time. He wanted to keep KG safe. Shame and fear tore at him. He was stupid for being so forward with his actions. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“-on! CHARON!” Startles him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks to KG. “Listen to me!”

The ghoul nods slightly, bracing himself.

“I’m not going to punish you.” The hands gripping Charon’s arm shake. “Your actions are not just excusable, they’re entirely understandable .” KG stresses, eyes flicking around, trying to read his bodyguard’s face. “You’re not the first one to offer me that...I’m sorry it’s just-” he swallows “...the most painful lessons stay with you the longest.”

Charon suddenly understood it clearly now. Gods he was thick sometimes. KG had literally just said he’d been through a form of conditioning. His trainer must have had enough foresight to not trust the collars with no backup in place. It’s easier to find a runaway if they couldn’t take them off, even if they were broken. He’d triggered an ingrained reaction by not only suggesting removal, he went so far as to touch one of them.

“It was still wrong of me.” he says firmly. “Punishment is well within your rights.”

“You’re making it sound like you want to be punished.”

Charon is still, jaw clenched tightly.

“...do you want the contract broken?”

“ No. ” he flinches, head throbbing before he adds, “I mean- my wants are irrelevant. It is up to the contract holder.”

“The only reason you are still bound to say that to me is because I can’t work out how to free you from it.” The words hang heavy in the air.

Charon remains quiet, watching as emotions flit over KG’s face.

“One day, I will. One day, you will have the right to decide where you go and who you go with. Until then, remember this.” he pauses.

“There is nothing you have done, or will do, to punish.” his voice is hard. “We’re both going to have these sorts of things happen. We’ll need to support each other to the best of our abilities. The whole world is against us here. I need you to believe me when I say that I vow to make this right. To free us both...okay?”

“...okay.”

“News time, children! Now, I know I mentioned that ol’ Three Dog here found a new pal. That little guy I’ve been all vague about- you know the one. That’s ‘cause he’s got some mean motherfuckers after him. So that means that if lil’ ol’ me wants to talk about him (and you know I do) I gotta set this cat up with a name to use. He’s been doing some seriously good shit to fight the good fight you all need to hear about. I had a short “chat” with his traveling buddy, who must also remain anonymous. He let me in on a couple of ideas. Sooo, let me go ahead and blow your minds with a story about The Vow, and how he plans on dismantling Paradise Falls.”

[wispythreads]

I know that Fallout 1 isn’t all that relevant at the moment (if it ever will have a weird explosion of popularity in the future), but I wanted to talk about Set.

Set is one of the few ghouls I wouldn’t want to meet in real life (I was going to say only, but then I remembered Roy, Crowley, Ahzrukhal, and Winters), and still I love him from a safe distance.

If Necropolis had a wimpy, obedient leader, you would’ve been turned over to the super mutants the minute you stepped inside the location’s borders. But no, it had Set, who basically decides: ‘You can’t tell me what to do, this is my kingdom of the undead.’ But he plays along until a ‘normie’ arrives, and, instead of turning you over, pretty much gives you a job to kill the super mutants for him. It’s awesome.

(well unless you make him angry, because then he kills ya, but based on how you do that, you’ve got what’s coming to ya)

[adarlingwrites]

Restraint

noun: control over the expression of one's emotions or thoughts

Given the circumstances of their relationship, with Charon being the Lone Wanderer's patient, and the Lone Wanderer being Charon's employer, acting on any attraction they had for one another would be out of the question.

Still, they kept each other in their thoughts.

I - Control

(Part II)

Being someone’s boss isn’t something Percy is used to.

Usually, it’s she who followed orders, either from her father when she’s assisting him in his clinic, or Jonas, if Dad left him in charge. So when she buys a mercenary’s contract from that bastard of a ghoul in Underworld, she doesn't know what to do.

Charon is… complex. Percy wasn’t quite sure what to make of him the first time they met. Oh, she was definitely intimidated, though. A ghoul that tall would make a small girl like her shrink further. Hell, normally she’s pretty gutsy, but when she first spoke to Charon? She stammered and fumbled with her words. Percy would be lying if she didn’t find the ghoul interesting, if not strangely attractive, for his gruff demeanor and imposing size.

When Ahzrukhal, Charon’s former boss, told her that he was brainwashed to follow anyone who owns his contract, she had wanted to set him free. Free-thinking and defiant, she couldn’t imagine being in his shoes. This girl naively and recklessly pitied him. So she bought his contract, with every intention of freeing him from it.

But of course things never were that simple.

He definitely needed help, but it’s gonna take a lot more than just tearing the contract to shreds for him to outgrow his conditioning, so she’d save that for later, when she’s sure he won’t kill her for destroying that stupid piece of paper.

The best she can do now is make him feel as comfortable, cared for, and human as possible.

And what better way to do that than to make him some food, right? Who wouldn’t appreciate food? She used to make her dad and Jonas  dinner after long shifts at the clinic, and they loved that.

After spending some time cooking, Percy washes up and puts on a clean shirt, tying her vault suit’s sleeves around her waist. Light footsteps patter against the metal flooring of the stairs. Clearing her throat, she knocks on Charon’s door.

“Charon?” she calls out to him. She hears rustling and shifting from the other side of the door.

Her bodyguard emerges, and for a brief moment, she feels a hot wave pass through her body. Charon stands there, towering her, broad-shouldered and imposing, his muscles straining under his shirt.

“Miss. What do you need?”

Percy made the mistake of looking below his hips. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

She wasn’t supposed to see that.

Or rather, she shouldn’t be affected seeing that. She’s a doctor in training, for fuck’s sake.

“Lunch is ready,” she said, speech terse. The vaultie whirls around quickly and descends the stairs, hoping that the ghoul mercenary doesn’t notice her embarrassment.

That sight lingered in her mind for days.

Then the days turned into weeks.

Now, she’s laying on her bed, trying to get off using the skin mag she found while scavenging, but its novelty had worn out. No matter how much her fingers worked her clit while staring at the pictures of women in scanty clothing, it didn’t do anything for her now.

Percy tried imagining people she was attracted to in the vault. Amata. Butch. Jonas. She only felt awkward; Amata rejected her, Butch hooked up with Susie while they’re together, and Jonas is... dead.

Shit.

She needed something- or someone else.

She imagines Billy Creel, that fairly attractive guy with an eyepatch who hangs out in the saloon, but she’s not really that into him. Plus, his hair color reminds her of Butch’s.

Percy tries thinking about another hair color. She always found red hair intriguing; there are not a lot of redheads in the vault. It’s a recessive trait too, so it’s pretty rare even in the wasteland.

Her mind wanders to Moira. She’s pretty cute, despite her eccentricity. But she felt more like an older sister she never had, so Percy turned the imagery off. Then her mind goes to Nova. But just like Moira, the bond they share is more sisterly than sexual.

Dammit. Nothing’s working. Maybe she should just think of an imaginary lover.

But wait, who else has red hair?

Charon.

Oh no.

She’s not about to touch herself thinking about her bodyguard, who she also gives medical treatment and psychological counsel to, isn’t she?

The mental image of seeing him with morning wood came back to her psyche and she almost slaps herself for allowing that to happen again.

However, the thought of it finally did get her juices flowing after several failed attempts….

Percy decided that she’ll probably never get the chance to act on it, given the nature of their relationship, so she might as well indulge herself. Fuck it, she’s gonna masturbate thinking about her employee and patient. It’s so wrong on so many levels, but the taboo aspect of it made her heart race. It doesn’t help that he’s a ghoul too.

People found her strange for not finding them revolting. Ghouls piqued Percy’s interest both as a doctor, and a person who never saw one in her life. She never found their condition disgusting; hell, she was in awe when she found out that their bodies adapted to radiation instead of being killed by it. She wanted to know how ghouls’ skin felt like too, but she was too shy to ask Gob, the first one she ever met. He’ll probably think she’s weird.

Percy finally got that opportunity when she started travelling with Charon. Their touches were brief, and it usually happens when she’s patching him up or if he needs to carry her, but she’ll take what she can get.

Spreading her lips apart, Percy works her fingers against her clit, imagining that it was Charon’s instead. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she imagined his face; skin missing from some parts, muscles exposed, but damn, she found his bone structure and those piercing blue eyes lovely.

The vaultie thinks of her bodyguard looking at her with those intense eyes, and using his other hand to tease her hardening nipples. Those lips of his look rough, but Percy still wants them pressed against hers, imagining the texture it must have. Slowly, he would trace her jaw with them, down to her neck, and it would replace his fingers on her chest, eagerly sucking at her tit.

Holding back a moan, the walls were thin after all , Percy imagines Charon’s cock. From what she had gathered from seeing it bulging against the fabric of his pants, it would be thick, long, and heavy. She only ever took dicks in her mouth and her ass in her life in the vault, but nothing the size of that thing between Charon’s legs.

Fuck, would it even fit any of her holes?

Still, she imagines running her hands all over the pulsing flesh, eager to please him. Charon had once told her that some of his former employers used him for their entertainment. She shudders, thinking about how awful and traumatic that must be for him.

She wanted him to be in control of his own pleasure for a change.

So, she imagines Charon, with that gruff, delicious baritone ordering her to get on her knees and suck.

Percy would run her tongue all over his length and try to take him as far as she can, and he’ll grab her short, jet-black hair and shove it down her throat harshly. The thought of choking on him made a moan escape Percy’s lips, and she quickly covers her mouth and stops, listening for any reaction from the other side of the wall.

None.

Good.

Pausing her little self-love session, Percy grabs a handkerchief from her drawer and shoves it in her mouth. She doesn’t return to her bed, however.

In her head, Charon would order her to stand up and bend over the desk, and she does as she’s told both inside and out of the fantasy. Cold metal of the desk against her breasts, Percy ran her finger against her slit, gathering her wetness, and continued to circle against her clit, imagining Charon’s fingers in place of hers.

But then, he will pause, demand that she stays still, and kneels, flicking his tongue out against her slit. His tongue would penetrate her entrance, then go back to circling her clit, and his rough hands would paw at her ass and strike it.

Damn, she can hardly contain herself now.

This imaginary Charon would give a satisfied smile against the skin of her thigh and proceed to shove his length into her, claiming her. He’d be the first man to do so, and God, she’d hope that he would be the last.

She hoped that he would be the last.

Percy lets out a soundless cry as she neared her climax, rubbing herself desperately, glasses fogging from her breaths.

As she reached her climax, foolishly, recklessly, Percy choked out his name.

A few moments later, he was outside her door.

“Miss? You called for me?”

Oh shit.

Not even done coming down from her high, she throws an oversized shirt on, and wipes her essence against the handkerchief she retrieved from her mouth.

With caution, she cracked the door open, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her flushed and dishevelled appearance.

“Charon. Hey. I was wondering what you’d like for lunch tomorrow,�� she near-whispers.

The ghoul gives her a blank stare.

“Mirelurk cakes, miss.”

Percy gives him a faint smile.

“Right. I’ll keep it in mind. Good night.”

Percy closes the door and lies on her bed, unable to sleep.

Yeah. It’s no use denying it any further.

She has it bad for him.

But she needs to exercise restraint.

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XII

December 27, 2277.

I jerk awake, disoriented. I look at my hands, and they are no longer a child’s. They’re large, with exposed bone and muscle, and rough.

The dreams are getting more vivid.

On good days, I dream of Percy, the dog, and bits of memories from the past life I had before I was turned into a glorified slave. On bad days, I dream of my previous employers, including Ahzrukhal. On terrible days, I dream of the shit those responsible for the way I am now made me go through.

I guess it’s a terrible day today, then.

Looking around, Percy is no longer at my side, her heat absent, but her scent still lingers. The dog is nowhere to be found too. I go back to my room to get dressed, and as I descend the stairs, I hear conversation from the living room.

“How well do you even know this guy? Seriously Perce...”

DeLoria’s voice.

“Enough to know that I trust him with my life. Why are you interrogating me all of a sudden?”

Percy’s. From the smell coming from the kitchenette, I’m guessing she’s making lunch.

“Percy, you’ve known him for three months tops.”

“Almost four,” my friend replies, the aggressive edge in her voice surfacing. She is getting agitated.

“That ain’t making it sound any better!”

“Butch, Charon saved my ass countless times already and-”

“Yeah, until you lose his contract.”

Percy goes quiet. She told DeLoria about the contract? Why on earth would she do that?

“He’s muscle for hire, Perce. How can you even say that you can trust him with his life when you barely know him?”

“I know Charon.”

“Oh yeah? Where is he from?” DeLoria challenged. I take a few more silent steps to reach the base of the stairs, and see them. Percy is watching the soup simmer in the pot. The dog is sitting next to Butch on the couch. Various motorcycle parts litter the floor, a pet project Percy’s been working on for months.

“Underworld,” Percy answers him.

“No, I mean where he’s really from. Where was he born? How old is he? When is his birthday? What’s his last name? Is Charon even his real name?”

My mistress- no, my friend’s eyebrows furrowed, face slightly red, and she turns around to answer him. “That is none of your business, DeLoria.”

“Of course it ain’t! But it should be yours. You live with the ghoul,” Butch spat. “See? You can’t even answer me!”

“I’m helping him remember,” Percy spits back, using the soup ladle to point at the greaser. “He’s… traumatized, Butch. I’m the first friend he had in God knows how long,” she tells him, then she goes back to stirring the pot.

Butch scoffs. “So, is that it? You’re trying to fix him like you tried with me?”

Percy’s knuckles are white from gripping the ladle, then it clatters on the stove. “Oh my fucking- I did not try to fix you Butch!” Percy yells as she turns around. She marches towards Butch, and points at the greaser’s chest. “I tried to empathize with you, find out where all that nastiness you had as a kid came from. Then whoop-de-do, we made out in the storage closet in senior dance and you decided I was worth your time-”

“And you tried to control me into becoming the damn goody-two-shoes you are,” DeLoria snaps. “When you decided that you can’t convert me, you asked for a breakup.”

“I never tried to control you Butch. I just asked you to try to be better. And I asked for a break, not a split,” Percy yells, voice breaking.

“I- fuck, it doesn’t matter! You left!” DeLoria gripped Percy by her arms. At that point, when the greaser touched Percy, I was seriously considering intervening, but I probably shouldn’t even be listening to their conversation.

“I knew it. This isn’t about Charon. This is about us,” Percy seethes, her glasses sliding down the tip of her nose. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, DeLoria.”

“Ha! You can fuck him in front of me and I wouldn’t care,” the greaser yells, letting her go. He’s looking away from Percy and running his hand through his hair.

“Oh, I knew it,” Percy remarks, crossing your arms. “You never change, do you, Butch?”

“Fine! Maybe I am jealous! I’m jealous that you’d rather be travelling with him than me.”

Huh.

The humor of a pretty-boy getting jealous of a ghoul whose half his skin is missing, of all people, because his ex prefers the ghoul’s company isn’t lost on me. It makes me wonder what kind of wrong ideas are in his head about my relationship with Percy. I’m sure that there are some people who had the same ideas. Hell, Nova had been teasing me about her. But this asshole having them takes the cake. A romantic relationship with Percy is out of the question, and whatever I may feel about her is irrelevant.

Is it?

What do I even feel about Percy, at this point?

“You have no right to be jealous, Butch. None at all. We are through. You are so damn lucky that I let you back into my life as a friend.”

“I want a second chance! Why do you think I wanted to leave the vault in the first place, huh? It’s been miserable without you there, Perce,” DeLoria tells her. “But you’d rather throw away all those years for someone you just knew for months, huh? I thought we had a good thing.”

Percy grabs him by the collar. “If there’s anyone who should be saying that, it should be me. I asked for a break to think about our relationship and what the hell did you do? You fucked Susie!”

Butch grasps Percy’s hands from his collar, swats them, and he pushes her.

Percy’s crying.

Time to step in.

I shield Percy’s frame with mine. The dog runs over and starts barking, checking to see if his mistress is fine. DeLoria backs away, his stance defensive.

“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll be forced to take action,” I tell DeLoria, looking him in the eye.

“Charon! How long have you been there?” Percy yelps, grasping my arm.

“Long enough to hear enough. DeLoria,” I say, finally addressing the greaser by name. I take a step towards him and he takes one back. I almost expected him to cower. “What I am to Percy is not your business. Though I cannot understand why she chose to help you, I will obey her orders. I am here to serve my employer. Whatever bad blood she may have for your sorry ass is not my business. This is all on you.”

“Whatever, freak. Just stay out of my way.”

“You’re the one who is foolish enough to provoke Percy. You provoke her, you provoke me.”

“How’s this for a provocation, asshole!” Butch yells as he tries to swing at me, but I was taller, faster, and probably weigh twice as heavy. I dodge the blow, and land one on his jaw. He falls.

“Butch! What the hell did I tell you?! Do not fuck with Charon,” Percy shrieks, rushing over to help him to the sofa. “Charon, what the hell was that? Couldn’t you just restrain him?”

She did not ask me to attack nor was she in danger.

“I am sorry Per- miss. I acted on my own accord.”

I acted on my own accord.

Holy shit.

Before I can think about it more, my thoughts are interrupted by Percy gasping and running to turn the stove off. I look over her shoulder. The soup dried up and burned brahmin meat stuck to the bottom of the pot.

There goes our lunch, I guess.

“Fuck!” Percy screams. She takes the pot to the sink and runs it with water.

“I guess we’re not fucking eating. You two, stay put while I pack up and do not fucking kill each other while I do. I want to get to Rivet City by sundown. Understood?!”

“What about my jaw-”

“Stop being a big baby! I swear to God, these past fucking days…” Percy groans as she marches to her bedroom, the makeshift door slamming shut.

I understand now. She’s done this before; masking her hurt with hostility.

Moments of tense silence pass by. I sit on the other end of the sofa, and the dog sits between us, like some sort of barrier.

“This is the worst birthday ever,” DeLoria whines, nursing his swollen jaw. “I turn 21 and I get a knuckle sandwich.”

“You deserve it,” I dared to say back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m the asshole ex, of course I frickin’ do,” he sighs, and he stands up to look for something to relieve the swelling.

“The wasteland changed her, huh? She barely even knew how to curse back in the vault and now she’s dropping cluster-f bombs left and right,” DeLoria continues, wrapping a handkerchief around a cold bottle of water and pressing it against his face.

“Her father died in front of her, and she was exiled from her home. I say Percy is allowed to curse as much as she wants,” I tell him, and cross my arms.

DeLoria was taken aback. His shoulders sag. “Doc died in front of her?”

“Shouldn’t you be shutting the fuck up when your jaw is broken?” Percy yells from upstairs, her footsteps pounding against the metal staircase.

“See what I mean about the cluster-f bombs?”

Percy strides into the living room, boots in hand, wearing the same jacket DeLoria is wearing and dark jeans. I stand up from the sofa to give her some space to sit, and she puts them on, with thick socks underneath.

“Oh. You kept the jacket.”

“Yeah? It keeps the cold away,” Percy replies as she tucked the fabric of her jeans in the boots. “C’mon. The faster we can get to Rivet City, the better.”

An hour in, the trip’s uneventful, which was a pleasant surprise. DeLoria has mostly been quiet, thank fuck, opting to tinker with his PipBoy’s radio. I am on the watch for Talon Company mercenaries who never seem to give Percy a break. A foolish lot, they are.

The music ends and Three Dog is reporting about our activity on the radio again.

“Hey, out on that ridge! It's Buddha! It's Jesus! No, it's the... Wasteland Avenger! Here's an update on Vault 101's homegrown messiah, and her trusty companion, the Ghoul Reaper.”

Not those monikers again. They sound like shitty superhero names, but not like we can do anything about it. The locals had adapted it too.

“Jesus, he’s not letting it go, isn’t he? Turn that thing off,” Percy sighs as she rips open a box of Fancy Lads, stuffing the pastry in her mouth.

The more Percy made waves, the more people who wanted her head. Her deeds got the attention of opportunistic bastards who wanted to use her for their own gain, or evil ones who just didn’t like the fact that some teenager is cleaning up the Wasteland. It doesn’t help that the DJ of the only free radio in the entirety of DC upholds her name like she’s some kind of saint.

For those reasons, “Wasteland Avenger” isn’t the only moniker she earned from wastelanders. Some wastelanders prefer to call her the Wasteland Angel. Maybe they’re right. Maybe she is one. It always makes me think back to the day when I accidentally called her angel while drinking in Megaton.

“Wasteland Avenger? Looks like your goody-two-shoes attitude has gotten you popular, Perce,” DeLoria comments, snorting. “I can’t argue with Ghoul Reaper, though.”

“Zip it. Say anything about Charon, and you’re on your own,” Percy snaps, taking three sticks of bubblegum out of her pocket. She tosses one to me, then to DeLoria.

“Awfully defensive of your boyfriend, huh.”

“No, I’m telling you to shut up for your own good, Butch. Unless you want your right jaw broken too?”

“Fine. Point taken.”

For making DeLoria shut up, I have decided that Percy is indeed an angel. The rest of our journey is filled with peace and quiet.

The plan was to leave DeLoria in Rivet City so he can make a living as a barber since Snowflake’s in Underworld now. I didn’t plan on following Percy to the Muddy Rudder and drinking with the bastard, yet there I was, sipping on my fourth beer.

Percy sits between us, downing a shot of scotch, while the dog sleeps at her feet. Butch is taking a smoke while the barkeep refills his regular whiskey. He fixes up his hair again, eyes wandering to my friend’s.

“I’m sorry about your old man,” he tells Percy, and her head perks up.

“I appreciate it, Butch.”

“Hey, speaking of dads, I finally learned what happened to mine,” Butch continues. “Not that I’m tryin’ to make it all about me, just emphasizing- empathizing. Yeah. That’s the word.”

Percy laughs softly. “Thanks for trying. So, what happened to DeLoria senior?”

“Remember how we found out that the vault was sealed when we were babies? Part of what happened to my pops had something to do with it. Overseer had him executed for opposing it.”

“Oh fuck. I’m sorry, Butch.”

“S’fine. I ain’t that beat up about it. But sometimes I think about what my life could’ve been if I wasn’t left with my alcoholic mom. Do you ever think about it, Perce? If you grew up with your mom?”

The question made Percy down two consecutive shots. Damn.

“A lot. I know dad probably would have less trouble with my hair,” Percy laughs, but there was a bittersweet quality to it. Butch pats her in the back and crushes his cigarette in an ash tray.

Should I tell them about mine?

I exhaled, breath shaky, as I took out my own pack of cigarettes and lighted one. “My father was killed over an accusation,” I tell them, throwing caution to the wind and letting the alcohol embolden me to talk about the past that I’m still struggling with.

Both of them turn to me, curious. “What happened to him?” Percy asks.

“My parents were accused of being Reds. I was going to be taken away to be reeducated. My father objected to it. I never knew the truth behind it, but the police officer who shot my father already carried out the sentence before any court could.”

“God,” Percy gasps, brushing her arm against mine.

“The government program they put the children of suspected Reds on, is what turned me into the contract-bound mercenary that I am today.”

“I’m sorry, Charon,” Percy tells me.

Butch clears his throat. “Sorry. That’s rough, man.”

Percy straightens all of a sudden. “Hold on a sec. So, are you saying that the United States government that later became the Enclave is responsible for brainwashing you?”

Percy’s right, isn’t she? It adds up.

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

VIII

September 23, 2277.

It’s been a few days since my recall. Percy told me to rest and we’ll leave for Rivet City in two days. Something about looking for a scientist called Madison Li. Percy said she might know where her father is.

On the wall opposite the couch hangs a photograph of the young mistress and her father. Percy said his name is James. Yesterday, she caught me looking at it and told me she was in a rush to leave the vault but she could never leave the photograph behind. He’s the splitting image of the mistress. Almost.

The mistress and I had supper in silence, a slab of brahmin steak the mistress seared herself, with Instamash on the side. The dog is currently curled up in my lap while I sit on the couch. I can’t remember sitting something on something relatively comfortable and relaxing for once. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I relaxed and let my guard down before this Vault girl walked into my life.

It’s… difficult acclimating to my new employer’s lifestyle. I have no complaints for the free food and board that comes with it, but having this much time to myself still feels strange. I’m afraid spending most of my waking hours standing in the corner in the Ninth Circle has something to do with it.

Percy saunters over and calls my attention, a book in hand. “Hey. I thought you might like this book, Charon,” she tells me, handing it over. The cover is faded and the paper is yellowed, but it’s intact. There’s a dog- a wolf?- on the cover, and its coat pattern looks similar to Dogmeat’s. I found it interesting, but to be truthful…

“Thank you, miss. Unfortunately, I cannot comprehend this book.”

“What do you mean? This book is in English so...”

I hesitated on whether I should tell her or not. Wastelanders never knew how to read or write, but I was born before the bombs fell. Granted, the circumstances robbed me of the opportunity to learn, but shame grows at the pit of my belly. I felt pretty damn stupid.

“I barely remember how to read, miss.”

“Oh. That’s fine, I can read to you and teach-” Percy stops mid sentence and has a look of surprise on her face. “-wait, how do you know the contents of your contract then?”

The itch in my brain returns, but I am too exhausted to entertain it. The nightmare took a toll on me. “It was taught to me. Please, don’t ask.”

My mistress nods, taking the book from my hand. “Okay. Do you want me to read to you?”

“If the miss wishes to,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

“I’m asking if you want to, big guy,” said my mistress, a smile on her face.

It wasn’t unkind.

It’s warm, like the ones she gave me when she used to come by in the Ninth Circle. When did an employer care for what I want? I’m still learning to trust this girl, but how can I say no to a good thing?

“Yes.”

Percy’s smile turns into a grin, her too white teeth gleaming. I think I’ll never be used to how healthy the mistress looks compared to the other denizens of the wasteland. She scoots closer, the dog nestled between us, and opens the book.

“Chapter one, ‘The Trail of the Meat’,” she starts. “Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway…”

??? ??, ????

I feel the warmth of another person beneath me. A whisper tickles what’s left of my ear, voice familiar.

“Please.”

It’s Percy’s.

There’s desperation in her voice, and I get on my hands and knees to look at her. Face flushed and glasses fogging, she looks me in the eye, with an expression similar to the ones I see on the women in the skin mag she found in the scrapyard. She’s dressed in that stupid blue jumpsuit, and I grab the zipper and undo it, dragging slowly. Underneath, she wears her shirt and boyshorts, the fabric sticking to her sweat-drenched body.

Head thrown back, her pale throat is exposed. I lean in to swipe at a bead of sweat with my tongue, my ruined mouth dragging against the skin on her neck. The mistress’ skin is as soft as I imagined. My hands scrambled for purchase, squeezing her breasts, rough fingers slipping beneath her shirt, pinching her hard nipples. I latch on to one, and she sighs softly, small hands grasping what’s left of my hair.

“Please.”

I stop, on my hands and knees once more, and my hands move lower, grasping her shorts and peeling it from her hips, ruined fingers touching her in places I have no right to. She leans in and kisses my ruined cheek, before slipping her tongue in my mouth.

“Charon, please,” she begs, breaking the kiss and bucking her hips against me.

I kneel between her legs, ready to service my mistress.

“Charon…”

I want her to never stop saying my name.

September 24, 2277.

I jerk awake, an uncomfortable pressure between my legs, and I look down, cursing myself. I’m too fucking old for wet dreams. Suddenly having a nightmare seems more preferable. Of all the dreams I can have, why that, and why her?

I hear a gentle knock and Percy’s voice from outside the door.

Dammit.

“Charon?” she calls again. I scramble to find my pants, do my best to conceal the hard-on I have, and hope she doesn’t notice it.

I open the door, and Percy stands there,  I can no longer stop myself from looking at her. Droplets of water are dripping from her hair, down her neck, and to her sleeveless white undershirt. She wears her vault suit with its sleeves tied around her waist. The thin, wet fabric of her undershirt reminded me of the dream I had and I felt myself twitch at the sight of her.

“Miss. What do you need?”

“Lunch is ready,” she tells me, and I nod. She turns around and descends down the stairs, and I follow her, eyes trailing down her spine, to the curve of her ass, to her legs. The guilt settles in and I look away, even if she doesn’t know where I’m looking. It felt dirty, ogling the kid who’s offering me a roof over my head.

We eat our meal in peace like before, and Dogmeat lies on my lap while I sit on the couch. After fifteen fucking years of standing in that corner, I will take every opportunity I can to sit. I pet the dog’s head until he falls asleep, the rise and fall of his breaths slowing down. The mistress sits on the other side of the couch, sipping a Nuka, legs raised to the backrest.

“Looks like the two of you had taken a liking to each other,” said Percy, that smile on her face again. I felt the corner of my mouth tug upward, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t feel the need to.

“What about me, Charon? Do you... like me?”

My head whips to my mistress’ direction, and she must’ve seen the look on my face for her to let out an awkward laugh. “Seeing how you didn’t hesitate to put down Ahzrukhal, I hope I’m earning your trust and not doing anything to earn that treatment,” the mistress explains.

When Percy clarified what she meant by the question, I felt somewhat relieved. I’m not blind nor numb; she is attractive, even when I’m more used to the sight of ghoulettes. My body’s reaction to her says it all. I thought she was on to me, and I was terrified for a moment. Not a lot of things terrify me.

I have no reason to let her know about that, and I hope the mistress never asks. This new employer is treating me so well, I’m afraid her finding out about the physical attraction I felt for her will result in the sale of my contract.

“Yes, I do like you, miss. Your treatment of other people and I is much more preferable than Ahzrukhal’s,” I tell her, and she gives me a sigh of relief.

“Great! Great, ahem- that’s good to hear. Very reassuring,” she mumbles, a nervous crack in her voice.

“Miss, is there something bothering you?” I ask her.

“Oh, me? I- I guess I’m just a little worried,” Percy stutters, averting her eyes from me. “I mean, you are the first person I’ve travelled with since I got out of the vault. I have friends here in Megaton, sure, but never someone who’d watch my back while I look for Dad. Then you came along. I’m still learning to trust you, and I hope you’ll trust in me too.”

“Your worry is not necessary, miss. The contract entitles you my absolute loyalty.”

“Loyalty is different from trust, Charon,” said Percy. “It’s the difference between you unflinchingly following Ahzrukhal’s orders to fuck someone up, and letting yourself be vulnerable to me so I can patch you up, if that makes any sense.”

I raise a brow, curious. “Please explain further.”

Percy gets off the couch and paces around. “Okay. Remember how you stood down when I asked you to, when Barrows and the others pointed their guns at us?” she asks.

I nod at her, and she sits back down. “I’ve been reading your contract. It says that you were to remove all immediate threats to my safety, and yet, you listened to me and let me talk them down.”

“I merely listened to your orders, miss.”

“But it says on your contract that you can refuse to entertain orders or requests that can cause harm to your employer or to yourself, correct?” Percy asks again, to which I nod. “Well, you must have trusted my judgment enough to entertain my request to stand down even when there’s an immediate threat to both of us.”

I am getting impatient trying to find the meaning behind my mistress’ words. “Miss, where are you going with this conversation?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t you? I wish I can talk like that,” Percy mumbles, an embarrassed look on her face while she palms at the back of her neck.

“Charon, I want you to trust my decisions not just because I am your employer, but because you think it’s sound,” Percy tells me. “At the same time, if you think something I do will compromise us, I want you to speak up.”

Pondering on her words, I finally look her in the eye. “So, you want me to question you if you think that your decisions would endanger us?”

“Yes, precisely that. I told you that you’re open to make suggestions and ask questions, right? I meant that I trust your input and opinions. So, if you have tactical advice, observations, or comments, you’re free to make them,” Percy replies.

“I understand now, miss. However, I don’t see how my input is of any value.”

“Hmm, I’m just a nineteen year-old girl who got lucky that the wasteland didn’t kill me the first month I spent outside the vault,” Percy replies. Hearing that she’s older than eighteen made me breathe more freely for some damn reason, but it also reminded me of her youth and how old I am in comparison. My mind pulls me back to my darker thoughts about her, and I felt disgust for myself.

“Sure, I know how to set broken bones, sneak around, and hack computers, but you? You’ve got more combat and survival experience than me. Hell, I would’ve been blown to bits if you didn’t tackle me when that Super Mutant threw the grenade. There was probably an oversight in my tactics for you to get hurt like that,” Percy continues. She looks… guilty.

“You’ve been around for more than 200 years. Surely there’s something in your wisdom that will help us,” she adds, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Charming. Very well, miss. I shall consider it as a standing order, and endeavor to provide my insight when necessary.”

“Thank you. I’m glad we had this conversation, Charon,” my mistress replies.

The afternoon went by slowly. While I spent my afternoon servicing my shotgun, Percy tinkers with a bunch of fission batteries. Soon, it was nightfall, and my mistress took me to the Brass Lantern for dinner, too tired to cook after an afternoon of work.

On my last bite of noodles, Percy turns to me. “Hey Charon, wanna grab something to drink?”

“There is nothing in the contract that prohibits me from accepting food and drink from my employer. So, yes.”

“Well then. Off to Gob’s saloon we go.”

I follow her through the rickety metal scaffolding that leads to the establishment, and the dog follows behind me. As soon as she breezes through the door, a woman with short red hair and a ghoul behind the bar counter stop whatever they’re doing.

“Well hello, Miss Dangerous,” the woman greets, smirking. Percy walks over to give her a hug. “Nice to see you, Nova. Hey Gob,” Percy greets, turning to the ghoul.

“Hey kid. I heard you were back in town, it’s good to see you in here again. We’re having a slow night,” Gob rasps, cleaning the bar top with a rag.

“I made new friends,” Percy tells them, and gestures to me and the dog. “Gob and Nova, meet Charon and Dogmeat.”

There’s a flash of recognition in Gob’s face, and his shoulders droops, cowering. “Holy shit. Charon?”

“Oh right! You’re from Underworld too,” Percy comments, taking a seat near the radio. “You two are familiar with each other, Charon?”

“I cannot remember, miss,” I tell her, brain itching. I was thinking long and hard when the other ghoul speaks up.

“I-I uh, remember when I told you that Moriarty bought me from slavers fifteen years ago? Charon was with them.”

Fuck. I remember now. My mistress turns to me with an expression that I can only describe as horror.

“You were a slaver?”

The venom in my mistress' voice terrifies me, and I am not easily terrified.

“They held my contract, miss. Then, they sold it to Ahzrukhal.”

Percy’s face softens. The tension from her shoulders melt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Then, the soft look on her face gets replaced with a worried one. “My God, they used you to capture slaves?”

“...yes.”

Tense silence.

“Hey, I’m sorry for bringing it up. Didn’t mean to dredge up the past,” Gob finally breaks it, fetching scotch from the liquor shelf behind him. “The regular, kid?”

“Yeah,” Percy replies, exhaling shakily. “Well, at least I’m holding his contract now. He won’t have to do that shit anymore.”

The corner of my mouth tugs upwards again and I hope she didn’t see it.

“Can I get you anything?” Gob asks me.

“Beer.”

I settle beside Percy, who’s already downing her shot of scotch. Gob hands me my beer and I take a swig.

Nova sits beside my mistress. “C’mon, let’s have some fun.”

[hired-help]

Top level headcanon I ought to have posted before now; what’s Charon’s deal? You know... mentally?

(You’ll have to forgive me if I sound a little odd, I’m migraine medicated and doing my best, but I’m also On My Charon Based Bullshit right now, I’m ready to hyperfixate--)

Cut for length -- but of course, be warned there’s some negative mental state stuff under here.

This is kind of a general overview, I should mention... but if anyone wants me to elaborate on anything specific, do message me. I love the old character building asks.

Charon’s “programming”, as I often refer to it, is like a very strong hypnosis that was built up over two years of constant work. Probably looked a fair bit like Alex’ punishment from A Clockwork Orange, really.

Priority #1 in making him the kind of high priced, low effort slave that particular group specialised in selling was to lock up his knowledge of who he was before. So, he remembers nothing prior to his programming; not his name, home town, not even how old he is. All of that is completely buried. It’s still there, but it’s inaccessible to him, to a point where, even if he’s outright ordered to recall it by an owner, he physically can’t. It’s the one order he cannot carry out**.

Priority #2 was to ensure he follows orders to the letter, without question. For this, they compartmentalised what was left of his personality and placed his obedience at the highest priority by elevating it to the same status as his survival instinct. When given an order, that order becomes the most important thing to him, and deviating from it is impossible. If you imagine someone ordered you to jump off a roof you were standing on - you couldn’t, right? You Just Couldn’t, your survival instinct is too strong, you’re not going to do that. It’s much like that for Charon; to not follow an order given to him is akin to jumping off that roof. It’s not going to happen. If you asked him to explain why he won’t disobey an order, he’ll look at you in much the same way as if you’d asked him why he won’t jump. Doesn’t compute. What kind of dumbass question is that?

Priority #3 was to ensure his service can’t be compromised by his own moral compass or emotions; so those are deadened. Not gone, but strongly muted and given limitations. He’s capable of free speech as long as it doesn’t interfere with his employer in any significant way. Example; he can give a reason as to why your plan to venture into the Glowing Sea without a rad suit is a Stupid Thing To Do, because it’s for your protection. He couldn’t go on an independent-thought-based tirade about how the Institute sucks, though. That’s just an opinion, and no one wants those from him. He has those thoughts, but voicing them is hard. Think of it as being set to “discouraged” rather than outright “off”. That’s why it’s difficult for him to relate to people, even when he has their permission to speak freely. It’s a bit of a grey area, and one he’s still not used to himself. With every new employer comes a new social dynamic and a new discovery on what he can and can’t say.

The only way his contract can be broken is by physical violence from his employer (as you may find in-game...). This is to protect an asset, not because his original sellers had any kind of affection for him; it’s an automatic failsafe, almost. If he’s dead, they sank time, money and resources into nothing. Much better if the employer returns him - they can resell him, then. If his contract is voided by his employer’s death, he won’t do anything. He’ll be in wait mode, almost. Without any orders and with no ability to act based on his own desires, he’ll just stay where he is and wait for someone to pick up the contract. He’ll keep himself alive, he’ll eat and whatever else, because he’s programmed to be in the best condition he can manage, but he’ll be just surviving, not at all living. It would have been smart to add in a default order to return to base, but his sellers move constantly for their own safety, so it was out of the question. 

If he does try to think outside his orders, or if a strong emotional response is provoked from him, it can be painful. It produces burning headaches and an inability to focus. That’s why he was angry enough at Ahzrukhal to kill him immediately; according to the wiki, Ahz would send him out once a day, and he would come back with caps. Whatever he was doing, we can all safely assume it went against his generally Good karmic preference. So, at least once a day, not only was he forced to perform some awful act, but it physically hurt him to do so as he fought his own conscience. I’d kill him too, tbh.

** A huge exception to this is when he refuses to enter the purifer for you; but I like to think, by that point, your LW has managed to undo a fraction of his damage. Of course, it’s only a pretty cheap way for the game to explain why someone has to die, otherwise they lose their gut punch finale, but if we must explain it - that’d be my explanation. They’d never be able to “fix” him, though.