#tw prison camp

[shes-some-other-where]

Rain and Apple Blossoms

[ID: a 9x9 square mood board. The images: a prison window with light streaming through, a desolate dusty quarry, barbed wire, apple blossoms, hands wrapped in chains, red apples, a river, falling rain, a cellar door. End ID.]

Written for The Merry Whump of May 2024

Now complete.

A nameless convict suffers in a prison camp, sentenced to years of hard labour for his crime. There, he is tormented by cruel guards and an even crueller chief overseer who seems to enjoy humiliating him. Eventually, he escapes, and he finds himself cared for by a kind stranger who is on her own journey of grief and self-discovery. With soldiers still hunting for the fugitive, every moment he spends in his unlikely caretaker's company is a risk to them both.

Heavier on whump than plot. Heavier on hurt than comfort. But it's all there.

Series of whumpy drabbles, 100 words each.

Read it here in the suggested reading order, or if you'd rather cherry-pick the prompts you like, it's in event order here.

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023, Day 26: "You look awful."

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Read at your own risk! They're only snippets of a larger story, with no resolution that will be posted online anytime soon; they are being posted out of order; and the characters don't have names. Enjoy!

Contents: prison camp, forced labour, infected wounds, bullying, humiliation, taunting, restraints, all the delicious things

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 2150 || Approx reading time: 9 mins

"You look awful."

Teaser: The heat was cruel, not just to him, of course, but to all who toiled beneath it. The back of his neck, his face, and his arms all stung as salty sweat and flecks of dirt ground into his sunburnt skin.

“Whichever road I take, I’ll be incurring someone's wrath.”

Thoughts had all but faded into silence.

Dull buzzing filled the scholar’s mind, the only thing he could coax himself to produce. That he used to read—and write—academic texts, to spend hours poring over books and filling his mind with all the wondrous knowledge he could get his hands on, was nothing now but a sick joke.

He wasn’t like her. She’d loved working outside. It was who she was—a girl of sunlight, of green leaves, of fresh air, bracing wind, fragrant rain, pollen and petals, wings and feathers and earth and sky. He’d never understood, but he loved her for it. He loved her. He loved her. Always had. Still did. Always would.

You killed her.

I didn’t.

You killed him.

I did it for her.

You deserve this.

Did he? Under her blazing sun, more exhausted than he’d ever been, with callouses on his fingers and chains on his feet, he wasn’t certain anymore.

The heat was cruel, not just to him, of course, but to all who toiled beneath it. The back of his neck, his face, and his arms all stung as salty sweat and flecks of dirt ground into his sunburnt skin.

That discomfort was nothing, of course, compared to the wounds on his chest.

Insisting to himself the pain was not so terrible, he kept his eyes on the ground. If he didn’t keep his gaze trained on the task at hand, it would fall on the hostile glares that followed him everywhere he went. If the eye contact didn’t set off another round of taunts, jeers, and retribution for a crime he had not committed…well, then it would still remind him of how thoroughly meaningless his life had become.

The cuts were festering; he was certain of it. Instead of healing as they should, the letters throbbed red-hot, infection encouraged not only by a knife that must have been teeming with filth but also by the grains of black powder rubbed into the broken skin—like salt in the wound but infinitely worse, for it did not merely burn. It stained.

And every time he looked down at his own skin, he was forced to reckon with what he was—visible now to anyone else who knew where to look.

Water, soap—no use. He wasn’t convinced that even magic, if he met a healer who might be willing to put their hands on him, would scour away the gruesome art piece on his chest.

He blinked and kept moving. That was all he could do. If he stopped, everyone would look at him, prisoners and guards alike. The prisoners would simply sneer their insults and threats—in fact, they would anyway. But if the guards grew impatient, they might grow angry. And if the guards grew angry, they might grow violent.

He didn’t need any more pain, nor any more marks on his skin.

But the sun was beating down, hot as the hateful stares of everyone around him, and the air was heavy and humid, and his bones were so weary and his muscles ached as they never had before, and the letters, they burned—

“Get up,” the nearest guard said, and the scholar realized he had dropped to his knees.

Gods, if he lifted that whip—

“I told you to get up.”

All too cognizant of the laughter drifting in fragments around him and only getting louder, the scholar stood.

“Keep. Digging.”

Nodding, the scholar did.

Whether or not he deserved it no longer seemed relevant. Whether or not he would survive it—far more pressing.

“What’s the matter, professor?” someone howled. “Not feeling good?”

He clenched his jaw and didn’t look up.

“Bit sore, Book Boy? Getting tired?”

Ignoring them, he knew, was the only solution, the only weapon he had. They’d clobber him on a good day, even if he wasn’t on the verge of collapse—and they knew it.

The taunts ebbed and flowed in time with the rotation of the patrolling guards—when those braided-leather whips got too close, the others were quiet. As the guards walked on, though…

“Gonna keep saying you didn’t do it, are you?”

“When we get to do round two?”

“Come on, thought you were a big, powerful guy. Killed a soldier, didn’t you? I wanna see how strong you are. When’s my turn to have a go?”

“Yeah, you better hide that ugly face, coward.”

“Still got nothing to say? How’s about—”

“Gods. You look awful.”

The scholar froze.

No. That voice—it couldn’t be—

As taken by surprise as he was, apparently, the guards started barking orders at the inmates. Someone shoved the scholar back to his knees, but this time, everyone else knelt, too.

He was here.

He was here.

Guards were stammering out questions, wondering why the prince had come—to this, of all places, to this stinking pit of the unredeemable, the vile, and the depraved.

“I’m here for him.” The scholar didn’t need to look up from the dirt where he’d  been digging in straight lines for hours to prepare for the construction of a new road. He knew the prince was waving a lazy hand toward him.

He had also known this day would come: that his stint as a labourer would end, his supposed reprieve from the reality that he was a murderer—that, at the end of the day, murderers had to die.

A few whoops and jibes rose from somewhere around him, but a guard roared for silence, and the command was obeyed.

“Been busy making friends, I see.” The prince was before him, staring down with pitiless amusement. “How terribly unlike you.”

The scholar swallowed and did not speak.

“Come on, now. Didn’t we used to be friends? Speak. Have you been making acquaintance with the other killers and traitors?”

The scholar didn’t move, and still he said nothing.

“Hmm.” The prince sighed softly, rampant disgust in the quiet exhale. “And here I thought you were such a grand coward.” He lowered his voice. “That’s the story I heard, anyway. Murdering the weak and defenceless, and whatnot.”

The scholar’s face burned.

“Disobeying an order from your prince, however? That’s new. You’ve changed. Didn’t I ask you a question?”

The scholar didn’t raise his head—merely stared at the grime and blood crusted underneath his nails and tried not to think of how they were the dirtiest they’d ever been. He tried not to think of the eyes, far too many, that were fixed on his back. He tried not to think of the man who stood before him and how his hands had been the ones to hold her prisoner, and his words the ones to obliterate the scholar’s reputation. And he tried with every fibre being not to dwell on his inevitable exodus from the hell of the camp, or on what reason could impel the prince to summon him into fresh misery.

“Gonna get yours, pervert,” someone hissed, and this time, nobody told them to be silent.

The prince chucked as if he’d heard. “No matter. Get up. You’re coming with me.”

Muscles long used to obeying orders—he had devoted his whole life to this royal family, until that fateful day—twitched in the desire to do as they were told. The scholar bid them to be still.

Something sharp and stinging slashed over the scholar’s back, and he gasped at the fresh, searing pain.

“You know you’re coming back with me whether you like it or not,” the prince said. The scholar took a dim measure of satisfaction in the surprise colouring the prince’s voice. “Now get on your feet before I have someone assist you.”

The scholar knew everyone watched him still—now, not simply because they expected him to be thoroughly humiliated by the prince who’d sent him away in chains, but also to see if the commander-killer were as audacious as he spent so much time pretending to be.

There was no question in his mind that the prince would make good on his threat to order one of his men to assist him in rising from the ground, nor that the manner of assistance would be less than gentle. Without a doubt, the scholar would be hauled away from the camp no matter what he chose. And wherever he went, the whispers would follow, wouldn’t they?

Finally, the scholar raised his head until he met the prince’s gaze.

The summer-lush grass, soon to be dead and torn from the earth, was crushed beneath his knees; the earth under it pressed back, rigid and unyielding in the heat. Above, dotted with distance birds of prey soaking up the sun’s warmth, the sky was a sleek, brilliant blue. Before him, the prince waited, the silk of his jacket waving in the breeze. “Well, well. After all this time, look who’s grown a spine.”

He nodded toward one of the royal guards he had brought with him, and the scholar was wrestled to his feet—not before one of them cuffed him on the side of his head for his recalcitrance, which sent his cracked, near-useless glasses askew. He didn’t know why he bothered wearing them anymore; being able to see or not made little difference. They could throw him around, shackle him, and do as they pleased—and they had.

The scholar gave a strangled cry as a guard accidentally nudged the wounds on his chest. At the sound, the prince’s eyes narrowed. “So you haven’t lost your voice entirely, then. What’s wrong with you?”

When the scholar didn’t answer, the prince jerked his head at his guards again, and a rough hand tore at his shirt, pulling just enough to reveal the glistening, inflamed skin. At the sight, the prince cursed, then chuckled.

“I suppose that answers my question,” he said, glancing around at the inmates still kneeling and waiting for permission to return to work. “It doesn’t appear you’ve made any friends here at all.”

Without warning, he stepped forward, for the first time putting his hands on the scholar himself, eliciting a gasp when he touched one of the seeping wounds. “Murderer,” he read, revealing the word, “and pervert? Gods, seems like you’ve made yourself a charming set of enemies, in fact.” He shifted his hand upward and forced the scholar to look up from the ground. “There’s no question about what you are, is there?”

The scholar tried to move his head, to look away. His effort only earned him another blow to the back of his head.

“Answer me,” the prince said softly, tightening his grip just enough that the scholar’s jaw began to ache.

The scholar forced out, “I know what I am.”

Silence coated the land around them.

“Yes,” said the prince, smiling now, “as do I. A failure.” Snickers rolled through the kneeling inmates. “And if you, in fact, have not accepted that to be true…you will soon.” He tilted the scholar’s face from side to side, let go and plucked at the filthy shirt. “Any other delightful decorations I should be aware of? Any more injuries, before I take you back?”

“Just hurry,” the scholar said, “just get on with it and let me die already.” He was tired, so tired. From the work. From the infection. From the guilt. From wondering of where she had gone after she fled. From the constant, cutting terror of what might happen if she were found again.

Someone ordered him to show some respect, a laughable suggestion if he’d ever heard one, and the strike that landed sent him reeling. Chained now, he hit the ground hard, writhing in the dirt where he’d been toiling mere minutes before.

“Oh,” said the prince. “You think you’re going to your execution, do you?”

He turned, giving orders to his royal guards and to the ones who patrolled the camp, not another glance or word spared for the scholar. One of the iron-gripped soldiers wrenched him to his feet yet again and informed him that if he didn’t walk, he’d be dragged away, and that it was his choice. To himself, the scholar laughed, for choice had become an entirely foreign entity.

This fact was something no one else seemed to understand, for when he’d been loaded into a wagon, the prince addressed him again. His eyes roamed over the shackles, the magic-suppressing bands, the limp way the scholar’s shirt hung off his shoulder to reveal the cursed black letters on his skin. “If only,” he said, “you’d made the right choice, perhaps we wouldn’t be here.”

“I would do it again,” the scholar said. If the choice had been to help her escape or to let her be caught and subject her to the prince’s whims instead, what choice had ever existed at all?

Pearly teeth flashed as the door closed. “Well, you say that now, old friend. But we shall see.”

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[artharakka]

Beautiful, But Broken

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Israel justifies its genocide of Palestinians based on “freeing the hostages” while they run concentration camps where they torture and rape Palestinian captives.

[emonydeborah]

trektober day 14: historical AU/recruitment

Pikeuna wwii AU for historical AU day

———

"Take him to Number One." Chris swallowed. The tone in which the resistance fighter- Neera, one of the others had called her- spoke of their leader made him feel underdressed for the occasion. He could hardly be blamed for his appearance; it hadn’t been his choice to crash in the French countryside. Still, he surreptitiously tried to smooth his hair and wipe the mud off his face and he was led the through the dilapidated, bombed out apartment building. The ropes around his wrists didn’t help.

People cut off their conversations as he passed, pressing themselves against the wall and staring like they had never seen a man in uniform.

Probably not his uniform, Chris thought with regret. The Allies weren’t even close to liberating this area.

“In here.” Neera opened an apartment door and nodded for him to enter. Shabby wallpaper and cracked plaster flickered in lantern light, splashing monstrous shadows on the wall. Chris squinted in the low light.

Two women were hunched over a table, pointing at a map and speaking in tense voices. The shorter woman was facing the door, and when Chris entered she straightened.

“Commander.” She nodded towards Chris. The other woman straightened to her considerable height and turned.

Chris’s jaw dropped. “Una?”

She was paler and gaunter than when he had known her. Dressed all in black rather than the bright colors she used to favor, she looked more like a prison camp survivor than the leader of a resistance cell.

It occurred to Chris that she could be both.

“Chris?” Her face lit up, and it was the most beautiful sight Chris had seen in some time.

She took a step forward, arms half raised, but glanced around and stopped in her tracks. She cleared her throat.

“Give us a minute,” she said. The other woman at the table bristled, watching Chris with open suspicion.

“Commander, for your safety-”

“Now, La’an.” Una nodded to the guards still restraining Chris, and they let go with some reluctant mumbling. Neera dragged them out of the room, and with a click of her tongue La’an followed them out. She gave Chris a warning look, and held eye contact until she shut the door. Chris tried not to gulp.

Cold fingers on his wrist made him jump, and Una smirked. She pulled the rope off his wrists, and Chris didn’t even wait for feeling to return to his hands before he pulled her into his arms.

She was slower to hug him back than she used to be, but she held him just as tightly as she always did.

The kiss was natural and desperate, anything to convince him she was alive. She wasn’t as substantial as before, and he felt like no matter how tight he held her, she was seconds from slipping away through the cracks in the walls.

She broke the kiss and just held him, trembling.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Chris murmured into her hair.

“You thought I was dead?” Una pulled back just enough to look him in the face. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair, and Chris took her hand and kissed it.

“I didn’t hear from you for months, and no one would give me any answers,” Chris said. “I didn’t know what to think.” Una stroked his cheek with her thumb.

“You didn’t think I just got bored of you?” she teased.

“Nope.” Chris couldn’t find it in him to make it a joke, but Una still smiled. She didn’t offer any answers, just leaned her forehead onto his with a sigh. “Una.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t want to talk about it. He hadn’t seen her in eighteen months and he knew she didn’t want questions. But his last thought before hitting the ground had been of her, and how he was going to see her soon.

Not like this, though he much preferred it this way.

“How did you end up here? What happened?”

Una sighed again. “I couldn’t stand by any more, Chris.”

“The Women’s Auxiliary-”

“I know, it was important work, but I felt so useless.” Despite his resistance, she peeled herself away and led him to the map. “Did you know I was born here?” She pointed to an obscure town a few miles from what Chris guessed was their position. “My parents moved us to America when I was seven, made me a proper American girl.” Chris wrapped an arm around her waist, unwilling to let her get too far. “I enlisted to fight for America, but the more I heard the rumors out of France the more I wanted to help.”

“You were helping,” Chris insisted. “You and the other auxiliary pilots-”

“It wasn’t enough!” Una burst. She broke away and rounded the table. “People are fighting and dying everyday here. Not soldiers, civilians, young and old, women and children- I had to do something.” She gripped the edges of the table, face reddening in her fervor. “I dropped off my plane but I didn’t go back to the states. I hitched a ride across the channel and made my way here and I didn’t look back.”

Not once did she look up into his eyes. Her gaze was locked on the little town, barely more than a dot on the map. Chris slowly made his way around the table and laid his hand over hers.

“That was really brave,” he said quietly. She let out a breath.

“I’ll try to arrange for you to get back to your men,” she said, businesslike. Chris’s eyebrows jumped up.

“Through that?” He gestured to the enemy strongholds, a thick barrier between him and any allies.

“We’ll get it done,” Una said firmly. “There’s a path, most of us know it.”

“Una.” Chris squeezed her hand. “Let me rephrase: I’m not leaving you.” He nodded at the map. “It’s not worth risking anyone to get me through there.”

“Chris-”

“I’m not losing you again.” Una knew better than to argue with that stubborn tone. Chris grinned. “You need a pilot?”

“Nope,” Una answered. “But I’m sure I could find a job for Captain Christopher Pike.”

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

My favorite extremely niche garashir fanfic trope is when people write "what Garak was doing in If Wishes Were Horses" fic and obviously Julian shows up but so does Tain at the same time. Like it makes perfect thematic sense that Garak's guilt and trauma show up to ruin his romantic/sexual daydreams! But also. god. the Freud of it all.

[cordyceph]

nonono you guys dont understand i have been on and off reading a book that i think may be the worst book ever written.

it follows Ruby, a timid child swept up in a dystopian hell created by a disease that left millions of children dead and parents panicking. those that survived the disease, like Ruby, were sent off to prison camps to be "rehabilitated" or simply contained. sometimes killed

the book eventually follows her escape and survival with other runaway kids yada yada its all boring as hell really

the thing that pisses me off so greatly is the sorting system for the children. its a color system, green to red, which is implied several times to be equal to their danger. but the individual classifications are also different powers? oranges have the ability to influence peoples thoughts and emotions, blues are telekinetic, yellows are electro kinetic. but wouldnt someone who can throw things with his mind be scarier and more dangerous than someone who sometimes fritzes technology? the scaling system doesn't have any nuance, either, so its frustrating

i lied. the worst part is Ruby herself. she's been isolated from the world for six years, since she was ten years old, yet she is able to comprehend the gravity of how many children died. shes able to process emotions in a very adult way despite being sixteen with severe ptsd and no real role models

oh, and her name is Ruby. in a system where we never see another red class child, only oranges. her name is Ruby Elizabeth David. i want to strangle the author with dental floss.

there's only one thing worse than an awful book, and that is an awful book with ONE tantalisingly compelling element

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: noncon, gangbang, pillory, elf-reader, orc assailants, war between orcs and elves, racism between orcs and elves, captive reader, poor confinement conditions, starvation, piss drinking, cumflation, mindbreak, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

The orc camp smells of blood and sweat and other obscenities you and your snooty elven nose fear naming. 

They’ve stripped you and your fellow troops of all weaponry and armor—ugly bastards even took your boots! Leaving you in only silken undergarments, standing barefoot in the cold, wet mud. 

It’s to make it harder to run away if you were to escape, you suspect. You can’t decide if it’s a clever tactic or simply a cruel one. Either way, it’s the least of your worries... You haven't been fed or given water since yesterday when you were all captured—paired with having been made to march for half the day barefoot, all tied up by your wrists, one behind the other, toed along like animals with mean tugs that had more than one of you falling face first in the mud—who knows how many of you will be able to continue walking when they decide it’s time to start moving again—much less run away if and when the opportunity presents itself—leaving you hopeless if someone doesn’t do something soon.

And it turns out that someone is you.

“Hey!” you yell. Bruised hands gripping the splintered wooden bars of your crudely built prison, glaring at the two brutes standing watch.

They acknowledge your shout, but neither of them gives any reason for you to believe they understood you were talking to them. Looking at you, then at each other.

“Yes, you two, guards!” you make clear.

They continue to look at you, yet don’t make a move.

You sigh exasperatingly—yet with how tired you are, it’s more a full-chested groan unbecoming of a fine elven knight, but under the circumstances, you couldn’t much care. 

“I know ungodly monstrosities such as yourselves don’t require much to sustain your foul existence, but elves need food—at the very least water!” 

A fellow elf grabs your shoulder gently, saying something under his breath, perhaps in an effort to make you quiet, but you nudge it off and continue your rant in spite of it. 

“If you plan to keep us alive—as I would think, given your decision to cage us—I would advise you to meet us with the bare necessities!”

Both guards look away toward another orc—one sitting on a thick log at the mouth of one of the nicer, warmer-looking tents they’d pitched—perhaps the biggest one—sharpening his blade with a rock.

He doesn’t look up from his handiwork but speaks, “The elf is hungry?”

You scowl at the question. “Yes, you oaf—the elf is, in fact, hungry.”

He lifts his blade and looks it over—one side, then the other—before sinking it deep down into the mud. Tossing the rock away, he stands and whistles sharply, prompting the two guards to wander off as if to get something. Meanwhile, what seems to be the commander starts walking towards the prison.

Regret starts to fester as he approaches, and you’re reminded once again why the inferior race best you in battle time and time again despite your obvious intellectual difference. Three cabbage heads taller than you, his weight must be about four or five, maybe even six, times yours—built like a grizzly bear—plus his armor, which easily adds another.

He unlocks the prison, and you step back on instinct.

“Come. You will be fed,” he says, opening the gate wide.

You look behind you—all the other elves have scurried back into the far end of the cage, leaving you alone in your endeavor, which only feels foolish now that you’re sure he’s going to use those blood-dirty hands of his to squish your head clean off your shoulders as soon as you step out.

Even still, maybe by the adrenaline of imminent death or the lightheadedness of starvation, you dare ask, though a little cautiously now, “What’s on the menu?”

The orc snorts—perhaps at your pickiness—finding your resolve to uphold your standards funny, given you weren't in much of a situation to make demands. You could scoff, too—of course, you can't expect an orc to understand anything about standards.

He smirks, answering, “Something to keep warm."

Or perhaps he was laughing for an entirely different matter...

The guards return carrying something. You spot them behind him, trudging loudly in the slop before halting—mounting something close to the firepit.

By the time you understand what it is, it’s already too late. Your hair’s grabbed—as well as your entire skull—taken in one meaty hand, pulled out of the safety of the cage, and shoved harshly down into the wet dirt.

He locks up the gate again as you lie there. And you take your chance to try and run, crawling forward—fighting through the clay, dragging you down. Scrambling for balance, you’ve barely even made it up on your feet once he grabs you again—this time leading you towards the other two standing in wait along the torture device they’ve set up just for you.

You’re lifted to stand atop a crate, making you the right height, then bent over—with your wrist led into each their position as well as your throat, shoved down as the lunette comes down and successfully locks you in place—perfectly trapped in the pillory with no means of escape.

You pull and struggle, toiling against the wooden plates—too late for any such silly thing as regret you can only whimper in short, panicked screams and cries—but it’s no use. The hand comes back and grabs your hair, yanking it tightly, making your neck crane as he forces you to look up despite the fixed position.

He smiles down at the look on your face—watching your tears make clear streaks through the mud, lips wobbly as you begin to beg, “Please—I’m sorry, I’ll—”

“Oh, don’t worry, little elf,” he cuts you off with a coo, grabbing your jaw in his other hand. “You’ll be fed, just like promised.”

Something behind you rips your silk cloth away, baring you. You stiffen all over, breath hitching as useless fists whiten in their restraints. You want to kick, to thrash—but poor balance only results in you choking yourself—and so you’re left to stand there, helpless—bowed and nude before three orcs you’ve angered with your reckless entitlement.

“Mh, pretty elf holes…” one of the guards behind murmurs, cupping your asscheeks and spreading them to take a look, filtering grubby fingers through the crack and lips, rubbing over both holes.

You shake, trying to thwart their efforts. But a gritty pad roughs over your clit and finds purchase below it.

“Stop, stop! Don’t!” you wail, but it pries you apart anyway—wriggling inside your cunt in a brutish shove, it sheathes itself deeply in curiosity to see how much you could fit, eagerly pumping it inside knuckle-deep before pulling back out—then repeating the motion—promptly finger-fucking the tight opening with a digit the size of an average elf’s manhood.

You sob, heaving for breath. Shaking your head in shame as you start to slicken—if just to make it a little more bearable, but the wet noise of it only serves to make you wish they’d killed you instead.

“Shh, elf. Don't cry.” The commander orc in front of you keeps his hold on your hair, talking down to you as he admires your despair. “We’ll give you what you beg for…” He strokes your cheek harshly with the other hand, smearing your tears before moving on to his armored belt. 

You whimper as it drops, revealing what must be your newest and truest worst nightmare. 

“A warm meal in all your hungry holes.”

The two guards take turns behind you. You can’t see them, but they’ve made themselves more than known—having stretched out both your openings to accommodate their overgrown size. 

They seem to like it when you cum—keeping their fat fingers on your clit and always fondling your tits, rubbing your nipples as they fuck your womb deeply until you wet them with your fluids. Your knees gave in a little while ago—their groping now the only thing keeping you upright, and the steady pounding the only thing keeping you awake.

Meanwhile, the commander has his fun with your face. Making you cuddle his heavy ballsack, dousing your face in the rank. With a dagger threatening your pretty eye, he'd coaxed your tongue out to play sooner than you’re proud of—now pliantly hanging from your mouth, licking every foul-tasting patch of his toad-like skin—feeling worse than a beggar eating scraps.

But you ought to thank him. Earlier, he’d tried forcing his length down your throat—making your jaw all but unlock to make room. His cockhead is the size of your fist—in the end, you could only suck on it, only able to satisfy him and his harsh scalp-ripping grip on your hair by prodding his dickhole with your tongue. He started petting you when you did that, making you feel all the more defeated.

His mercy tastes worse than the rancid white you’d been made to swallow. You’d wanted to bite, but the dagger he’d earlier stabbed into the wooden plate for safe-keeping keeps you sweet as you lick and suck the prominent veins running up his fat size—face glazed in sweat and spit, both his and yours.

“Poor elf-bitch…” he jeers while twirling a lock of your fine hair around his crooked finger. “Fed twig all your pretty life—of course, you’re hungry.”

He chuckles, voice hoarse and muted—almost soft, were it not for its gritty timbre. Keeping his cock resting heavy against your face, covering your eye while rubbing the base against your pouty lips.

“A mouthy whore like you needs real cock. Only happy when you’re pounded like meat.” He hums, “In your natural state, pleasing those bigger and stronger than you as a good pet should.”

He laughs louder, rumbles with it enough to shake the ground, then breaks away from you.

“Leave her cunt to me,” he says, folding his arms upon his chest, leaving his heavy cock to swing between muscle-ripped thighs as he leers at the scene. “Prissy elf pussy’s mine to breed.”

One of the guards soon takes up the vacant spot in front of you, putting his leaky tip to your lips in a sloppy kiss before pressing through to fight your throat for space—putting you in an air-tight spitroast—with your ass already being forced to play host for the other intruder, getting your drenched and swollen pussy slapped by a pair of weighty balls on each of his breath-robbing thrusts into your guts.

“A'right, boys,” the commander announces, “Let's stuff her ‘til she’s big and round. 'See if she's still hungry then.”

They both groan and dig in as far as your body allows, bordering on its limits, making you stretch to take them deeper before planting their seed—coming in fast ropes at first, then thicker waves, and finally smaller spurts aided by the shunting of their hips as they rut against you—feeding it to you without rush, one dose after the other, until their balls were all good and empty.

Then they sigh, breathing heavily, waiting for their seed to be settled and swallowed in your bowels before slowly sliding their spent cocks out—letting the overdose spill from your holes as you take a weakened breath and quake in the aftershocks, left hanging in the stand with a body full of orc cum and something else, something that's made your mind feel all funny and flirty. 

Then, stomach heavy and warm, hanging with more weight than your breasts—tender and oddly tingly all over—you croon, like a cow, when the commander lifts your hips and eases inside your cunt only a short moment after—starting to pound you softly but deep enough to make your head hang and tongue drip with drool, moaning like an animal in its heat, all silly, like a mating-call, waiting for your womb to be fed with the same warmth.

He cups your buttcheeks with both his thumbs hooked within your ass, and still, he feels you tremble and cum without your clitty being touched—milking him for his spend, begging him with your tongue out in sweet mews. "Bleath, bleath, mathder~"

And although he can't see it from his position, it still makes him smile. “That’s right, dumb little elf-pet. Beg, and you will be fed.”

You clench up and throttle when he finally blows, and the warmth swarms your gushy insides in heavenly goo—leaving you feeling cozy from the inside out—cross-eyed and panting in utter ecstasy.

He also waits—waits until his cum takes root and his cock unswells for a good minute or two before pulling out with a throaty sigh. Then he rounds the pillory, a heavy step at a time, until his lousy and still steaming cock is met face to face with your sweaty flush-cheeked expression.

“Still hungry, elf-girl?” he asks, jostling the sloppy member against your equally drowsy face. “Or was it thirsty?”

He picks your chin up with a hand, holding it steady while watching your half-mast and glazed heart-eyes lazily blink up at him—grinning and humming at the sight.

“Tell me, elf-pet, which of it was it you were whining about?”

Drool spills from your mouth as you answer, speech slurred like a drunken degenerate, “Both~”

He clicks his tongue, “Spoiled.” But he doesn’t seem angry—no, rather pleased. “You’ve been well-fed for now—time to wash it down.”

He lifts his heavy slug and puts the numb tip to your lips, which eagerly parts wide for him to press inside softly, filling the drizzly cavern, cockhead resting neatly on the wet bed of your tongue. 

You obediently await it with your eyes locked onto his—both moaning once it comes. Hot and salty-sweet, it pours onto your tongue and sloshes down your throat, spilling from your mouth and somehow splashing all over your face—making you shudder in warm bliss as you gulp it down as if it’s in another class from the aged wine back home.

“Drink, elf-slave. Drink and be grateful,” he instructs, and you obey, allowing the piss-stream to hit the back of your throat where you could glug it all down with minimal spill.

When it stopped, you sucked his tip and tongued the slit like before, cleaning it dry of the last drop, saying, “Thank you—thank you, master.”

Elves never cease to surprise him. Always so prissy—high and mighty creatures—and yet they fall the farthest from grace when pushed. 

He had many different ideas on how to make an example of you to the others—cease any ideas they might have of uproar and rebellion. Leave you here for the ogres and trolls to come and have their sloppy seconds. Tie you up by your ankles and drag you behind the horses through all the muck. Let the rest of his troops have at you until you met with your unfortunate end.

But no. He thinks not.

“Let’s move—” he announces to the camp. “Time to take our bounty home.”

After all, for all your whining, you did have a point earlier—you elves are only good to them alive and well. Best get you to the nearest market and sell you.

The guards unfix you from the pillory and start hauling your collapsed form back to the cage.

“No, not her,” he corrects them, thinking of your pretty eyes and soft tongue and that pretty elf cunt that milked him dry like none other. “She rides with me.”

On bearback, he ties your hands around his neck and lets you sleep with your head on his chest, riding backward with your legs draped over his—still naked with your cum-belly leaking out over his saddle—making a mess he’ll have you lick clean later.

“Tell me if you get hungry again, little elf,” he sneers, though a little fondly. “I’ll feed you again.”

And you, despite groggy, with eyes closed, mumble back dumbly, “Thank you, master.”

♡ PART TWO

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku ♡ HxH – Uvogin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[bountydroid]

Darlin' pt 3

pt 1 / pt 2 /pt 4

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (Slowburn romance, we will get there eventually)

Description: Reader and the ghoul navigate their new, unconventional friendship on their way to Filly. 

TW: Mentions of emotional abuse and bad parenting, slight angst slight fluff, reader has no social skills.

After the ghoul defended me in town, I felt much more comfortable in his presence. I had a new vigor for the adventure in front of us. It was much more exciting than anything I would do on my own. After a couple of hours on the trail, I decided to try and talk to him. However, his demeanor hadn't changed much.

"My name is Y/n, by the way," I said nonchalantly while hiking next to him.

"Don't remember askin'." He responded, refusing to look at me. 

"Just thought you should know." I pouted at his cold response. "Since we are travelin' together and all that."

"Well, now I know." He said, finally looking over at me.

We made eye contact for a moment before he swiftly turned his gaze back to the trail ahead of us. 

"So...." I started. "You ain't gonna tell me your name."

"No." He sighed, obviously getting annoyed as he let out a small cough.

I bit my cheek as I buried my disappointment. "How far to Filly?" I asked quietly.

"About a day" He responded between coughs as he stopped and pulled out some Jet from his pack and added it to his inhaler. I watched, intrigued as he breathed it in deeply. His eyes slowly raked over my body like he was looking for a reaction, but I just gave him an awkward smile.

The two of us continued in silence. I wondered about what a ghoul's life was like. I never met a ghoul before him. How long does it take them to change? The Jet must help keep the side effects at bay. I wondered how long it helps for. What was his life like before he turned into a ghoul? I wished I could ask him, but if his reaction earlier was any indication, he wasn't interested in conversation. I was so lost in thought that I stopped paying attention to the world around me.

The next thing I knew I was squealing as I tripped over a rock and started to fall forward.

"God damn it." I heard him say as he swiftly caught me before I could faceplant into the dirt. He roughly pulled me up and helped me to my feet. 

My face burned with embarrassment. "Thank you," I mumbled out. 

He just scoffed in response before he started walking again. I followed close behind, pouting in silence. 

The rest of the day was quiet and uneventful, but as the day went on I started to get more and more agitated by his silence. Finally, we made camp.

As I gathered up the firewood and brought it back to camp I decided I had had enough. "I want to know your name," I said confidently, dropping the pile at his feet. 

"I want things too, you don't see me bitchin' about it." He mumbled back.

"You are going to be nicer to me, or I am going to leave," I demanded.

This caught his attention as his gaze quickly met mine. I could tell he was trying to gauge if I was serious or not. In all honestly, I wasn't, but I didn't want him to know that so I just stood there, unwavering. 

"You can try." He said menacingly, "But I ain't gonna let you." 

"So, what? I am just your prisoner now? You gonna keep me around till you get hungry?" I said, anger bubbling over in my chest. 

At this, he paused, a look of hurt flashed across his face. However, I was too caught up in my own emotions to notice it.

"Did I go from one man's prisoner to another's?" I asked.

Tears of frustration at his silence started to form in the corner of my eyes before I turned around, grabbed my bag, and stomped off. I didn't go far. I knew as soon as the sun came up I was going to go right back to following him around, so after about 10 minutes I sat up against a tree and let out a sigh. I knew I was acting childish, but in town, I genuinely thought I had made a friend in him. My father never let me have friends. I was forced to stay in the house and look after him and my brothers. I wasn't allowed to have a life of my own. I was naive to think that the ghoul would want to be my friend. As I started to drift off, I heard footsteps coming up behind me. I didn't bother looking because I knew it was him, coming to drag me back as promised.

"Cooper." He said, leaning against the other side of the tree.

"What?" I asked confused.

"My name, darlin'." He responded quietly.

We stayed there in silence for a couple of minutes before I spoke up.

"I was never going to leave," I admitted.

"I know." He said, letting out a small chuckle. "Now get your pretty ass back to camp."

I hummed quietly before grabbing my pack and getting up from the ground. I made my way to the other side of the tree so I could take a look at him. I could barely see him in the dark, but what I could see was eyes staring down at me. "Okay," I whispered.

-

The next day I woke up confused. There was no boot in my side, and Cooper was nowhere to be seen. "Cooper?" I said quietly. When I got no response. "COOPER?" I yelled into the forest. 

"Stop your hollering." I heard him say in the distance.

"Where did you go?" I asked breathlessly.

"Got myself some breakfast." He said nonchalantly as he held up a deformed rabbit while walking towards me.

"Why didn't you wake me? You always wake me." I asked, fear still evident across my face.

He was quiet for a moment before he responded quietly, "I was bein' nice." 

I stared at him in shock while he was trying to look anywhere but at my face. "Oh."

We sat around the fire in silence as he ate the rabbit, I tried not to watch because honestly? That rabbit looked disgusting. While I waited I picked up one of the sticks and drew some stick figures in the dirt. I tried my best to give one a cowboy hat, but I don't think Cooper noticed. Once he was finished we picked up our bags, stomped out the fire, and went on our way again.

After a couple more hours of silence, I decided to try to talk to him again.

"I think you have pretty eyes." I blurted out.

At this, he stopped in his tracks and stared at me like I grew another head. I started to get self-conscious as his gaze bore into me. He was a cocky man, by all means. However, it had been a LONG time since anything about him was considered pretty. 

I grimaced at his reaction "Sorry, I am not very good at conversation." I said sheepishly.

After a couple of minutes of silence, I decided to start walking in the general direction we were going earlier. I honestly had no idea where I was going, but I couldn't bear to stand there under his gaze any longer. After a minute, I could hear him trailing behind me and I felt the tension release from my body.

"No more compliments" I noted to myself.

We continued on in silence for some time before we could finally see Filly in the distance. My feet were raw and blistered from all the walking, so to finally see our destination was a welcome sight. 

I looked back at the ghoul and smiled, "We made it!" 

Much to my surprise, he had a matching smile on his face. I turned back around to Filly, excited to explore. I could feel his eyes on me as I skipped into town, stopping to look at all the stalls on my way past.

"So now what?" I asked, turning to face him.

"Now we wait, Darlin'." He chuckled in response. 

The idea of being there when he caught his bounty filled me with excitement. This was nothing like what I assumed my life would become when I ran away.

tag list: @msrawog @valdemarismynonbinarylove @topiramateagreeable

[applesauce42069]

With people like Candace Owens spreading misinformation about medical experiments at Auschwitz, it is important to be literate in this aspect of Holocaust history.

TW below the cut for: medical experimentation and malpractice, forced sterilization, antisemitism, anti-roma and sinti racism, discussion of concentration camps and the Holocaust. I will not include any photos. My source for everything is this book, published by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum.

There were more Nazi "doctors" at Auschwitz than I will be able to cover in this post. It is important to note that these "doctors" did not just perform experiments, but they also played a direct role in the genocide of the Jews at Auschwitz by participating in "selections." During these "selections," prisoners or prospective prisoners were chosen to be sent to the gas chambers. I say prospective prisoners because a selection usually took place at arrival upon the camp, with most children, the elderly, and anyone unfit for work, or for some people,just because, were sent immediately to the gas chambers without even being registered in the camp. This is a process that is unique to Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Josef Mengele is by far the most famous SS "doctor" at Auschwitz. He was the head physician of the sector of Auschwitz II - Birkenau which held Roma and Sinti families, before the camp was "liquidated" which mean that every man, woman and child in it were sent to the gas chambers. Mengele performed experiments related to twins, people with dwarfism, and a disease called noma (don't look it up its gross).

Lorenc Andreas Menasche and his twin sister were experimented on by Josef Mengele. Menasche testified about undergoing experimentation with his sister:

"They also gave us injections all over our bodies. As a result of these injections, my sister fell ill. Her neck swelled up as a result of a severe infection. They sent her to the hospital and operated on her without anesthetic in primitive conditions"

Elzbieta Piekut-Warszawska, an Auschwitz prisoner forced to assist with Mengele's experiments, describes experiments on Jewish twins:

"Drops were also put into their eyes. I did not see the procedure itself, since they took the children into the next room. Some pairs of children received drops in both eyes, and others only in one. I was ordered to observed the reactions, and not to intervene in any way in case of any changes... The results of these practices were very painful for the victims. They suffered from severe swelling of the eyelids, a burning sensation, and intense watering of hte eyes"

Dr. Miklos Nyiszli, a Hungarian Jew, was also forced to assist Dr. Mengele. He describes being forced to perform autopsies on a pair of "small twins" who:

"... died [were killed] simultaneously... Their death makes it possible to carry out autopsies on them, intended to solve the mystery of reproduction."

Nyiszli says that Mengele was interested in twins with the aim of "increas[ing] the birth rate of the 'higher race'"

At the same time, two separate "doctors," Carl Clauberg and Horst Schumann, were performing sterilization experiments on Jewish prisoners in order to find an effective method of mass sterilization.

Clauberg's experiments involved introducing chemicals into the reproductive organs of Jewish women. Alina Białostocka, an Auschwitz prisoner who was forced to assist Clauberg testified that

"[the] procedure was carried out brutally, and often caused complications"

When it "worked," the procedure left women forcibly sterilized for life.

Horst Schumann's experiments involved the use of x-ray on male and female genitalia. According to Felicja Pleszowska, an Auschwitz prisoner forced to assist with experiments, Schumann's experiments were

"very painful and dangerous to life. There were frequent cases of men dying immediately after such procedures"

From the combined victims of these two men, only very few individuals survived.

Eduard Wirths, Friedrich Entress, Helmuth Vetter, Fritz Klein, Werner Rhode, Hans Wilhem Konig, Victor Capesius and Bruno Weber all tested pharmaceuticals on Auschwitz prisoners on behalf of companies like Bayer (which still exist and operate).

I cannot stress enough the mortality rate of all the medical experiments that took place in Auschwitz. I cannot stress enough the harm done to those who survived. I cannot stress enough the fact that the information I have provided here is just the tip of the iceberg, and that these experiments were VERY well documented BY THE NAZIS THEMSELVES.

This is horrifying. This is real. And we cannot let people insult the memory of these horrors by manipulating historical fact for selfish gain.

[mysticheathenn]

Messages From Your Mental Prison

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about your mental health and the state of how you view the world and everything that is going on in your life. This could be about your depression, Anxiety, or even suicidal thoughts. Read with caution as this reading may have triggers.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

TW Ahead Read With Caution

Pile l:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: 8 of Pentacles (Reversed), 9 of Swords, 4 of Swords (reversed), 10 of Cups (reversed), Justice

This reminds me of the TikTok clip of the voice screaming "It's not fair. It's not fair." reminding me of how many people have probably told you that you handle stress and everyday life so well but little do they know your mental state is literally one inconvenience away from having a mental breakdown. Stress and anxiety practically camp out in your mind on a daily basis pile l. You can't seem to escape it, it's all you have known for quite a while and you're tired. There is a saying that "There is no sleep for the wicked" Well in your case "There is no sleep for the poor or those who lack the resources to pull themselves up in their life." All you want in life is enough to pay your bills and a little extra for savings and be able to do something with your life like try a new hobby without feeling guilty for spending money that isn't on "important" things like survival. You probably have been in survival mode for quite some time now and wondering when will you see a breakthrough. You're tired of being tired. You're tired of practically playing Russian roulette with your bills of which one can you not pay for this month. One thing I will say pile l is even though things may seem bleak please don't give up, I sense things will get better financially for you. Sometimes in life you just need to find your footing for things to take off.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Leaf Oracle: Seek out information that will help you out, A Journey either physical or mental, unsettled times. Need to plan ahead, Announcement, Get back to the basics.

Pile l your extra message oracles make me believe that you feel lost, maybe even stuck for some of you with no clue in the world of how to better your situation or go about life. You have the get back to the basics card which sticks out to me like a sore thumb letting the game know that I sense you may be the type who always tries to do those get-rich-and-quick schemes like drop shipping or anything else you see that pops up on your social media feed and it never works out for whatever reason. You want to know why....it's because you aren't supposed to be doing that. That's not your path to riches. You have the 8 of Pentacles and 10 of Cups card but it's reversed meaning you are meant to have emotional and financial fulfillment you just need to stop and get back to the basics. What basics mystic? What is it that has been drawing or calling you in? What is something you keep putting off or not doing because you believe based on society and family it won't make you any money? For most of you, this is what you need to be doing. For others of you, you will be going on a journey where you need to find this out. Figure out what feeds your soul that you would do for free and do that but add tax. You are meant to freelance and be your own boss, not working for other people. Overall this is a journey process for you pile l. You will deal with more hard times as you figure this out but remember this journey is temporary to where you want to be, so keep pushing. An answer if it hasn't already will come to you.

Pile ll:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: The Hermit, Page of Swords (reversed), Queen of Cups, 10 of Wands, 10 of Swords (reversed)

When was the last time you nurtured yourself or spent time alone and really tried to heal and nurture yourself with positive thoughts pile ll. It's a never-ending cycle of you constantly bombarding yourself with cruel words that aren't true. This reminds me slightly of the reading I posted titled Mystery pt. ll. But overall this feeling of yours feels more so as if the world has its weight on your shoulders and you feel as if you are a burden to those around you. You may live at home, with roommates, or feel that you constantly are asking anyone and everyone around you for help as if you can't do anything for yourself and you're tired. You're ready to be able to be independent without having to rely on others. Maybe others have made you feel bad as well for asking for help when you are down on your luck to where you just feel crushed, stuck, unable to move in a direction because one way people will make you feel bad for your predicament and the other hand you will make yourself feel bad because you feel whatever this is you should be able to do by yourself but can't because life is tough right now. As I mentioned in pile l you need to get back to the basics. Get back to the basics of life and take things one step at a time. You are doing the best you can with what you have and don't let anyone make you feel bad about that.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Leaf Oracle: Position of authority, August, Someone you know is undependable and insincere, Slowly but surely getting ahead. Pay attention to your work, Good Fortune.

As mentioned your life while it maybe chaotic at the moment everything is a journey and slowly but surely things will get better and you will get ahead eventually. With the Position of authority I am seeing this in two ways some of you should pay attention to your work as there may be a position available for you in management where you can make more money this may happen around or sometime in August. If not within the company you work maybe this is an invitation to be your own boss or look elsewhere for higher positions especially if you have more than enough qualifications. For others of you, this position of authority is letting you know that you are the boss of your own life and have complete control of what goes on and who is in it. Never let people who claim to be friends or family make you feel bad for being on hard times. They aren't who they say they are and you should move accordingly with that information. Overall Good Fortune is in your cards by the end of this rough patch. You just need to focus and hone in on ways you can do more within your life with the resources of which you have. Again this could be moving up in the company or going elsewhere, where advancement is an option.

Pile lll:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: The Star, The Sun, Ace of Pentacles (reversed), The Fool (reversed), Awakening

Pile lll, my babies, it's time to allow yourself to be seen by the world. It's time to stop hiding in the shadows allowing life to pass you by. You can't keep yourself in the mental prison of feelings of imposter syndrome, fear of judgment, etc. Life wants to give you financial blessings, especially with the Ace of Pentacles in Reversed but you are blocking them because you aren't doing what needs to be done. This could be you starting a YouTube channel, being a content creator on social media, writing a book or screenplay/ maybe even fanfiction for some of you, others this might just be you hiding from a promotion that you deeply desire but feel you lack experience, knowledge, etc. Whatever this is for you, you have to release the thoughts that plague your mind and go for the thing that puts you in front of everyone. Yes at first you may make mistakes or look cringe or whatever the issue may be but that's how everything is when you first jump deep into something. You make mistakes and people will talk...but you want to know something life moves on and the world doesn't end. Seriously do the thing, it's time. You will beat yourself up if others take the things that you want for yourself and you want to know something you have no one to blame but yourself because you decided to not do what needs to be done. Write the book. Film yourself. Apply for better jobs even if you think you are not qualified. Have you heard of the girl who applied to jobs she had no business doing and ended up getting hired making $100k a year...that could be you right now but you are stuck listening to self-doubt and the thoughts of what others will say. Storytime: I knew that I didn't want to continue working at whatever job I was working at back in 2015 so when my friend and I figured out that employers don't check a lot of your information we applied for positions that would pay us well and you want to know something the resume I lied on got me so far in life to where I was Assistant GM of hotels at one point. All because I believed I could do what others were doing in the hotel industry even without a lick of experience. Did I mess up in the beginning, yes. Did I care...no because I was doing more good than harm so no one really questioned if I lied or not. You have to take the jump. Do the thing.

Extra Messages: Tea Tree Leaf Oracle: Short Journey, Back to Basics, Work achievement & success, TIME TO ACT, Someone is extremely stubborn and unwilling to change, Protected from negative forces beyond your control, Solid foundation success with effort, waiting for news package or letter, A meeting with a strange could be important.

Pile lll do you see the amount of synchronicities in your oracle reading. Spirit is coming through loud and clear that you need to get out of your stubbornness and began acting on your dreams, goals, and desires. You are protected from anything that could try and take what this is away from you. Even with a solid foundation success with effort is telling you "Hey if you do the thing you will not fail because you are protected." Now this goes without saying that you won't deal with some challenges because that's life what it is saying is you will come out on top and the journey for you won't be a long one if you just do the effort that it takes. Spirit will do the rest if you just do what needs to be done.

Pile lV:

Messages From Your Mental Prison. Tarot: The Empress, Queen of Pentacles, 5 of Swords (reversed), 8 of Swords (reversed), 6 of Wands

You are victorious pile lV your only problem is that you don't believe you are worth a pot to piss in a lot of the time. Even with the Empress and Queen of Pentacles card here letting me know how nurturing, giving, empathetic, and even resourceful you are you don't see any good things about yourself. You remind me of people who speak negatively about themselves not knowing that their actions speak the opposite. You can't say you don't care but your actions speak another language. You can't put yourself down but then be upset when life mirrors your thoughts. Deep down you know how amazing you are and the many great things that you can do, but for some strange reason you recently for some of you while others of you this has been going on for a while where you constantly hold yourself to such a low standard and critic everything that you do. Why is that? Where did it begin? How can you remove this person or thing that made you feel this way? For some of you, this may have been a relationship (platonic, romantic, or familial) that made you feel self-critical of yourself because they felt something about themselves. You must remember that when people speak unkind things to you that it's a reflection of themselves and not you. You don't have to take what others think of you and run with it as if they are true because they are not. A scene that comes to mind is when the mom in Black Swan says "What happened to my little girl?" What happened to you that made you feel and think these thoughts to yourself and how can you get back to the Empress and Queen of Pentacle energy.

Extra Messages: Manifestation Oracle Cards: Wellbeing, Empowerment, Strength

How can you today give yourself the love that you deserve? Is it a DIY spa day? A trip to a therapist or talk with a trusted friend? How can you show up for yourself in ways that you haven't before that will make you see the person you are? Have the strength and courage to stand up to anyone who makes you feel any less than what and who you are. For a few of you, you may be a part of the LBGTQ+ community and others around you have made you feel different, a "freak" or whatever insecurity that you question your existence. There is a quote by Elenor Roosevelt that says "No one can make you feel inferior without your permission." Please don't let assholes who were raised by baboons let you lower yourself or feel anything less than amazing, beautiful, and authentically you. Regardless of how you feel about yourself find something in your life, day, or something as small as a freckle on your face that you love and keep bringing more of that energy in for you and keep your head up. This feeling is only temporary, things will get better.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[cultofdixon]

You just know sometimes

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • So much had to happen between Terminus and Alexandria…You in your situation being one of them • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / Bruises / Scars / The Claimers & Cannibals Mentioned / Anxiety

Requested by: Anon

You failed Daryl Dixon

You fucking failed and people have died because of it

All you were tasked to do was to keep them safe

But yet here you are…and where are they?

Fucking DEAD

Daryl snapped out of his half asleep haze with a small grunt of annoyance which caught Carol’s attention instantly. She didn’t say a word but gave him a concerned look as they were currently holding up camp in the woods after another failed attempt at staying in a neighborhood. If only the herd didn’t come through it.

It was really starting to feel like the nine months before the prison.

When the group returned to the main road, they heard someone or something running in the woods which they obvious drawn their weapons thinking a possible threat. Rick directed with his head for Daryl and Glenn to join him going into the trees to figure out what that could possibly be.

“Glenn you take the right, Daryl left, and I’ll go forward” Rick stated as they instantly acted on such.

They equally gotten far into the woods and Glenn came across nobody, but there was a blood trail that he followed until he ran into Rick. When both were now following the blood trail, Daryl was occupied by some walkers that after taking out the few he came across he noticed the blood that the others have caught on. But the trail stopped at a tree and there’s no foot prints either.

Daryl flinched when he felt acorns fall on his head resulting in him looking up to find a person, a woman holding onto the base of the tree for dear life as the branch she sat on barely supported her.

“Did you find—-“ Daryl held his hand up stopping Rick from saying anymore before pointing upward.

Rick gestured for Glenn to take another angle but she wasn’t much of a threat.

“I-I know you’re t-there. I don’t have anything”

“What makes you think we can trust—-“ Glenn stopped his question when her pack dropped to their feet. He knelt down looking further into it finding only a lighter and what looks like a shiv because she has no weapon. She probably had to get creative with walkers. Then the obvious. “Wait. Are you bit?!” He snapped instantly causing Rick to ready his gun again as Daryl elbowed him to stop.

“I would like not to be dropped on by a walker, Daryl. You can’t be too sure what happened until she makes herself—-“ Rick stopped when the woman they were talking about finally climbed down the tree.

No obvious bites

But very obvious injuries

“I’m not bitten. I’m…being chased” She stated and it didn’t take long for the four to be alerted by the commotion on the road. Which had Rick sprinting without a second thought given his kids were there.

When the leader returned to the rest of his family, he noticed they had taken care of it. There were three men. Two were taken care of and one had gotten away but not without something to show for it.

“They were asking if we’ve seen some woman, then it got a bit hairy as if we were trying to hide something from them” Abraham started.

“They threatened to hurt the kids. We were going to let them live obviously” Carol continued as she had been hovering around Judith and Carl just as much as Michonne has with Tyreese.

“The third got away. To be honest with you, he ain’t gonna make it very fair” Noah frowns gripping the strap to his weapon while looking into the direction they had come from as Rick grew anxious of another threat like the Claimers only a few of them came in contact with. Which brought into question if they should let the woman they found in with them.

Given her state and lack of weapons, she’s no threat to them besides whoever wants her dead.

“We have the woman. She’s in bad shape. No weapons but a makeshift knife that could only really take out a rotting corpse like a walker.” Rick stated waiting for any negative sign from the group that would tell him to not bring her in.

“How bad is she?” Maggie frowns growing worried before turning to the sound of footsteps finding Glenn stepping out with Daryl who helped the woman walk. “We’ll help her”

“Is that really a good idea bringing in more trouble?” Sasha questioned only for Maggie to now have an annoyed look.

“We all actively entered Terminus and practically brought ourselves more trouble. We have the upper hand with whoever these men are, they don’t stand a chance”

“Then we’ll take her in. For right now, we should make camp before it gets too dark to see where we are going” Carol added as she followed Maggie’s lead in approaching the woman to help her, noticing Daryl was glued to her suddenly when they went to help her.

Y/N is her name

Rosita forced Eugene to help her and Glenn make up the trigger line as Tara added the cans. The technique to warn them of walkers when they make up camp in open areas. Abraham took care of taking first watch after checking out their perimeter.

Daryl took the first aid kit from Maggie once she found it out of all their persons, to bring it to Y/N and help assess her injuries noticing a few of the cuts on her arms were deeper than he anticipated. None of them could do stitches in the conditions they were in. He had to manage with heavy bandaging and she let him patch her up but the second he was done, she instantly retracted into herself.

“He feels guilty”

Rick watched Carol sit beside him as they were watching the scene before them.

“What do you mean?”

“He feels guilty for Beth so he has this need to save her” Carol frowns watching Daryl take out his canteen handing it to Y/N who rejected it. Regardless of how hard he insisted. “Save everyone even if it means tearing himself down”

“Well, he’s got us. They both do”

During the night when most were asleep, Daryl took over watch for Abraham letting the man get some sleep. He noticed Y/N get up from her spot and started to move past the trigger line keeping herself quiet…that’s probably why she’s gone unnoticed at first until her escape became dire.

“Take watch” Daryl whispered to Glenn not giving him a second to respond as he was already on his leave. Maggie couldn’t help herself from stirring awake when her husband moved but she noticed the archer and couldn’t help but worry.

“Where are you going?”

Y/N stopped in her track giving him a deer in headlights kind of look, especially given the light from his flashlight shined in her eyes.

“I’m leaving” She relaxed turning away from the light as Daryl turned it off but quickly took a hold of her arm as gentle as he could. “Listen—-“

“I’m not going to listen to anything by the lines of “it’s to protect us” when we’ve all had our fair share of bullshit in this world”

“But Daryl—-“ silence was quickly met when another set of footsteps were heard, and not just one and no sound that determined a walker or frankly any of their own.

Daryl only had his knife as did Y/N. He went to reach for his but she halted him, letting the two listen for a while longer.

“That stupid bitch just had to go and get some help”

“They should’ve let her bleed to death”

“Useless pig” the third whispered but there were more to follow and Y/N gave Daryl a concerned look before suddenly booking it after she grabbed the flashlight in his hand.

A diversion is what she decided upon without telling anything to Daryl as he stood there in a bit of shock watching her fade into the night until the light of his flashlight turned on. Then the sudden shift of stealth approach those chasing her, turned into sprints and shouts. That quickly alerted the others while Daryl ran back to get his crossbow that Maggie already met him halfway on.

This was stupid Y/N thought as she ran and dodged as many trees as she could in the night. Even with a flashlight, she couldn’t help but bump into a few and that only drove the pain from her previous injuries to a higher level.

“She just ran?!”

“As a diversion one can assume” Rick sprinted after Daryl with Maggie and Carol on either side of him and Abraham, Rosita, and Michonne following shortly behind.

The trail ran dry, how it could it have run dry?

“Fucking hell!” One of the men shouted and with his anger brewing externally, he pushed one of the others onto his back. “That fucking slut just had to get loose”

The one on the floor slowly picks himself up but only for the third, who seemed to be the angriest out of them all.

“If you had tied the knots better, she would still be the squirming mess beneath me back home” the tone of his anger only made it clear that he was the leader of them all. He quickly dropped the guy when he heard footsteps as two others quickly stepped toward the sound to investigate, only for one of them to meet their end with an arrow through his eye. “Motherfuckers—-“

“If you wanna live” Which you won’t

“You’re going to want to stay right there” Rick stated after Daryl, with his gun raised as their family had their weapons drawn to the living three that were more empty-handed. “Where’s the woman? The one you are after”

“Like we are going to help you find—-“ the one on the left side of the leader dropped dead after Daryl shot another bolt. This action caused the other lesser to panic.

“S-She ran off. W-We don’t k-know where she—-“ he met his end from Maggie, who had enough of the absent of clear answers.

“I’m the last one here. If you’re smart, you wouldn’t kill me if you want to know where she is” Which he didn’t know. “She’s always been this much trouble. You’re only signing yourselves up for someone who leaves when we were only doing her a favor”

“The injuries she bears, have nothing to do with “doing her a favor”” Glenn frowns keeping his attention on the man like the others, until he felt something from above hit him. He kept his composure letting Rick take lead in talking while he looked up while the others were still focused on the man. Finding Y/N hiding in the trees but also moving herself to get above the man.

“What did you do to her?” Daryl knew from what he saw, but how it happened was still a mystery. “What did she do to you to have what happened to her, happen?”

“Asking a lot of questions. She got what she deserved and she still needs to pay for a lot of it”

Michonne gave a quick glance to Rick in a way of telling him to just end this man. But she was observant enough to hear the movement above resulting in her and Glenn grabbing the few in front (Daryl, Rick, and Maggie) to pull them back letting Y/N fall from the tree and on top of this guy.

The force causing him to collapse and Y/N instantly drove her knife into his neck. She rolled off the man leaving the knife in him as she felt hands on her resulting in a total body jerk away when it was just Daryl helping her. He didn’t help until she relaxed enough and while he helped her, Rick searched through their packs finding some food they desperately needed.

Maggie went through one of them and pulled out a few photos held together by a paper clip. Only to realize Y/N was in these photos and they weren’t what you think given she was taken by disgusting men. It was photos that originally were hers and they had taken everything of hers.

“These belong to you” Maggie said with a soft reassuring smile as she gave Y/N the photos resulting in a few tears spilling from her eyes in relief. “How’d you…even end up with these guys?”

Y/N held the photos in her hands finding one of her and her family resulting in more tears but she quickly wiped them away. “I was with my family and we got into trouble with someone? Even in the end, there are people with power and these guys were sent after us when we left…and they wanted to do certain things to me that only got my dad and brother killed trying to protect me.”

“Did they—-“

“No…I kept fighting back to a point they had enough and just” Y/N gestures to herself and her injuries which were being eyed the entire time given she’s opened a few bandages resulting in a few bleeding again.

“Let’s get back to the others…get some rest” Maggie gave a warm smile to her as they all made sure there were no more before making their way back.

Finally their group settles with no threat other than walkers…everyone slept except for Rick on watch, and Daryl and Y/N who were too awake in that moment. He helped her with new bandages but she couldn’t help but get a feeling from him.

“You…are a protective person aren’t you?”

“What?”

“When I stumbled into your group, you didn’t hesitate to invite me in and protect me from the harm that is no longer a threat”

“There will always be a threat. You’re just…a part of us now. We’re protective of each other”

Y/N couldn’t help but strike that cord.

“I would protect the next person needing to be saved if I lost someone dear to me” She didn’t need to know about Beth, all she needed to know was the feeling and that’s what she got from his.

His silence only gave her the answer. She reached out and took his hand squeezing it to reassure him even if she didn’t know how it happened, that it wasn’t his fault.

“I barely know yea, and vise versa…yet you know so much”

“I’m good at reading body language when I’m not in distress. It comes in handy”

“Hm. Well. Aside from that, get to know us without reading just body language”

“I will” Y/N smiles, giving a soft thank you when he finished the last bandage. Daryl rose to his feet going to relieve Rick of his watch but as he looked back at her, she kept a smile.

It will come in handy one day, knowing someone just from their body language.

Daryl sat on the porch railing one night with one of his homemade cigarettes in hand thinking too hard on something. His attention instantly snapping out of it when the front door opened letting Dog out but also for Y/N to step out and sit next to him.

“I don’t—-“

“I know, but I’m here” Y/N reassures every thought coursing in his mind with that smile of hers which brought him to wrap his arm around her shoulders bringing her close.

“You do just know things”

[stromuprisahat]

Ivans loss: "soldiers aren't human beings" & "all grisha are soldiers" is probably what the author thinks. I still remember when RoW came out and someone asked Leigh Bardugo a very heated question about Fjerdans and she gave a strange justification (link below). She replied, no to making the reference (let's just respect that answer and let's say Fjerdans arent' what the question said they are - and I don't even want to type it out because it's like kicking a beehive and no good will come from it) Let's focus the issue of grisha = soldier = fair game Leigh justifies Matthias and Fjerda's actions by saying: @ 1:23 "Grisha are soldiers. they are weapons. they are ppl who are fighting back" But....SoC had Matthias and Fjerdans going after non-soldiers. They were quite literally hunting civilians, farmers, etc. in all the lands. "Pursuing rogue Grisha in other lands...liberating Grisha captives with the sole purpose of clapping them back in chains and sending them back to fjerda for trial and execution..." next page captive speaking "We are not criminals...we are ordinary people - farmers, teachers. Not me Nina thought grimly. I'm a soldier. ...Did Leigh truly forget about the 15 innocent souls who were chained in the ship? 15 souls who were there just for being grisha? Does she not re-read her works at all????? x.com/hellcatdynes/status/1584699468536221697

That woman! (derogatory)

(Ivan post)

tw: I'm not gonna hold back in this reply as much as I usually manage. It might get vulgar and harsh.

I've seen this particular pile of shit while it was fresh and gods! I can't even begin to explain how sick it makes me. No wonder so many of her fans are a bunch of ignorant idiots.

Let's start with the icky bit- the whole quote:

... people have drawn parallels between Matthias and the drüskelle and the SS, and I don't think that's completely accurate. The Jews, who were put to their death in WWII were innocent. They were civilians! Their crime was being Jewish. Grisha are soldiers. They are weapons. They are people, who are fighting back, so though the drüskelle are hateful and carry a lot of prejudice with them, it is not the same as them going after innocent civilians. And I need to make that clear, because I would never write a Nazi/Jewish romance.

Honey, that's exactly what you did!

I won't shy away from that passage, because it pisses me off immensely.

... people have drawn parallels between Matthias and the drüskelle and the SS, and I don't think that's completely accurate.

So, here we go with this one- I'm entirely sure their uniforms and Brum's accomplishments have nothing in common with fucking Nazis. If you're colour-blind, or US-American, so you don't grow up with photos of that particular chunk of history in your fucking town, because those people in nice uniforms used to burn corpses of their victims just behind the walls. The crematorium is still standing btw. Daily visited by dozens of tourists.

Seriously- fuck respecting what she said! I possess reading comprehension! These atrocities happened around HERE! It's not just an ugly story for me! I grew up in town once used as Jewish ghetto, concentration camp and Gestapo prison, so yeah, I might be overly sensitive about how you choose to dress you genocidal murder club!

The Jews, who were put to their death in WWII were innocent. They were civilians! Their crime was being Jewish. Grisha are soldiers. They are weapons.

As you mentioned:

... The drüskelle had existed for hundreds of years, but under Brum’s leadership, their force had doubled in size and become infinitely more deadly. He had changed their training, developed new techniques for rooting out Grisha in Fjerda, infiltrated Ravka’s borders, and begun pursuing rogue Grisha in other lands, even hunting down slaving ships, “liberating” Grisha captives with the sole purpose of clapping them back in chains and sending them to Fjerda for trial and execution. ...

Six of Crows- Chapter 14

If I wanted to be extremely kind, I could assume this is just Ravkan propaganda- it's what Nina had been taught-, but later we see her experience:

“You’ll be tried for espionage and crimes against the people.” “We are not criminals,” said a Fabrikator in halting Fjerdan from his place on the floor. He’d been there the longest and was too weak to rise. “We are ordinary people—farmers, teachers.” Not me, Nina thought grimly. I’m a soldier. “You’ll have a trial,” said the drüskelle. “You’ll be treated more fairly than your kind deserve.”

Six of Crows- Chapter 14

The wording's rather obvious- it's not about herding up enemy soldiers, but hunting down another species, another race, another kind. That's exactly the type of reasoning Nazis used- Jews were something different, inferior. Dehumanization is a significant part of their ideology.

*takes several deep breaths, because that Cola I've just drank is about to make a re-appearance*

I'll point out another part- already in one of the links in this post, but:

Until a drüskelle had accomplished a mission on his own and been granted officer status, he was required to remain clean-shaven. ... “Good work is right,” one said in Fjerdan. “Fifteen Grisha to deliver to the Ice Court!” “If this doesn’t earn us our teeth—” “You know it will.” “Good, I’m sick of shaving every morning.” “I’m going to grow a beard down to my navel.”

Six of Crows- Chapter 14

Capturing people to have them slaughtered is a rite of passage for drüskelle. It's an accomplishment worth marking. Something to look forward to and boast about.

Grisha are soldiers. They are weapons.

What about non-combatant members of Second Army? Healers, "untrained" Materialki, Grisha working for nobles? Those are weapons too?!

Like- we've already established nobody cares about the free-range Grisha (unless it's drüskelle in need of promotion), but even Second Army includes those, who aren't the first line of defence! Who won't be used to be attacked.

They are people, who are fighting back, so though the drüskelle are hateful and carry a lot of prejudice with them, it is not the same as them going after innocent civilians.

I'll make it even more obvious- would you say rape doesn't count as such, when its victim learnt self-defense before it happened?!

Nice opinion, Leigh! Great message for the poor young vulnerable girls! Very empowering!

And this is one of those days I'm sorry they don't organize full-experience trips to places like my ex-hometown, because I'd gladly invite that woman, so I can accompany her visit with loud reading of specific quotes from her work.

[scarfacemarston]

"Rdr 1 feels so lonely!"- Yep, that's the point.

TW: S*icdal Idealation Agreed, but stick with it. That's the point of the game, and has been since day 1. People say it's eerie, and that's accurate, too. The soundtrack can straight up be creepy, and camping alone is not always a peaceful feeling. It's based on Spaghetti Westerns with people like Clint Eastwood and A Fist Full of Dollars and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, where the protagonists were usually the silent type, the one-man armies, the chivalrous to women, but distrusted by others and distrustful of others. (John and the protagonist usually change the characters' minds by the end. ) John's mission is supposed to feel lonely and hopeless because it is a hopeless near impossible task. He doesn't have love and support. Everything has been taken away. That's why John confronting Bill at the beginning is not because he is stupid. It's purposeful because he's lost the will to live until Bonnie wakens it up in him again. She bluntly asks him why he would confront Bill like that, and that's what John hints at. He had just come from prison and was possibly tortured, the people he loves are gone and might die, and his farm is destroyed. For those wondering about John not having a journal. I agree. I would have liked a journal, but that goes against the spaghetti western's protagonist's mystique. We're not supposed to know what the character is feeling except for context clues, minute expressions, or body language, of which the game does well. Arthur having a journal is unique to the genre, but it is not a spaghetti western. This is not Red Dead Redemption 2. You'll enjoy the game more once you separate the two.

[lottielovelace]

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity and name [Elise Veidt]), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe. 

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

[chibikyo]

War Prize

Baraka x Reader

(can be read as male or female; no gendered terms used)

TW for non-con, biting, mild belly bulge/cum inflation

Description; You are defeated and taken prisoner during Shao Kahn's invasion of earthrealm. As the one to defeat you, Baraka is given you as a prize by the great Kahn. What does the tarkatan leader have planned for you?

*First time posting something I wrote to Tumblr. First time posting smut. No idea where this came from or why. I just got this idea in my head and decided to roll with it. I hope someone enjoys it.

During The first days of Shao Kahn's invasion of outworld, you had been captured by a horde of tarkatans, lead by Baraka. As one of earthrealms champions, you had been presented to the Kahn as a prisoner of war.

"Their yours, Baraka, a reward for your impressive victory." The Kahn had chortled and you were dragged through the koliseum and out into the wastes of Outworld. The Tarkatan war camp was a nightmare to behold. There were corpses, some whole, some dismembered, most in various states of being skinned, hung up outside of nearly every tent. You closed your eyes aganist the horrific sight, but couldn't block that sweet, putrid stench of decay from invading your senses.

When the tarkatans pulled you up a short set of stairs and threw you down on to a tacky wooden floor, you chanced opening your eyes. The sun blurred your vision as one tarkatan yanked you to your feet. You wanted to resist, to try and make your escape but your arms were bound tightly to your sides and your wrists tied together behind your back with thick, coarse ropes.

It was Baraka who lifted you by the waist and looped your bindings over a hook suspended from what might be a gallows. The hook was sharp and left a shallow cut along your back as Baraka let gravity settle you onto the massive hook. You could just barely touch the wood below with your toes. Enough to take away some of the burden of your weight and lessen the pressure of the ropes digging into your guts. Your arms ached being so tightly bound against you and any struggle would just exhaust you more.

A crowd of Tarkatans were gathering around the stage, more pouring in from the outskirts of the camp. Baraka was speaking harshly to the horde in his native tongue and you had no idea what was being said, but shame burned on your cheeks as the crowd cheered. Fear curled hot and heavy in your guts, flooded your senses with the weight of your panic as it slowly crawled its way up your throat. Would Baraka make it quick, or did Tarkatans like to play with their food first? The thought of this monster flensing you alive, stripping the skin from your bones without giving you a swift death first? It took everything in you not to give in and sob.

Baraka turned toward you and you could swear there was triumph on that twisted face. He leaned in close and you could see his nostrils flare as he scented you. His breath was hot against your cheek as he drew closer. You shut your eyes and jerked back, though that only succeeded in rattling the chains suspending you. You felt harsh fingers dig into your soft flesh as Baraka grabbed your chin to hold you still. A tear finally broke free to trail softly down your cheek and just as softly you felt what must have been Baraka's tongue tracing the path of it. Like the rest of him, his tongue was coarse, rougher than a human's. It scraped under your eye, lapping up the gathering pool of tears threatening to spill before Baraka pulled away.

He shouted once more at the crowd, their cheers drowning out the foreign words and deafening you. You took a deep breath, waiting to feel the sharp sting of teeth or the edge of Baraka's arm blade. You were stunned when you felt two massive hands digging into the fabric of your pants followed by a loud tearing sound that reverberated in your ear drums. You froze, mind unable to fully process what was happening as Baraka moved up, ripping away your top to expose your chest to the ever growing crowd. Strips of ruined fabric were all that was left of your clothes, except what could not be reached beneath the ropes.

A sudden dread swept over you as you felt Baraka's hands trail back to your hips, the rough pads of his fingers scraping against the delicate skin, diggng into the soft flesh. His breath was hot on the back of your neck as he pressed his teeth against your shoulder, inhaling deep to scent the skin where your neck and shoulder met. This, more than anything, finally snapped you out of the fugue that had settled over your mind.

You struggled against the tight bonds, thrashing and twisting to get away from the monster holding you captive. Baraka merely chuffed, his hands digging harder into the delicate curve of you just below the edges of the rope. He yanked you backward against him harshly, your feet slipping away from the wood even as you scrambled to find some purchase. What little comfort that had been afforded to you before was gone as you felt the ropes bite into you deeper.

Baraka wrapped one arm around your waist as the other moved up to close around your throat. His fingers gripped firmly around your neck, the hollow of your throat pressed against the hollow between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed only once, coupled with a low growl, which you knew was the only warning you would get about acting up. You felt a chill travel down your spine as Baraka pressed himself against you. You could feel the hard length of him pressing insistently against your ass and the thought of what came next made you feel sick.

The crowd was jeering, shouting harsh words that you could not interpret and hissing encouragingly at their leader. Baraka settled you back in position before pulling his hands away to fumble behind you. You couldn't see what the Tarkatan was doing, but the soft 'schck' of fabric hitting the floor left little to the imagination. You closed your eyes as Baraka's hands found purchase on your thighs again. You didn't fight as your legs were spread enough for Baraka to press in behind you.

"Please don't fo this." You pleaded, desperate to put a stop to this even knowing you were helpless to stop him.

"Quiet," Baraka growled softly from behind you and you choked back a sob.

You braced yourself for pain, but once again was startled as Baraka soothed the skin beneath his hands.Trembling, you couldn't begin to fathom what the Tarkatan meant by the gesture before you felt that rough, almost sandpaper-esque tongue lick a stripe across your entrance. You gasped, the pain-pleasure combo making you dizzy as Baraka lapped at your hole again and again. Your thighs quivered as Baraka plunged his tongue inside you, fucking you with it, forcing pleasure to pool in your gut even as you weakly tried to protest. You could feel yourself reaching that crescendo as your aborted pleas slowly became little more than moans. As your "no" and "stop" became "yes" and "more" and "please".

Baraka's hands dug harder into your thighs, spreading your legs further so he could fuck his tongue even deeper into you. He lapped up the taste of you with abandon, savoring that salty, musky taste as he pushed deeper still, until you could feel the press of his teeth against your entrance. The thrill of those ivory daggers nestled against your most intimate place drove you over the edge and you screamed as you came, thrashing as the most intense orgasm of your life was wrung out of you, Baraka happily lapping up the mess you left as you quivered from overstimulation.

As you slowly came down from your high, the pain from the ropes digging into you was sharper and you felt your face burning in shame as the crowd cheered louder. You almost thought that was it, until Baraka pressed in behind you, his cock impossibly large and pressing into the crack of your ass. You whimpered as Baraka pressed two fingers into your quivering entrance, lubricating the way with the remnants of your orgasm. He pulled them away with a satisfied growl before manipulating you until your entrance was hovering just above his cock. You had never felt so empty before, never been so achingly hollow, and your body clenched with the need to be full. Knowing it would only hurt to fight what came next, you forced yourself to relax as Baraka began to push into you. He went slower than you expected, but unrelenting as his cock speared you open. You had never imagined something so huge could even fit, but your body opened up around him as he just kept pressing deeper and deeper. Not just big, but impossibly hard with deep ridges on the underside that pressed deliciously against your plush insides.

He seemed determined to make you take all of him, growling as he was met with tighter and tighter resistance. You could swear you felt him in your throat, choking as your breath was punched out of you. You felt Baraka wrap his arms tight around you, pressing so tightly against you that the protrusions of bone on his chest and atms dug into your skin. You could feel the growl make its way through him, your only warning as he thrust up into you. You screamed as his monstrous length bottomed out within you, followed by his teeth digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The pain was so all-encompassing as you sobbed and thrashed against him.

Baraka stayed nestled inside you, content to wait until your screams subsided into shuddered sobs. He brushed his hand soothinlgly against your collar bones, tracing the hollow of your throat softly and felt your breath hitch and you lurch with pleasure as his arm brushed against a sensitive nipple. His teeth slowly pulled out of your shoulder as he felt you settle again and he lapped at the blood spilling from the needle like punctures. The roughness of his tongue sent spikes of white hot pain through the torn muscle, mixed with the zing of pleasure as Baraka explored your chest, pinching and plucking at your nipples to feel you squirm against his cock nestled so deep inside you. You were panting, your breath hitching on little moans as you adjusted to the intrusion. Baraka pulled away from the wound on your back, twisting the hook and you with it so he could turn you to face him.

The drag of his cock inside you as he manipulated your body with ease had you choking. Once you were facing him, Baraka leaned down, his tongue laving at one of sensitive nubs eagerly. You could see his face twist with ecstasy as he toyed with each nipple in turn. That rough appendage dragging acrosd the delicate skin and over stimulated nerves beneath, coupled with the constant pressure of his thick length inside was too much. He gave a single. shallow thrust, more to readjust your weight against him than anything, and you moaned, gasping, as a second orgasm tore through you. Baraka pulled back, his hands at your waist as he slowly lifted you. The sensation of the hook dragging against your back was dwarfed by the drag of his cock as he lift you almost completely off of it. Your hole fluttered and clenched at the ache of being empty, though that only lasted a few seconds before Baraka was lowering you back down. You choked as that massive length filled you yet again. You barely registered the ropes falling away before Baraka wrapped his hands around your thighs, jerking your legs up and you had to fling your arms around his neck to stay balanced, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

His cock rubbed your sensitive walls, drawing out soft moans as you lay your head bonelessly against his shoulder. He barked out what may have been an order to the crowd and you were reminded that this whole ordeal had been in front of an audience. You were too tired to care at that point, burying your head into the crook of his neck as your arms tightened around the Tarkatan leader's neck. The press of his sharp protrusions barely noticeable compared to the shallow thrusts of his cock within you as he carried you down the stairs and away from the ever dissipating crowd.

You finally snapped back to reality as Baraka pressed you down into a nest of furs and blankets. You hissed as the soft fabric brushed against the bite on your shoulder, the skin raw and aching. The sun no longer burned your eyes and you blinked, taking in the walls of Baraka's tent. Compared to the macabre sight outside the tent, inside was quite clean and almost cozy. Baraka noticed your hiss of pain and encouraged you to roll over, only pulling out of you long enough for you to untangle your legs from his before thrusting back into you with a satisfied growl. This time the slide into you was nothing but pleasure and you shuddered with anticipation. A part of you, buried deep since this ordeal began, knew that you didn't want this, that this was an assault by the enemy. Despite this, your body had already begun to crave the heavy weight of Baraka pressed inside you; the tight, almost suffocating feeling of his cock buried in your deepest, most intimate parts.

Baraka caged your body between his arms as he leaned down to delicately lap up the few rivulets of blood that had seeped from his bite mark. He inhaled the scent of blood, coupled with the sharp tang of your phermones, and his tongue poked out to taste it. You whined, rocking your body back against his, desperate for him to move as you felt the deep aching need pooling in your guts again. His growl, as he pulled out until only the tip of his meaty cock rested within you, made you gasp, before his hips snapped forward, driving his cock inside you and punching the air out of your lungs. He began to thrust, hard, fast, dragging harshly against your inner walls as you struggled to catch your breath. You could feel the slide in your guts and when you looked down you could see the top of his cock pushing out from the lowest edge of your belly. You moaned, your hand trailing down to press against that bump, feeling that hard length as it rearranged your guts to carve out space for itself.

Baraka hissed and let out a loud groan as he felt your palm press against his cock from the outside. His thrusts became feral as he rutted inside you, making you choke and slide forward from the force. Your orgasm that had been slowly building crashed over you wave after wave as Baraka continued to batter your insides. You were still shaking, riding out the aftershocks as you felt Baraka's arms around your waist, yanking you back and against his chest as he buried himself as deep as he could and painted your insides with his thick seed. You felt pulse after pulse of hot cum shooting from his cock, filling you to the brim. Your hand went to your stomach, brushing against the head of his cock as he shook through his orgasm. It took a full minute for him to finally stop cumming and you could feel that thick seed leaking out from where the two of you were joined. Could feel his cock twitching inside you. Baraka's cock was still impossibly hard and he seemed content to stay buried within you. He lapped at the blood that had seeped out of your wound as you slowly caught your breath.

"Beautiful." Baraka hissed. "I am so glad the emperor let me keep you. I would have been more gentle, but a public claim is required to ensure the clan knows you are off limits."

"You were…claiming me?" Your voice was rough from screaming and disuse. Your throat ached as you spoke.

"Yes. I've been dying to mate with you since our first fight." Baraka growled. His hands worked there way down your body as he spoke, removing the last remnants of your clothes until you were fully naked against him. "At the tournament." He clarified, nuzzling against your neck so he could drink in the sweet smell of arousal within your phermones. "You smelled so sweet, so delicious, I could barely resist claiming you right then." He gave a shallow thrust making you moan. "You are even sweeter than I could have hoped for."

Your breath hitched at the confession as Baraka slowly arranged the two of you on the nest. He kept his thrusts going, shallow and soft, content to feel you squeezing around him and you could feel exhaustion threatening to swallow you. Although you had not consented, you had to admit that Baraka had been much more careful with you than you'd expected. It didn't help that his arms were huge and warm and you felt safe even with those imposing teeth nestled against the hollow of your throat. You should be finding a way to escape. Instead you moaned his name as he snapped for hips forward, his one hand finding its way between your legs to coax one last orgasm out of you. You clenched around him, your body trembling as you felt him coat your insides with another flood of cum before he finally slid out of you.

You whimpered at ache of being empty as you could feel his spend starting to leak out of you. Baraka's hand brushed against your hole, feeling the mess slowly oozing out of you and twisted away for a moment. You could feel him fumbling behind himself for something, then gasped as his hand found your entrance again. Two of his meaty fingers swirled through the mess collecting outside your hole before he slowly eased those digits, cum and all, back into you. He spent a few minutes pumping those digits into you, working his cum as deep as possible. You choked, cumming again even though you hardly thought it possible. He kept softly pumping his fingers, enjoying the way his cum sloshed around inside you as you whined at the overstimulation. Baraka's other hand gently stroked your soft belly, feeling the way the skin was stretched taught over the small pooch that had formed from how well he'd filled you up.

Finally, as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, he removed his fingers and replaced them with something cold and hard. It slipped inside you easily,the bulbous shape and its flared base plugging your hole and preventing any cum from sliding out. You shuddered as it pressed against your sensitive walls. It wasn't as big as Baraka's cock, nothing was, but it helped ease the ache of the emptiness you felt. You clenched around it as Baraka pressed firmly against your back. He kept a tight hold of you, his tongue leaving little trails over your skin. You were too sore to push him off. There was a bone deep exhaustion settling over you from the fighting followed by the most mind blowing, toe curling sex you'd ever experienced. You drifted off to the sound of Baraka growling softly to you in a mix of yours and his native tongue. You only caught a few of the words as the world faded to black.

"My mate."