Various Words

swallowedkeys:

SPOILERS for the novels A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings by George R. R. Martin

I saw a post here on Tumblr earlier which referred to Theon Greyjoy as an “overconfident asshole”. I thought it was an interesting description of Theon’s character but it didn’t sit right with me. In fact, I don’t think it’s true at all. Theon acts like an overconfident asshole but I don’t think that he ever actually is one.

Theon Greyjoy is all boasts and bravado because he knows that no-one else is going to fight his corner. He has to boast about his skill at archery and his sexual conquests and take what pleasure he can from those things because he has nothing else.

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                She wished that they could announce last call early tonight; the patrons were acting more like animals than usual, their piggish grunts and loud roars of laughter erupting from the various tables set across the bar.  Sarah had just brought another round to the main table of the bunch; the one that sat Garth and his band of so called merry men.  Sarah thought that it might have been a fallback to Robin Hood at some point, but upon serving the man drinks for as long as she had, she had seen that he was not more than a simple thug who happened to have some other thugs that followed his words.  Instead she had changed her interpretation of their name to simply mean that they loved their drink.  And it was so.

“Hey, gorgeous; come sit on ole’ Garth’s knee here; he has a present that you’ll like,” the thick drawl of Garth seemed to echo her thoughts as he called her over.

“Garth you know I have other customers to talk to, not just you and your find company,” their conversation was always the same; he offered his lap for her to rest on; she in turn served other customers until his pecker was back in his pants.

It was a game they had played for the last year, but it appeared that Garth was done playing.  Lifting his hulking mass out of his chair, he tottered drunkenly towards Sarah and placed a messy kiss on her cheek, she assumed trying to be attractive, “C’mon princess, I see the way you look at me; I know you want my meat inside you so stop pretending otherwise inside the bar,” his breath reeked of the cheap whiskey and beer that he had been ordering all night, “Now whadda say you ditch this shit hole of a bar and come live with me and the boys; we’ll take care of you.”

This proposal was a new step in Garth’s attempts to woo her; they seemed to have increased in both number and force; she was taken aback for a second, a crucial second that sent Garth believing that he had gained her approval.  His hand reached her arm and tightened its grip, “Good to see that you made the right choice,” his voice almost a whisper as he began to tug her out the door.

She in turn tugged her arm out of his grip, “Sorry Garth but I work here, I need more than protection you know.”

Garth was ready with his own response, “Well if its money you’re lookin’ for, me and the boys can provide that too; we’ll just need a better reason than just your pretty looks to keep ya around,” his greedy eyes and the tightness of his pants betrayed exactly what he meant, though it didn’t take much thought to solve that question in the first place.

She took a deep breath, it appeared that he would take even more convincing tonight than most before, “Garth, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not some whore up for hire; now you’re welcome to stare at me at the bar, but that’s the only time its gonna happen.”

Her display of firmly planting her foot on the matter meant nothing to Garth, his hand returned to her arm, this time with a grip like iron, “Look, I want to fuck you, plain and simple; you’re going to let me fuck you, we’re both going to go on with our lives,” his voice had taken on an edge of malice rather than the common drunk slur his voice usually carried.

Sarah, finally found herself terrified by the man that held onto her; he had come off as such a common crook, someone who did wrong but was harmless to most.  She began to see, however, the cracks of his sanity showing.  It was the ugly side to his ugly face; the monster within the beast. 

Her boss off counting the take for the night, she was all alone and Garth knew it as he cupped a hand over her mouth, squeezing her jaw shut to avoid being bit by the terrified woman, and Sarah felt herself being drug across the floor, no matter how she protested.  The other patrons looked on, not wanting to get involved with the thugs that were abducting her. 

As Garth opened the door, the cold wind swept through the bar and a few of the men cursed and shuddered.  To the few bare pieces of skin on Sarah, it felt like a hot knife cutting through flesh and chilling her straight to the bone.  She tried to warm herself by wrapping her arms around herself but Garth ripped her hands from her once again, “I told you, that you were coming with me,” a hand reached out and struck her; Garth large hands making their presence known once again and she could feel the onset of bruising.

She closed her eyes for only a moment and in that brief moment her situation changed drastically; she heard an ungodly howl from one of Garth’s men and she was wretched up to eye level; her face immediately the target of a pistol.  The man’s face was covered, as most were after coming out of the snow, but his grey eyes showed, they as cold as the snow he was walking out of.

Garth held her tightly and faced the man squared between Sarah, “Why’d you go killin’ my men?  We haven’t done anything to you.”

The man’s voice was deep and she immediately recognized it as one of Richard’s Collectors.  They weren’t known for taking prisoners, “P-please,” she stuttered out, trying to talk between them in hopes of saving herself, “I-I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I just want to get back to working; I don’t want to die.”

Both men ignored her weak pleas and continued to talk to each other, “You know exactly why I’m here Garth; you haven’t paid Richard his dues for moving your goods through the city; you owe him at least a quarter of the profits, but based off what I see here; it seems you’ve pissed it all away.  Richard isn’t going to like that.”

“Fuck Richard,” Garth spat out, “Richard wants a cut, he should send out men to help; no free rides here; you earn what you get and Richard didn’t earn shit; now let me go or I’ll ruin another of Richard’s investments with this slut’s brains.”

The man with the grey eyes chuckled, “And what would that serve except kill the one thing between you and I?  Don’t be stupid Garth; you know I have you against a wall here so drop the shit and give me what I ne-” his next words were cut off as Garth’s other man, having just come from the washrooms, ploughed into the unaware collector.

Garth took this opportunity to grab Sarah and after throwing her over his shoulder, burst through the door and began to sprint through the four foot deep snow; his breath coming out in jagged gasps.  From the bar, Sarah could hear the sounds of shouts and shots and knew that if the original intruder was still alive; he would be looking for blood and it would not matter who was in his path to the letting.  Garth’s pace quickened as if a fire had been lit under him; it appeared that she was not the only one who realized what those shots meant.

Sarah’s calves ached by the time they had finally wound down to a halt; both of them were now out of breath and their gasping echoed the empty grounds around them.  Garth chuckled a little between his bouts of ragged coughing and smiled that crooked smile at Sarah, “Looks like your hero is gone now Princess,” he hacking only served to disgust her even more than the statements already had and she tried to recoil.

His foul breath was one her now; his weight pushed against her as he opened the door to what she assumed to be one of his houses.  The musty smell gave away that it hadn’t been lived in for a while, but a bed sat, as if waiting for them and Garth pushed her onto it with a howl of pleasure and victory. 

Sarah kicked and fought at first but when Garth pushed his full weight against her, the fight left her body and she began to resign herself to it.  She closed her eyes and tried to take her mind off of what was happening as strong hands tore her shirt and clumsily removed her bra, leaving her breasts in the cold of the room.  Her pants were next; she found some adrenaline and held onto them with all the force she could muster.  A solid fist found its way to her face and the fight left her once again, leaving Garth to remove the jeans she wore without any more fight.  His thrusts were harsh and sharp; his pleasure coming before any that she might have felt; her ragged sobs only serving to turn him on even more.  His tongue found itself in her ear and the warmth made her shudder. 

“Enjoying yourself Princess?” Garth asked between his moans on pleasure.

Sarah chose not to speak but instead became limp, she couldn’t fight him anymore; she was too tired, the adrenaline from the pursuit had left her blood and she was weak.  And Garth was strong.  He forced his hand under her and began to fondle one of her breasts, toying the nipple between his two fingers and grunting in some kind of satisfaction when it stiffened under his touch.

His thrusts grew in speed and soon with a roar of satisfaction, he emptied into her; holding her tight to ensure none of it spilled out of her.  He sighed in satisfaction and whispered in her ear, “Now you’re mine; you aren’t goin’ back to that bar, you aren’t leaving this house, you’re going to be my and my boy’s women.  After all, this is a lonely job; its nice to have something to come back to.”

Sarah sobbed dryly and nodded, pulling the rags of the bed over her body.  Garth grabbed a few clothes out of one of the drawers and threw them at her; laughing when she flinched, “Don’t worry Princess, you’ll learn that I’m not a bad guy to be around and soon enough those sobs will be sweet moans of pleasure.”

He closed the door behind him and Sarah heard the scrape of a key and with that, she found herself alone.  She finally broke down and the sobs became full blown crying, the tears pouring down her face.

Why? she wondered as the darkness of the room seemed to swallow her in its imposing embrace, Why did they have to come to my bar?  Why did they need to pick me from all the serving girls the bar had?  Why did he need to do this?

The hours trickled by; she eventually got up and made a fire so that she wouldn’t be so cold anymore, but the small amount of wood in the house made her ration the heat; barely half the room she was in could be heated, but it was enough that she could clean up and calm down.  She began to try to think rationally; she was a prisoner after all; one that needed to escape before she fell too far into the clutches of Garth and his band of ‘merry men.’ She could only imagine what that would be like.

Once the darkened sky made it impossible to do any more than lay in the bed; something she loathed to do, she realized that she needed to sleep if she was going to be aware enough to plan anything the next day.  Settling onto the bed, somewhere that didn’t smell like Garth, she pulled the rags over her once again and closed her eyes.  The night had been one from Hell and she hoped it would be the last one.  The rational being in her said that it wouldn’t though and so she would have to mentally prepare for the pain and emotional torture that would follow in days to come.  The thought of what they would do to her was enough to send her back into broken sobs and tears.  It was on that note that she shut her eyes and tried to put it all behind her.

Her dreams would not give her that peace though; Garth was in them as well; his crooked smile, his crooked cock in front of her and his mutterings of Princess as he stuffed it into her mouth.  She couldn’t breathe; her gasps and half screams only serving to pleasure him more.  And he laughed and laughed as he pumped heavily into her face.  She felt faint, there was no blood flowing her to head and no air in her lungs.  She screamed and he followed with a cry of pleasure.

And she awoke to the sound of gunfire.

aboveup:

Ending of Ghost Trick.

Ending of the third Layton.

Underwater boss battle of Cave Story.

Beginning of Mother 3.

Video game writers are a bunch of assholes.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way