Fallout 4 fanfiction: “Happy Birthday, Fiona”

Another story based on my first playthrough of Fallout 4. My Fallout 4 fanfiction doesn’t include the entire story of the Sole Survivor but is intended to fill in the gaps between the quests and storylines experienced within the game. In other words, it’s “headcanon.”

“Happy Birthday, Fiona” is my take on Hancock’s unrequited lust–and growing love–for the Sole Survivor. It takes place after Fiona becomes general of the Minutemen and kills Kellogg, but before she enters the Institute.

I’ve had this chapter ready for awhile and didn’t want to publish until I’d finished the bits in between, but I’m going in for surgery later this week, with several weeks recovery, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to work on this series again. So, I wanted to put out what I had. Hope you enjoy!

If you’d like to see a tour of my actual Abernathy Farm settlement in the game, check out my video on Youtube.

Strong language, alcohol and sexual references.

2,400 words

* * *

Part 1: MacCready’s Lucky Cap – MacCready meets Daisy & leaves the Gunners.
Part 2: A Home No More – Fiona adjusts to life in the Commonwealth wasteland.
Part 3: MacCready Meets the Mayor – MacCready arrives in Goodneighbor.
Part 8: MacCready’s Wooden Soldier – MacCready & Fiona share a moment.
Part 9: Wanton Wasteland – Hangman’s Alley – Adults only! In a dystopian, post-apocalyptic Boston, the ghoulified mayor of Goodneighbor indulges in whiskey and voyeurism.
Part 10: Happy Birthday, Fiona – Hancock deals with unrequited lust that just might be love.
Part 12: Eve of Destruction – Hancock helps Fiona cope with the stresses of leadership.

* * *


Hancock joined MacCready in a dark corner of the Abernathy’s rooftop bar. The place was packed with people celebrating Fiona’s birthday. Minutemen, settlers, caravaneers, Trudy Drumlin and her kid Patrick, Deacon, Piper… Damn. He could’ve made a ton of caps, if they’d held the party at the Third Rail. But, then again, if the party was in Goodneighbor, most of these fine folks wouldn’t’ve shown up.

Music blared from several strategically placed radios and Preston Garvey guided the general around the dance floor.

Hancock nudged MacCready’s shoulder. “She gonna dance with other guys all night?”

MacCready shrugged. “Dancing’s stupid.”

“She doesn’t think so.”

“I don’t know how, okay? I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

“Too late.”

“You trying to piss me off?”

“Just trying to help.”

Piper dropped beside MacCready, jostling the bench and making him spill bourbon on his coat.

“Jeez, Piper, c’mon. This stuff isn’t cheap.”

“Are you for real, MacCready? All the drinks are free. It’s a party.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go around wasting them.”

“OK, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but…” She grimaced in disgust. “We need to have a one-on-one.”


She gaped at him in exaggerated horror. “Really? That’s all you’ve got to say? ‘Why?’ I suggest a one-on-one and you’re not going to say something that you think is a smooth come-on but is actually really weird and pervy? You’ve changed. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

MacCready scoffed. “You never knew me to begin with.”

“A little radioactive birdie told me that you’ve been trying to find a way into the Institute.”

“Go talk to Fi.”

“I don’t pay for information.”

“Fi, not fee, as in Fiona. My girlfriend?”

Piper busted into mocking laughter. “Oh, MacCready, you’re a riot. Stop the presses! Delusional mercenary slash former Gunner has imaginary relationship with Minuteman general.”

“I’m not delusional.”

“If she’s with you, then why’s she slow dancing with her second in command?”

Hancock split before MacCready could appeal to him to verify the relationship or Piper could grill him for information. He wove his way between dancing pairs and sidled up to Fiona and Garvey just as the song “What a Wonderful World” ended.

“Thanks so much for inviting us all out here,” said the Minuteman, doing his best impression of a knight in shining armor. “I can’t remember the last time there was anything worth celebrating, but you’ve changed all that, and I hope you know how much I appreciate it. How much we all appreciate it.”

Fiona smiled that healthy, white-toothed smile, like rows of perfect Mentats.

“I didn’t do it alone, Preston.”

“But you brought us all together and gave us a purpose. I hope you see that. We couldn’t have done it without your leadership. The past year’s been rough, for all of us, and I know we still have a long way to go, but it’s nice to be reminded of what’s good in the Commonwealth. If anyone deserves a happy birthday, it’s you. We owe you so much, General.”

“I wish you would call me Fiona.”

Garvey glanced in MacCready’s direction and noticed Hancock for the first time.

“Oh, um, yeah, well, I think it’s better if we keep things proper. Ma’am. Happy birthday.” Preston touched the brim of his hat and nodded to Fiona, then to Hancock. “Mayor.” Then beat a hasty retreat.

Preston wasn’t Hancock’s style. The guy was all sorts of well-fed, clean and shiny. Meanwhile, MacCready was a skeevy little bastard. Great in a fight, sure, and Hancock had nothing against skeevy bastards. But it didn’t seem like her type. Which was in his favor. He needed to know more.

“Remind me again why you’re not shacking up with that one?” He nodded in Garvey’s direction.

“Hey, Hancock, glad you could make it.” She looped her arm through his and guided him to the edge of the roof, in the opposite corner from her old man and away from the crowd. “How’s the alley?”

“Doing good. The medical center needs supplies. We get a lotta messed up folks passing through.”

“I figured, given the location. I’ll take care of it. Think I could ask you to head over to Egret Marina, help them get their shit together?”


Fiona leaned against the railing and crossed her arms. He leaned beside her. She lowered her voice. “To answer your question, Preston has issues.”

He shrugged. “Don’t we all?”

“He freezes up when he should have my back. In the Old World, we would have called it post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Hancock nodded, removing a cigarette pack and a lighter from his coat. “Yeah, and…?” There had to be more to it than that.

“And he cares more about the Minutemen than anything else.”

He flicked his lighter, lit a cigarette, took a drag, exhaled. “You don’t?”

“I want someone who cares about me for me, not just how much I can contribute to their pet project. The Minutemen are great but…”

“They’re great now. They weren’t so hot before you came along.”

“They’re great as a vehicle for helping people, and for making the Commonwealth a better and more secure place to live, for everyone. Which will make it a better place for Shaun. But, ultimately, Shaun is my priority. I want someone who understands that.”

“Like, MacCready. That was a real sweet thing you did, helping his kid.”

“And now he’s helping me find Shaun, not expecting me to plant tatos at Tenpines or fix the water purifier at Covenant.”

“Yeah, first and foremost, you’re a mama deathclaw. I get it.”

“I got nothing against Preston, y’know? He cares, he really fucking cares about everyone, everybody loves him, everywhere we go. He should be the general, not me, but I can’t rely on him. He can’t handle it.”

“But you can?”

The silver moonlight made her look like one of those marble statues downtown, the ones that were still standing, even after going through hell.

“I don’t let people down.” She said it with the kind of certainty that he wasn’t used to hearing from anyone but himself. “And if I do, at least I know I did my best. If my best wasn’t good enough, well, there’s no one else trying to do it. I like to think that an attempt, any attempt, is better than doing nothing at all.”

Before he could agree with her, he heard someone say, “Hey, Sturges!” and turned to see a hulking guy in overalls heading their way with a bundle under one arm.

Hancock chuckled.

“What’s funny?” She turned to look in the same direction.

“Another contender enters the ring.”

Sturges fussed with his dark coiffe of hair and flashed a big grin. “’Scuse me, Fiona? Am I interrupting?”

“No, Sturges, not at all.” She got a kind of flustered, hot-and-bothered look. Hancock would’ve given the Third Rail to get that kinda reaction out of her.

“Happy birthday. I brought you a present.” Sturges held out the bundle, something long, wrapped in cloth and twine. Hancock guessed rifle. He was wrong.

Fiona carefully unwrapped the gift. “A guitar! Where did you find one?”

“I made it.”

Her eyes grew red with tears. “You… made it? For me?”

Damn, he was good. Hancock dropped his cigarette butt and stomped it out.

“You’d mentioned it to me, awhile back, how you used to play. Figured it’s the least I could do, while you’re out saving the world.”

“Thank you!” She flung her tits against Sturges’ beefy chest and kissed his sideburned cheek like she’d done it before. “Thank you so much.”

So, that’s how it was, huh? She must still have a wet spot for him, didn’t want to admit it. Which probably had more to do with her self-respect and those Old World morals she dragged around like an anchor, than her actual love for MacCready. Would also explain, in fewer words, exactly why she wasn’t hung up on Preston.

“Took a lot of trial and error, and research,” Sturges explained. ”I had Carla find some holotapes with old diagrams and photos. I thought about fixing it with a laser. You could shoot ghouls and sing about it at the same time. Uh, no offense, Hancock.”

“None taken.”  

“I don’t suppose you’ll play something for us? I wanna make sure it works.”

“I don’t know if my fingers still remember how to play, after being in cryo freeze. Let me practice a little first.” She gazed at the instrument like a lover and Hancock wished he had six strings. “Sturges, I’m… I’m at a loss for words. This is… amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Nah, it’s nothing. I needed a challenge.”

“It’s not nothing,” she gushed.  

“I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, Fiona?”

Whoa, that had subtext. Hancock couldn’t wait to hear her answer.

“I’m… I’m as good as I’m going to be, until I find Shaun. We’re getting really close. We tracked down the guy who took him and killed Nate. He’s a blood stain on the floor of Fort Hagen, now.”

She said that with such relish, it made Hancock semi-hard. “Anybody ever deserved it, it was that piece of garbage.”

Fiona took Hancock’s words as encouragement to launch into a war story, which she mimed with vicious enthusiam.

“It’s not our style, getting up close and personal, right? Mac and I like to hang back, let our guns do the talking. But we found Kellogg — that’s the asshole who took Shaun — and he had a Stealth Boy, which means my Pipboy targeting system doesn’t work. But Mac just ran right up, flips his rifle around, starts pounding and pounding. I didn’t even need to fire a shot.”

Bingo. Killing her husband’s murderer trumped Minuteman and handyman. MacCready would get a lot of mileage outta that. The little shit.

Warm and fuzzy Sturges got cold and prickly all of a sudden. “Well, that’s … great. I’m just glad you’re alright and you’ve, uh, got some justice.”

“But we’ve still got to find Shaun. I’m working on some lead-lined power armor so we can enter the Glowing Sea.”

She said it as casually as Hancock might say, “I’m working on a way to make Joey Slickfingers cough up those caps he owes us.” Just another day.

“Jesus H. Christ, why do you need to go out there?” Sturges seemed to be getting more uncomfortable by the moment.

“To find the information I need. To find Shaun.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. Right now, I think I’ll go grab a beer. See you later?”

Sturges went off to the bar without waiting for an answer.  

Hancock pushed up the brim of his tricorn hat. “You’re scaring people away, all that talk of murder and mayhem.”

“You’re still here.”

“I happen to enjoy murder and mayhem. It’s better than jet. So, what’s with you and your friendly neighborhood guitar making guy?”

Fiona looked all forlorn and wistful. “He’d rather I stayed in Sanctuary Hills, but I’ve got shit to do.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I… I probably shouldn’t admit it, but I miss him sometimes.”

She’d never tell MacCready something like that, he was certain. That sort of honesty was a gift, and he appreciated it, more than she knew.

Hancock adjusted the cuffs of his red coat. “Look, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I… I think you should know.”

Especially when I’m curious how you’ll react.

“What’s up?” She moved real close, like, smell the wasteland in her hair and the sweetness of her breath close.

“You smell like gumdrops.” He said it a bit too warm and sultry, he couldn’t help it.

“They were a gift from Piper.”

“You got any left? Don’t hold out on me.”

She fished a small box from her shirt pocket and offered it to him. “They’re hard as rocks.”

“I know the feeling.”

She laughed. He wasn’t fucking kidding, but to her he was a joke. She didn’t look at him and see someone with feelings and needs, the way she looked at MacCready, or Garvey, or Sturges. She saw a melted wax clown.

“Um… Is that it? You wanted to tell me I smelled like gumdrops?”

“No, I, uh, had something else.”

He paused, wagged his finger so she’d lean closer, whispered in her ear. Strands of her auburn hair brushed his scarred lips.

“Sturges is a synth.”

She reached for the 10mm at her hip and Hancock grabbed her hand.

“Whoa. Not the Institute spy kind of synth. The rescued and rehabilitated kind.”

She fixed him with a look that could melt steel. Her eye twitched. All that sugary laughter from a minute ago, gone.

“How do you know?”

“Who d’ya think lets the Railroad operate in Goodneighbor? Shit doesn’t happen in my town without my approval.”

“Does he know?”

“Synths don’t usually know they’re synths. Once they get out of the Institute, get their minds wiped, they’re like anybody else, just trying to survive. I shouldn’t know, either, but I happened to be in the Memory Den when he passed through. Kinda hard to forget biceps like that, but I don’t have to tell you.”

She stared across the rooftop. “Everything seemed so real. I mean, it all felt just like… Damn.”

“Because he is real. Synth, ghoul, mutant, we’re not human, but we’re still people.” He needed her to believe that.

“I slept with him, back when I first left the vault.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that out.”

“Not right at first, of course. At the time, everything felt like it just happened yesterday. But, after a few months, when we were fixing up the settlement… I was so lonely.”

“I ain’t judging you. Don’t judge him, either.” And don’t judge me, that’s what he really wanted to say, wasn’t it?

“Thanks for telling me. I… I should go. See how Mac’s doing.”

Her port in a shitstorm. Well, we all need one. Hancock’s was chems and liquor. But he wanted hers to be him. He wanted it bad, and he wasn’t used to that sort of feeling.

“Dream a Little Dream of Me” started playing on the radio. He still had a hold of her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor, sliding his arm around her waist.

“MacCready’s fine. Let’s dance.”

* * *

~ J.L. Hilton

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Fallout 4 fanfiction: “MacCready’s Wooden Soldier”

“MacCready’s Wooden Soldier” is my take on how my Sole Survivor, Fiona, romanced MacCready. Fallout 4 players will recognize some of their conversation straight from his max affinity dialog in the game.

Fallout fiction is rated M, just like Fallout 4, for language, violence, drugs and sexual references. However, not all chapters contain romance or sexuality, and chapters containing smut are tagged Wanton Wasteland.

1,400 words

* * *

Part 1: MacCready’s Lucky Cap – MacCready meets Daisy & leaves the Gunners.
Part 2: A Home No More – Fiona adjusts to life in the Commonwealth wasteland.
Part 3: MacCready Meets the Mayor – MacCready arrives in Goodneighbor.
Part 8: MacCready’s Wooden Soldier – MacCready & Fiona share a moment.
Part 9: Wanton Wasteland – Hangman’s Alley – Adults only! In a dystopian, post-apocalyptic Boston, the ghoulified mayor of Goodneighbor indulges in whiskey and voyeurism.
Part 10: Happy Birthday, Fiona – Hancock deals with unrequited lust that just might be love.
Part 12: Eve of Destruction – Hancock helps Fiona cope with the stresses of leadership.

* * *

MacCready’s Wooden Soldier

Fiona shuffled through sketches, maps, reports, supply requests, and various lists that Preston had scrawled on whatever scraps of paper he could find. She scanned an inventory of the Castle mess hall written on the back of an old Slocum’s Joe advertisement and then threw it back on the table.

MacCready slouched against the wall behind her, cradling his rifle in the crook of one arm.

“Any thoughts about rebuilding this place?” she asked over her shoulder.

He stroked the thin goatee on his chin. “I’m not really the hammer and nails sort of guy, but my guess is you’ll need a lot of concrete.”

“What we really need is people. The Raiders have sheer numbers, the Gunners are well-organized, the Institute… well, they’ve got whatever they’ve got, and it won’t be good. Plus, there’s a mutant camp not too far away.”

“People need guns,” he said. “A lot of guns. And ammo.”

She should have expected a former Gunner to say that. “That’s why I’ve been hoarding every weapon I can find. I know you whine about it, but we’re going to need them.”

“I don’t ‘whine.’ When have I ever whined about anything?”

“You’re whining right now.”

“Hey, you point and I shoot. That’s the deal. It was never in the contract that I’d haul eighteen combat rifles and fifty desk fans around the wasteland for you.”

She unrolled a drawing of the fortress, anchoring the corners with her 10mm, a combat knife and a couple of rocks. MacCready came over to take a closer look.

“Ronnie’s got schematics for artillery.” Fiona pointed to the northwest and southwest corners. “I thought maybe we’d also put gun turrets and guard posts here and here, along the ramparts… the, uh, walls…”

“I know what a rampart is. I’ve read every issue of Grognak the barbarian, except the one where Skullpocalypse teams up with Mastadonald.”

She smiled. Nate had liked Grognak, too. “You know, back in Sanctuary Hills, I have a small collection of issues that I’ve found throughout the wasteland. I might have that one. Or maybe we could search Hubris Comics again.”

His fingers twitched on his rifle and his eyes darted around the armory. “Listen, uh, can we talk? I’ve been waiting for the right moment, and I suppose this is as good of a time as any, since we’re alone.”

Fiona turned around and leaned her ass on the edge of the table. “Is something wrong?”

“After helping me get Duncan’s cure from Med-Tek, I figure I owe you something… and I always pay my debts. I wanted you to have this.”

He slung his rifle over his shoulder, reached into his coat, pulled out a small toy and handed it to her.

“A wooden soldier?”

“I know it’s a strange reward for risking your life, but this one’s special. It means a lot to me. It’s the most precious thing I have. I used to have a lucky Blue Quantum bottlecap, but I gave it to Hancock. Long story. Don’t ask.”

For a man who loved caps as much as he did, there had to be a reason he put so much value on a toy. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Do I look like the artistic type to you?”

That sharp tongue of his could sometimes cut through a tense situation to find humor, sometimes cut away bullshit to find truth. Sometimes it just cut.

“Sorry, Mac, I shouldn’t question a gift. If it means a lot to you, then it means a lot to me, too.”

His eyes looked more red and watery than usual, and he took a few long, shaky breaths.

“My wife Lucy gave this to me, okay? I told her I was a soldier and she made it for me. Never could bring myself to tell her the truth, that I was just a hired killer. The soldier story was the best thing I could come up with. I didn’t want to lose her because of what I was.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult to be honest with the people we love.”

“It doesn’t really matter anymore. She died a few years back.”

MacCready knew what happened to Nate. She was surprised he hadn’t told her about his wife before. “I’m so sorry.”

“We made the mistake of holing up in a metro station one night. We didn’t know that the place was infested with ferals. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me. There was nothing I could do. Took everything I had to escape with Duncan in my arms.”

“My god, that’s awful.” Memories of Nate’s death flashed through her thoughts. “I know how that feels. The helplessness, the horror.” Tears clouded her vision.

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you about my wife, what happened to her. You have enough to deal with.”

“Mac, you can always talk to me.”

He sighed. “Sometimes I think maybe it would have been better if we’d died there with her.”

“You may have lost your wife, but you saved your son. That counts for something.” The hope of saving her own son was the only thing that kept Fiona going. She admired and envied MacCready for accomplishing what she had, so far, failed to do.

“Maybe. I don’t know anymore. Damn, I miss her.”

Fiona examined the toy soldier. She had so little to remind her of Nate, just his wedding ring and memories. Everything else was in ruins.

“I miss Nate every day.”

His face reflected her pain, the desperate fear of loneliness, the crushing weight of the world, their concern for their children, their shared losses, and the need for comfort.

“No matter how bad things got, Lucy was always there with a shoulder to lean on. It gave me… well, it gave me the courage I needed to press ahead, to never give up. When she died, I thought that feeling was gone forever. Then I met you. You have the world’s problems on your back and here you are helping me with mine, lending me your shoulder like Lucy did. I just want you to know how much your friendship means to me.”

“I thought, maybe, we might have more than friendship?”

“I… I don’t know. I mean, I never thought you would feel that way. Not about me. What about your husband? I know he’s gone, but you still love him, don’t you?”

“Would it bother you if I did?”

“I don’t know. I miss Lucy to death, too. But at some point she would want me to move on, don’t you think?”

“Nate would want that, too.”

She took his hands and held them between hers. His thin fingers felt cold as ice, his fingernails outlined in dirt. She was surprised how fragile he felt. So different from Nate, who’d been her rock.

He started trembling like a tree branch in a radstorm. “I know I was taking a chance dumping all my feelings on the table. But now that I know how you really feel about me, it was definitely worth the risk.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted like stale cigarettes and Nuka Cola. He tripped over her boots trying to get closer to her and his teeth scraped her lip. She wondered if he’d kissed anyone since his wife died.

She pulled back just a little to let him catch his breath. “Are you okay with this?”

“Absolutely. For once in my life, everything’s going right.”

He kissed her again. The brim of his hat hit her forehead and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands until she put one on her ass and the other on her breast. He groaned, pressing against her. He either kept a bull-barrel .44 in his waistband or he was impossibly hard. Fiona wanted to give him what he so desperately needed. What they both needed.

“General?” Preston’s cool voice interrupted the heat of the moment.

MacCready snarled. “We’re kinda busy in here.”

“What is it, Preston?” She gave MacCready a little push. He adjusted his pants just as Preston entered.

“Another settlement needs our help.”

She looked at MacCready. “Duty calls.”

“Sure. You lead and I follow.” He was all business, as if nothing had happened, except for the bright pink flush to his cheeks.

“We’ve had a distress call from Finch Farm. They’re being harassed by mutants and we don’t have anyone we can send out there.” Preston’s eyes darted back and forth between them. She could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t approve of the mercenary from Goodneighbor.

“We’re on it,” Fiona promised. But once those green bastards were handled, she was taking Mac straight to her house in Diamond City.

* * *

~ J.L. Hilton

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Skyrim smut, part 5: A Tsunny Day in Shor’s Realm

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Tamriel and its inhabitants belong to Bethesda. Zephyr Silvertongue is an original character.

Do not read if you are easily offended by fanfiction, romance, or an Imperial Dragonborn who snogs gods.

This story takes place in Sovngarde, just after the defeat of Alduin. While not “smut” like the previous installments of this series, it is a fun little interlude involving true love, temptation, and headcanon about the Dovahkiin’s relationship to Tiber Septim.

I’d actually written this many years ago, but didn’t want to publish until I’d finished the previous chapter, “The Dunmer of Debauchery.”

1,250 words.

– J.L. Hilton

* * *


With the dark fog of Alduin World-Eater lifted, color and light poured into Sovngarde like Cyrodilic brandy in a silver chalice.

I stood, swathed head to foot in dark leather, a spectre in the sparkling glade, and tried to conceal my disappointment. The Nord afterlife pleased the senses, but offered no treasure, no cunning crown, rare scroll, nor gold coin to steal back to the mortal world. I settled for a blue mountain flower—fragile and faintly aromatic as any in the land of the living—which I plucked and slipped into my alchemy bag. Delivered by the Dragonborn from the fields of Shor’s Realm, it would have the worth of a thousand sapphires in Skyrim.

Teldryn Sero might have suggested I gather pebbles, too, and sell them at a roadside stand outside the Thalmor Embassy. But, here, my snide Dunmer lover could not accompany me. The dragon Odahviing bore only one mortal to the ruins of Skuldafn, and I alone battled the dragon priest Nahkriin to enter eternity.

Bare-chested immortal warrior Tsun waited near. He served as sentinel of the Whalebone Bridge and the Hall of Valor, still and sturdy as an oak, ever watchful. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like a storm, shaking the boughs of the trees.

“Tarry not too long, the land of the dead is not meant for mortals to linger. Tell me when you are ready to return.”

There was a nip in the air despite the blossoms on the mountainside. Not cold but invigorating. I removed my Nightingale mask and drank in the idyllic landscape, wishing Teldryn could share it with me.

“Give me time, I implore you, mighty Tsun, to taste Aetherius and savor the soul hearth of the Nords, for I shall never walk here again.”

“When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you with glad friendship and bid you join the blessed feasting.”

Ah, yes, feasting. Piles of meat and sweet pies filled the tables of the great hall, ale flowed like water, and swords clashed in friendly combat. Not unlike Jorrvaskr, but not my idea of paradise.

“I am pledged to Nocturnal.”

He stepped closer, radiating magical energy that prickled the hair of my neck into gooseflesh. The glow of him was not seen with the eyes but felt deep in the bones and in the spirit, a radiance that soothed aches and eased burdens I wasn’t even aware I had until I felt them cease. His hands moved over my shoulders as if dusting void salts from my armor.

“Aye. Shadow clings to you.”

I turned, my nose level with the guardian’s heart. In Skyrim, my height equaled any Nord, Dunmer or Imperial. But he stood head and shoulders taller than even Knight Paladin Gelebor the Snow Elf, and twice as thick. I tore my eyes away from his fur loincloth and the steel tassets over his impressive thighs, and looked up at his face.

“I’m an Imperial, not a Nord.”

Tsun hooked his thumbs under the edge of my hood and slid it from my head, cupping my cheeks in his enormous hands, reverent as if drinking water from a holy well. “The river of your lineage flows from the blood of Tiber Septim.”

The honorable shield-thane of Shor was no liar nor a fool, but the Septim dynasty had ended centuries ago, during the Oblivion Crisis. Or so said bards and scholars.

“How is that possible?”

He threw back his head and laughed, a robust laugh that echoed in the heavens. Then he smiled at me, his eyes sparkling. “In the usual way.”

“There’s no rumor nor record of any living Septim after the sacrifice of brief Emperor Martin.”

“Blood may flow without a name. Some songs are sung in darkness.”

“Ruling requires more than mere words – even those given to me by the glorious guardian of Shor’s Hall. For me to become Empress would require mighty deeds.”

He stroked my hair. “By such deeds as the doom of the soul-snaring worm Alduin, so the valiant Dragonborn will return to Sovngarde.”

I felt light-headed by the intoxication of his touch and my lips curved in a reckless grin. “Are you trying to convince me to come back? Or reluctant to let me go?”

His eyes turned hungry, as a bear might gaze upon a salmon in a stream. Was there not as much fornicating as feasting and fighting in Sovngarde? Truly, not the forever for me.

“Long has time been since I beheld a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood, and longer still since that hero be a shieldmaiden.”

“You are the lord of trials,” I said, standing on tiptoe and combing my fingers through chest hair that glinted like Dwarven metal in the holy light of the afterlife. “Would seducing you be as difficult as winning my way across the Whalebone Bridge?”

“Seduction is not the trial, Dragonborn, but the act itself would be formidable, unless you are as brave in bedding as you are in battle, as I hope you are.”

Of course, a legendary fighter would have a legendary “weapon.” The thought evoked an elemental clash of heat and dampness in my core. I’d not bedded another man nor mer since my first night with Teldryn, more than a year ago. This, however, was no man nor mer, but a god. Could I deny him Dibella’s holy ministry of pleasure?

I pressed as close as my leather armor would allow, my chest crushed against the ornate steel buckle of the fur belt girding his waist. He bent to kiss me and the silvery ornaments binding his thick, russet braids tinkled like bells. He smelled fresh as the wind and tasted like a mountain stream, lips supple as kid leather. I stretched my arms around his massive neck as he lifted me from the ground with surprising gentleness for such a hardened barbarian. The curved torc at his throat hummed with a host of enchantments, cold as ice against my skin.

I thought of the heat of Teldryn’s ash-gray flesh with its scent of lavender and leather, the long, precious points of his ears, and the web of deep creases around his red eyes. His lean elven physique fit mine like a hand in an enchanted glove. How nimble Teldryn’s lips would have danced across mine, around my ear and down my neck, while his musical voice whispered depraved desires. A sudden yearning for my dark elf overpowered the radiance of Sovngarde or any promise of powerful bedding.

Tsun set me on my feet and stepped back, straightening to his full stature. “The Night Mistress is not the only one who claims you.”

I belonged as much to Teldryn as to Nocturnal. He knew, with that preternatural knowing of a god, connected to the currents of magic and time that wove through all things, from a moth’s wing to an Elder Scroll, though I wondered exactly what he knew about the forces that bound my soul.

Stern and inscrutable again, he seemed disinclined to continue his daliance with me. I left my questions unasked, weary of arcane knowledge and the intrigues of Aedra and Daedra. The revelation of my birthright weighed heavy enough, and I had more to deal with in Skyrim, where the civil war would resume upon my return.

“Then I should go.”

He nodded. “Return to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need. Nahl… Daal… Vus!”

And thus I left the afterlife.

* * *

Read more Skyrim…

Skyrim smut 1: “Come with me to Sovngarde
Skyrim smut 2: “I need another stamina potion”
Skyrim smut 3: “Tickling the angry troll”
Skyrim smut 4: “The Dunmer of Debauchery”
Skyrim smut 5: “A Tsunny Day in Shor’s Realm”
Skyrim smut 6: “Return to Solitude”

How I left my husband for a man with pointy ears

~ J.L. Hilton

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Skyrim smut, part 4: The Dunmer of Debauchery


The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Tamriel and its inhabitants belong to Bethesda. Zephyr Silvertongue is an original character.

Do not read if you are easily offended by fanfiction, erotica, or an Imperial Dragonborn who likes to lick Dunmer.

This was a challenging piece of writing for me, and it’s been more than four years since I wrote the previous story about Teldryn and Zephyr, “Tickling the Angry Troll.” My Skyrim fanfic is ribald and fun, but I wanted to take things a bit more seriously here. I hope this work captures both the passion and the poetry of their first night together.

1,700 words.

– J.L. Hilton

* * *


I left Iona with the Blades in Sky Haven Temple and spent a small fortune for the fastest horse in Markarth. Though its hooves beat a furious rhythm upon the roads between the Reach and the Rift, I could not return to my Dunmer lover fast enough. Teldryn Sero awaited me in Honeyside, my home in southeastern Skyrim, as far from Solitude and my husband as possible, and empty now of any housecarl to report our deeds. Iona would serve the Blades well but serve me better with her absence.

I’d never kept secrets from Stenvar. My husband witnessed the events of my life at my side, slaying enemies, forging alliances, counting coins… until Solstheim. The island nearly killed him. When he returned to Skyrim to recover, I’d hired the “greatest swordsman in all Morrowind,” whose boasting turned out to be more than a mere sales pitch. And, I, the Dragonborn, Nightingale of Nocturnal, agent of Dibella, favored of Sanguine, blood Imperial, found myself enthralled by a dark elf whose snide tongue wielded words as well as his hands slung spell or sword.

That tongue and those hands had been enough to grant me Dibella’s gift in the wagon to Windhelm. Now I yearned to discover what pleasures the rest of him could provide. And so I rode through dark of night, swift as a rumor, ruthless as the truth, past Helgen, where Alduin World-Eater belayed my execution, and into the icy windswept peaks of the Jerall Mountains.

A rag-clad skooma seller hailed me near Ivarstead, but recoiled when moonlight revealed the Nightingale insignia upon my armor. Though such miscreants only dabbled in thievery, they could recognize the leader of the Thieves Guild and dared not risk my wrath. He sputtered desperate apologies and I rode on without a word.

Dawn broke as I reached Heartwood Mill, and sunlight spilled down the Throat of the World. I crossed the bridge and took the north road around Lake Honrich to Riften’s main gate where I dismounted and left the horse in the stablehand’s capable care. My heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer as I approached the boat dock behind my home.

I would not seduce Teldryn smelling of horse and sweat, so I undressed and bathed in the lake. I had little to fear from the few farmers, fishers and millers waking to their morning chores. Karliah retained Goldenglow Estate, not far from off, and the gambler’s den of Faldar’s Tooth on the north shore answered to Maven Black-Briar, a powerful ally and personal friend. I even had the friendship of righteous Mjoll, so easily bought with a few careful words and the return of her sword, Grimsever. By all this, and more, did Jarl Leila Law-Giver declare me Thane of the Rift. In truth, I was safer here, swimming naked, than anywhere in Skyrim.

Refreshed, I gathered my gear, climbed the steps to Honeyside and unlocked the back door. Oiled hinges opened in silence and I entered the bedroom. In the dusty morning light, I could see Teldryn asleep on his back, one arm flung carelessly above his head, bare-chested and the rest concealed by bed covers. Naked and dripping, I shivered not with cold but anticipation, no doubt enraging the goddess Mara who’d blessed my marriage in the local temple. Her priests were probably writhing in uneasy slumber and rising from dark dreams as I lusted for a daedra-worshipping Dunmer.

Beverages, cheeses, sweet rolls, bread, butter and honey covered the table at the foot of the bed. Leaving my weapons and baggage on the floor, I closed and locked the door, then filled a tankard. I sipped mead and drank in the body of a swordsman, more muscular than my sweet Bosmer archer, Faendal, not as bulky as a Nord or an Orc, but strong and agile. His chest rose and fell, mesmerizing as the waters of White River, gray skin peppered with darker gray freckles and curls of black hair. I spoke no shout to slow time, yet all of Mundus seemed to stop while I watched the mysterious mercenary who’d never revealed his face until declaring his love for me.

Climbing into bed, I pressed my body along his side, placing my hand over his chest and resting my head on his shoulder. His heart beat strong under my palm and his skin felt warm and welcoming as hearthstones, radiating his natural Dunmer heat. He smelled of woodsmoke, lavender, and his own unique distillation of Mer blood.

He didn’t move, didn’t even open his eyes, but his sleepy, sultry voice murmured. “I’d wondered where you would put your hands.”

I kissed his cheek. “Everywhere, in time.”

“Yet, you chose my heart first. You value my love, most of all.”

I caressed his arm. “And if I’d touched you here?”

“You’d want my strength and protection.”

I moved my hand from his hard bicep and traced one light fingertip along his brow. “And here?”

“My knowledge.”

I touched the bridge of his nose, his violet lips, his chin, his throat, and drew a path down his chest to his stomach. I slid my hand under the blanket, over his thigh, and cupped his pouch of precious stones. He exhaled a sigh when I grasped his elven sword, hard as a steel hilt wrapped in the softest suede.

“And if I’d touched this first?”

“You’d want pleasure.”

I gently nibbled the edge of his pointed ear and whispered. “But you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

I squeezed. “I want everything.”

The purple orb of a spell swirled in his hand. “I can give you even more.”

His tusk swelled from horker to mammoth size in my grasp. I recognized the unique light of conjuration magic, used to summon a variety of weapons — axe, sword, dagger, bow — but never knew it could manifest this sort of tool.

“Is this one of the fornication spells you spoke of?” I stroked the length of his conjured cock. “I thought they were just tales to taunt me.”

“Oh, no, Serah Dovah, they are quite real.”

His hand glowed blue, cold as ice, and traced spirals around my breasts, which he warmed with his mouth. He slid his hand between my legs, sending a shocking chill through me that did nothing to cool my desire.

I wrapped my arms around him, kissed him, and felt the magical length of him between us. Like all spells, it had a limited duration and soon returned to its natural size. He raised a hand to cast the spell again and I laced my fingers through his.


“Says the woman who boasts of bedding enormous Nords and Orcs.”

I held his red eyes with my own gray gaze. “I want you just as you are. No masks. No enchantments.”

His smug smile was more precious to me than Barenziah’s crown. Teldryn had every right to his conceit. He had no dragon blood nor gifts from the gods, and yet he followed me down every path without misstep. He had no bardic training, yet his voice was music and his wit as keen as Dragonbane’s edge.

“You may have me, but do you love me? Say you do.”

“I swear by Aedra and Daedra…”

He quieted me with a kiss. “Oaths are as empty as a beggar’s purse. You break one, even now, to be with me. Don’t swear. Show me. Make me believe you.”

He was alchemy, and I had to taste him to unlock his secrets. He was a treasure map, full of unending riches, and took my time exploring every landmark. He was my own Apocrypha, a library of forbidden knowledge, and I read every line, fingers probing like the tentacles of Hermaeus Mora, until I knew him well. Then I used every skill I possessed to whet his blade until he erupted like Red Mountain. His hands tangled in my hair as he thrust, flowing white-hot down my throat with a rush like the release of a dragon soul.

Teldryn took his turn at me, torturing with the flick of his tongue, light as a luna moth’s wing, building exquisite tension until I overflowed. Dibella’s gift shuddered through me but only made me want him more. I toyed with his long, elven ears and dark hair, as he kissed a path over my stomach and between my breasts. Eye to eye, heart to heart, we held each other and I felt his sword stiffen against my damp sheath.

“No stamina potion needed?”

“Every road we have traveled, every arrow from your bow, every word spoken by campfire and moonlight, every foul creature slain by your sword, Zephyr Silvertongue, is my stamina potion. Each moment with you is a drop in the vial of my desire. And I’ve collected too many, waited too long.”

“You need wait no longer.”

I pushed him onto his back and positioned myself at the tip of his cock. He grasped my head between his hands, fingers clutching my damp hair, and his eyes held mine as I took him, inch by inch. As light spreads through darkness, as water slakes thirst, as warmth seeps into cold bones, he filled me, not just in flesh but in spirit.

In bed as in battle, we moved like the gears of a Dwemer machine, attuned to one other with perfect precision. Constantly shifting, moving, grinding, fueled by the numinous fires of something deep and discarnate, I lost myself in a sacred realm of our own, climbing to a peak of unfathomable ecstasy as the sun climbed higher in the sky.

He was above me, my legs wrapped around his waist, hands on his backside, when Dibella’s gift rose in me again. I cried out the names of every god I could remember, until there were none left but his name.


He drew back for a final thrust, deft and deep, and I felt him spill into me. I clutched him until my nails drew blood. My body twisted and writhed, as I wrung every drop of pleasure from oblivion. His voice spurred me on, harder, faster, until the last spasm passed, and then it was a soothing balm, a singsong of love eternal and grateful joy.

I held him in my arms and knew that we were forever bound, heart and soul, Teldryn Sero and Zephyr Silvertongue, and not even the gods could tear us asunder.

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Try-It Tuesday: NIGHTMARES FROM THE DEEP 3 Davy Jones

NIGHTMARES FROM THE DEEP 3: DAVY JONES is another Artifex Mundi game with a free demo for the Playstation 4. I love these point-and-click puzzle stories for a change of pace. You can see the others I’ve tried, here.

This one is a ghost pirate adventure where museum curator Sara Black must save her daughter from a soul-stealing pact, solve 29 mini-games and 11 hidden object scenes, awaken 12 mysterious statues, and explore 68 locations.

Click here to try the free PS4 demo

I enjoyed this one, and my viewers seemed to like it, too, so I may continue playing the full game in future. Check my gaming schedule for updates.

Available for PC, Xbox One, PS4 and mobile. Rated “T” for teens.

~ J.L. Hilton

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Try-It Tuesday: MASS EFFECT Andromeda

MASS EFFECT: ANDROMEDA is an action role-playing video game developed by BioWare for PC, PlayStation 4, and Xbox One. Released in March 2017, it’s the fourth installment in the Mass Effect series.

Some of my readers have asked if my Stellarnet books were inspired by Mass Effect, but I’ve never played the games and know very little about the franchise. At the time I wrote Stellarnet Rebel, I hadn’t even played a Fallout or Elder Scrolls game, yet.

With a free trial on PS4, and at viewer request, I tried MASS EFFECT: ANDROMEDA this week. I thoroughly enjoyed it and didn’t have a single complaint, other than being in third-person, which is awkward for me. I wasn’t crazy about the face of the main character, Sara Ryder, she seemed too young and dopey looking, but I’m told that there’s a way to customize the character in the full game.

Click to buy

Definitely a game to consider buying and playing in the future!

MASS EFFECT: ANDROMEDA is rated “M” for mature players over 17, due to blood, nudity, strong language, strong sexual content, and violence.

~ J.L. Hilton

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Try-It Tuesday: BEYOND Two Souls

Quantic Dream releases Detroit: Become Human for PlayStation 4 in a couple of days so I tried a demo last week. Another Quantic Dream game, BEYOND: TWO SOULS, was free this month for Playstation+ members, and I figured I’d try that one, too.

While Detroit: Become Human is a near-future science fiction story about androids, BEYOND: TWO SOULS is a supernatural thriller with similarities to the 2016 Netflix show Stranger Things. Both games are single-player, third person, with quick time events.

I found the gameplay in BEYOND: TWO SOULS excessively frustrating and awkward. As someone who’s played thousands of hours of games like Fallout, Skyrim and BioShock, the camera movement felt cramped and the controls confusing. I spent too much time walking around, opening doors, and bumping into the limits of the world.

I wasn’t keen on the stiff camera in Detroit: Become Human, either, but didn’t feel the same sense of frustration with that game. The points of interaction enhanced the story in the Detroit demo, but they really got in the way and detracted from the experience in BEYOND: TWO SOULS.

Buy from Amazon

In spite of my intense dislike of the game mechanics, BEYOND: TWO SOULS has an interesting story and my viewers tell me there’s only about ten total hours of gameplay, so I will continue playing.

BEYOND: TWO SOULS was published in 2013, featuring characters voiced by Ellen Page and Willem Dafoe, and is rated “M” for mature audiences due to blood, intense violence, sexual content, strong language, and use of drugs and alcohol.

~ J.L. Hilton

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Try-It Tuesday: DETROIT Become Human

Quantic Dream releases DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN next week for PlayStation 4 and a free demo, the “Hostage,” is available for preview. Some of my viewers suggested I try it out.

Quantic Dream also developed two other Playstation exclusives, Heavy Rain (2010) and Beyond: Two Souls (2013), which I never played. The latter is free this month for Playstation+ members and I’ll be trying it out next week.

While I’m a fan of first-person point-and-click puzzle adventures like Eventide: Slavic Fable or the Mystery Case Files franchise, I don’t usually play third-person story games, like the Telltale games. When I play a video game, I want a video game, not an interactive movie. I don’t like cutscenes or quick time events. I don’t like playing in third-person. I tried Murdered: Soul Suspect last year and couldn’t get into it.

Buy from Amazon

So, I wasn’t expecting much from DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN. But when I finished the scenario for the first time, successfully saving Emma, I was stoked. It felt good. I was totally engaged. The story tense, the characters compelling, the gameplay intriguing. The game showed me a branching timeline of unexplored possibilities and I eagerly played the scenario again. The second time, Connor died and I got all choked up. That’s the sign of a good game.

It remains to be seen whether the rest of DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN will be as good as the demo, but I hope so.

Rated “M” for mature audiences, for blood, intense violence, partial nudity, sexual themes, strong language and use of drugs.

~ J.L. Hilton

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LITTLE NIGHTMARES is a single-player puzzle-platformer horror adventure game developed by Tarsier Studios and published by Bandai Namco Entertainment in 2017 for PC, PS4 and Xbox One. A Nintendo Switch version became available in 2018.

Click here for buying options

During my playthrough of Unravel, a few of my viewers suggested this game to me, so I tried the free PS4 demo this week. Unravel was a sweet, but deeply emotional and at times very dark, puzzle side-scroller about Yarny, a yarn creature who unravels as it travels through the memories of its creator.

LITTLE NIGHTMARES is about a small child (I assume but am not entirely sure) in a yellow raincoat who is trapped in what seems to be an orphanage on an oil tanker, constantly rocking as if at sea, and populated with gnomes, leeches and characters that would be right at home in a Tim Burton movie.

While I could admire the creepy atmosphere and excellent graphics — which really felt like looking into the side of an open dollhouse — I won’t be playing any more LITTLE NIGHTMARES. I’m not a fan of horror and I’m particularly not a fan of horror when children are in peril. Blame it on an over-developed maternal instinct, but I felt utter agony when the small protagonist fell to her death and I saw her foot twitching. Just… no. Not for me.

Rated “T” for Teens, for blood and violence.

~ J.L. Hilton

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It’s like someone at Zoink! said, “Hey, let’s make a game with zombie Vikings, like in Skyrim or Game of Thrones, only our zombie Vikings are the good guys!”

And, lo, they created ZOMBIE VIKINGS, a dead funny adventure about a putrid posse in search of Odin’s missing eyeball. Available for PS4, Xbox One and PC. You can play alone or with up to three other people, with online and couch co-op.

Choose one of four Zombie Vikings — Gunborg, Seagurd, Hedgy and Caw-kaa — each with unique power moves and dialog. Impale your friends on the end of your weapon (you can’t hurt them, they’re already dead!) and hurl them at your enemies. Visit a lonely witch’s love lair. Battle animated hairballs hacked up by a cat king. Wield wild weapons, including a kitty lollipop, a nose sword, and a peppermint stick.

Buy from Amazon

I’m not usually big on side-scrolling, button-mashing games, but I enjoyed the animation, creativity and silly story of ZOMBIE VIKINGS. It’s okay as a single-player, thanks to the addition of a piggy-corn companion, but I think this game is really meant to be played with friends. I’m hoping to continue playing through with my youngest daughter, and maybe some of my viewers, when I’ve finished Cat Quest.

Rated “T” for “Teens,” due to crude humor, fantasy violence, language, mild blood, suggestive themes and drug use.

~ J.L. Hilton

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