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spidehpig · 3 days

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the crooks are out, and the streets are grey

aka a prison pen pal au

HUUUUGE fucking thank you to @ceilidho for all of the writing advice and beta reading this and just generally being a big motivation and indulging in all of my random cod thoughts lol

this is incredibly self-indulgent. tags will be updated accordingly with a warning on each chapter when necessary. i'm a big fan of ghoap being perverted violent freaks if you couldn't tell.

thanks for reading besties. sorry there isn't any direct reader x ghost interaction yet. i promise it's coming.

you can also find me on twitter

[cw implied sexual harassment, future dubcon, explicit sexual content] 18+ MDNI

AO3

Part 1

It starts with a little slip of paper shoved under the bars of his shared cell with Soap.

An official notice to inform inmates of the start of a new pen pal program the following week. Some rehabilitative bullshit about encouraging good behavior and rehabilitating prisoners on track to be released within the next few years. Ghost can’t help but roll his eyes as he crumples up the slip of paper and makes his way to the prison yard. Doesn’t give it another thought.

That is until he receives a letter. Packaged in a little envelope with the prettiest handwriting he’s ever seen, addressed to the one and only Simon V. Riley: Inmate #634. The envelope had been torn open with a letter opener, read by prison staff, and searched for contraband, of course, before it made its way through the slot of his cell door. It comes in a lilac envelope and it's even adorned with a pretty little heart right next to his name scrawled in cursive.

Ghost shoves the pastry he swiped in the cafeteria from a new inmate into his mouth as he rips open the letter with mild interest. He lets out a snort when he sees that the staple holding the pages of the letter together was ripped out by whatever guard had gotten stuck with mail duty today. He knows that you’ll have already received an angry voicemail from the prison advising you that all mail to inmates must be paperclip and staple free upon arrival.

He glances over the letter with disinterest, a couple paragraphs introducing yourself and one detailing your excitement about joining the program. He only skims his way to the second page where you start to ask him questions about himself before he’s crumpling up the pages to shove under his bunk. He’ll be free of this place in a mere sixteen months; doesn’t need a bloody pen pal to encourage good behavior.

He knows that there is anger and violence rooted deep within him. On a good day, it simmers in his chest, a warm heat that lies dormant. On bad days, it burns so hot that he can feel the angry heat creep up into his throat. It makes the words that spill from his mouth cruel, and his calloused fingers twitch as he stomps his way over to the courtyard to beat the old punching bag until his shirt is soaked through with sweat and his knuckles are raw and bloody.

Not all bad days end with him wrapping his split knuckles with bandages from the infirmary. Sometimes they end with him in solitary and picking another inmate’s dried blood from underneath his fingernails. He hasn’t had a bad day like that in over a year now.

If he’s being honest with himself, it’s only because he doesn’t want to jeopardize his early release. Most of the other inmates know well enough now to leave Ghost be. The last inmate to piss Ghost off ended up in the infirmary with three broken ribs and two of his own teeth spat into his palm.

Poor sod ducks his head like a quivering dog every time he meets Ghost’s gaze now; surely won’t make the mistake of cutting in front of him in line at the cafeteria again. Ghost hasn’t been outside of a prison in the last seventeen years but he can’t imagine a civilian would try to swipe food from his plate or pick a fight with him just to see if they could win it.

So he lies through his teeth at every psych evaluation. Tells the doctors that the exercises they suggested are helping him manage his anger. He has a feeling they don’t quite believe him, but he hasn’t had an episode in over a year to justify their reservations. And since they don’t question his ability to rehabilitate into civilian life, he tells himself that he’ll be fine on the outside. All he has to do is keep to himself until Johnny gets released eight months after him. He just needs to behave for another year and he doesn’t see how writing letters would make any difference.

He had thought that if he just ignored the letters they would eventually stop coming, but despite his obvious reluctance to partake in the program, the letters keep coming. Every last one in a pretty lilac envelope, notably staple free since the first one. He gleans little from her letters. Some young bird that signed up for this pen pal exchange. She’s twenty-one and has an interest in criminology.

Ghost decides that he hates her for it.

Each letter gets shoved under the bunk; most of the time he doesn’t even bother to open and read them. He rolls his eyes when Soap whines and begs to trade pen pals with him. Apparently the poor mutt got stuck with some seventy-four year old retired veteran and he doesn’t think it's fair that Ghost got paired with a young woman.

It isn’t until he receives yet another letter from his unwanted pen pal, this time addressed from another country, that something finally makes him stop in his tracks. The bird is apparently studying abroad and when he opens the envelope, a flimsy polaroid floats down into his lap. He doesn’t bother to read the newest letter and instead snatches the picture up between his thick fingers. He can’t help the groan that escapes his lips the second he flips the polaroid picture over.

Ghost hardly even looks at the sweet smile and bright blue ocean behind her. No, that’s not what catches his attention. His gaze immediately flicks down to the swell of her breasts taking up half of the image. What would be an innocent selfie to most might as well be a page ripped straight from a playboy magazine to Ghost. Clearly taken at the beach after a swim in the ocean, sweat and ocean water glistening on your skin, and Ghost can see the peaks of your nipples poking through your thin bikini top.

And fuck is that enough for him. He hasn’t had a woman in, well, ever, and the guards keep confiscating his playboy magazines, so this will have to do. A low grunt escapes his chest as he reaches down to palm his cock that’s now twitching to attention. He pauses to make sure Soap is still snoring, loudly , in the bunk above him before he reaches down to grope at his stiffening prick. Unzips himself from his prison issued track pants and palms at his stiffening cock over the thin fabric of his briefs.

He hisses between his teeth when he dips his hand under the band of his briefs and the rough skin of his palm tugs against the sensitive skin of his cock. Has to yank his hand back and spit into his palm before wrapping his thick fingers around the base of his cock. His other hand grips the picture of you between his fingertips as he pulls his foreskin back to reveal his swollen tip already leaking precum. It twitches in his hand as another glob of precum leaks down his prick.

He has half a mind to wake Soap up and shove his cock down the boy’s throat. If he fucks his throat deep enough he could pretend it’s the tight heat of your cunt clenching around his cock while he laps at one of the nipples peaking through your bikini.

Ghost’s fantasy is shattered the second the little shit sleeping above him wakes with a loud snort. He watches Soap’s head peek over the side of his bunk, pretty blue eyes clouded with sleep as his disheveled mohawk dangles over the metal bunk.

“Yeh could’ve asked for a helping hand yaknow that, Ghost. Yeh know I’d—” Soap’s voice cuts off abruptly, eyes narrowing on the polaroid clutched in Ghost’s hand and the other wrapped around his prick.

”Whatcha got there, Ghost?” Soap drawls, accent still thick from sleep.

”Fuck off, Johnny,” Ghost grunts as he looks back down at your picture and gives his cock another stroke.

No use in deterring his mutt once his sight is set on a bone though. He feels the bunk shake and squeak as Soap scrambles down the ladder, the pervert already tenting his boxers as he crawls into Ghost’s bed.

”I said fuck off, Johnny.” Ghost grits his teeth and clutches your picture to his chest. Trying desperately to reimagine the swell of your tits pressed against his chest when you finally sink down on his cock. But Soap is relentless. His needy slut straddles Ghost’s thighs with a smirk on his face.

And fuck it, his boy is gagging for it, he might as well. He doesn’t acknowledge Soap’s incessant teasing and instead fists a hand through his soft mohawk before shoving the brat’s head between his legs.

A low growl escapes his chest as the man’s lips wrap around his throbbing cock. And fuck, does his mouth feel good, tight and wet as his soft lips slide down Ghost’s length, throat swallowing around him. He loses himself in the feel of Soap’s practiced mouth, eyes only snapping open when Soap lets out a deep moan. Before he can even think, the palm of his hand is connecting with Soap’s cheek, hard . It draws a low moan from Soap’s throat which only serves to irritate Ghost more.

”Shut up,” Ghost snaps and pushes Soap’s head down on his cock until he feels the man flinch and gag around his prick. Usually he loves to hear the whorish sounds that fall from his boy’s pretty lips but right now, he’s trying to imagine the way you’d cry out and beg as he inches his cock into the tight heat of your cunt. Ghost slaps his boy across the cheek again when Soap lets out a low growl and scrapes his teeth on the underside of his cock.

Soap seems to get the message, his moans and growls slowly quiet, swirling his tongue around Ghost’s swollen glands before sinking down until his nose is buried in Ghost’s pubic hair. Ghost loses himself in the wet heat of Soap’s throat once more, eyes rolling back as his head knocks back against his pillow, your pretty smile contorting itself into a cry as he bullies his cock into your cunt. His hips buck and bruise the back of Soap’s throat with every thrust while he dreams of fucking your pretty cunt full of his cum. He cums with a snarl on his lips and Johnny gagging around him. Holds Soap down on his cock as he reaches down to squeeze at his balls one last time before ripping the boy off his cock with a sputtering gasp.

Soap is immediately scrambling up the bed, grinding his prick against the swell of Ghost’s thigh.

”C’mon, Ghost, lemme see, just a peek I swear that’s all I need,” Soap whines, frantically grinding his cock against Ghost’s leg. Ghost blinks as the bliss from his orgasm melts away, the bunk creaking from the force of Soap’s desperate thrusts, the man panting and grunting above him.

He languidly flips your photo between his fingers, any streak of possessiveness gone now, as long as it’ll get his mutt to stop humping his leg faster so he can get some sleep.

“Ah, fuck , Ghost, looks bonnie, don’t she,” Soap pants as his eyes flit over your bikini photo, the grind of his hips losing their rhythm for a moment.

“Bet ‘er ass hasn’t been fucked yet,” Soap groans.

”Make ‘er take us both.”

”Bet she tastes sweet.”

”Pretty thing.”

Ghost barely registers Soap’s babbling above him, just grabs his ass and guides his hips against his thigh until Soap is cumming in his briefs with a low moan. When the boy finally calms down enough to catch his breath, he pulls the cum soaked briefs off of his boy and tosses them across the cell before pulling the mutt to his chest as they both doze off.

Ghost wakes annoyed, drenched in sweat and cum and Soap snoring loudly against his neck. The little shit has the audacity to grumble and pout when he makes Soap go sleep in his own bunk. When he hears Soap’s start to snore, he sits up, stealing Soap’s pencil and a spare sheet of paper. He starts scribbling words back to you. The first letter he’s responded to. His handwriting is ugly and near illegible, but he thinks you should be able to read most of it. He hangs his arms out of the bars of his cell and whistles at the guard stationed down the hall. Shoves his letter to you in the guard’s hand and grunts at him to send it to his bird.

The guard, Andrews, he thinks, scoffs snatching the letter from Ghost’s fingertips before banging on the cell door.

”MacTavish! You got a letter for your lovebird too?”

Ghost groans, already prepared for the bitchfest that’s about to happen.

Soap awakes with a loud snort, head snapping up over the edge of his bunk and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.”

“Aye fuck off, you limp dick prick,” Soap growls and scrambles down the rickety bunk to press the length of his body against the cell bars as he curses the guard that taunted him. A litany of Scottish curses fall from his lips as Soap presses his forehead to the bars and goads the guard into approaching their shared cell. The little spitfire has himself so worked up he’s pacing the length of their cell and spewing insults at the guards on duty.

“I know yer playing favorites, Andrews. Think yer funny giving me some old bastard, don’t yeh?” Soap hollers into the hallway and slams a fist against the bars of their cell, pressing his forehead against the bars once again, growling and swearing some more when Andrews takes a step back, barking out a harsh laugh. Ghost can practically see the metaphorical fur on Soap’s hind spike up at that, just a moment before he spits at the guard’s feet. Andrews, the scrawny little fucker, lurches forward to swat at Soap’s fists clenched around the bars of their cell with his baton.

“You better back up and watch that mouth of yours Mactavish, or it’ll be another two days in solitary for you,” Andrews snaps at Soap and shoots a knowing directly at Ghost.

And oh does Ghost hate when Soap gets sent to solitary. Can’t use his boy’s holes when he’s locked up on the other side of the prison. The rough drag of his own fist just can’t compete with the tight heat of Johnny’s throat or arse. Especially now that he’s got a bird back home to think about. Ghost grips the back of Soap’s sweat soaked shirt and yanks him back from the cell bars, grunting at him to give it a fuck rest. Ghost retreats to his bunk when Soap finally cools off, watching as Soap flops down onto the chair at their shared desk and starts to angrily scribble in his journal, occasionally grumbling to himself under his breath. He settles back against his pillow, content with thinking about his new bird on the outside until the guards release them for breakfast. He almost feels bad about not writing to you sooner. Poor girl tired of her letters going unanswered, you really were just begging for his attention when you sent a violent inmate a photo of your tits now, weren’t you?

#cod #ghoap drabble #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x you #soap x you #ghoap x you #ghoap #ghost x soap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #my fic

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lucysarah-c · 2 days

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Question: for Virgin! Canon Levi; how do you think that would go down? Like full blown sex one night? Taking it slow over time? Just how do you think reader would need to navigate it with him? Slow burn / build up, a passionate night, tipsy reader?

This is assuming Levi and Reader’s emotions are confirmed for each other

Hiiiii~~ How are you? What have you been up to lately?

Haha, honestly, I'm not entirely sure what caused this full blow-up of questions, but I'm kinda loving it.

Mhh, I think my answer depends a lot on two factors: "Levi's age" and "the experience of the reader." I know you said Canon Levi, but I wonder if you mean canon season 1-4 Levi, Underground Levi, pre-promotion Levi, etc. haha

I'll conclude that you meant "canon season 1-3" Levi. While I personally don't headcanon Captain Levi as a virgin during the "overall" period of AoT (I mean, since season 1, not ACWNR or Underground Levi), I think his reaction depends a lot on how much experience the reader has. Levi strikes me as one of those friends/partners who loves you, cares about you, etc., but hardly ever talks about themselves. In my humble opinion, even if Levi has feelings for you and you two decide to pursue a relationship together, it may take him a lot of time to open up about his past. I mean, this man gets along with Hange amazingly in the story; Isayama says that Hange is who "understands" or "gets along better with Levi," and yet Hange didn't know about Kenny.

So this may be a wild take… but I think Levi wouldn't tell you it's his first time, lmao. He may try to play it cool; you might notice he's not the most "skilled" dude out there ('cause let me tell you, no amount of Ackerman powers makes you seem experienced, lol), but he's not telling you it's his first time. Which, you know, everybody is entitled to their past. Perhaps if the reader is also a virgin and she opens up emotionally like, "It's my first time," Levi would feel she's opening up to him, and he would feel it's a good time to be honest too and be like, "Well… it's mine too, so I guess we will figure it out as we go."

About "how" it would be, I think the reader would have to set the tempo. Most men are READY to blow off some steam if you give them a chance, haha, so if the reader is also a virgin and they kinda want to test the waters before going all the way, Levi would be down for it, especially because it will give him time to catch a trick or two, learn what she likes.

I think that porn or movies make us believe how "sex" usually happens, and I mean, talking from my experience and my friends' experiences… none of us went from 0 to 10. Like, we kiss, we make out, then maybe we got a little handy, then riding on top of clothes, oral sex, fingers, etc. Especially because maybe you don't have your own place to crash at, maybe you two would like to talk it out before it happens. Buy condoms, get ready, etc.

Now, if you are curious how I think Underground Levi would decide to lose his V-card while younger… probably rather quick, steamy, and not giving it much thought, haha. He'd let the hormones talk and make decisions for him. In both occasions, I don't think he made the girl cum before him, which is something that happens a lot; we women are harder to please, it requires more technique than men who… well, let's say that they come rather easily, lol. BUT he will 100% offer to make her cum anyway, with fingers or mouth. Levi will be such a fast learner, give him a chance or two, and he will pick it up like a champ.

Though why can't I shake the idea of a younger Levi in the underground in his 18s, having something with a girl slightly older than him, perhaps 20, etc. And her saying between chuckles, "Slow down, boy."

God, I would pay to see his blushed, embarrassed face.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthor @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @levicansteponme @galactict3a Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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triptanite · 11 hours

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Speak to me

certified Rolan enjoyers come gather n look at my sneak peak/wip (please)

not certain I'll continue this one but I haven't ruled it out

Pairing: Tav X Rolan (reader X Rolan) (you X Rolan) (y/n X Rolan) (I don't like using the y/n format personally so you won't see that in my writing, but I know from experience ppl will dig through every relevant tag for content when they want it lol)

Content warning/s: mild references to physical abuse (not graphic or detailed)

MASTERLIST

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You could see him now, eyebrows furrowed as he mimicked his learnings alone in his private quarters. He would be muttering curses at himself at his mistakes, bolstering with confidence at his successes. You hoped he was eating well, sleeping well. You couldn't wait to see him in action. You couldn't dream that the next time you saw him he would look like this.

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You reach up, hand outstretched to investigate the purple blooms on his face. Rolan's breath catches. He doesn't want you to think of him like this, to worry, to pity. He can vaguely see his own reflection in your glossy eyes, pupils darting frantically with equal parts concern and confusion. You'd been so very thrilled to hear about Rolan's succesful immersion in the apprentice world. You thought fondly of him during quiet moments on the road. You imagined him slicking back his hair neatly every morning, straightening and adjusting his robes one hundred times, listening intently, learning eagerly. You could practically hear the pride in his voice as he boasted to Cal and Lia about his newest incantation. You could see him now, eyebrows furrowed as he mimicked his learnings alone in his private quarters. He would be muttering curses at himself at his mistakes, bolstering with confidence at his successes. You hoped he was eating well, sleeping well. You couldn't wait to see him in action. You couldn't dream that the next time you saw him he would look like this.

Your touch grows closer, painfully slow. You're giving him all the time in the world to signal you to stop but he can't quite find the right words to say it.

"Please..." He brings his own hand up to grab at your wrist, using so little force it's almost negligible. The tips of your fingers ghost over a faded bruise, one you wouldn't even notice unless you were looking for it.

"Please don't." He finally forces the words through. He swallows, feeling like his mouth is full of sand. He meant to sound firm, polite, collected; the greatest arch mages have fought and won bigger battles than simple backhands - he would too. But like the loose grip of his fingers, he falters, and it comes out in a low whisper. He sounds like he's confiding a deep secret to you in a quiet library. If he speaks too loud, he speaks the truth into existence. He confesses. He admits. Rolan is worryingly quiet in this moment. His typical boisterous confidence is snuffed out; not entirely gone but smothered by something anxious and withdrawn.

Silence stretches out as you search his eyes for explanation. You don't want to utter the questions, you can just about guess the answers. You plead at him with your gaze, but his dulled, golden stare gives away just as much as his mouth does. Your hand is frozen in place, still just a whisper away from the skin at his cheekbones. He doesn't make any moves to push you away. A gentle warmth emanates from his palm, and he doesn't move to unhand you either. You're both stuck, each willing the other to understand.

"Rolan."

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sorry rolan but I like my blorbos suffering a little bit :///

it's okay though we skip forward in time to tav casting These Hands on Lorroakan

tani notes 952 2/06/24 1105 (ignore this it's just for me)

#bg3 #tanitalks #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate 3 #rolan #bg3 rolan #baldurs gate rolan #rolan x tav #rolan x reader #rolan x you #rolan x y/n #taniwrites #first draft we die like men

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purble-turble · 3 days

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So i was looking through the general tags and i ran into that 'if the various Red Sons played Smash' and it was said that TTRed would favor Kirby specifically because he's still trying his best to 'declaw' himself and all- and i was thinking like- Mei would ABSOLUTELY be down to aid this endeavor, figuring its a pretty healthy coping mechanism compared to others and just-

LOADING him up on cute things. it's a pain in the ass to get him to ACCEPT any gifts, but when she wears him down he USES them because he doesn't want her to feel like she wasted the money and effort to help him with his 'domestication' attempts, so he's out of here with the fucking Pom Pom Purin backpack and other various trinkets that she could get away with foisting onto him

Haha oh I had forgotten about that ask! But yeah Time Travel Red Son attempting to get into cutesy stuff as a way to NOT be like King Red is a freakin great idea!

I imagine it starts out small, like when Red is asked to pick what color straw he wants or which arcade prize to get and he finds himself just deliberately choosing one that’s pink for the mere reason that it’s the exact opposite aesthetic that DKR had. It’s not necessarily cute on purpose, just worked out that way. After awhile Mei notices first just because she super duper loves cute things and, before his future adventure, Red Son seemed to either dislike that style or at least thought he was too good for it… so yeah Mei gets excited about this particular change and decides to take it upon herself to make Red Son Super Cute™ from now on!

The only problem with it is.. Red still doesn’t like it. Not genuinely. He forces himself to make those choices almost as a reflex, desperate to have any difference between who he is/wants to be and the monster he saw in the future, even in just superficial ways like having a pink Pom Pom backpack…… well, he thinks, at least Mei likes it, and if she wants to pick out some cutesy accessories for him, then that’s fine. It’s good to to have her make choices for him, right? The less agency he has the better.

…MK notices this shift much later, probably after Red’s already carrying around his blueprints in a pom pom backpack. He doesn’t fully know how this happened until he spots the six or so chibi dragon keychains that he knows whos responsible lol…. Anyway he has to have a talk with a pouty Mei in private about if, instead of pushing him to like the things that they like, they should instead try to get Red Son comfortable with just being himself, even if it means going back to being a dorky edge-lord. Mei is disappointed, but agrees Red Son should make his own choices from now on….. she still foists cute things on him once in awhile, but the initial deluge that happened definitely stops lol

#ask #spicynoodleshipping #demon king red #time travel #I love the idea of TT Red being this messy raggedy boy with haunted eyes and also a cute pink backpack haha #love this ask haha thank you #vegalocity

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ghouly-boiiiii · 21 hours

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A Light in the Dark 🕯️

Chapter 1: Throwing Stones

Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul

Summary: Takes place directly after the end of Season 1. As they begin their journey, Lucy is understandably very angry and fearful towards the Ghoul. She hates him, and is only joining him because she wants answers. He, however, is harboring secret feelings for Lucy ever since she saved his life. Having not been with anyone since Barb, and believing she would never feel the same, the bounty hunter has to deal with these feelings on his own. Little does he know, Lucy finds herself having inexplicable feelings for him as well, and struggling to make sense of them.

Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Casual Sex Lucy and No Wait Let Me Court You Cooper, Cooper is touch-starved and rusty in bed, He's also self-conscious about his body, Ghoul channels old romantic Cooper, Lucy is confused by strange surface dweller mating customs, She helps him discover his old self, He helps her discover her true self, Did I mention there would be angst

Rating: Mature - Word Count: 1,742

SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers. No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man and lots of angst.

In this chapter...

To her horror, the rock shot straight forward and bounced off the back of The Ghoul’s head.

She threw her hands up in front of her. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to hit you! Please, don’t…”

“Don’t worry…” To her surprise, his voice was gentle and unthreatening. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to hurt cha’… But…” The Ghoul kneeled down and picked up a rock, then looked up at her and threw it in her direction.

She watched as fell to the ground at her feet.

“Huh… I missed.” He shrugged with an odd smile, then turned back around and kept walking.

Authors Note: This fic starts out somewhat similar to my other fic, My Name Is Cooper, because it starts directly after the end of the season. They have similar conversations at first, but the tone is much different and the story goes in a completely different direction. This one is more serious (still with some humor though, of course), and is probably going to be longer. I really wanted to do a more realistic, slow burn romance. I know there's a ton out there already, but I wanted to do my own version because idk, reasons I guess lol. But I really wanted to dive deep into how these two navigate their relationship and the very complicated feelings they might have for each other. This is what you might call another free-writing project, so I don't know *exactly* where it's gonna go, but I will do my best to make sure it has a decent ending when the time comes! Inspired by the cool peeps on Discord and touch-starved Cooper headcanons lol.

Lucy felt the cool night air fill her lungs as she took a deep breath and tried to still her mind. It was silent. Nothing but the soft crunch of leaves and dirt under their feet, and perhaps the occasional frog or cricket.

The vault dweller looked out at the distance before them. A fog rose up from the earth, illuminated by the faint glow of a thousand lights that mirrored the stars above. She was in awe, even thinking that it was beautiful. But it was only a distraction from all the pain and confusion she felt.

Her whole world had turned upside down. Nothing was as she believed it was. Nothing was as it seemed. Everything she thought she knew had crumbled into dust within a matter of minutes. She was numb. Overwhelmed. Everything felt surreal. And now she found herself once again alone… with him.

As Lucy stared ahead at his silhouette in the darkness, she felt nothing but disdain. The young vault dweller was taught to forgive and forget. But she was fairly certain the people who taught her that were never fed to a giant salamander or tied up by their neck and dragged around a desert or sold for organs. How could she possibly forgive, let alone forget, such horrible things that were done to her?

She couldn’t. But she had to stuff down her feelings and let it go… for now.

“So… where are we going?” Lucy finally asked. They must have been walking for at least thirty minutes at this point. And he hadn’t looked back even once, only reacting to the dog when she came up to him, and even then with barely more than a glance. Lucy wasn’t even sure if he knew she was still following him anymore.

The Ghoul didn’t answer right away. He waited a moment, before he took a breath and said, “Can’t say for sure yet… but looks like yo’ daddy might be headed for New Vegas.”

“...That’s a town?”

“Big town.”

“Okay…” Lucy took a deep breath. The conversation seemed to be going… okay so far. “So… what’s in this town? Why do you think he’d want to go there?”

The Ghoul didn’t answer.

The vault dweller swallowed hard. She wanted to push, but she knew she had to be cautious. “How do you know my father? Are you going to tell me?”

The bounty hunter seemed to be ignoring her.

She huffed. He was so rude. So rude and inconsiderate and unaccommodating, it sickened her. Maybe if she started with something simpler… “Okay, so… do you got like a… name or something?”

Again, nothing.

Lucy frowned, her tone getting exasperated. “I’m just… wondering what I should call you… You really not gonna answer that either?”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you call me.” He snapped, sounding a bit angry.

Lucy fell silent and her throat got tight, a bit of fear rising in her. She truly didn’t know what kind of madness compelled her to follow this man, after everything he did to her. She was hypervigilant about his every movement. Knowing that at any moment, he could turn around and try to do... something to her.

With her hand on her pistol, she kept her distance. This one, armed with actual bullets. She wasn’t sure if it would do much, but it was something.

Truly, every fiber of her being told her to get as far away from this… creature as she humanly could, but…

He had answers. And so did whoever they were going to find. She needed those answers. There was no question about it. Sure, she could just turn around and go home. Go back to her life in the Vault with Norm and Chet and Stephanie and everyone else. But she would never be able to live with herself. Those questions would never stop haunting her. She would never stop feeling compelled to seek the truth. Lucy knew this about herself, and her body acted almost automatically as she took one step in front of the other behind those of this two-hundred year old cowboy.

“Look… you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Obviously, we’re not friends. But if we’re going to be working together… we need to at least communicate effectively...”

The Ghoul was silent for a moment, then finally responded, “Well, then… I got a question for you , Vaulty.”

“...Okay?”

“What happened to the doctor?”

“...The doctor?”

“Yeah. How’d he end up with no head?” This time, he did turn his head slightly, although not enough to see her. “...Who cut it off?”

"Uhh... Well, uh... I-I did..." Lucy's eyes fell to the ground.

"You did?" The bounty hunter said in surprise.

“Uhh… well…” She swallowed hard, as she remembered the task. She’ll never forget having to cut off someone’s head for the first time… and, well… hopefully, the last. “He asked me to.”

“He asked you to cut off his head?” This time, he did look back at her, peering over his shoulder questioningly with a raised brow.

“Yes… he… he took cyanide and told me… He told me it would be easier… if I just… brought his head…”

The Ghoul turned to face ahead of him, then just said, “Huh…”

There was silence for a moment, before he asked another question. “What about the Super Duper Mart? What'd you do in'ere?”

Lucy blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him, flustered by the fact that he would ask that, considering he put her in that situation. “...Why do you wanna know?”

“Curious, I guess.” The Ghoul said simply. "It's just kinda funny... what with all that 'Golden Rule' talk, how many people seem ta' end up dead 'round you."

“It was an accident!" The vault dweller quickly retorted. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt... I just…" She paused and looked down at the ground somberly, remembering Martha. "They... they were holding all those people captive… I... I couldn’t just leave them there…”

“You mean those ghouls?”

“They’re people. Maybe they have a condition, but they’re still people..." She snapped, then added under her breath. "Unlike you...”

Dangit. That was not a good thing to say. Lucy bit her tongue, hoping he didn't hear.

She swallowed hard and tried to play it off. “But I did have to kill some of them. So, you know…” She said, trying to sound confident in her ghoul-killing skills. "I'd, uh... watch out... if I were you."

"Heh. Well, good for you, Vaulty." He snickered. “…Anyways, how did you get the–”

“Now! Now, hold on!” Lucy said, holding up a bluish-grey finger. “If you get to ask me things, I get to ask you things.” She lifted her head a bit higher. “A question for a question. That’s only fair.”

The Ghoul peered over his shoulder at her again for a moment as he continued to walk, then turned back. “Alright.”

“Yeah… so…” She looked down at the ground and exhaled, then back up with determination in her eyes. “So I get to ask you—”

“Two questions.”

“Five.”

“Five?”

“That’s right. You technically asked me five questions. Actually, six.”

“Well, that don’t sound quite fair to me, Vaulty.” He said with a smirk. “I asked you two questions. The rest were for clarification. They don’t count.”

She huffed in dismay. It was worth a try, she thought.

He chuckled. “Tell you what. You can ask me however many questions you want. But I get to pick which ones I answer.”

“No! That’s not fair! I answered the questions you asked me, now you’re gonna answer mine.”

“Well, you didn’t have to answer my questions. That was your choice.”

“What!? I–” She huffed, unsure how to counter that.

“Alright… question for a question.” The bounty hunter said, raising his voice, and two fingers. "You got two. Have at it, sweetheart.”

The vault dweller jumped, then quickly ran up closer, but still stayed a few feet behind him. Out of arms reach. “...Name?”

“Pass.”

“How do you know my dad?”

“Hard pass.”

She huffed. “This isn’t fair.”

“And what is, darlin'?” He scoffed, holding his arm out beside him. “What in God’s Green Earth made you think that anything in the wasteland is ever fucking fair? It’s every man for himself out here, sweetheart. Thought you might’ve figured that out by now.”

Lucy growled, and as she momentarily lost her cool, she kicked a rock in front of her. To her horror, it shot straight forward and bounced off the back of The Ghoul’s head.

He froze, and she took a sharp gasp. Oh, no… now she’d done it.

As she watched The Ghoul slowly turn around to face her, she threw her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry!” She said in a panic. “I-I didn’t mean to hit you! Please, don’t…”

The old bounty hunter stood there and just stared at her a moment. “Don’t worry…” His face was in shadow, but she could see the gleam in his eyes. To her surprise, his voice was gentle and unthreatening. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to hurt cha’…”

Lucy rose her head and lowered her arms a little, relaxing somewhat.

“But…” The Ghoul kneeled down and picked up a rock from the ground. He tossed it in his hand once, then stood, looked up at her, and threw it in her direction.

She watched as it weakly flew towards her, then fell to the ground at her feet.

“Huh… I missed.” He shrugged with an odd smile, then turned back around and kept walking.

She looked up at The Ghoul and raised an eyebrow before she continued to follow, wondering what the hell that was all about.

“One thang you gotta learn, Vaulty…” He said, raising his voice commandingly. “Caps ain’t the only form of money up here. Everything you have is potential currency. That includes information.” He said. “You see, that Golden Rule a yer’s only works if other people agree with it. Now that might be all peachy down in your vault, but up here, you don’t wanna be givin’ nothin’ away unless you know you gettin’ somethin’ in return. If you don’t do that, you’ll be eaten alive out here.”

“So… You’re giving me survival lessons now?”

“Yeah… I guess I am.” He said and turned to smile at her. “...But those you can have for free.”

To be continued...

#ghoulcy #vaultghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul #lucy maclean #fallout #my posts #ghouly-boi #fallout prime #my fanfaction

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atlas-likes-writing · 2 days

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June of Doom Day One - "Help Me."

Characters: Bruce Wayne/Batman, Clark Kent/Superman, Alfred Pennyworth, Ra's Al-Ghul (mentioned), Tim Drake/Red Robin, Damian Wayne/Robin, Stephanie Brown/Spoiler, Dick Grayson/Nightwing

Summary: Bruce has always been stubborn, much to the dismay of those around him. It's only when he has no other option that he actually decides to ask for assistance.

Word count: 1603

Tags: Light angst, light gore, injuries, depictions/recountance of injuries and violence, medicine/medical terminology.

Author's Note: In comparison to other angst fics I've written, this one is incredibly tame. Call it the calm before the storm for this challenge lol. Enjoy! As always, feel free to like, comment, and reblog. It helps me out a bunch.

@juneofdoom

Masterlist

The Dark Knight is revered across the world as being untouchable. Unbeatable. The stuff of legend that you tell your kids about so they will behave. “You better be good, or the Batman will come and get you in the night!” It works a treat. There are some people in the world who don’t even think He exists. They believe it’s clever CGI or paid trauma actors or a talented cosplayer (as to what they’re cosplaying is up for debate, for obvious reasons). Like on of those fake movies where people on social media work together in their thousands to gaslight people into thinking they exist when they don’t. It’s not true, of course. Batman is as human as any other person on Earth (except for the large variety of aliens that also call Earth home, but that’s another thing to ignore). He is human. He has skin and lungs and teeth and a tongue; and with such things comes vulnerability. The Dark Knight is not untouchable, and he certainly isn’t unbeatable.

Especially considering the state he is currently in.

It is well-known throughout the hero community that Ra’s Al-Ghul is not a man to be messed with. Whenever his name pops up on mission briefs it is always given to the more capable heroes in the Watchtower. Usually the Big Three: Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, and today was no different. When the small-time hero of somewhere unimportant came shuffling over to his office to timidly poke his head through the door, Batman was surprisingly quite understanding.

“That must have been a formatting error. I’ll handle it, don’t worry. Ra’s Al-Ghul isn’t a villain for the regular hero. Thank you for bringing this to me, Jerry.”

How on earth he knew the man’s name was between him and the gods. He scampered off and out of Batman’s office before he got the chance to ask, his own fear getting the best of him. How heroic.

Now, while Bruce is clutching his side and using his cape as an impromptu bandage across his torso, he wishes that Clark and Diana were not on their respective breaks.

“The kids are on school break. I’m going to take them to visit Ma and Pa for the weekend. Shout if you need me, Bruce.”

“My sisters in Themyscira have requested my presence for a ceremony of some kind. It is apparently important, so I will be back in about a week.”

He can’t blame them, of course. Superhero work is tough, and everyone is in need of a break now and again. Jon and Kon are important to Clark, as are his own children to Bruce, so he understands. And the surprise birthday party for Diana has been in the works for months. Being the only naturally born Themysciran, it is a ceremony worth celebrating for the Amazons, so Bruce can’t fault them either. He just wishes their departures could have been spaced out a little more so he wouldn’t have to deal with Ra’s alone.

Now, in the middle of god-knows-where in some North African country, he is alone. Crippled by some sort of Lazarus Pit magic that was blasted across his thigh and various sword-related wounds dotted around his torso and legs. He’s been in worse situations, but he’s also certainly been in better as well. With Alfred piloting the Batwing from the safety of the Batcave, he’s got about four hours until it arrives, and he can be brought back to his own domain. Back to safety. He hesitates at the idea of calling for help from Clark. The man has his own priorities, and it’s been an incessantly long time since he’s had time alone with his family without the stress of hero work.

However, some priorities overrule others.

“Clark, help me,” he whispers, voice cracking and hoarse after hours of fighting and sustaining injuries. As he treks away from the arena where Ra’s and Bruce fought (some secluded spot in the middle of a dessert - Bruce would personally guess Ethiopia due to the landmarks surrounding him, but he has been wrong before and wouldn’t be surprised if he was at this moment as well) and with the fact that Ra’s has been defeated in mind and handed into the local authority, he pushes forward. Every step through sand dunes feels as if he’s walking through treacle, and he can’t help but struggle with his own body as he reaches the crest of a particularly large mountain of sand. In the distance, the sparkling lights of a large city twinkle at him with the promise of assistance, but he highly doubts he’ll get there before he collapses to dehydration or his injuries. He’s already exhausted the little water he had in his utility belt and the bandages in it have already been used to patch up wounds of the highest severity. The strange green magic that Ra’s used on him made the material of his trousers stick to his left leg painfully, so he had to cut the cotton-Kevlar material off.

So, there he is: trudging in the middle of some desert in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night - dehydrated, injured, and miserable with his incoming support not available for another several hours and half of his costume in disrepair. He can’t help feeling a little irritable towards his comrades for this, even if he is completely aware that it isn’t their fault. He was the one who deemed it too dangerous for his children to come with him to combat the Demon’s Head and made the incredibly intelligent decision to go alone. Even Alfred had urged him to go with one of his more mature children, but his fear of losing them after what happened to Jason put the rational part of his brain on autopilot in favour of the worried parent in him to disagree with every alternative. He can just hope that either his family or Clark finds him before it’s too late.

That’s the last thought he has before he collapses, face first, into the sand.

—

He’s in and out of consciousness for a long time. When he’s got half a mind to take in his surroundings, Bruce notices that he is travelling. Rapidly. When he blinks, he’s in a vehicle, then lying down on something, then surrounded by darkness. He hears voices too, but they’re often mixed and warped together until he can’t discern whose is whose. Eventually, the soft timbre of Alfred reaches him, followed by the worried voice of his eldest son. It’s then when he realises he’s back in the Batcave and safe, so he closes his eyes again and stays like that for a while; not particularly in the mood for waking up.

When he properly regains consciousness, he’s met with a pounding headache and a sharp ache overwhelming his legs and chest. Bruce opens his eyes and is immediately blinded by the bright LED of a medical light glaring down on him. He squints into it and brings his arm up to cover his eyes with a groan, and the room, which he didn’t realise was occupied by others, suddenly went silent.

“Bruce? You’re awake!” That was the voice of his third son.

“It was about time, Father. How was Grandfather?” That was his youngest.

“Stop pestering him! Let him get his bearings before you overwhelm him with questions.” His eldest daughter.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t overwhelm me with questions at all. At least, not yet,” Bruce grumbles, attempting to sit up without triggering a massive headache and failing miserably. He slumps back on the hospital cot, closing his eyes. He feels a cool and damp fabric being placed on his forehead, realising that Alfred is busy doing his medical ministrations as he always does.

“You gave us quite the scare, Master Bruce. I hope this acts as a lesson to not fight the League of Assassins without correct backup,” the butler states. Bruce sighs, the act causing pain to shoot through his ribcage. Ah, so he broke them.

“I won, didn’t I?” he states, attempting humour. The joke falls flat in the now silent room and the man represses the urge to sigh a second time.

“We all know that’s not the point here, Bruce.” His eldest son, Dick, steps forward and stands next to the cot where his father lies. “You gave Clark quite the scare.”

That’s what gets Bruce to open his eyes.

“He’s here?”

“He’s upstairs in the Manor. He wanted to give you space.”

He can’t suppress the sigh this time and it turns into a wince.

“Damn it. Can you bring him down here? I want to apologise for keeping him from his family.”

“Visiting hours are closed for a few hours,” Alfred states bluntly and shoots a poignant glare behind him at the several others in the room. They all look away, shuffling around awkwardly. “Unfortunately, your stubbornness is apparently hereditary.” He turns to face them all. “Children, Master Bruce is awake. You can come back later when he’s in a better state of mind and body.” As if on cue, Bruce groans in pain after a failed attempt to move his legs into a more comfortable position.

“Right- yeah. Sorry, Alf. We’ll go.” Dick begins to turn away but stops himself halfway to the door. Once the others have left, he gives a meaningful look to his father.

“Stop thinking you have to do everything alone, Bruce. You have friends. Act like it.”

With that, he leaves, leaving the Dark Knight in the care of his butler and his own thoughts.

Will be posted on Ao3 later on :)

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lifblogs · 7 hours

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by: @just-here-with-my-thoughts (I feel so honored, thank you! And I really am dying to read Welcome to the Outpost.)

These answers will probably involve a range of fandoms.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

647.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,850,510

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily The Bad Batch now, maybe Clone Wars here and there. My fandom writing migrates. Used to be Doctor Who, then Supernatural, then The Clone Wars, and Rebels.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Apparently my top 5 are fics I don’t even care about anymore. *sigh* Not providing links because of how meh I am about these.

1. Morningstar (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina),

2. Take Me Home (I actually didn’t realize this was in my top 5), it’s a Supernatural fic),

3. Take Me to Church (Supernatural),

4. Deal (I believe this is an Avatar: The Last Airbender crack fic based off of incorrect quotes), and

5. Ineffable (Good Omens).

5. Do you respond to comments?

Most definitely!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Definitely either Bleeding Reality, or In the Dark.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely May I Have This Dance? Oh, how I adore that fic. I wrote it based on art I love so much, and the artist even let me put their art in the fic!!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Used to years ago, so now I still feel dread in the pit of my stomach when I get an AO3 comment email. The dread thankfully doesn’t show up all the time now.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh, hell yeah, I do! Not sure about what kind. It’s just, I don’t know, smut.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not.

11. Which fic are you proud of but wish had gotten a bigger response from your readers?

Maybe The World Goes Cold? But I am maybe releasing chapters too slowly, so I guess it makes sense the response isn’t as big.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think I’ve had a couple translated into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I tried to do so with my brother a couple of times, but we never finished them. I don’t think either of us really understand how the co-writing process works.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Tbh, I always feel the most when I think about or see anything involving Whoufflé/Whouffaldi from Doctor Who. They were my OTP from 2013 to 2016. Might still be the case!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

You know, I had ones I did want to finish, but now, I’m not even sure I want to.

Still, I guess Blackout, and Three Birds, One Stone held a lot of my attention for a few years. But with the fic content now being triggering for me, and with a brain injury, I feel as if I may have moved on.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have been told my descriptions are incredibly visceral, and I might agree. I’ve been on the edge of my seat or emotional more than a few times during my editing process. I also like to consider the fact that I’m writing at all a strength given I have a brain injury that gives me memory problems and aphasia.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, I’d say say the memory problems and aphasia cause some weaknesses. I have caught a couple weirdly-worded errors and it’s slightly embarrassing. Does Omega shredding my outline multiple times count as a weakness? lol I suppose another weakess is spelling and forgetting words and struggling to find the right words. I often have to look things up. But as far as things like description, dialogue… I’m not sure I struggle there.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I’d take a crack at French! I used to be able to read and write in French very easily.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Lord of the Rings. I was 8.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably Brother, Hold Me Up, and it’s still going!

Tagging: @evilwriter37, @envydean, @cascigarette, and @clownery-and-fuckery

#tag game #about me #fanfiction #writing

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koobiie · 4 months

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fanart for what may be my favorite fic of all time, Running Behind by @asidian! here's prompto enjoying all the foods from the fic beacuse he deserves it <3

#ffxv #prompto argentum #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #im going to be wild in the tags here for a moment. this fic makes me CRRRRRRRAZZZZZZEYYYYYYYYYYYYY #like barking snarling yowling tearing up dirt with my hands taking bites out of the drywall #its like old at this point but every couple of years i remember it and im like well here i go again! and reread it in a several hour sprint #and then scream and cry nad throw up cause i love it soooo so much #seriously i recommend it so sohard . honestly even if you dont like ffxv #ultimate hurt comfort fic checks off all my boxes 11/10 explodeing #oh yes also the art is here. yea i got carried away drawing the foods jfkdslhglks #hi author if you read these tags im sorry for pinging you about your fic that came out like. 7 years ago #but ive been meaning to make fanart for it for sooooo long cause i love it and i finally got around to it lol #koob art #digital art #im going to be pissed if theres a food i forgot to include lmao #anyways yea i <3 prompo my scrinkly winkly crunkly doo he deserfes happines. im going to disappear into the sunset now

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 3 months

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Randomly thinking about “tolerate it” (narrator voice: it was not random) and how under the cloak of fiction it is ostensibly inspired by works like “Rebecca” (which Taylor said she read during the 2020 lockdowns I believe?), with the line of “you’re so much older and wiser” indicating that the speaker is significantly younger and inexperienced compared to the person she’s speaking to and a pretty direct reference to the plot of the book.

But I saw something somewhere once that stuck with me about how it might not be referring to relative age between the characters but chronological age as in the passage of time in a relationship. And that made me think about how in a contemporary context, it might not necessarily be referencing an actual age gap between the two characters, but rather a sarcastic or cynical response to the man’s claims that he has matured (“you’re so much older and wiser [than you were before/than you were when we met/etc.]”), which then made me think about that line in relation to the woman. And that it could be taken like, “you act like you’ve matured so much in our time together and like you know everything, while I’m supposedly still stuck as the girl I was when we first met.”

Which then made me think of the “right where you left me” of it all and did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen time went on for everyone else she won’t know it and the bit in Miss Americana where she talks about how celebrities get frozen at the age at which they got famous, and how she’s had to play catch up in a lot of ways not just in her emotional growth but kind of in general. (Which also made me wonder if she’s ever been called out for immaturity/lack of curiosity/lack of education about things in her life…)

Which then made me think about the rest of the song, and @taylortruther’s posts yesterday about “seven” and “Daylight” and the way Taylor idealizes her youth yet contrasts it with an almost sinister reality in its wake, and the line, “I sit by the door like I’m just a kid,” because the discussion raised that her relationship let her recapture some of the childlike joy and wonder she’d lost. So this line is a double-edged sword: the speaker sits by the door with childlike hope that the person will come home and cherish her, but on the darker side, feels like the child dealing with the monsters she doesn’t have names for yet and the feelings of isolation she felt as she aged.

I’m not saying the song is necessarily autobiographical; like most of the songs on folkmore, it’s clearly a fictionalized story based on media she’d consumed and created, but we know a lot of the fictional songs were infused with her own feelings and experiences and… This idea swirling in my head picked up steam and now I kind of can’t stop thinking about it. Sorry but I’m a little obsessed now.

Like maybe it might start to shed light on why she identified so strongly with the novel in the first place…