#but she’s trying to take it in stride

[korovaoverlook]

they’re not having a good time

[givehimthemedicine]

I've actually gone from scared Max won't be okay to scared Max will be TOO okay

like if they make Max waking up some kind of "😏 what are you doing here, stalker" moment I'm not gonna handle that well either

don't get me wrong, I'll lose my mind if she doesn't end up okay, but first I want that girl catatonic for a while. I want some permanent ability/mobility consequences. I want bigtime ptsd. I want this trauma acknowledged. you feel me. you CANNOT just be okay after that

[tinseltina]

i've decided my girl yuuna is gonna get some magical/trauma-related hair changes as her story goes on. i'm not totally sure when to this happens or if it's like a little bit after each overblot until this is what she'll look like by book 7. but i wanted her design to be a little more fun rather than rooted in reality and i love the idea of her changing physically and not just emotionally while stuck in twisted wonderland

[unraveling-plot]

I'm thinking about gender in ORV, which is always a dangerous game

[cappurrccino]

Ara is great fun, like for one it's just kind of fun to be playing a melee fighter again and not have to fuss with spells, but also this girl's a champion arena fighter, smart enough to get to that point without dying but doesn't usually bother to think things through very far, she put on a ring that was offering her power even though something offering her power was what landed her in the hells in the first place, she knit tiny sweaters for the rats in Baldur's Gate, she made a deal with an imp to knit him a tiny wizard cloak in exchange for a discount on an invisibility potion

[sonofsin]

I've felt off since showering. all I know is that a kid who had no awareness that it isn't the early 2000s fronted and had to be caught up to speed... I've been stuck with both persephone and steph nearby internally and am being affected by both of them. I want to just enjoy fallout and playing, but the ghosts feel very loud.

[pidgecv]

[makingpotatopasta]

Gnocchi is with a friend for the week while we're on holiday and I'm torn between being proud of how well rounded, well adjusted and adaptable she is turning out, and being hurt that she doesn't miss us

[kaerinio]

thinking about the juxtaposition of jaehaerys being both one of the greatest targaryen rulers . . . while also being one of the worst targaryens in terms of his contributions to their dwindling power.

[mashmouths]

@ god if you don't want me to kill myself turn my power back on i am NOT playing

[sickgraymeat]

Modern human au bubbline adopt a pet and can’t agree on a name bc all of Bonnie’s are like Fancy Guy the Tuxedo Cat and all of Marcy’s are like Gloopy or smth

[selfcontainedunivcrse]

ive been thinking of a silly scp oc (Courtesy of my buddy making me get into it) . She's just some guy who works on the tech side of things. she's fresh out of regular science university and wanted a cozy govt job with experience in her field to look good on her resume while she works on getting her masters. This is not that

[circular-time]

Yeah. Sorry. We turned your girlfriend into David Tennant. Yeah. Sorry she regenerated & now she's back to the same guy she was fourteen years ago. Sorry. She doesn't even have the same clothes she did before regenerating. She's wearing converse again. She's thrilled about the teeth, though.

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Issues with Writing a Self-Insert #1

In case y'all didn't know, I've been going through a reflective period recently, and I've noticed that fear of what others think has held me back in almost every single aspect of my life, and unfortunately fandom is no exception.

I remember when I was like 14 and I tried to write fanfiction for the first time (I don't remember even what fandom I was writing for). Unfortunately, I could barely type a single paragraph without immediately deleting all that I wrote and being overly critical of my lack of writing ability. Even at that age, in the privacy of my dorm room, I couldn't shake off the fear of failure (and I mean howw?? I wasn't the only 14 year old trying to write Wattpad fanfiction). I remember comparing myself to some of my peers who had an amazing talent for writing. For me, I didn't get jealous, but rather I got intimidated, so intimidated that instead of continuing on with something and being imperfect at it, I'd just drop the entire activity altogether.

Because of this habit, I missed out on a lot of potential opportunities for growth during this time. I guess I saw people who were amazing, assumed that they popped out of the womb like that or something, and just....gave up. If I could go back in time, I would tell young me to embrace the cringe, embrace the mess. So what if people laugh or look at you funny or immediately stop whispering to each other once they see you? It sucks, but you will find your people, and you will survive. Trying to be palatable to everyone just means that you stifle yourself.

Years later, I wanted to get back into fanfiction, but this time with very little creative writing experience. What held me back was the fear that someone would read something that I wrote and ridicule it for being something that only an angsty teen would write, except that I am no longer an angsty teen but an unfortunately angsty adult riddled with insecurity, and that reality would just make that hypothetical comment sting even more (that's another thing about me. I create hypothetical ways for people to roast me in order to talk myself out of doing stuff).

[dreaminguponlilypads]

Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley was a man of little sympathy, never having known why people felt so bad for others. That changed however when you came along. Specifically when you got sick.

He'd been in the common room reading but his focus was constantly interrupted by other recruits entering and exiting your room.

"'S goin' on?" He asked one of them.

"She's got a fever. Don't know what to do, honestly."

And as those words filled the air, a pang of something unbeknownst to him spread across his chest? Was it anger, maybe worry? That he didn't know. But one thing was clear - he had to see you.

He closed his book and got up, striding over to your room. A few recruits stood around your bed with one trying to give you a pill with water and the other's asking you if you were okay, effectively overstimulating you. He ordered them all out to which they instantly obliged.

"You okay, lovie?" His voice softened to a coo as he sat down by your bedside. Despite your tousled hair and sunken under-eyes, he still thought you were perfect.

You whine in response as you snuggle back under the blanket, hot and cold simultaneously. And despite your frustrated response, he couldn't help but let out a deep chuckle.

He picks up the pill that you had refused to take prior, along with the glass of water.

"Sit up, darlin'." You knew you couldn't argue so you sat up straight, rubbing your eyes before taking the pill from him and swallowing it with the water. As you continue to drink the water, he rubs your thigh gently.

"Tha's it, good girl. Drink up." A hot flush spread over your cheeks from the gentle praise which he took notice to.

And made sure to remember for the future.

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”