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dazed-and-confused23 · 7 months ago

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 4

Summary: After their reunion at the Atomic Wrangler, Cooper decides that he wants more than just a quickie out of his wandering trader.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings. Drug use and Alcohol. Fluff and Smut. Little longer than the other ones ❤️

DHGP Masterlist

Cooper sits on the side of the bed, inhaler in hand as he stares down at the chem. You are still asleep behind him, body tangled in the sheets, exhausted after the exciting reunion between the two of you. You had been a breath of fresh air for the ghoul, especially after finding out the truth behind the fate of his family, and then Lucy, the vaultie, had left him too. Gone back home to her vault to save them from those goddamn Bud's Buds.

Cooper had elected to stay in Vegas. He likes the city, and the booze was cheap, and the chems were even cheaper if you knew where to get them. However, now that the ghoul was borderline sober, and with you by his side, Cooper realized that he'd had something to look forward to. To live for again. You.

Every time the two of you had crossed paths, you never failed to send the ghoul's black heart racing. You were a wastelander through and through, but you were good, and Cooper didn't want to let that go. No. He would hold on tight, and nothing in heaven or hell would get him to let you go.

First thing first, however, was to show you that he was serious and that he cared for you beyond a quick fuck and drug transactions. Cooper turned in the bed and leaned over you, tucking his knuckle under your chin and kissing you until you woke up. A soft sigh escaped you when the ghoul pulled away, and you opened your eyes to see him above you.

"Well, that's one way to wake a girl up," you murmur, and shift to your back, opening your arms so that Cooper can fall against your chest, his face pressed in the crook of your neck. You hum softly and press a kiss to his bald head, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

Cooper buries himself against you, shoving his arms under you so that he can hold you close. He listens to your heartbeat, and the sound of content he makes sounds more like a cat purr than anything else. He debates with himself before deciding to hell with it.

"Let me take you out. On a proper date," He began, and the more he spoke, the more he felt like his old self, Cooper Howard, before the end of the world, "You deserve it after everything you've done for me."

You eyed him, though your lips were already turning up at the idea. Who knew your ghoul was such a romantic? You tilt your head to the side, "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

Cooper rises to his elbow and admires how your hair halos around your face. You are beautiful, even sleepy-eyed, and dressed in nothing but your panties.

"We're in Vegas, Baby. Let's make the most of it."

~~~~~

Mick and Ralph's had a surprising number of preserved prewar clothing, and you picked through the dresses looking for the perfect fit. You spotted a cute, blue number that would hug you in all the right places and billow out at the waist. Mick even had a cute pair of kitten heels that he gave you on the house.

Cooper had also done some digging around and conveniently found one of his old set costumes. The colors were faded, but they looked brand new compared to the get-up he always wore. Dressed to impress, the ghoul admired himself in the cracked mirror. If you ignored the obvious, Cooper looked like he'd just come off set of A Man and His Dog.

He wold whistles when you step out of the back room, and even though you're custom to his flirty behavior, you still blush bright and give Cooper a tiny grin. You've never had an opportunity to wear something so nice before, and it made you feel different, but not in a bad way.

"Well, look at you, Darlin'. All dressed up and beautiful for little ol' me," He crooned and snagged your hand, spinning you in a slow circle so that he could admire you from all angles. You give him a smile so full of fond amusement that Cooper’s heart stutters in his chest.

"Only for you, Cowpoke," you say and curl your hand behind his head to tug him down for a quick kiss that Cooper melts into.

After paying Mick and Ralph, Cooper escorts you to the gate of the Strip where the securitrons let the two of you by after flashing the passports you'd paid the shop owners for. Inside, the flashing neon lights made you squint, and you did your best to take it all in at once.

"A lot's changed since the last time I've been here," Cooper comments and casts his gaze around. It's been over two hundred years, but the Vegas Strip still felt the same. The two of you bypass Gomorrah and the Ultra Lux, and instead, head for the Tops where a man with blonde, slicked-back hair greets them with a suave grin.

"Hey, hey cats. My name is Swank. Welcome to the Tops Casino. The floor is open, and Tommy's got some real class acts tonight on stage if you're interested."

The two of you hand over any weapons that couldn't be concealed and head upstairs to the theater. A live band is playing on stage, and a place has been cleared in the middle of the room for dancing. Cooper leads you to a corner booth and drops to kiss your brow before he lopes off to order you both a drink.

From there, the night goes off without a hitch. The two of you drink til you feel tipsy and brazen enough to tug the ghoul out to the dance floor where Cooper upstages you and everyone else there. He twirls and dips you, leaving you a giggling mess and eyes only for him.

At some point, Cooper gets the grand idea to spend some caps on some chips, and you stand beside him as he cleans the blackjack table, coming away with more chips that you have to help him carry back to the exchange desk. The two of you eventually stumble out of the Tops and mosied back down the road to Gomorrah.

Their weapons are confiscated once more, and Cooper pays the receptionist for a hotel room for later on. He doubted that they would be sober enough to leave this place later on.

His hunch was right hours later when the two of you stumbled to the elevator. Coop's arm is tight around your waist, holding you close to keep you from tipping over. You cling to him, giggling as you wind your arms around his neck, and he catches your eyes, glassy from the jet that one of the dancers had given you.

"Your eyes are so pretty, ya know that?" You slur, and Cooper snickers as he leads you out of the elevator and down the hall to the room he'd rented. He's not nearly as gone as you, but he chalks that up to being used to the substance abuse.

You plop on the bed and reach back for the zipper of your dress, feeling too constricted in the blue fabric, and get stuck with it halfway off. Cooper laughs at you and comes to help, tugging the dress away and tossing it behind him before he pounces.

His lips meet yours in a slow kiss, a gentle give and take that turns heated when you bite his lip hard enough to hurt. You sooth it with your tongue, and groan when Cooper curls his own around the slippery muscle, the kiss wet and sloppy. He looms over you, keeping himself propped up with his elbow, while his other hand grips your waist, and rocks his hips down.

Cooper groans into the kiss when his clothed cock meets the heat between your thighs. You buck against him, whining into the kiss and demanding he take his damn pants off already.

"Patience, young grasshopper," Cooper rumbles above you and slides off the bed to button his shirt and jeans. He folds them almost reverently before he turns back to the bed and crawls on top of you, "Great things come to those who wait."

You scoff at him, though your lips are tilted up in amusement, "I've been waiting forever, Coop."

Your legs fall open and wrap around his waist. You are so wet that the ghoul can see slick glistening in the low light of the room where it clings to your puffy folds. He swallows harshly when you reach down and spread them, giving him an excellent view of your clit and twitching hole.

"Now I want you to fuck me like you mean it."

Cooper doesn't need to be told twice and spits in his hand before wrapping it around his cock and stroking himself twice before he lines up and sinks down to his balls. Your cunt throbs around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and he falls forward, hips humping forward as you cling to him.

Coop fucks you like it's his last day on Earth. He shifts to his knees, and his cock slips even further, pressing against something inside you that makes stars shatter. You curse loudly, Cooper’s name falling from your lips like a mantra as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and bends you over. The new position makes it hard to breathe, but all you want is more.

"'M close," Cooper grunts in your ear, and you lock your knees around his head, meeting him thrust for thrust as you work for your release. He unlocks his jaw and bites into the hollow of your throat. The pain is enough to send you over the edge, your pussy fluttering and gushing around the ghoul's cock.

"Ah-fuck," He snarls and follows you right over the edge, pumping you full of seed until it dribbled out from your stuffed cunt. He finds your lips kissing you as he rides out his orgasm, hips jerking when you tighten around him.

Cooper lays there, breathing you in and curling his arms tight around your waist. He is far too tired to move, and you don't seem to mind the extra weight with how tightly you hold him back. The ghoul feels at peace as if a part of his life he'd been missing has slotted back into place. He raises his head just enough to catch your eyes, and you reward him with an adoration-filled smile, but it's your words that cause his heart to explode like an atomic bomb.

"I love you."

You don't expect Cooper to pull you in for another kiss, this one soft and slow. He rests his brow against yours and wonders how he ever made it this far without you.

"I love you, too."

Holy moly, that got way sweeter than I intended. I hope you enjoyed it!❤️

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #fallout x reader

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reveluving · 7 months ago

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heartburn ; the ghoul x reader

summary: kindness gets people killed in the wasteland, and yet, cooper can't help it when it's you.

warnings: s~mut obv (minors DNI!), pre-war performer/entertainer!reader (for your creativity!); now an immortal ‘smoothskin’, soft as hell but our lovely ghoul is still a loud mouth, age gap but not really (think of him in his 40s & you in your 20s/30s but both in 200-ish years old), typical fallout violence & explicit language, loads of banter & fluff!

a/n: it’s here! based on this because the brain rot was (and is) so real. decided to call this the ‘la rouge series’, just to make it easier for tagging and when any lil’ pieces/asks come in. hope you guys enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my main m.list!

» smut includes: possessive soft & slightly mean dom!cooper, ‘pretty girl’ & baby as pet names, dirty talk i.e. + about exhibitionism (it doesn’t happen tho!), body appreciation, nipple play, spanking, fingering, a bit of edging/teasing, unprotected s~ex (p in v), bits of aftercare but overall, coop likes it nasty.

'It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.' ;

It should’ve been uncomfortable; the sheen of perspiration building up along your body, despite the cooler night, albeit marginally as opposed to the day. Had it not been for the ceiling fan, no matter how slow it gets once in a while, you were indebted to its existence.

Especially at this exact moment, throwing your head and watching the contraption spin above you as Cooper bucked up into you.

Lucy had dozed off, you checked an hour prior, finding her asleep in the old guestroom when you stopped by. Maximus, too, snoring away on the wingback chair next to her. Whether it was because you entered with light steps or the duo were bone-tired, you had successfully spread the thin sheets over their figures before turning the table lamp off—all of which Cooper watched behind the door, feeling an overwhelming emotion brewing in him.

You barely knew them, hell, he was there when you shot Lucy a chilling look, realizing she was the daddy’s girl, but beyond that, you also saw two souls who were… lost. A set of strangers who wanted nothing more than to do the good thing, even if you didn't agree with their beliefs. And yet, the old caring nature in you couldn’t help but offer at least some form of appreciation for their humanity.

You held yourself back when Lucy babbled, even if—when you wanted nothing more than to cuss her father out. You didn’t lash out when she asked about your time in the shelters way before her mother was around. You acknowledged Maximus’s good intentions, even if they were a little gullible.

Cooper noticed it all, and fuck, if your unmoveable kindness wasn’t disgustingly the sweetest and sexiest thing he had ever seen.

It all felt like a typical romance movie after that, when you crossed paths in the living room, with you on your way to the kitchen when he stopped you. Delicately (and uncharacteristically, you might add) holding your wrist and tugging you to his chest to stare into your dreamy eyes. How a smile naturally bloomed on your face as you reached for his jaw. He indulged in your cutesy behaviour, as he always does, angling his head to kiss your palm while your eyes remained locked. It was worth holding back a witty remark during moments like these if it meant seeing you light up each time.

Not that you couldn’t handle them, if anything, putting him in his place wasn’t unheard of—you knew how to shut him up with that aura of yours from time to time.

But make no mistake; he knew how to get you tongue-tied, too.

He dipped his head, and the kiss that came was nasty. Swallowing your little gasp when he took hold of your jaw.

“Here?” You whispered incredulously between giggles when he led you to the couch. All he gave you was a grunt, falling back into the seat and pulling you with him. Your legs snugged around his as he encouraged you to sit, not hover him. The soft tune that played in the kitchen reminded you of a scene out of a cheesy porno from your old days, and when he hummed along, you knew he had the same thoughts, too.

“It's our house,” He grinned, “Means our rules.”

“Uh-huh,” You humoured, amused as you shook your head, but the use of ‘our’ did send butterflies to your stomach, “Mind elaborating, handsome?”

He explained all-too-happily, “It means y'got every right throw y'guests t’the doghouse if they start yappin’ ‘bout indecency.”

You say that now, but you knew he would shoot one in between their eyes for ogling you clothed, let alone in your glory. He has done it before.

Countless times.

But you’d kick him to the doghouse if he ever got blood on your floors. And just to piss him off further, you’d allow Dogmeat to sleep on the bed with you.

“You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?” I snorted.

His eyes lit up, taking your words as a green light, “Y'offerin’?”

You smacked his chest. “I know your games, cowboy. Room’s not far, y’know?”

“Aww, c'mon,” Calloused fingertips traced up your legs before slipping under the skirt, alternating between kneading and smacking your ass repeatedly to hear your squeaks, “When's the last time y'and I messed ‘round in the livin’ room?”

“Just last week.” You huffed, partially from the way his hips rolled against yours.

With any lack of action and the undeniably warmer weather throughout the day, you thought it was time to enjoy the night breeze with a slit skirt. The hems were slightly burnt off from past confrontations, involving a near-fatal experience with a Molotov cocktail, but besides that, it was relatively intact.

And just like you, it was Cooper’s favourite piece, too.

“Mm,” He acknowledged with a grunt, “Far too long t’me.”

He leaned back, arms spread across the backrest while looking at you expectantly

“Y’gon’ take it off f’me or…?” He asked. You rolled your eyes—as if you could ever refuse him.

But you couldn’t just give it to him, right?

You sat back, poised and coy, toying with him when you gazed up at him through your lashes. In the mood to give him a little show as it seemed like your guests were going to stay out cold for a while.

You were definitely teasing him when you popped the buttons of your shirt, only to let it droop around your elbows, just enough to get a glimpse of your cleavage and pesky black bra.

Reaching over, you dragged your index finger from his Adam’s apple, down to the collar. His overcoat long gone for your convenience, uncovering his chest without problems.

He was always intrigued, and if he was being honest, in disbelief by your fascination—by your need to have him unclothed in some form of way, despite his condition. The wariness grew over time, and he had not only relished it in but encouraged you for it, too.

Bunching up and pushing your skirt to the side, his fingers rubbed your pussy through your panties. He sighed, feeling the patch of wetness that soaked through the fabric. He was excited as you were, eager to feel you against him as he shifted under you.

He raised his fingers to his lips, sucking on his middle finger sloppily and groaning at your taste before dipping them under your panties. He straightened, pulling you forward by the back of your head as he prodded a finger into you. The position had you arching, chest to chest as he forced you to moan in his ear.

At your mewls, he was more than content to give you another, sinking his ring finger in bit by bit to feel you clench desperately.

He revelled in the warmth, the tightening of your warm walls as if fearing he'd pull out. The more you felt him curl inside you, the more useless it was to muffle your cries. The embarrassing squelch didn’t help either, but how couldn’t you, with that romantic stunt he pulled moments ago?

He tapped on your hips, silently requesting you to hold yourself up for a moment while he shoved his pants down. His cock stood with pride, twitching at the cool air and the anticipation to feel what his digits were feeling.

Pushing your panties to the side, he lined up the head of his cock to your pussy. He was practically dreaming of feeling you sink onto him at once, already bucking his hips to fill you to the hilt. Instead, you took him in ever so slowly, bit by bit before raising your hips till there was nothing more than the tip of him in you. Taking him in little by little as he teased you with his fingers.

“Y'tryin’ t’kill me?” He gritted out.

“You can handle it.” You cooed back, already losing composure as you felt up his chest.

He groaned, eyeing you dangerously only to shudder when your thighs slammed against his. You felt full, hell, you were full, needing a moment as your fingernails dug into his skin.

“Fuuuck,” He groaned, tipping his head back though forcing himself not to close his eyes to watch your tits bounce as you moved faster, “Look at y'go. Yeah, ride m’cock, pretty girl. Juuust like that.”

His praises had you pulsing around him, but so did his desperation. Slowing down once again to feel him buck under you.

But there was also something else about tonight.

Familiarity was putting his feelings lightly, unable to tear his eyes off as images of the same smile, maybe just a tad more innocent about the world, flashed before his eyes. Remembering his lucky encounters with you when you were both stars. When the two of you had dreams. When your worries at the time were nothing more than bringing joy to the people who watched you perform like you had hung the moon.

He could never forget admiring you and your artistry, similar to how you marvelled at his productions in awe, even after when they were nothing more than a man on a horseback before it all went to hell.

And to have him before you once more, albeit a bigger menace than you thought was possible, he was still your Cooper Howard.

Your cheekiness was wiped off when his hand dropped to your ass with a sharp smack, the slap drowning out the radio for a split second.

“‘Y'had your fun.” He growled. His hands held onto you so desperately, similar to the way you grappled onto his shoulders for support.

Your button-up was sticking to your skin just below your breasts, and as much as Cooper loved the little striptease, he wanted more.

He pulled the article further down by your sleeves, where you shuddered at the feeling of Cooper’s lips latching onto your skin. The sensation rough as he nipped at your rib. He surged forward, salivating as he sucked and tugged on your nipple. He let out a heady groan, tasting a hint of salt while rigorously bouncing you up and down his cock.

You were what pin-ups couldn’t emulate, what poets or authors couldn’t convey with mere words.

Anyone, surface dwellers and vaulties alike wished they could have you.

He crept one hand in between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit. He didn’t relent when you trembled, when you tightened as you came hard. Not even when you spasm, overstimulated when he continued to thrust in and out of you.

He held you down longer than you would've liked, too obsessed with the way your walls fluttered around him. Begging for some form of friction as you clamped him like a vice. The mewls that followed were music to his ears, frustrated in the cutest way when he did nothing more than flash you an infuriating smile.

A tight one, you noticed. Unable to hide his own need for long as your juices dripped down to his thighs. He was… a little sick in the head—who would’ve thought—abstaining himself from chasing the high for just a moment, just to amp up the pleasure and feel his desperation sated as if he finally deserved the ‘treat’.

“Coop…” You mewled, nearly choking on your spit as his iron-clad grip forced you to feel each and every ridge of him up to the brim, “Coop–! Please! Please move, please—fuck.”

Oh, how cruel of him to deny you. Especially when you sang for him so sweetly.

You raised your head, lips parted as his eyes bored into your teary ones. Even when you became lost in your lustful haze, only able to churn out nothing but his name as hushed moans, he couldn’t miss the small dazed smile flickering across your face.

He couldn’t resist, reaching up to brush across the pads of your plush lips. And as hooked as you were over the proximity, you placed your hand over his, keeping it on your cheek.

Your eyes screamed for him to go faster, to put you out of your misery. He pitied you to some degree when he rolled his hips.

“That too much? No, y'can take it. M'pretty girl can take what I give.”

“Gonna fuckin’ come in’ya, y’hear me?”

“Oh, you’re tearin’ up, feels really good, doesn’t it, baby?”

He slammed you down as soon as he came, thighs sticky and flushed. His grinds slowed down, chest heaving till he had his last spurts of cum in you. He traced his hands along the bruising spots he had left on your hips, then up your sides, tickling you.

The corner of his lips twitched at your tired giggle, catching your breath with your face pressed against his shoulder.

“Y’liked that?” He matched your amusement, reaching over the dry towel conveniently draped on the arm of the couch and wiping off the sweat dripping down your back.

“Mmm.” You hummed into his skin, already comfortable against him.

“Y’really liked it,” He reiterated, finding your playful eye-roll worth it, casually dragging the cloth under your chin and the area between your breasts before tossing it to the side. He let one arm outstretched on the backrest, “Y’need some water or somethin’?” You thought for a moment; you’d need a sip or two after all that, but you could hold it off for a few minutes.

“In a bit,” You returned to snuggling in his arms, much to his satisfaction, “Can't you just carry me to bed?”

“I would, but…” He trailed off. You followed his line of sight when it fell to his lap, not only reminding you of the mess but also if he stood up, well, you might as well fall with him if his pants dropped to his ankles. You knew he could clean you up and buckle his pants before carrying you to your room with no problem, he just didn’t feel like it.

And, well, you understood him.

“Fine,” You sighed, feigning resignation even though a little smile was playing on your lips. You knew each other too well, “But if I hear rushed footsteps or that girl yapping about ‘my eyes’, I blame you.”

“Not the first time you’ve ever blamed me for anythin’—m’poor ol’ heart,” He pretended to weep, placing a hand on his chest, only to catch yours when you tried to smack him for it, “See? Unloved, by m’own girl.”

You shared a laugh, and when he pulled his rest on your waist once more, you knew none of you were going anywhere.

In minutes, you were finally able to take in your surroundings, recognizing the chorus playing in the background, a classic of Dean Martin’s, one that even Cooper couldn’t help but hum to. It was soft, no more than within your hearing range, even bobbing his head to the beat. You followed, too, and to your surprise, the two of you coincidentally sang a particular line together.

♫ Your love made it well worth waiting ♫

♫ For someone like you ♫

You turned your head to head to the side before he could look at you after spotting the knowing smile he was sporting. And as the song came to an end, eyes droopy as he instinctively rubbed your back, his hat tipped down.

You couldn’t help it, craning your neck and planting one final kiss, to which he eagerly returned before your bodies melded into each other once more. Relaxed and protected from the dangers outside your safe haven, even for just a moment. So long as both of you were still breathing, you’d take the bull by its rotting horns in stride.

♫ Everybody loves somebody sometime ♫

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: fun fact! ignoring the fact that the concept of the game is inspired by the 50s and burlesques would no longer be as famous then, one of the many entertainer options I imagine for the reader (depending on the fic) is burlesque (?) dancer, which very much inspired this piece! not necessarily as her job in the old days but someone who knows a thing or two about it! but again, as the reader, you have the right to imagine whoever you or your mc however you’d like! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

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mourn-and-watch · 2 days ago

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no no i'm actually not done with timebomb/jayvik parallels. bear with me for a minute

the contrast between the everybody lives timeline ekko and heimerdinger ended up in and jayce's post-apocalyptic wasteland timeline is pretty funny indeed, but i love that juxtaposition because these practically opposite realities serve the same purpose for ekko and jayce. they solidify their goals and, by extension, their willingness to save the person they love.

ekko gets to see the world where his community is thriving; where his childhood friend/crush is loved and happy and enjoys her life in ways the version he knew couldn't. but he learns that this powder is not a complete stranger. this powder is just as talented as jinx, just as brilliant and quirky and so familiar despite all the differences. it has to mean that in his timeline, the girl he knew is still here. she was always there. nothing that has happened to her during these years managed to kill her. ekko would never left his people behind, but he also won't leave jinx: he's the only one who gets through to her and convinces her to do the right thing, even though she might think there's no way for her to be a good person whose life is worth something. ekko doesn't simply believes it's not true. he knows it for a fact.

jayce gets to see the world where viktor won; there's nothing besides corruption, abominations and death, and that's the fate that awaits jayce's timeline if he doesn't succeed. viktor caused all of this, but he's also the one that leads him to the top of piltover. he's the one who gives him a key to salvation, and it is as simple as it is intricate: it's jayce himself. this viktor is a lonely god trapped in a perfect hell he created and it took him ages to realize his mistake — and he believes jayce is the only person who can stop him before it's too late. in all outcomes, it's him. it is as much as a statement of a cosmic powerful being as a belief of a dear friend. jayce is not even certain there's something left of viktor in his timeline, but he has to be. he won't fail. it's a promise he keeps.

it is about saving the world, but also about saving someone very dear to you. someone who is so lost in their own faults and mistakes they forgot they're not beyond salvation, but they don't know you won't save the world without saving them

#oh the boy saviour and & the only person who can show viktor the way. you both will always be famous #still haven't processed the finale i have so many feelings about all of this!!!!! pretty much insane #timebomb #jayvik #arcane #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane spoilers

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daddyhausen · 1 year ago

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commision for — @the-anxious-youth

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• shut your mouth before i fuck it — rhea ripley •

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{ masterlists } | { wwe masterlist } | { rhea ripley masterlist }

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{ summary } — a house party for liv’s birthday turns sour for rhea upon catching you getting a bit to comfortable with the birthday girl. she reminds you exactly who you belong to.

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, wlw, oral sex, scissoring, strap-on, markings, hickeys, groping, public teasing, hair pulling, jealous sex, dominant x submissive dynamic, sub!reader, dom!rhea, mommy kink, brat taming, fingering, choking, forced orgasms, vaginal sex ,rough sex, penetrative sex, female orgasm, multiple orgasms, squirting

{ word count } — 4.2k

{ pairing } — fem!reader x rhea ripley

{ genre } — smut

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ taglist } — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @elsteenerico @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk

{ beta readers } — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

the air was thick, a mix, a stench more like it of alcohol and tobacco flooded rhea’s nostrils, a cloud of smoke fluttered across her cheeks from an unknown and quite frankly intoxicated party goer, reeking of cheap whiskey and menthol, the scents alone caused no harm, but the combination of the almost vinegary scent of the cheap drink along with the pungent, and quite frankly overpowering mintiness of the menthol made her eyes water, desperately trying to suppress herself from dry-heaving. god, why does liv need to go above and beyond with her parties? they’d become meaningless in rhea’s eyes, just another year closer to death she always says, why would you feel the need to celebrate something so morbid?

rhea let her eyes tiredly scan liv’s kitchen, the room looked more like a barren wasteland than a place she could drunkenly cook breakfast in the morning, empty bottles and cups strewn across the floor, vodka spilling out from the closest one beside her feet as she tried her best to not ruin her shoes with the substance. a pizza box with the contents half eaten inside, an inebriated couple doing what she could assume was making out behind the counter, although she did not witness much kissing in the second she had made eye contact, more like clashing teeth and absentminded face sucking it seemed.

her ears began to ring from the sheer loudness of the music, it wasn’t an exhilarating ring you’d like the one you’d get during a concert, but more of a banshees shrill directly into her eardrums. she turned the corner into the living room, to find it more populated by inhabitants of the party, rhea was certain that she did not even recognise or know about ninety percent of the partygoers, maybe a handful at most, liv’s house almost about to burst at the seams from the amount of drunken bodies squished so tightly into one room.

she met the eyes of a partially drunk dominik, the youngest of her quartet slumped against the wall furthest from the crowd, eyes sunken with a drunken stupor, slowly batting in and out of sleep. a sober and steadier damian priest keeping a watchful eye over the judgment day’s protégé. rhea made her way towards them, keeping her side firmly pressed against the wall so as to not get lost in the crowd of intoxicated bodies.

damian met her gaze with a soft nod in acknowledgment, opting to stay silent rather than strain his voice with screaming over the blare of music and chatter. he motioned for dominik to do the the same, offering a light tap to the back of the boy’s head in encouragement and more to rouse him out of his intoxicated state. dominik stared up at rhea, eyes glassed over and bloodshot with inebriation, his head craned forward slightly with a small nod before slumping back against the wall.

“have you seen y/n anywhere?” she questioned through a yell, despite having leaned into priest’s ear. the tallest of the three, furrowed his brows at the question, almost trying to comprehend the words that had just left rhea’s lips.

“wasn’t she with you?” damien queried, the deep rumble of his voice seemed to match the bass of the music

“wasn’t she in the kitchen with liv?” dominik slurred, trying to stand before damian shoved him back down by the shoulder, a silent warning to keep still until he sobered up.

“i was just in the kitchen.” rhea retorted, her accent becoming more predominant and thick the more her anger and impatience swelled within her.

“what are we talking about?” an all too eager finn balor chimed in, that irish charm rang thick in his accent. hands full with whiskey, handing one to each member aside dominik, who gave a sour scowl, clearly not amused at the way he’s been cut off from the drink. damian, annoyed with having to play chaperone to the youngest, rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction.

“do you know where y/n is?” rhea responded with a dull, annoyed tone in her voice. “i’ve been looking for her for the past ten minutes”

“wasn’t she with you?” finn quipped with a puzzled expression.

“no.” rhea fumed, impatience burning inside her veins.

the irishman pondered in thought for a moment, pressing his shoulder into the wall as a group of stumbling drunks passed him by. rhea grew anxious at the prospect of her love being lost in a crowd of drink-fueled idiots, though her exterior remained cold and stubborn.

“out with it!-“ the sheer magnitude of rhea’s voice was enough to bring dominik out of his drunken stupor for a moment, the youngest butting the back of his head against the wall he’d been resting it on. a groan of pain followed, priest’s usually calloused demeanor broken for a second as he tried to stifle his giggles at poor dominik’s pain.

“alright, alright. don’t get your fucking panties in a twist, jesus.” finn resumed his train of thought, practially unfazed by rhea’s impatient mutterings.

“oh yeah, i remember now.” finn clicked his fingers all too chipperly upon his remembrance. “last i saw out in the yard with liv. by the pool i think.”

“thank you” rhea remarked, downing the drink before handing, well rather tossing the cup back at finn, who, along with priest and dominik stood perplexed. watching her squeeze through the sea of bodies.

“what’s her problem?” dominik questioned wearily, finally coming out of his beer and whiskey fueled haze.

“i’d rather not find out…” damian sighed, eyeing the now empty bottom of his drink.

finn gave a small sigh in contemplation, effectively choosing to ignore rhea’s attitude for the time being

“well, i don’t know about you lads but i’m getting me another drink”

rhea kept silent, shoving her way through the plethora of bodies, offering those who dared to question her motives a piercing glare. the glass sliding door glimmering with fairy lights strung loosely over the top frame, whatever she could make of the outside reminded her of an oasis. she could make out your figure through the smoke haze of the fog machine, she’d recognise your figure anywhere. she reached the door, peering out into the dead of night, the only light was from the living room, projecting out into the crystal blue of the pool.

there you sat at the edge of the pool, feet lazily swishing the water. your body only shielded from the gaze of others with a tight black, micro bikini. rhea cocked her eyebrows at the ensemble, noticing that it was definitely not the outfit you’d worn when arriving. the faith you’d put in that piece of cloth was astronomical. your breasts barely covered, bar your nipples, so full and round, the string keeping the piece together was holding on by a literal thread. her eyes traveled down reaching the axis of your hip, having to squint her eyes to even make out the matching thong. your perky ass in full view and on display for all onlookers to see.

rhea envisioned a scenario in her mind. the ensemble would burst at the seams, falling off your body like nothing more than a feather. your full breasts spilling out of the fabric, bouncing with their movements, so supple and soft. your pretty cunt bare and exposed, ready to accept punishment from her tongue and fingers. the buildup of wetness and arousal between rhea’s thighs just from the sight alone was almost too much to ignore, just to hear your sweet moans and pleas as she devoured your sweet pussy in front of everyone would definitely be a sight to behold. it was the perfect excuse and rhea needed the fresh air anyway.

the aroused trance faded for a moment as she came to. rhea gazed further into the night, further into you. another figure swam idly t your feet. the birthday girl had emerged from the watery depths, resting her head upon your thigh. liv’s eyes stared lustfully into yours, her lips eerily close to your clothed cunt, rhea observed the way you squirmed slightly whenever liv seemed to mutter out a sentence. your hand nestled in the blonde’s hair, massaging lightly, a playful glimmer in your eyes.

despite the shine of blue from the pool, rhea saw red. you were too sweet and naive to notice but rhea clearly understood liv’s lustful intentions, despite the two of you being friends. rhea kept her demeanor calm for the most part, trying to quell her anger whilst it boiled deep inside her chest. she stormed outside, almost certain she’d ripped the door clean off its hinges. she made a beeline for you, paying no mind to the birthday girl, she grabbed your wrist as you hastily tried to wrap a towel around your lower half and retrieve your clothing.

“rhea, what are you?-“

“we’re leaving.” rhea remarked bluntly, dragging you away.

“i’ll talk to you tomorrow liv!” you shouted through the middle of music and crowd noise, leaving the poor blonde alone in the pool.

rhea dragged you around to the side entrance, she did not want anymore unwanted eyes on the body she’d rightfully claimed as her own to stare at.

“hey! where are we going!?” you retaliated, trying to pry your arm from your girlfriend's grasp. she remained silent, a scowl permanent on her lips.

you’d made it to the car with much defiance on your part. she opened the door, practically throwing you in the passenger seat with a disgruntled groan. quickly taking her position in the driver's seat.

“what the fuck is your problem?!” you seethed at the fiery aussie, who merely stared dead at the road, knuckles gripped tightly, flushed bone white against the leather of the steering wheel.

“hello?!-“

“why you gotta dress like a little whore around liv? you know she’s got the hots for you, princess”

“is that really your problem,” you scoffed “liv is just a friend and i can dress however i want it’s my body”

rhea’s hand released from the steering wheel, sneaking under the towel to tightly grip your exposed, still damp thigh. her strength alone sent a shiver down your spine and a thump of arousal straight to your core.

“princess…” she began. her eyes never leaving the road but her fingers creeping up to the string of the thong, toying with it between her fingertips

“i know your body better than anyone. i know how you feel, the way you taste, the way you liked to be manhandled and fucked out. i know things that liv only wished she knew”

you rolled your eyes at rhea’s statement, pretending that her words had no effect on you, despite the blush burning hot against your cheeks. her fingers caressing the skin of your hip with featherlight touches.

“so..?” you remarked, trying not to stutter through your words. “you don’t own me”

rhea gave a half hearted chuckle at your words

“oh sweetheart, but i do” she began. “who puts that pretty cunt to sleep at night? who makes you gush like a waterfall? who leaves you begging and screaming for more. it certainly ain’t liv”

a satisfied smirked crossed rheas lips, acting all proud as if she’s won the argument, if you’d even call it that, her fingers released the string with a tight snap against you skin, the feeling sent shockwaves to your core. rhea couldn’t help but let her eyes fall off the road for a moment, to your breasts again as she did by the pool, how they bounced and jiggled with every bump and dip in the road. if she weren’t driving right now she’d rip that microscopic piece of fabric right off your form.

“you’re so insufferable” you mumbled to yourself, loud enough for her to hear, folding your arms across your chest.

“you won’t be saying that when my head is buried between your thighs, sweetheart”

the rest of the drive home was met with disgruntled silence from both of you. rhea pulled up into the driveway in silence. only a glance on her part that allowed you to exit the car. you did albeit meekly with some retaliation, only for her glare to harden. she followed you up the stairs, grinding her hips against yours as you reached the front door, her hands held a death grip on your waist as you shakily fiddled with the keys.

“hurry up princess, don’t keep mommy waiting now”

you gulped thickly feeling her hands trail up your waist as you hastily unlocked the door. you entered, desperately trying to make a beeline for your bedroom but rhea held you back for a moment, kicking the door closed with the heel of her foot.

“hold on a second.” she ordered. keeping you grounded in your position momentarily. her fingers twirled the corner of the towel haphazardly tucked into itself, keeping a shield between your body and hers. she ripped it from your form with haste, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud.

she inspected your body for a moment, letting her hands roam your form, squeezing and groping your supple flesh in her palms.

“such a pretty little get up” she remarked at the two-piece. her hands coming up to cup your breasts in her large palms, feeling your nipples harder under the still-damp fabric.

“and why didn’t i get to see you in it first? why did you have to parade yourself in it for all those people to see, like a little whore?” rhea hummed against your skin, sucking and nipping the skin in the crook of your neck.

“i..” you mumbled through a moan as rhea’s hands grew more aggressive.

“c’mon, use your words like a big girl,” she teased, pinching your nipples through the fabric.

“i…i wanted to surprise you mommy…” you lied through your teeth. you just wanted the attention. rhea always gave you the utmost love and attention, but you wanted to experience it from strangers, feel their unknown eyes wandering your body, so hungry for a taste they’ll never get to try. you got off on it and you knew that secretly rhea did as well.

“hmm, sure you did princess” her lips popped against your skin, a reddish mark left in their wake, one that would take days to heal. she snapped the strap of the bikini top against your skin, earning a harsh hiss on your part.

“upstairs.” she commanded. following you close as you trudged up the stairs, arousal pooling between your thighs. she pushed you into the bed harshly, already positioning herself between your thighs. your fingers hooked into the string of your thong to pry them down for her before she swatted your hand away with a rough slap.

“keep ‘em on”

you obeyed.

she licked a hot stripe against the fabric. the faint feeling of her tongue pressed against your covered clit had you shivering. she gave soft kisses to your core, tonguing the flesh around your clit, bypassing your sensitive pearl each time. you whined in frustration, wanting her to just devour your cunt.

“what?” she smirked. “you didn’t think i was gonna play nice with you after that stunt you pulled back there?”

you went pale at the thought. rhea was never ever liberal with her punishments.

“oh sweetheart. i’m gonna have so much fun with you”

she undid the ties to the thong. the small bows at your hips fell with ease. her slender fingers prying at the fabric, your cunt slick with arousal, leaving a damp spot in the material. you heard her hum in contentment, her tongue jutting out past her bottom lip, the glimmer of her tongue piercing just barely visible under the dull moonlight bleeding from the small cracks in the blinds.

“so wet for me…” she remarked, although her voice lowered, a growl almost present in her words. she kneeled before you, hooking her arms underneath your knees. dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. she marveled at the sight between your thighs, your cunt drenched, dripping with sweetness and warmth, she smirked to herself, knowing that it was indeed her doing.

with no warning she dived in, the cool sensation of her tongue piercing made you shiver as the metal made contact with your sensitive clit. she maintained eye contact throughout, those piercing blues staring directly into your soul as she devoured you. her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and nibbling at your swollen pearl. maybe you should flirt with liv more often if this were to be your punishment.

your hand fell into her hair, tugging at the dyed, coal black roots, pushing her head down so her tongue could fuck you senseless. she smiled into your warmth at the action, opting to accentuate your pleasure. she pulled away from your warmth for a second to speak, her breath heavy and labored.

“such a pretty girl, you love getting off on mommy’s tongue don’t you?” she cooed, keeping her lips close to your clit, peppering gentle, featherlight kisses to your outer walls each time you squirmed into yourself.

“yes mommy” you panted breathlessly, groping your breasts absentmindedly. she gave another soft smile, returning her head between your thighs, this time with the addition of two fingers, her middle and ring fingers. as she tongued your clit, slowly, making sure you could feel the metal of her piercing with each swirl, she added her fingers, beginning to spread your folds and fill your void with ease.

she would not go easy on you, oh no. despite her trickery, leading you into a false sense of security before she absolutely wrecked you. her tongue flicked your clit in rapid succession, her fingers pumping and curling deep inside your cunt. she kept her eyes on you, how you’d squeeze and toy with your breasts, the flesh now free from the miniscule restraint of the bikini top, pierced nipples now on display. rhea’s free hand came up to tug on one of the piercings, twirling the black bar between her thumb and forefinger, adoring the way you squirmed and whined at the new sensation.

“thats it you dumb little girl, fuck yourself on my fingers for me”

rhea could taste how close you were, how your cunt throbbed around her fingers, how your swollen clit twitched with every movement of her tongue. her spit spread across your folds and inner thighs, sweetness forming a pool in the bedsheets below. you could not hold out much longer, the pleasure was far too much for you to handle. you tried your best to refrain, to stop the flood gates from opening, and you knew there would be consequences if you were to cum without her permission.

“m-mommy-” you whimpered through choked moans, hips circling so your clit could receive more friction from her tongue.

“yes, baby” she hummed into your clit. her words buzzed against your skin, leaving you numb in pleasure, afraid to spill over. you held out for a moment, trying to come to but your words would not leave your throat, seemingly trapped like concrete in your chest.

“you wanna cum don’t you?” she queried, the twang of her australian accent running thick as she moaned into you. you nodded, far too hastily for you own liking. you would have liked to hold out for a moment or two longer, just for the feeling of her tongue but you couldn’t wait much more.

“then cum. show me how much of a good, obedient girl you can be”

you heeded her words, sweetness gushing like a fountain from between your thigh prompted by her. she smiled into you, drinking you in as if it were her first taste of heaven. and in heaven she was, she pried her fingers from your warmth, returning her hands under your thighs once more, dragging you closer so she could fuck you deeper with her tongue,

she’d left your thighs shaking upon coming down from your high, breathless and sopping wet as you tried to regain yourself. she silently excused herself to the closet, leaving you to bask in your post-orgasm thoughts for a moment or two, staring up at the ceiling you noticed the small chips of paint beginning to flake and the thin cracks around the lighting fixture, something you hadn’t really picked up on before. not that it mattered.

rhea soon returned, standing in front of you, her body bare, the only concealed parts of her skin were those covered in ink. her tattoos suited her frame so well, bringing character to an otherwise blank canvas. in her hand she held a harness and your favorite dildo. it was a simple, sleek design, black silicone with little purple hearts encased on the mold, roughly about eight inches in length and roughly five inches in girth. one that she had used on you many times beforehands.

you watched on silently as she prepared herself, her body hovering over yours as she fastened the toy into the harness. her breath labored slightly as she teased your folds with the tip of the toy, pressing it rather harshly against your swollen clit, a whimpered breath left your lips at the action.

“you gonna be a good little whore for mommy?” she questioned, cocking her eyebrow playfully as she stared you down, jutting her hips forward, the tip of the dildo grinding against your entrance. you squeezed your eyes shut, pleasure once again rising between your thighs as her hips guided the toy across your clit.

“uh ah, sweetheart” she slapped your cheek lightly, rousing your eyes open.

“look at me” she demanded, taking you by the chin, forcing you to look up at her. she repeated her phrase. emphasizing each word that left her lips with a pause

“y-yes mommy…” you whimpered meekly, feeling her grip on your chin loosen. a smirk creeped upon her cheeks, sliding the toy deep inside without warning. a choked gasp left your throat, feeling the dildo fully succumbed inside your warmth, to the point where you could feel her warmth radiating through the thin harness.

“oh fuck, baby. look how well you take it” she forced your head to look down at yourself. how your cunt clenched around the thick toy, how it bobbed in and out of your warmth complemented by rhea’s thrusts.

“god…if i had a cock i would breed this pathetic cunt day and night” rhea’s growls resonated in the surrounding silence, echoing in your ears with such devilish praise. her body hovered over yours, securing you against the mattress, her breasts bouncing with every thrust she gave. you angled your head up slightly, the tip of your tongue barely grazing against her perky nipples, the buds swollen and hard from the chill of the midnight air.

rhea hissed in delight at the sensation, in response, her hips gave a rather hard thrusts, a whirlwind of moans fluttered from your lips. she let her head fall between the valley of your breasts, licking a hot stroke up your skin, sucking and nipping the area and the surrounding mounds of flesh, marking you up with lustful bruises, all in varying shades of purple and pink. she let her lips trail to your right nipple, kissing the sensitive, pierced flesh lightly before biting down on it, tugging the bar between her teeth, letting her tongue roll over your nipple, leaving a glossy wet trail in its wake.

“oh baby, you look so fucking good. you love getting dumbfucked don’t you, my sweetheart? there’s not a thought in that empty head of yours is there?”

her words mocking yet falling on deaf ears and very much so. there was nothing on your mind other than achieving orgasm. rhea fucked you so well that it made you legs weak, your mind grew hazy and rotten with all the filthy ways she could ruin you. rhea could sense your impending orgasm, opting to hook a leg over your shoulder, pressing down deep into you, feeling the tip of the toy hit your cervix with such delicious force.

“oh sweetie, you gonna cum? oh i know you do, just look at the way your pretty cunt throbs for me”

you felt a moan catch in your throat, your cunt so swollen and overstimulated, not just from the toy but from her tongue also. orgasm teetering in the edge of release

“mommy please! oh fuck yes- make me cum, mommy!”

rhea increased the speed of her thrusts, her own cunt soppy and dripping with sweetness.

“make a mess for mommy, baby. show me how a good girl cums”

you released, sweetness gushing like nectar from between your thighs. it’s a pity rhea couldn’t taste you for a second time, but watching you cum all over her makeshift cock was good enough for her. rhea pulled out of you, spurts of your warmth still squirting from you each time your cunt clenched and pulsed. she left you breathless, unable to speak for a moment.

“such a good girl” rhea praised, quickly removing the harness and the toy, throwing it to the floor beside the bed, before resting herself atop the headboard.

“now…” she began, tugging you lightly by the hair, leaving your head positioned between her thick, inked thighs.

“come give mommy a kiss”

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

#{ my fics : 🤍 }#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley imagine #wlw fanfic #rhea ripley fanfic #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfic #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #wrestling fanfiction

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 7 months ago

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imagining ghoul just being completely dazzled by vaultie reader….their beauty, their clean teeth and nails, their skin…the softest, smoothest skin he’s seen in hundreds of years. he could hardly remember how it looked til now.

he’d watch over you while you slept by the fire he made with such fascination, studying your features like this when he knew you wouldn’t be able to raise an eyebrow at him and he could allow himself to be relaxed and let down his tough guy wall (after all, you only just met a few days before).

and when you roll up the pants of your suit one day in the heat and expose your legs…he sees they’re perfectly waxed (who knew they had that in the vaults?) and it takes everything he has not to just reach out and touch them.

Smooth Skin

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Vault Dweller

Word Count: 3,109

Warnings: smut (18+), sexual tension, masturbation (male), mild somnophilia, very mild angst.

Summary: Cooper's new companion is beyond distracting.

Notes: Another excellent submission! I have had VERY similar thoughts about how people in the vaults would still adhere to so many old grooming practices that had long disappeared from most of the Wasteland. It would be such a weird thing for non-vault dwellers to see, and not being able to maintain them would be quite the shock for vault dwellers.

Also, this poor old man wouldn't consciously recognize the feeling of "arousal inspired by a specific person" if you beat him over the head with it. It's been about 200 years since he felt it.

Cooper was beginning to wonder if he'd been screwed.

Holding the deeply familiar vial up to the light once more, he gave the liquid contents a shake, examining the consistency, the color, the weight. For the half dozenth time that hour, he lifted it to the open cavity in his face where his nose once sat, inhaling deeply, testing for any unfamiliar odors, ultimately finding none. Lifting the solution to his lips, he tasted it, once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth with deep suspicion.

Everything seemed to be normal about the latest bunch of vials he'd acquired, at least on the surface. However, he was beginning to worry that he'd been given some sort of dud batch, and now he was starting to dissolve into some sort of ferality.

But this didn't feel like the dozens of other times he'd cut it close over the years, when his chest constricted, fighting for every breath as his mind began to cloud with aggressive thoughts, making him feel ready to lash out at anything that moved. No, he could breathe just fine, and he didn't necessarily feel aggressive, but he did feel oddly tense and ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem like anything had changed about his treatment.

Then again, something else had changed pretty drastically over the last few days.

Standing in the baking sun, he waited impatiently for the little vault-dweller he'd inexplicably managed to become attached to to finish her business, infinitely more fidgety than usual. He scanned the horizon with uncharacteristically anxious eyes, his boot tapping in the dirt.

"C'mon, Vaultie! Move your ass!" he called, harsher than he intended, but when the girl came scurrying up out of the ditch, he offered no apology, simply jerking his head in the direction they'd already been headed down the road, waiting for her to get a step or two ahead of him so he could follow, watching her closely.

Very closely.

The old cowboy prided himself on his ability to analyze people, to figure things out about them long before they were disclosed. It had proved an immensely useful skill over and over again. This girl, however, confused him. The pristine cheeriness of her was unsettling, making her stand out clear as day against the dingy, angry, consuming Wasteland.

He didn't trust it, frankly. It had been a long time since he'd met anyone who was genuinely selfless and kind simply because they felt it the right thing to do. She was definitely hiding something, concealing her true nature, but at least she was good at it. Besides, he'd be lying to himself if he said part of the reason he allowed her to tag along with him wasn't that he didn't want to walk past her pretty little corpse on the side of the road in a few days...as if there would be a corpse leftover. At least, a recognizable one.

Ahead of him, the girl caught her boot on a crack in the ancient asphalt, sending her stumbling; his quick reflexes kicked in almost instantly, and he yanked her back by her suit sleeve, sighing when she cast a sheepishly apologetic glance his way. He rolled his eyes and gave her a small push to keep it moving, watching as her hair swished back and forth with her movements.

How many decades had it been since he'd seen a woman with long hair? Maybe it had even been a century, or more. Most women in the Wasteland kept their hair cropped fairly short; easier to care for, less for someone to grab onto if you were attacked. Shampoo was still fairly easy to acquire, but only because most people didn't have consistent access to enough clean water to bathe with. Hair could also be sold in some cases, and many people found themselves desperate enough to do something like that in this world, unfortunate as it was.

But this girl, her dark curls hung down to her waist, flowing down her back and shoulders elegantly, or laid along her spine in a neat braid when she got especially red and sweaty. It was so shiny; he wanted to run his fingers through it for some reason, so badly that when she'd bumped into him their first day of travel, her view obscured by the dark curtain, he didn't even think to scold her, too busy willing himself to not thread his fingers into the soft strands. When he was close enough, he noticed that it smelled like wildflowers.

He'd met her just outside Filly. Where she was headed, a few settlements northwest to find an aunt or a sister or a grandmother or something, wasn't the most perilous route she'd shown him on her Pip Boy (in a very surreal conversation where she'd treated him like he was any other man), but she was already showing that she wasn't truly equipped to make it there intact. Hell, she had flagged him down for directions, in a move that had made him genuinely wonder if he hadn't done too much Jet that morning. That little maneuver wouldn't get her killed with him (at least, on the right day) but it would quickly get her robbed or worse with many others.

His first instinct had been to leave her to her fate, but he found that he just couldn't leave her there on the side of the road, that blinding white smile, those big, round eyes, her basically pristine vault suit making her stand out like a sore thumb. Begrudgingly, he had agreed to let her walk with him to where she was going.

She tired rather quickly compared to him, his condition making thermoregulation much less of a concern. His soft new companion, however, was unaccustomed to the sun, to the heat, and was often too exhausted to continue in any real capacity by the time the sun set. The nights got cold, colder than it seemed she'd anticipated, and she chattered her way through that whole first evening; each subsequent night, he'd built a small fire to keep her warm through the coldest part. It annoyed him immensely, having to expose them in the dark like that, but, oddly, he found that he equally disliked watching her shiver on the ground.

"Do you think we could stop for a while?" she asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to turn to him and nearly slamming into his chest in the process. His hand braced on her shoulder, slightly shoving her aside so they didn't collide; the hand that touched her tingled when he pulled it away, and he cast a quick glance at his palm.

"You're really pushin' it today, kid. You know that?" he growled, his tone dripping with unconcealed irritation. They could easily get at least a few more hours of walking in before the sun went down, and once she stopped walking for the day, it was hard to get her going again.

The way her eyes widened at him before dropping to the ground actually made him feel guilty, flooring him just a little. He held his face in its usual neutral mask.

"I'm sorry." she murmured, chastened. "I'm just not used to walking so long in the heat."

Immediately, he rolled his eyes, though whether he was rolling them at her or at himself, he genuinely didn't know. Casting his eyes further down the road, then around where they'd stopped, they fell onto a clutch of old, dead trees and rocks, a small amount of shade gathering there. It was well concealed enough, he supposed.

"Fine. We can stop over there. But we're gonna get a few more miles in today, at least, so don't get comfy."

Flashing him those perfect teeth again, she quickly made her way off the road and threw herself down at the base of the largest tree, hiding from the sun as best as she could. He took the opportunity to dig some food out of his bag, have another smoke or two, and reflect on his choices, his back to her by and large as he watched the road.

"I didn't know the sun was so bright." she huffed after while, her tone almost petulant. "Or so hot."

He turned back to her, a slick reply about her general naivete locked and loaded, but he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of her sat there on the ground, tugging off her boots and socks. Folding each sock into a neat little ball, she tucked them into their corresponding mate and sat them aside, stretching her legs out in front of her. Quiet, he watched her roll up each pant leg to her knee, as high as the cut of the material would allow, reclining back in the small patch of shade she'd found.

Those toned, smooth calves that peeked out at him were the most intriguing thing he'd seen in a minute, his eyes practically glued to the exposed skin. There was a softness to her that he thought didn't exist anymore; in her supple body, the way she actually held a little extra fat from years of being fed and safe in a vault, the soft, clear expanse of her skin, her clean, manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, he found himself deeply wanting to reach out and wrap one of his hands around her ankle, the other running up the taut muscle of her leg. He shoved the feeling down and turned back to the road, fidgeting.

A while later, the sun was dipping behind the horizon, but still frying everything it touched when she finally spoke again.

"Do you wanna get going soon?" she called, tone much more relaxed than before.

He turned to look at her again, having avoided doing so for over an hour, her sleeves rucked up to her elbows as well, and shook his head.

"Nah. Might as well just bed down here and get some sleep. Good a place as any, I guess. I wanna cover some real ground tomorrow." he replied, keeping his tone noncommittal. "Get your rest, princess. If you can't keep up tomorrow, I'm leaving your ass behind."

She shot him a look, somewhere between evaluating whether or not he was serious and rolling her eyes at his continued unpleasantness, but she didn't respond outside of a simple nod, sinking back down onto the ground and closing her eyes. Once the sun went down fully, he went around gathering up dried sticks and brush to build a small fire, setting up near where she was obviously quickly falling asleep, curled up on her side and using her backpack as a pillow.

Cooper kept watch for a few hours as it quickly darkened, the girl falling soundly asleep as he sat polishing his guns. Eventually, he grew bored of weapon maintenance, and his eyes were drawn to the vault dweller lying a few feet to his side.

He leaned closer, allowing himself to inspect her face closer than he'd had a chance to thus far. Walking behind her all day allowed him plenty of time to study her silhouette, her gait, the dancing length of her hair. But her face was always hidden, and when she turned to face him, he felt unable to look her in the eye for too long without that itch creeping into his brain, sending him searching through his pockets for his inhaler.

Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at her without worrying about being caught, it finally dawned on him, though, not immediately:

Fuck, she was beautiful.

And she was, and would have been if he'd met her in another life, too, each feature of her more appealing than the next. That long hair had been braided back away from her face, the length of it coiled like a snake along her back as she snored ever-so-lightly, her head sitting crookedly against her backpack. Before he could even think about it, his hand had already been tugged loose of his glove and reached out to softly pet at it, the strands silken under his bare fingers.

When did he get so close to her?

He thought back to her exposed legs, now hidden back away beneath her pant legs, kicked most of the way back down to assist in keeping her warm, and thought about how there had been no hair there. Many aspects of grooming that had once been normal were long lost to him, but that was certainly one of the biggest ones. He had completely forgotten that women once generally shaved the hair from their legs, and how big a deal it was considered when they didn't. He'd thought it was a silly thing to expect then; now, it just seemed like a sad thing to fixate on, with all that had been going on at the time.

However, that didn't stop him from imagining how smooth, how silky her legs would feel if he ran his hands along them, how high the smoothness would go until he would be able to feel the presence of downy little body hairs, the likes of which he hadn't had himself in centuries. Would they start at her knees? Or would he have to feel all the way up to the tops of her pillowy thighs to feel them? He remembered, vaguely, that some women would shave between their legs, too, and wondered if she did that as well.

Why was he thinking about what was between her legs?

His brain was so foggy the longer he looked at her, his one free hand quickly moving to dig his inhaler out of his pocket, taking the longest drag he could take off of it. It didn't clear his mind, didn't stop him from feeling like he wanted to touch more of her, to lean close and smell her, taste her. A hard shudder broke down his spine, and his cock set to throbbing in his pinstriped pants, his teeth gnashing. He was anxious to get to the next big settlement so he could buy new vials; he was convinced there was something wrong with these ones.

Regardless, he could breathe fine and didn't feel like a threat to the girl, necessarily...so his attention shifted, rather sourly, to his aching erection, now straining against his thigh.

It wasn't that he never masturbated; he was still a man beneath all the rads and rot, and his sex drive had never fully died, only dwindled down to a single flame whose presence didn't usually draw any attention from him. But it wasn't something he relished in, no more than eating food he couldn't really taste anymore to sustain himself or feigning sleep to allow his legs and back to rest. It was simply another need that had to be met on occasion; a quick tug at himself, not thinking of anything in particular, until he spilled onto the ground and went on with his life. It never needed to be more than that.

Now, however, his entire gut was aflame, the smell of her filling the air and further intoxicating him, his still-gloved hand moving to press against his cock through the fabric, the feeling leaving him arching his hips slightly up into his own touch. He wanted so badly to touch more than her hair, but knew that it wasn't advisable; the girl slept more soundly than anyone in the Wasteland, it seemed, but if she were to wake up and find him touching himself beside her, who knows what trouble there would be?

He couldn't touch her, but that didn't mean he couldn't study her, running his eyes over each part of her over and over again as the light and warmth of the fire slowly died down. He was tracing curve of her breasts and the way it flowed into the little roll of her belly for the umpteenth time, grinding hard against his hand, by the time the flames died down completely. She'd curled almost completely in on herself, hiding her face against her hands, and he wished he could look closer at it again as he slunk closer and closer to the edge.

As if she could read his mind, she suddenly rolled onto her back, resettling quickly as her head slid fully off of the bag. The mild highlights of the moon played along her face and torso, her plush lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would make that sound for him if he touched her just right, and, embarrassingly, that thought was enough to put an end to him.

The orgasm that washed over him granted some mild relief, his spend pooling in a sticky mess in his pant leg as he let out a few quiet heavy breaths, the hand that had been touching her hair scratching lines into the dirt, but it was bittersweet. In the haze afterwards, for the first time in a long, long time, he thought about Barb, about the way she would sigh his name when she came apart, about how soft and warm she would feel against him when he held her close after they made love. The deeply buried pain behind his breastbone that had started the day he'd found out the truth about her kicked up once more.

Sitting in the dark silence, a hard edge of discomfort and annoyance steeled up his spine, leaving him still in his ruminations until the uncomfortable feeling of the mess in his pants became intolerable. Letting out a huff, he shifted away from her and walked a few steps away as quietly as possible to clean himself up as best as he could, shame thick in the crisp air. When he finished, he dug into his pocket for an angry cigarette, jamming it between his thin lips and turning back towards her to face away from the breeze as he lit it.

But when he looked at her once more, really let himself look at her, he felt that pain in his breast soften, her soft skin almost glowing in the moonlight as she slept, peacefully unaware of anything but her blissful rest. It wasn't something he saw often. When he sat back down beside her, grabbing for his loose glove in the dark, he sat close enough that the outside of his thigh touched the arm under her head, pulling on his lit smoke absentmindedly as he continued to study his little companion. Her even, steady breathing was quite soothing to him, actually.

He was still going to buy a new set of vials.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard smut #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x reader #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #submission #I hate titling so much #fallout tv show #fallout prime

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k0dster · 6 months ago

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I really can't fathom why people are calling Max x Lucy vanilla for just being healthy?

Like yes, they weren't exactly the most mind-blowingly interesting couple ever, but they weren't basic.

Max came from a place where they almost know nothing of anything beyond the brotherhood. He's incredibly loyal and he's very passionate about what he believes in. He has very strong views about the brotherhood and how he sees them, along with how he sees himself, but Lucy really breaks him out of that shell by showing him that he's just as strong without his armor and stronger than the brotherhood tells him he is. She shows him that he's worthy of the love that he hasn't ever really received.

Lucy is the same way. Though she believes in a completely different cause. She believes there is good in everyone and everything, a glass half full kinda girl. She shows Max not everything he thinks is bad or even true. She also, as much as she cares about him, was willing to beg the overseer of vault 4 to let him stay, even if that meant trekking the wasteland alone again, all because he was happy.

Max in turn does the same for her later. Going against everything he knows, facing the people that raised him, knowing that if he's caught he'll probably be killed, all because he loved her. And lucy offering to let him come back home with her I seriously couldn't the way he's telling Dane all giddy about it later.

Not to mention the underlying "princess and knight in shining armor" trope has me in such a chokehold I love it.

But seriously no one has been able to give me another reason into why they don't like Max x Lucy except that it's "the Canon ship" or "it's too vanilla" bsfr, we're we watching the same show??

The way he smiles back at her when she's escorting wilzig out?? Ugh! My heart!

And the very fairytale feel the ending kiss had?? How do y'all not like this??

God they just had so many scenes that made me giggle and kick my feet because they were so hopelessly in love

#maximus x lucy #vaultknight #fallout maximus #knight maximus #lucy maclean #fallout lucy #lucy fallout #maximus fallout #fallout prime #fallout show #lucy x maximus

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dragonseeds · 9 months ago

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do you have any thoughts on daenys the dreamer?

extremely fun and obvious play on the cassandra figure. a version where her family not only believes her but venerates her visions and prophecies—like, she saves them and a handful of dragons and, in doing so, the world, but it also curses her bloodline. the thing that once saved them becomes an obsession that consumes them literally in wildfire. the idea that you can be doomed by believing in and actively trying to fulfill a prophecy (aegon v at summerhall, melisandre and stannis) just as easily as others are doomed by their disbelief or their attempts to circumvent fate (cersei echoing my buddy king laius)—like that’s so, so cool to me. i love the ambiguity between fate and choice, the way grrm takes the whole trope apart and plays with all the individual components.

also very interested in the line running from daenys to daenerys, and i always wonder if daenys saw her too and if so, how much of her life daenys saw and was able to contextualize? did she see clear images like melisandre and bran or more metaphorical ones, like jojen or dany in the house of the undying? something like… a dragon with three heads fighting in a frozen wasteland lol?

considering the the loss of female power in house targaryen is so deeply entwined with the dying of the dragons, underneath all of that for me is aemon’s line in affc and the context that follows it:

what were they translating?? were some of the documents in other languages? it couldn’t have all been daenys’ works because aemon says they’ve been wrong for a thousand years. this prophecy has been a motivating factor for the targaryens (and valyrians?) for a thousand years, but i wonder at what point the translation error actually crept in? daenys was valyrian and that would’ve been her primary language—i like to think she would’ve understood the nature of the dragon in a way her male descendents couldn’t. no one ever looked for a girl, but it was always a girl. not men in a patriarchal feudalist society reducing women to their reproductive capabilities (rhaella’s miserable life being one of the most egregious examples of this) and then being surprised when a woman is needed to rebirth the dragons lol.

this got away from me because i think the (deconstruction of the) use of prophecy in asoiaf is fascinating and everything we know about daenys is tied up in that. cutting myself off before i start talking about gender as it relates to this prophecy. beyond that, i’m really not interested in interpretations of daenys where she’s catatonic or broken by what she’s seen any more than i am in interpretations of dany where she goes mad, just because i’m sick of the seeing the general victimization of women in asoiaf taken to such an extreme that they’re defined by it—with whoever suffers most ecstatically being the least problematic to stan, especially when the women in question are from/associated with house targaryen.

#me every time i get an ask: this got away from me ajdjsks #daenys the dreamer #also aemonnnnn 😭#i really need to do a reread bc i couldn’t remember where we find out he says this #also notice me not mentioning rhaegar re: the prophecy obsession #i think he was actually pretty normal about it considering literally everything about his his life from the moment of his birth #asoiaf

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dykedvonte · 4 months ago

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idk if you've written any head cannons about this before but i'm curious what your thoughts are on arcades previous relationships

I think this is a very interesting question because we can even know if he had previous relationships? I don't know if you want platonic or romantic, so I will answer vague enough to fit both.

Arcade is a man that wants to be reserved and self-assured. When he first vaguely tells you about his past you can 100% tell he is very mournful of something and I really think its partly him not knowing his place in the world and being incredibly lonely. One of the ways you can recruit him is literally just by being gay and showing interest. That's not someone who is used to having deep, long lasting relationships of any kind. He never mentions friends his age growing up or otherwise and he is honest (once he opens up) about how he is considred too young to be taken seriously by the older remanents when enlisting their help (Imagine like trying to be friends with your much older aunts and uncles who like wiped your ass).

He is desperately trying to find a place and I feel like that applies to being among people as well, I mean he does hide himself in a tent with the followers. When I think of his past relationships I think of fleeting hook-ups or abrupt endings with him often being the one to do the skedaddling or walk of shame to wherever he was residing at the time. I say shame becasue I know he'd want to stay and get close but he's just too scared. It's understandable when 75% of the factions would want you dead due to your family lineage... even if you had no part of their actions. He has so much baggage and hang-ups I don't think he thinks it'd be worth it to unpack that with a friend or lover.

But since your asking what I personally think his fleeting, wasteland relationships were like here's my thoughts:

Most of his relationships (friendships and otherwise) started occurring later in his like, likely his early to mid-twenties. He had seen Enclave remnants be hunted and those who survived did so by staying alone...

His first friend was a wasteland girl who liked how well-read he was. It wasn't so much a traditional friendship but like two people who frequent the same places a lot. He provided the closest thing she was getting to an education and she provided pleasant conversation.

They barely knew anything deeper than each other's names or the topics they discussed but Arcade had never had a non-enclave friend before so it meant everything to him.

She was inspired to get a formal education and do something with her life and thanked Arcade before leaving to go do that. Arcade liked the feeling of helping and sought out ways to do that.

His first kiss is actually how he got into the followers in my head. It was the first chance he took to form a relationship outside the remnants and he wanted to follow him (him as in his lover). He wanted to join a diplomatic Follower group in the NCR and Arcade was terrified of being that close.

Following the last point it was a big blowout fight because Arcade refused to explain why he didn't beyond "Aren't we fine here?" and received a very harsh reading about his inability to open up.

His first actual boyfriend was a king gang member that liked to brag about how he was dating the smartest follower on this side of the wasteland. Arcade felt bad cause he knew he was only dating the guy cause he was crushing on The King at the time and the guy made him feel good with all the praise.

He broke it off under the guise that his work made him feel like he was being neglectful to their relationship and due to the kings' strong sense of duty/principles he understood

Gave Arcade his fav hair comb as a token of no hard feelings and Arcade felt extra bad cause it was like the one real and safe feeling relationship he had and he hated it was built on lies and half-truths.

Hence why he only tells the Courier half-truths, both is too much

After that he made a rule to only have FWBs and casual friends.

This worked as well as you think it did for a man like Arcade.

Most of the people he "dated" (weird coy flirting until he shut them out when they asked something deeper) were all people who wanted to go somewhere with him. He has a deep desire to live, experience and find himself but never has the courage to commit

This explains why you can so easily recruit him with flirting and promising to whisk him away into adventure. (Daddy issues much?)

All his "friends" were either the socially weird Followers who never asked much or people who were passing through and wouldn't question the random guy they hung out with for a bit knows too much about energy weapons or power armor or that old defunct faction that almost killed everyone with evil water... twice.

Silly Headcanons is he loves to rag and joke and is a little shit. He has a chip on his shoulder about how smart he is but he's never a direct jerk about

Not a touchy friend but he clings and hovers around partners and people he has a romantic interest in. Hand brushes, pats, standing close, and wanting to be very involved. Sad but he really wants a connection and even a small sign is enough to make him lose his sensibilities.

He hates it but he knows he's touch and emotionally starved so sometimes he allows himself to get a little lost in the love sauce.

Prefers friends and partners that are a little dumber than him. This has nothing to do with anything, dude is just attracted to idiots platonically or romantically.

This post is long just because I need to explain just how I think these characters think. Arcade is a guy who wants to be gay and own a garden and drink a glass of non-irrated wine with his friends while snarking to his partner. But he's also affliated with violent war crimminals and genocidal factins and settles for just trying to give that life to someone else.

#like he really just wants to feel like he can be somewhere with peace but he cant I fell sorry for him #all his relationships are like very unhealthy cause he cant be vulnerable and when he is he still holds back #sorry if this isnt exactly what you wanted but i dont think Arcade has had a sweet summer romance or best friend #like a big thing with all of the New Vegas companions is how lonely they really are and why its so easy to recruit them through certain way #minor thing but he realized he was gay while reading a guns and bullets mag and the ranbo like guy on one of the pages was looking way more #appealing than the girl. he also figure this out late as he never ever thought hed be able to really have a life once he went on the run a #didnt think about that type of thing #fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #arcade israel gannon #arcade gannon #arcade fnv #ask #anon

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sparklingmineraltequila · 2 months ago

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American Wasteland

Note: Sorry this took so long. I moved city and pretty much have a new life. Still obsessed with Rust, though, so some shit sticks

Warnings: 18+, talk of war, alcohol, drugs, sex work, talks of past domestic violence, smut, just genuine misery between the two of them

America venerates suffering, that's what Travis had always told Rust. Sacrifice isn't pure if it isn't coated in a blood so red and so hot that your family can smear over their words, for centuries to come, excusing their comfort, their indulgence, their ignorance. They are afforded that comfort off of slaughter beyond their imagining. At least, that's what had happened after 'nam. A hero for his fucking country was the propaganda they had fed Travis; squash the bug of communism and, along with it, massacre millions of innocents, because what is America without its sons who are willing to fight for it.? Yeah, a fucking hero for a father, who's night terrors kept both of them up at night and who kept his engraved lighter saying High Speed Low Drag in his hunting jacket, always. That same lighter that Rust had used to light his first cigarette: rolled up flimsily in newspaper with the leftover tobacco and tufts of filter that he'd scraped from Travis' cigarette butts. The same lighter that Cassandra is now using to light her Marlboro Gold, hands shaking,

'Rust. That's all I get, huh? Not even a fucking surname?!' she spits, through a shaky exhale.

'I ain't gonna give you my surname. The less you know about me, the better,' Rust says back, his stoic demeanour attempting to mask that churning in his stomach. One that he has realised isn't for him but for Cassandra.

'Is Rust even your actual name?'

'You want a fuckin' social security number, too?' Rust drawls dryly.

'Don't you-Don't,' Cassandra's head shoots up from where it's been in her hands, her shaking tone now gaining a momentum of uncontrollable anger, 'Jesus-fuck. You men are all the fucking same. I-I ain't staying in this fucking place, anymore. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck every goddamn person in this wasteland of a place!'

Rust regards her with an even look,

'You ain't going anywhere. Not tonight. You ain't in the right state.'

'You ain't my daddy, motherfucker.'

'Goddamn right, I ain't but I'm also the only person you have who doesn't want to take advantage of you. So, hedge your bets tomorrow, baby, but tonight you're stayin' here,' Rust's voice is lapidary, stopping Cassandra in her tracks as she starts to shove clothes and books into her duffel bag.

'I said: you ain't my daddy and you sure as hell ain't keeping me in a place where I don't want to be,' Cassandra says in a tone equally as gelid, throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. That elegant, fine-boned shoulder tinged with its bronzed hue; some of the love bites that Rust had left a few nights ago decorating Cassandra's collarbone. Rust fears that the sentiment festering under his skin is nostalgia. A nostalgia that scares him and, then, makes him cruel,

'No, Cassandra. I ain't your daddy cause all he did for you was get heavy handed with you and cut you up with his empty liquor bottles when he really wanted to teach you about mouthin' off at him.'

The colour drains from Cassandra's face,

'How the fuck do you know about that?' a sudden spark of spite reaches her as she sneers, 'Pull my file in your spare time, huh?'

Rust grabs her arm and yanks up her tank top, ignoring her yelp. He nods to the fine, white line along her ribcage,

'I ain't a fuckin' idiot, Cassandra. Skateboardin' fall, my ass,' Rust snarls, holding her ribcage with a calloused hand. Cassandra viciously claws at his hand, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,

'Get off! Get the fuck off!' and Rusts lets her go cause in that moment, the smooth, sultry cadence made slightly husky from after-sex cigarettes reverts back to the pleading of a little girl. Cassandra's words are devoid of any real bite, Rust notes. All that rage has been stripped away and all that she is left with is the panic of a little girl's voice turning into burning sobs in her throat; the stale cookies in her stomach turning sour from terror. There's that wide eyed looked, too. He can see it as Cassandra hastily covers herself back up and rearranges the duffel bag back onto her shoulder.

'Fuck you, Rust,' she says his name like it's a poison that she needs to spit from her mouth before it corrodes the flesh into a pulpy mess. Corrosion. Rust. That's what he is, it's what he does because sometimes corrosion is needed to get to the bone of things; to see what everyone else in too caught up in their delusions or affectations about fucking Natural Law to truly comprehend.

'Don't you fu-Cassandra!' Rust's voice boils up from his chest in a rough bark, watching Cassandra explode out of the trailer door, almost stumble down the rusted metal steps and collapse into the red dirt. He thinks he can't get any angrier until he realises that she's pocketed the keys to his Harley, on her way out, and sees her bolt over to where it's parked, behind the trailer. A cloud of dust rises up as the bike rumbles out of neutral and Cassandra desperately revs on the accelerator; her legs hardly off of the ground before the Harley tears away. In other circumstances, the dramatics of the exit would have made Rust scoff and chalk it up to youth's thirst for impact: the flurry of a scene. Not now. Not when this kid is tearing down a highway in a bike that doesn't have enough gas to make it to Liberty, let alone wherever the fuck Cassandra thinks she's headed. A kid, Rust thinks, A fuckin' kid that I've pulled into the abyss with me. Rust calls her a kid now but knows that when he finds her, he'll treat her like she's grown. A sentiment that propels him into his truck, cursing to himself as the engine splutters.

It doesn't take long to track Cassandra down; there's only one road from the trailer park that lead to the freeway. No doubt, where Cassandra is headed to. Ride fast and hard, and get the fuck out when the heat starts to sting: the classic cocktail of self-preservation cooked up by kids who've already been burned. There are too many of them down here, below that Mason-Dixie line. Rust would know. Fuck, if he hasn't spent his entire career on the force witnessing the aftermath. Drugs, abuses, assaults, homicides: you name it. The abuser becomes the abused; Nietzsche's infinite return has those poor kids falling flat on their faces into the nice shit storm of generational maladjustments that their parents left for them. Shattered dreams, skin sucked dry from mosquitos, teeth black and rotting from sweet tea, underneath that sticky southern sun. Rust wants to believe that it's an innate sense of duty towards these kids is why he's currently violating every Highway Code there is. And for part of him, it is. The other part, however, won't allow himself the comfort of what he knows is a lie. What started as pure sex appeal has started to morph into something deeper, messier.

The bike has even less gas than he thought as, the first Texaco that he sees, has Cassandra next to the pumps trying to wrench open the bike's gas lock. She wants to be caught, Rust knows, Wants me to chase after her, show her I give a shit. If she didn't, she would've gotten a hell of a lot more reckless. He watches her, almost with pity, as her pulls into the gas station and slows the truck to a halt, the breaks groaning with their lack of galvanisation. Rust shoves the car door open, his leather boots landing heavily on tepid asphalt,

'Get your ass over here,' his voice rough, as he strides over to Cassandra.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me,' she whips around, her fury making her abandon her previous task.

'Get in the fuckin' truck, Cassandra. I ain't doing the whole scorned boyfriend act for these nosey fuckers,' Rust deadpans, his ice blue gaze conveying to her just how fucking pissed he is.

'Did you hear me, motherfucker? I said to go back to your junkie biker brothers, find some hooker so that you can fuck out your half-baked emotional needs and leave me the hell alone,' Cassandra says with such venom dripping from her mouth that she almost fully means it; warm milk out of hand, she resorts to spite. Not fully, though: Rust can see the tears glazing her eyes and that's enough for him. A firm hand comes to grasp Cassandra's arm and put her in what is practically a headlock as Rust drags her to the truck. Cassandra's duffel bag slips off of her shoulder as Rust holds her firmly against his chest, bicep right up against the column of her throat. Some old man up from his pump, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he calls over,

'Everything alright over there?' Not from the area, Rust notes. Not solely due to the licence plate and milky arms but the slight wariness of his expression. A man unacquainted with the imperatives that the arrid terrain commands. The violence. Cassandra takes it upon herself to drop the unwanted attention as she chokes out,

'They don't teach you to mind your own fucking business in Iowa?!' the rage in her voice stemming from a deep humiliation in how she must look, Rust's arm tight against her neck. Rust takes in the man's mortification and grits into her ear,

'Shut the fuck up.'

He opens the truck door and shoves her in, slamming the door and heading over to the driver's side to catch her as she climbs out. Rust concedes her a heavy slap to the face before getting in, essentially crowding her back to the passenger's side. As he starts the ignition and pulls out of the gas station, Cassandra is eerily quiet, tears leaving hot tracks of salt and mascara on her cheeks. Rust debates on whether it's shame at getting caught or just pure desolation at, once again, finding herself completely fucked over, until he feels his jeans' waistband go slack. He feels the air hit that sweaty patch of back where the barrel of his .38 S&W was pressed and licks the inside of his cheek in an almost smirk. There she is, Rust thinks, knowing full well Cassandra's loathing of acquiescence as she points the gun at his temple, sweat curling his caramel hairs.

'Pull over or, I swear to God, I'll put your brains all over your goddamn car windows,' Cassandra's voice is firm but Rust sees her fingers trembling. Red. Her nails are lacquered the same colour as a Shirley Temple, poised on cool gun metal of the safety.

'You don't want to shoot me, Cass,' Rust says, his tone flat.

'Oh, I don't?' Cassandra scoffs.

'Nah, you wanna make a fuckin' scene so that I'll burst into tears and beg for your fuckin' forgiveness or some shit. That ain't gonna work on me, baby. I'm around too many pussies who ain't man enough to pull a fuckin' trigger, as it is. I can tell when someone's bluffin'. And you, Cass, I can sure as hell tell when you're bluffin'.'

'How are you so sure?'

Rust looks at a small trail leading off of the main road before sparing a sideways glance,

'That gun ain't even cocked.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes and pulls the hammer back,

'Happy?'

Rust steers the truck off of the road, onto the rocky country road, before stopping and turning to her,

'You wanna go? Go.'

Cassandra's gaze falters before she contrives it into that practiced indifference,

'You're kicking me out?' she says, her voice so fragile that Rust almost feels bad for putting her in this situation but tough shit: wisdom comes hard.

'Nah, just callin' your bluff. You got 30 seconds to go, if you want to,' Rust says, not even facing her but staring straight out ahead.

Cassandra stares at him, lowering the gun, and looks around helplessly. The tears come back, not when she looks at Rust's stony expression or the destitute surroundings, but when she looks at her duffel bag. All her life fitting into some beat up gym bag and, now, she's about to throw away the one thing that can protect her. A gun isn't shit compared to his hand on her ass and his fingerprints bruising her thighs; not to these fucking animals. Rust gives her the mercy of two minutes of silence before speaking,

'You ain't movin',' he says more as a statement than a question.

'Don't mock me,' Cassandra murmurs out.

'I ain't mockin' you.'

'You know that I ain't gonna go. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to.'

'You can and you will, eventually.'

'I ain't sure, Cra-Rust. You ain't either.'

'Use Crash. I don't need you gettin' confused and fuckin' this up,' Rust says, gruffly.

'You sure that's it?'

'Am I sure 'what's' it?' irritation starting to creep into his tone.

'That the reason you don't want me using your real name is cause I'll jeopardise your cover.'

'I thought you were smarter than that, Cass.'

'What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Cassandra suddenly straightens, her voice hard but still slightly tremulous.

'I thought you were smarter than to get your emotions mixed up with what is gonna keep your ass outta the crossfire.'

It's a low blow but it hits home. Cassandra looks down at her scraped knees, gravel and raw skin, before looking up again; her voice now a whisper,

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

Rust clenches his jaw, the simple juvenility of the question making him feel sick. He knows neither of them will be able to bear whatever tidal wave of sentiment is about to breach their carefully instated distance. The partial revelation of his true identity has already been more of an unmasking than he can stomach; especially to someone he cares so deeply for as Cassandra. Her knowledge of 'Rust' throws whatever the fuck they are doing with each other into something that goes beyond sex and protection, and Rust can begin to feel everything veering off track. He won't allow her to expose herself to him like this, not when he's already emotionally fucked her over so much, today. So, Rust finally turns to her and says,

'Take off your top.'

Cassandra falters, her voice still that hoarse whisper as she ask,

'What?'

Rust wills himself to turn his pity into scorn,

'Did I fuckin' stutter? Take off your top. Those shorts, too,' he says, his tone unnervingly even and made rough from his Camels. Cassandra stares at him for a moment before indulging him: shirt discarded first before she lifts her hips and awkwardly shimmies out of them. Rust notices her holding her side, her hand cradling the scar; something she's never really done until now. Not until Rust had forced her shame into the searing white light of recognition. He knows what Cassandra must be thinking, grouping him into that homogenous, male blob of ill-intent: her next job, her next dance, her next humiliation. He tries to pretend that it doesn't slightly tear him the fuck up when she looks at him with those eyes, now cold.

'What now?' Cassandra asks, sitting up with her spine long and upright, shoulders terse.

Rust pats his lap,

'Come here.'

'Rust, I-'

'I ain't ever remember sayin' you could call me Rust, Cass,' he says harshly, completely disregarding whatever appeal Cassandra's about to make over how to treat her. Pretty words that don't mean shit to Rust nor to this godforsaken part of the country. A place where women bring guns in their purses to hookups and there are wards for the babies born hooked onto opioids, has no use for floral, storybook sex. Here, it's fast and it's hard and it's painful and it's often paid for. Cassandra knows this type of sex, or rather its corruption. So, she shuts up and sits in Rust's lap; swallowing the bitter pill of docility.

'Move 'em to the side,' Rust taps the waistband of her panties with his knuckles. For a moment, a light tinge comes across Cassandra's collarbones at the crassness of the act. She hooks her fingers into the waistband, moving to pull them down, before Rust grabs her wrist,

'I say to take 'em off, Cass?'

'No,' Cassandra murmurs, trying to asses if Rust is pissed beyond belief or on some pretty loopy downers.

'So, you can hear me. I was thinkin' otherwise, given some of the shit you've managed to pull,' that dangerous mix of anger and worry begins to seep into Rust's tone. He can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties; almost disappointed that she can get turned on by this shit. Old habits die hard, Rust thinks, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into his seat,

'Undo my belt.'

Cassandra stares at him, holding unflinching eye contact as she unbuckles him and unzips his fly. It's like a game of fucking chicken: which of them is willing to degrade the other more, for the sake of self-preservation. Rust exhales a slow stream of smoke watching Cassandra's thighs tremble from the exertion of holding her position. He quirks an eyebrow,

'You gonna tap out on me, baby?'

'No.'

'You wanted this shit that bad, didn't you, Cass?' Rust says, the forcefulness in his tone coming out of the pit in his stomach when he thinks what he's done to her.

'I did. I wanted this shit. Don't paint me out to be some dumbass little girl who opened her legs to the first man who reminded her of her daddy. That ain't what this is. I'm tougher than that, you know I am,' her voice starting to tremble again. Her hands absentmindedly wrapped around her midsection., as if to protect herself from the next laceration.

'You want it? Then move those fuckin' panties to the side.'

Cassandra stares at Rust with that fucking stupid bravado of rapacity, before gripping the crotch of them to the side; the tepid truck air mixing with the heady scent of her arousal and Rust's cigarette smoke,

'Go on. Fuck me like a man.'

Rust looks up at her while he pulls down his boxers, before grabbing her bruised hips and slamming her onto him. Not giving a fuck about the sharp, shuddering inhale. The lamb must learn to run with the wolves and Cassandra is far from a lamb. Especially as she is now, gulping down her whimpers of pain, desperately rocking her hips against his coarse hair to stimulate her little nub. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, nose rubbing against his jugular as Rust lands a firm slap on her ass,

'Don't get sentimental on me now, Cass,' he manages to grit out, feeling her arousal literally drip down him, 'Fuck am I gonna do with a weak lil' thing, huh?'

Cassandra tries to nod, her eyes squeezed shut and her groans muffled into the leather of Rust's jacket. Rust wraps his arms around her, holding her in a vice grip for the third time today, all of which have been some form of degradation or excavation of the dirty, nasty shit that Cassandra keeps hidden under sultry, bedroom eyes and that cutthroat tongue. At least this time, the aggression of the act is more tangible; neither of them are allowed any delusions. Not with how Cassandra's spit smears against Rust's stubble when he fucks into her especially hard or the cutting of taught lace on her hipbone or Rust's still lit cigarette burning dangerously close to Cassandra's dark waves. Apt symbolism, Rust thinks, as she angles her head to inhale from the tip; eyes starting to roll slightly at the mixture of in adverted friction of her bundle of nerves, and Rust's angry, frantic pace. She turns to look him right, as she leans her head in him, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Rust catches some powdery grey wisps, shoving Cassandra down once more onto him. As she groans, her hands never loosening, Rust leans in to mutter into her ear,

'You never fuckin' learn. Do you, baby?'

#rust cohle x reader #rust cohle #rust cohle x original female character #american wasteland

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persefolli · 6 months ago

Text

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨��𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐀/𝐧: 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐡

“So you want me to take my ass all the way down to California to capture this guy for 500 caps. You've lost it.”

“A thousand.”

You tilted your head and inspected the photo

“15 hundred.”

The fat man groaned and rolled his eyes, “Fine.”

You folded the paper and slipped it in your back pocket.

It had been about a decade since you woke up. You were a long way from California. What was once left of Oregon was filled with sandy terrains. Sweat dripped from every exposed part of your body and for miles there was nothing but dunes. It was crazy how much a nuke can alter a landscape, back a couple hundred years ago the Pacific Northwest had grass and tree filled mountains with lush rivers. Now everything reminded you of a Frank Herbert book.

The longer you walked the more you accepted that you weren’t gonna find a shelter for the night. Slowing down, the fatigue caught up to you and you fell to your knees, face down into the earth.

“Emergency alert system has been activated, this is a national emergency. All broadcast and cable systems shall transmit this emergency action notification message.”

You sat with your mouth hung open along with your team as you were getting ready for another shoot. Before you could even think of calling Cooper, armed men bursted into the room, shooting every living thing in sight. You screamed loudly and dropped to the floor, but was grabbed by one of the soldiers and dragged out of the filming studio.

You stumbled barefoot behind the soldier, then paused.

Everyone fell silent and the world stopped.

The familiar mushroom cloud that was only shown in demonstrations was stretching beyond the skyscrapers of L.A.

“We have to go now!” One of them yelled and dragged you to a bunker shaped building. One you’d always thought was a set but apparently not. They shoved you in, and you stood in your robe, alongside other girls you recognized as Cola girls.

Soldiers guarded the door as they motioned for the doors to be closed. "W-wait." You walked up to one of the guards. "My....boyfriend is supposed to be bringing my lunch he...he has to be driving up the hills by now can't we wait?!"

"No. We're closing this vault now!"

"I never signed up to be here! I want out. Now!"

"Have you fucking lost it?" One of the soldiers pushed your shoulder. "We're gonna be skinned dry if you don't move the fuck back now!"

"I won't be-"

The guard raised his gun and clocked you right in the face.

You woke up to a dog licking your nose and whimpering. You opened your eyes to see you were at a gas station, or what once was. Sitting up you looked at the german shepherd that sat and began wagging his tail. "Hey you." You smiled and pet the dog.

"She's awake? Great!"

A man came trudging from the gas station in an abnormally large backpack and a severed head.

You instinctively reached for your gun but realized you’d been stripped of all your items. The man shook his head and you scowled at him. You averted your eyes to the severed head and the man rolled his eyes.

"Oh this?" He raised the head. "Long story."

You stood and wiped your hands on your pants. "Where is my stuff?"

"I have it. Put away. Safe."

"Thanks but I'll be needing it back."

The man didn't move and he cleared his throat. "I am Thaddeus. Squire of the Brotherhood-"

“Ah, ah, ah, listen,” You interrupted him. “You seem like a knightly man and all but I need my bags."

"Listen. I found you. A woman alone in the wasteland. And as a sworn protector I must take you back to-"

"The Brotherhood?"

"Yes."

You stared at him for a moment before sighing deeply and cracking your knuckles. "No."

"What?" Thaddeus nervously chuckled.

"I'm not going. You can't make me."

"I mean....physically I can but....."

"Oh can you?"

Thaddeus sighed and dropped his backpack along with the head. He began skipping on his feet and rolling his neck. "I usually don't mean to use force on a woman but you've left me no choice." He lunged at you but you quickly jabbed his throat which caused him to grab his neck and wheeze. He fell back onto the ground and groaned.

You took the chance to raid his backpack and get your things out of there. You then paused and picked up the head.

"This worth money?"

Thaddeus panted on the ground, unmoving.

"Gonna assume yes." You clicked your tongue and began walking towards what seemed like a small city in the distance.

“...blood pressure of 120/80, heart rate of 72 bpm….” The male's voice faded as you fluttered your eyes.

“Where the fuck am I?” You moved your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Doctors and nurses moved around you and eventually helped you sit up. “Y/N…Y/N L/N.”

A man in a suit and briefcase smiled and stood at the edge of your hospital bed. “You must be confused.” He smiled. “Let me explain some things. Get you situated.”

You looked around and realized how strange it was to be in a hospital after nuclear bombs had dropped. You reached up and grabbed your head.

“209 years ago you signed on to be a Cola girl for Nuka-Cola! Well, Vault-tec is the mother company of Nuka-Cola. You only served out a few months of your contract and now you need to serve out at least 14 more years-”

“Fifteen years? You just said it's been 209!”

“Yes. We preserved you during cryosleep so you can finish the rest of your contract.”

“I want out. Hit me with a firestorm of lawyers I don't care.”

The man in the suit began laughing and shook his head. “You don't understand sweetheart. There is no law there is no…way out.” He nodded. “Vault-tec runs things now. So how about you get washed up and you can get ready for the photoshoot later.”

You made it to this place called ‘Filly’. It was a few miles from the hills, or what used to be. You were a good distance away from Santa Barbara, you and Cooper's favorite place. Cooper. You bit the inside of your cheeks everytime you found yourself thinking of him. Imagining how close he was to the bunker before they shut the doors. The guilt ate you up day by day.

There was a singular store in Filly, to which you walked in and sat the head on the counter of the old lady’s shop. “Who’s looking for this and for how much?” You nodded at her.

“What’s a lady like you doing carrying around-” You pulled your jacket pocket back and flashed the gun, not to scare her, but to show her there were female bounty hunters that passed through California.

“You can give it to Vault-tec….or I can try and get you connected with Moldaver.”

“Get me the Moldaver guy.”

The lady nodded and began flipping through the book. The bell on the door rang notifying everyone that someone had entered.

“Also,” You started. “You seen this man?”

The woman let her glasses fall and nodded behind you. Surely it was the man on the sketch.

“He hang ‘round here a lot?”

“Stays right in that hotel across from here, sits his creepy ass outside everyday all day till he gets drunk and disappears to god knows where.”

You watched him through the glass door as he walked over to the motel. “I think I’ll be staying here for a while.”

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐋𝐨𝐥 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐭.

You’d never taken this much time to wrap up one of your bounties and send them off to get your money, but this Ghoul guy was one of the most difficult to get alone. The lady in the store was right about him sitting on the front porch of the motel everyday just staring at people.

When you walked out of your motel you made sure to keep a bandana on your face so he wouldn’t notice how much you lurked around. The plan was to wait until he got drunk and stumbled off, knock him out, tie him up, then rent one of the trucks and drag him to the Oregon border but this was one of the first times you actually felt nervous about capturing one of your bounties.

The Ghoul had gotten into a bar fight a few days back, and he ended up blasting the whole structure with his explosive bullets so half of Filly was exposed to the dusty wasteland. The townspeople didn’t like that so they vandalized his motel. But he didn't care, the next day he just sat right back out on the porch.

“Sweetheart.” He called to you once.

“Get me some tomatah’s yeah?” He threw you a few caps.

You nodded and kept an eye on him while you bought a bag of cherry tomatoes from him. He had that southern accent. Cooper used to speak just like him. You handed him the remainder of caps and the bag of cherry tomatoes. You left him alone after he gave you a thank you and a wicked smile.

Frustrated with your progress, you decided to focus on more important matters. The convenience store lady was able to get you a meeting with Moldaver’s people not too far from here. The morning after the cherry tomato incident, you set out of Filly, walking towards a place called Shady Sands.

You treaded on a desire path, one that walked on the edge of the crater of where a small city once stood. You stopped seeing a standing billboard. A Nuka-Cola billboard, and the Cola girl that happened to be on there was you. You furrowed your eyebrows and drew your gun quickly, blasting a hole right where your face was plastered, replacing it with the blue sky.

You hated yourself for signing that contract, you hated doing photoshoots all the time, and you hated that you didn’t do more to save Cooper that fateful day.

Whatever, that was hundreds of years ago.

A few miles from Shady Sands was an abandoned school, and you knew Moldaver was there based on the sets of footsteps that were in the ground that led to the entrance. Inside, you saw two armed guards standing beside a woman with long black hair. You narrowed your eyes and scanned your surroundings, making sure you weren’t falling for any traps.

“Heard you were looking for a head.” You held up the severed head.

The woman smiled, standing and walking forward to inspect it. “Nice to see another woman in the industry.”

You said nothing and rocked on your heels. “What’s so special about it?”

The woman sighed, “Cold fusion, can basically power up New York City without actual electricity. It's a complicated concept.”

You nodded, “So…how much is it worth?”

“I got 10 thousand caps for you.”

“Ten thousand?!”

“Well that was the bounty, and you brought it right to me.” She narrowed her eyes at you. “Everyone’s been looking for this head and you just have it. And you don’t care that you're just handing it over.”

“I don’t have much to care about anymore…not really.” You shrugged.

Moldaver recognized the look in your eyes. The look that told the same story a thousand ways, that you had lost everything.

“It’s getting dark. Take your caps and go.”

“Wait!” You stopped her and pulled out the bounty for The Ghoul. “Why is this thing wanted?”

Moldaver narrowed her eyes and looked at the photo closely. “Oh him! Just a pain in the ass.” You were surprised at the reason he was wanted so badly, but whatever, you needed the money, but not so much anymore after turning in the head for thousands of caps.

After the meeting you hiked back to Filly, thinking of all the different ways you would spend the money tonight, maybe a bigger room, or a couple of drinks, but you were shocked to come back and see people scurrying around and yelling. You went through the tunnel and saw The Ghoul in the midst of the chaos grunting and punching the ground. You drew your gun, assuming he’d gone feral, but he was just drunk, and upset.

“Who shot the board? Who did it! Come out right fucking now!” He snarled.

You raised an eyebrow and approached slowly, drawing your gun. The older lady from the store grabbed your arm to stop you, shaking her head. “He has explosive bullets.” She reminded you, pointing to a large hole in Filly’s infrastructure, where the bar once was.

“I got this.” You reassured her.

The Ghoul looked up at you and heaved as you got closer to him. “The fuck do you want. You know who did it?”

You silently stared at him as he jerked, waiting on an answer. You jumped hearing him yell. “I won’t stop! til I find out who shot my baby’s face!” He yelled.

“That was my face you dipshit.” You tugged down your bandana and his pupils dilated. He visibly calmed down and dropped his arms in disbelief. He was still on his knees, so you held the gun to his head. “Dead or Alive. I think I'm just gonna take you now.” You said.

“Oh Y/n….Y/n.” He grabbed at your jeans. “This can’t-....how?”

“Stop moving!”

“Wait!” He exclaimed. “It's me! It’s me, baby. It's Cooper!”

You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head in confusion, scanning his face over again. How could you have not made the connection. The voice, the mannerisms, even down to the way he dressed. “It’s me, baby. We had a dog named Roosevelt, a house in hidden hills, and you have a birthmark on your right asscheek.” He panted. “You always covered it before a shoot because you didn’t like how bright it was.”

You dropped the gun, stumbling back in disbelief. Over 200 years later. The man that was the cause of your coldness, was now here in front of you. You dropped your gun and began crying, sniffling and shaking your head in shock. You’d been hunting your own man all these months, ready to kill him. You dropped to your knees and cradled his face. He began to cry as well, dryly since his ducts had been burnt out long ago, and he nuzzled his face in your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist and squeezed you close to him. “That board….That’s all I had left of you.” He whispered. “I tried going home and finding a picture I just couldn’t-”

“Shhh.” You rubbed up his neck and the back of his head.

The two of you situated in the middle of a chaotic filly, holding one another in shock and love.

You reached in your pocket and raised the bounty paper in the air, letting it fly off into the dust beyond.

#fallout #fallout series #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fic #the ghoul x reader fluff #the ghoul x reader #persefolliwrites #persefolli

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icannot3 · 1 year ago

Text

"Enough"

(Peter Maximoff x reader)

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

I did something a little different with this one, I hope you guys like it! :)

.......................

Fire. There is a fire lit inside of him that burns hotter with each passing moment. It’s in his lungs- his legs. It only drives him to move faster with each long stride. He almost leaps across the dark halls.

Peter's mind has become a frenzied wasteland with your safety knowingly at stake. Moments before he had been notified by the team that you'd been left behind. He didn't wait for the next planned course of action. Charles's voice is soft in his head. "Peter, you need to be rational. This is not how we go about things. Stop at once, and please return."

Unluckily for the Professor, Peter does not view this matter as one that consecutively needs agreed on. He's hightailing it through the perimeter, scouting every crevice of the large building. Only after his breath falls short and his legs physically can no longer move from the exhaustion does he slow.

The walls are shaking, and the foundation of the building is slowly crumbling. He knows it's only a matter of time before the place is a complete pile of ash. The idea of you covered in the debris leaves him far more winded than the running.

No. He won't allow it.

With a newfound level of incentive, he whips through the premises once more. Peter is screaming your name, hoping you can hear him from wherever you may be knowing that you're going to be okay.

"Peter. Stop. You need to come back. This is just putting you both in danger." Charles is much louder now, his urgency appearant. Suddenly, every muscle in his body contracts and locks up in a still position. He's left paralyzed in an upright position. His heart hammers in his chest uncontrollably. "I do not want to resort to force, Peter."

Tears are welling up in his eyes now. Nothing is in his control. His breath shutters. Peter's movements become his own once more as the Professor releases him. There's a loud crashing noise, and a large piece of ceiling falls to the ground. But he couldn't care less. Instead of escaping, he simply slumps to the ground defeatedly.

"You just don't get it, do you, Professor?" He runs his gloved hand through his hair. "You have no clue what it's like living your entire life as a screw up." He blinks, grimacing as he imagines Charles hearing him now. Peter's glad he can't see the knowing look on his face, as if he possibly understands the issue beyond digging through the secrets in his mind. "Don't act like you do. Ah! The life of Peter Maximoff, the fastest man alive, yet can't seem to make it on time to spill the beans to dear old dad! Irony, right?"

If Charles even bothered to respond, Peter surely can no longer hear anything but his raging thoughts. "I mean, I can outrun time, dodge bullets, even grab a snack mid-rescue, but admit to Magneto that I'm his son? Now, that's a marathon I can't seem to finish. "

He throws his hands in the air, now hysterical. "Oh, but for such a pathetic guy, I gotta have some sort of redeeming quality, right? Maybe I can save the girl! But it appears that the love of my life is in danger, and I can't even do that. Yippie. That's me, Peter Maximoff! Always a step ahead, yet always a step behind."

He stands, wiping his face off with his hands. In the midst of the chaos, there came a silence. A silence so profound, it seemed to swallow up the world around him. No witty retorts, no bursts of speed, just him and his thoughts. It was as if the world had come to a standstill, leaving him trapped in the slow crawl of introspection. In this moment, he is completely and utterly as alone as he has always felt.

The clamor of the world fades into a distant hum, replaced by the deafening echo of his own heartbeat. Everything around him blurs, details lost in a sea of uncertainty. His breath catches in his throat, a silent plea for a respite that wouldn't come.

Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, clarity strikes Peter. Self-deprecation won't save you. His gaze hardens, determination replacing the fear. The world comes rushing back, the noise, the chaos, all of it. But now, he's not drowning in it. He's using it, channeling it.

His feet move before he even realizes it, each step a silent promise to himself. He won't let you down. Not this time. The world blurs around him as he picks up speed, everything else falling away until there's only one thing left, the one thing that matters - you.

Peter's heart pounds in his chest, not from fear, but anticipation. The rubble slowly crashes behind him as the building nears its demise. He searches high and low, not wasting a single second.

There's a sound. It's so faint that he almost misses it entirely. But he sprints towards its direction, leading him outside of the building. There you are, limping away from the structure that in Peter's mind is slowly toppling over and is about to crush you. In your injured state, it's been made impossible to escape. Luckily, he swoops in at the perfect moment to catch and pull you away.

Relief washes over him, sending chills through his body from the intensity. You're both coughing from the inhalation of dust that has soiled the fresh air. He could care less and only pulls you to him tighter. He can feel your strong heartbeat. The previous fear and doubt he felt all began to melt away. It's replaced by a sense of accomplishment, knowing that despite everything he saved you.

He's pressing kisses to your brow, consoling you as much as he can. With a sigh of relief, he finally lets go of the guilt that had been gnawing at him. He has proven to himself that he is capable, that he is enough. And in that moment, he finds closure. He's no longer the boy who can't act fast enough. He's the hero who did.

#evan peters #peter maximoff #x men #peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver #angst #fluff #good ending

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metalhoops · 2 years ago

Text

Remember this post?

They were in the belly of the beast.

The Creel House stood resolute, tinged the colour of a freshly heal wound, reopened. The same sickly red stain of The Upside Down sky, brown boards blue-hued from strange smokes and cinder. Part of Eddie felt like he’d seen the house before, in some half-remembered nightmare. Deep in the back of his brain, where all strange primal fears were housed, there was a spot saved for the decaying manner.

By all rights, Eddie shouldn’t have been in the house. If they’d followed the original plan, he’d have been on the roof of the trailer. It’d been Wheeler, of all people who’d changed things. She was a smart girl, too damn smart for her own good in Eddie’s opinion. She’d pointed out all the ways their plan could go wrong and as much as Eddie wanted to redeem the Munson name, he didn’t want to walk into a death trap if he could help it.

Nancy was right. That didn’t change the creeping sense of dread he felt whenever he looked her way. It was like one of Vecna’s vines had made a home in his stomach and was creeping up towards his mouth each time the girl did something impressive. Eddie had the sneaking suspicion something was swaying his feelings towards her. Something with light brown hair, who had entered the Creel house brandishing a baseball bat like a medieval sword.

Jesus H. Christ. Seeing Steve Harrington wield the tetanus trap of a baseball bat, full of splintering wood and rusted nails wasn’t a sight he’d ever pictured living to see.

Drifting in from the wasteland beyond the open door, Eddie could hear his amps playing ‘Master of Puppets’ on the boom box they’d borrowed from the Harringtons’. The poor little player had never gotten the taste for good music. Eddie had to admit it was a good idea.

He, Steve and Dustin set up the trap. Once the bats began to swarm the trailer the two older boys boosted Dustin up and out of the portal, much to the kid’s protest. They then snuck around the back of the trailer, while the girls waited in the woods ahead. Nancy had her sawn-off trained on the swarm. Robin had her Molotovs. Range weapons, waiting in the wings. He and Steve were the best at evasion. If this were a campaign, he’d say they made a pretty balanced party, all things considered.

The interior of the house was worse than Eddie expected. It was filled with rotted vines and ash, making the air smell of must and mildew. Eddie’s brain kept telling him to turn tail and run, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

He shifted his shield from one hand to the next as they moved deeper into the house, channelling his nervous energy away from his feet. One misstep and their distraction would be for nothing. Their plan was a house of cards. One gust of wind and the whole damn thing would blow over. If Eddie screwed up Red, along with everyone else in the Creel house, would be dead before the world had time to end.

Steve took the lead up the stairs like Eddie knew he would. He had a hero complex Eddie couldn’t unpick. Once everything was over, he had questions about what the party had seen the last three times they’d decided to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight. There was something about Steve Harrington he couldn’t put his finger on. Sure, trauma could change a person, Eddie was learning that lesson the hard way, but the man charging up the stairs towards their inevitable death in too-tight pants and an army jacket had some explaining to do.

He wasn’t sure who’d done it in the end. Whose foot made first contact with the blackened tendrils, the dominos fell too fast to pinpoint an epicentre. Nancy's body jerked one way, while Steve was sent skyward. His back hit the walls of the house with a sickly wet thud, a mass of undulating vines threatening to swallow him whole. Robin was on the floor at the foot of the steps, hacking away at the vines with an axe. Eddie was pushed against the bannister, all the air fleeing his lungs. This was how he would die.

The sound of distant wings grew ever louder as Eddie’s vision began to blacken around the edges.

In Eddie’s fading vision, he watched as a sliver of light glinted off something overhead. The axe fell like a guillotine, too close to Eddie’s head for comfort. He was free. He took greedy gulps of air, his eyes making contact with Buckley’s. She looked as shocked as he did, like a nocturnal animal caught in floodlights.

They didn’t have time. Robin was off, desperately hacking skywards at the vines still ensnaring Steve. He’d managed to wedge the bat between the vine and his throat. Rusted nails dug deeper into the black mass as it attempted to constrict, but it also buried the nails deeper into Steve’s flesh.

Eddie ran to help Nancy, her lips blue as her fingers blindly grasped for the shotgun that’d landed just out of reach. Nancy was smart, but like all people, the fear of death made her dumb. A bullet to the jugular wasn’t going to fix this.

Eddie tried to slide his fingers between the vine and her throat, to relieve some of the pressure. His fingers kept slipping, sticky with sap or blood. He didn’t know. He wished he had a knife as he tried to untangle the vines from ensnaring her body. There was nothing more he could do. He had to sit and wait as he felt the fight begin to fade from her convulsing body. He listened distantly to Robin’s slew of curses as she hacked at drywall. For each vine cut from Steve’s body, there was another waiting to ensnare him.

Life-or-death situations had a strange way of bringing one's true feelings to the surface. Eddie crouched beside Nancy, his hand clawing at the vine encircling her throat, watching as her panic-ridden eyes flickered across his face. He noticed her hand twitching up trying to pry the vine from its hold on her throat and Eddie’s arm. She was so weak he hadn’t noticed her attempt. He ran a thumb absentmindedly back and forth across her knuckles, trying to soothe her.

“Hey, no. Hey. You’re fine, Wheeler. You’re okay. Slow breaths, alright? You’ve got this,” he muttered hating how uncertain he sounded, how strained his voice was.

He didn’t hate Nancy. He’d hate himself if he let Steve’s chance of a storybook ending die in his arms but Christ that was a lot of pressure.

He crouched there until his fingers turned white and an axe descended upon the vines, cutting them both free. Wheeler gasped, taking deep shaky breaths as she squeezed Eddie’s hand, locking eyes with Buckley over his shoulder. She schooled her features when Steve came into view. His throat wept blood but he was upright, which was more than Eddie could’ve hoped for.

The vines began to retreat for a reason they couldn’t discern. The group rushed to the second-floor landing, as the swarm of bats descended upon the house, rushing in through the open door. Eddie watched as something shifted in Steve’s stance. He twisted the baseball bat in his hands, familiarising himself with the weapon before taking a few practice swings.

“Keep going. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Steve spoke.

Eddie knew it wasn’t a good plan. He knew what happened to the people who stayed behind. Steve had warned him about playing the hero. Eddie wasn’t going to let him have all the fun.

He held his shield aloft in front of himself, trying to see how much of his body he could brace behind it. If this were a campaign, Eddie knew fighting something that nasty on your own would be akin to a death sentence.

“I’m staying. Even the odds,” Eddie spoke, as though two boys fresh off the heels of adolescence taking on a swarm of hundreds of unearthly horrors was in any way shape or form, even. They just had to hold them off until Vecna was dead. The hellscape couldn’t survive without him. Cut off the head and the rest would follow.

If they had more time, maybe things would’ve gone differently. Maybe they would’ve come up with a better plan, but there was no time. Robin looked poised for an argument or a thought-out speech but Nancy cocked the shotgun and dragged her forward. She knew the silent promise that came with goodbyes.

The boys were faced with a black mass of writhing wings. They found a rhythm with ease. Steve swung his bat in a perfect arch, sending any unfortunate hell spawn in its wake flying into Eddie’s waiting shield, empaled on the jagged nails.

Eddie was surprised at how easy it was to find something akin to peace at that moment. He and Steve knew how to move around each other, and how to anticipate each other. They watched the other’s back and oftentimes found themselves back-to-back. Steve’s broad shoulders were grounding where they pressed into Eddie’s. It was the world's strangest game of baseball. With Steve at his side, the horror of the moment seemed to fall away.

They worked better together than Eddie could’ve imagined and lasted longer than he’d thought. Yet, they couldn’t hold out much longer. The room smelled of rotted iron and Eddie’s sides throbbed. He was too hopped up on adrenaline for the seriousness of the situation to take hold, but one look at Steve in his periphery let him know they were both in bad shape.

The boy was covered in blood. The wound in his side was torn open once more. Someone could trace their movement by the bloody footprints littering the floor.

They were dying.

Eddie tried not to let the enormity of the situation swallow him whole.

“Hey? How’s it going in there? You killin’ the son of a bitch or just admiring the view?” Eddie screamed above the beating of wings. When a response didn’t come, Steve and Eddie exchanged worried looks.

“Rob?” Steve yelled, casting a glance through the doorway.

The moment of distraction left him wide open for a bat to swoop, wrapping its twisted tail around Steve’s arm and tugging him upwards. Eddie acted fast, grabbing Steve’s ankle, and pulling him back to the relative safety of the rotting boards, bloated and warping from the mingling blood and black, bat ooze.

“I can’t find the lighter,” Robin’s voice called at last. It must have fallen from her pocket when the vines attacked. Shit.

Eddie plunged his hands into the depths of his jacket pocket and thanked the god he didn’t believe in for his habit of chain smoking in times of crisis. He’d brought another lighter.

“Watch my six Stevie, I’ve got one,” Eddie called, rushing into the room leaving no space to argue.

Nancy had slung the rifle over her shoulder and had taken Robin’s axe, making short work of the few bats that’d managed to sneak past his and Steve’s defences.

Eddie ran to Robin’s side, noticing how the girl’s eyes swelled at seeing him. He was definitely in bad shape then. Her hands trembled as she held out the bottle. Time and time again, Eddie tried to light the cloth. It wasn’t working.

Nothing was working. Panic finally took hold of Eddie. They were going to die. He wished he could say he made peace with that knowledge, but he couldn’t.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mumbled as the lighter continued to dull and spark.

“What’s going on? I’m coming in,” Steve yelled as he appeared in the doorway barring the opening as best he could, trying to hold the flimsy wood as it buckled beneath the bats' weights.

Steve’s eyes shifted over the scene, assessing the situation within seconds.

He charged forward, taking the bottle from Robin’s hands, and letting the rag fall to the floor.

“Nancy, get ready to shoot,” Steve called as he stalked closer to Vecna’s dangling body. A look passed between the two. The glance told Nancy everything she needed to know.

“Eds, lighter,” Steve called over his shoulder extending his hand. Eddie blinked, tossing it to Steve.

Eddie would remember what happened next for the rest of his life. Whether that life lasted for minutes or decades, it didn’t matter. There was no such thing as a perfect moment, but what followed was as close as they could come.

Steve took a deep swig of vodka, filling his cheeks with the bitter liquid and held Eddie’s lighter aloft, the small flame illuminating Steve’s features, a final spark of warmth amongst the blue-grey walls and ash of the house. His hands dripped blood, what was left of his skin was pale from the loss of it.

Steve spat the alcohol in a perfect arc, through the flame, breathing fire over Vecna’s body, catching the dark wizard alight. Steve was a fallen king turned dragon. A higher kind of nobility. Breathtaking, unearthly, and dangerous.

As Nancy littered Vecna’s body with bullets, Eddie kept his eyes trained on Steve, his heart in his throat. Eddie wasn’t one for sudden affections. His heart was an alley cat, wary and distrustful by nature. Yet, despite everything, Eddie fell in love with Steve at that moment. His heart soared straight past ‘crush’ and on through to adoration. Maybe it was the blood loss but with Vecna’s dead body on the floor at their feet, he knew at that moment, his life would be inextricably connected to Steve’s.

The boy shot him a smile over his shoulder, his lip bloody, vodka smattering his chin. The room smelled of kindling.

The girls rushed to Steve, taking turns embracing him. The sound of bats at the door had finally stopped. It was over. They’d won.

Eddie watched on helplessly as Steve rested his forehead against Robin’s, holding the girl close, his face contorting in pain. Robin muttered a string of incoherent words just loud enough for Steve to hear before pulling back.

Nancy was next. Their hug was less feverish, more familiar. Nancy’s chin rested on Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s hands gripped the back of her shirt as they had a hundred times before. They looked good together. It made Eddie ache. He looked away.

When he looked back, to his surprise Robin had scooped Nancy into a too-tight hug, blathering about how petrified she’d been and how amazing Nancy was. Much to his surprise, Steve was looking at him, his arms open in offering.

The others were close. They had gone through hell together. Eddie was the outsider. It felt strange being offered a place amongst them, but he didn’t know when he’d get another opportunity, so he strode forward letting Steve’s arms encircle his body.

It wasn’t the kind of hug he’d expected. It wasn’t feverish, like Robin’s or as solid and steadfast as Nancy’s. Steve clung to him, his hands gripped at Eddie’s forearms, as though trying to map out the uncharted territory before pulling him closer. His hands snaked around Eddie’s body, finally finding a home, clutching at the shirt fabric around his shoulder blades.

Eddie didn’t know what to do with his hands, finding them slipping beneath Steve’s jacket, just above his waist. His head found its way to Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s did the same. He could feel the boy’s heart pounding. He smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol.

“You’re a total badass, Steve Harrington.” Eddie gasped. His breath was hot against Steve’s ear. The boy chuckled, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

“I don’t know, Munson. That’s high praise comin’ from a hero,” Steve spoke.

“I’m not-,” Eddie began, but Steve wasn’t having it.

“Take a compliment dude. You went to Mordor,” Steve spoke in the tone of a man who still didn’t know exactly what ‘Mordor’ was.

Hawkins’ golden boy, trying to ‘speak nerd’ to him wasn’t quelling any of Eddie’s feelings.

“Yeah well, next time we go somewhere let’s make it nice. Check out The Rockies, The Grand Canyon, maybe California.”

Later Eddie would blame the blood loss for being so bold.

Steve pulled back, just far enough to look at Eddie’s face. To his surprise, Steve shot him a goofy grin.

“I like the sound of that.”

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twistedtummies2 · 2 months ago

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Top 6 Epic Mickey Characters

Today is the release of the new “Rebrushed” Edition of a game I loved a ton growing up: “Epic Mickey.” I was OBSESSED with this game when it came out way back in 2010, and at the time it came out, it was treated as a big deal! There was a ton of merchandising and advertisement for this title, more so than you would get for most Disney games, and it’s not hard to see why: the game promised to provide a different kind of adventure for Mickey Mouse, with a darker tone and a focus on more obscure Disney characters and old cartoons. Nowadays, in hindsight, I feel the game could have gone even further than it did (and, apparently, the creators WANTED it to go further than it did, but either due to budget constraints, corporate meddling, or a bit of both, they couldn’t), but I still have a huge soft spot for it. It’s probably my favorite thing to feature Mickey Mouse as a heroic character, and it still has a notable cult following. Ironically for a game that focused on the obscure and the forgotten, the game itself sort of faded into obscurity for a while; despite the release of two sequels (namely a console follow-up called “Power of Two,” and a portable spin-off called “Power of Illusion”), the franchise sort of fizzled out pretty quickly, and for a long time it was seen as naught but an unusual footnote in the history of Disney and its presence in gaming. To celebrate the return of this game to store shelves (and, I believe, online distribution), I decided to do a quick rundown of my Top 6 characters from the games. Why Top 6, you may ask? Simple: because after six, it all gets kerbobbled. It’s harder for me to choose and rank characters beyond that point, simply because who I favor among them changes depending on my mood and how recently I’ve revisited portions of the game. My Top 6, however, have consistently been my Top 6 - both in terms of choices and ranking - pretty much from day one, and I don’t think will ever change, so they’re the ones I feel most comfortable discussing. Also, I’m going to attempt to avoid spoilers with this list, so I’m going to keep focused as much as possible on the first game, with less emphasis on the sequels. (Fortunately, all six characters appear in the first game, though some of the Honorable Mentions are from later titles.) I'll also try to avoid giving away too many of the twists in the plot, for those who will be playing Epic Mickey for the first time via this Rebrushed Edition. With that said, let’s dive into the Wasteland! These are My Top 6 Favorite Characters from Epic Mickey!

6. Pete.

What many people may not realize about Mickey’s famed arch-enemy is that Pete is actually the single longest-lasting recurring Disney character in history. Pete doesn’t just predate Mickey himself, he even predates Oswald the Lucky Rabbit: the character first showed up as a recurring villain in the silent animation/live-action hybrid “Alice Comedies,” with his first appearance dating back to 1925. That’s a whole three years before Mickey, and two years before Oswald! It’s therefore not entirely surprising to see Pete in the Wasteland, especially since the character has had so many different guises and roles throughout his long history…a fact that Epic Mickey takes humorous advantage of. You see, there isn’t just ONE Pete in the Epic Mickey universe. Oh, no. There are no less than FOUR. “Pete Prime” (the one picture here) is Big Bad Pete, who appears to be the town sheriff of Mean Street. Next there’s Small Pete, who lives in the Gremlin Village and is comically dressed up like a little Dutch girl doll. Then there’s Petetronic, who is basically what you’d get if Pete cosplayed as Commander Sark and is the head of Tomorrow City. Finally, there’s Pete Pan: a parody of Peter Pan who flies around Ventureland, mostly spending his time annoying the Wasteland’s version of Captain Hook. Interestingly, most of these Petes seem to be relatively nice characters, rather than real menaces to toon society…but be careful: a character with such a long and checkered past may not always be trustworthy.

5. Gremlin Gus.

Of all the characters left stranded and forgotten in the Wasteland, the Gremlins are easily the most obscure of the bunch. The characters were conceived in the mind of Roald Dahl - the author best known for his works of children’s literature, such as “The BFG” and “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Dahl wrote a story simply called “The Gremlins” that was going to be transformed into a Disney movie…but for various reasons, the film never came to pass. The book itself has fallen into utter obscurity, and the scrapped project is largely unknown by even the most ardent Disney fans: I, myself, only knew of the Gremlins prior to Epic Mickey because of a paper ad for a re-release of the book in the early 2000s. In “Epic Mickey,” however, the Gremlins are a major part of the universe: since the movie was never really a thing, and the book is so little-known nowadays, the creators of the game were able to create their own twist on the Gremlins unique to this world. They are essentially the custodians of the Wasteland, performing a variety of jobs and services to keep the place ship-shape. The most prominent of them all is their leader, Gus. Gremlin Gus is a sort of “Papa Smurf” figure for the Gremlins, and acts as Mickey’s guide through the games, providing bits of advice and various hints along the rodent’s journey. Think of him along the lines of the Cheshire Cat from the American McGee’s Alice games, or one of Link’s many companions (such as Navi, Midna, or Fi) from The Legend of Zelda. In the first game, the vocal effects for Gremlin Gus were provided by veteran voice actor Bob Joles. In “Power of Two,” Gus was given a proper speaking voice, provided by none other than the Dread Pirate Roberts himself, Cary Elwes…and I can’t help but think such casting is why they perhaps gave Gus a few TOO MANY lines in the sequel, buuut that’s another story for another time.

4. Mickey Mouse.

I debated whether or not to give Mickey a place in the ranks of his own, for various reasons, but after some deliberation…yeah. I think he’s earned it in this case. As I said in the preamble, this is probably my favorite thing made to feature Mickey himself, and Mickey is part of that. This is one of those rare occasions where the premise of the story largely results from Mickey’s own actions and inactions, rather than the machinations of some other scoundrel: it is due to Mickey’s own foolery that the Phantom Blot and the Thinner Disaster are created. It is due to Mickey’s popularity that Oswald and several other characters in the Wasteland are forgotten to begin with. Now, Mickey has to essentially remember and salvage the very things that are in ruin because of him. The game plays around with this idea of saving and destroying through its chief mechanic: the magic paintbrush Mickey uses can destroy things by shooting streams of hyper-acidic thinner, or create through use of an enchanted paint. Different obstacles can be overcome by different uses of the two tools, and some can be dealt with in multiple ways: choice is a key factor of Mickey’s story, as well as the player. Originally, the game makers wanted to go even further with this idea, with the player’s decisions making Mickey more good or more evil throughout the story, but while the final result may be toned down from their initial schemes, I think it still works brilliantly. Mickey is still the fun-loving hero we all recognize, but there’s that little bit of mischief and extra depth to the character present because of this idea of choice and the way he’s depicted. The sequels continued these ideas, with choice remaining a major part of the story in “Power of Two” once more, and paint and thinner still being equally useful in “Power of Illusion.” Bottom line: move over, Kingdom Hearts. THIS is how you make Disney’s most recognizable rodent into an action-ready gaming star.

3. The Phantom Blot.

This character is the main antagonist of the original Epic Mickey, and has been referred to by multiple names: Shadow Blot, Storm Blot, King Blot, or simply “The Blot.” Whatever you call this character, I’ll always refer to him as “The Phantom Blot,” since that is who the character basically is meant to be. In Disney comics and cartoons, the Blot has been an enemy of Mickey Mouse for many years - dating back to the 1940s, in fact. Typically, he’s depicted as a campy supervillain; a costumed criminal mastermind garbed in an inky cloak and cowl. However, in “Epic Mickey,” the Blot is reimagined as something far more monstrous: a creature made of ink, accidentally formed by Mickey when he meddled with some magic in Yen Sid’s workshop, the Blot is the cause of all the misery going on in the Wasteland. This Blot eventually turns out to be bigger than a castle, and able to send out swarms of “bloticles” to literally drain the life from the Wasteland. The Blot is intelligent, but not complex: he has no purpose other than to destroy, and longs to take Mickey’s heart, since only toons with hearts can leave the Wasteland. With that power, he can venture forth and continue to devour other worlds of their energy and life. I had heard of the Phantom Blot before Epic Mickey, but I really didn’t know much about the character: this radical reinvention, for a kid, was quite the introduction. And while I’ve since looked into the ACTUAL Phantom Blot and found great joy in his exploits, I still enjoy this reimagining. In my opinion, the Blot is one of the best video game villains of all time; more a force of cruel nature than anything else, he is a terrifying beast few players will ever forget.

2. The Mad Doctor.

So, here’s something interesting to note: out of all the “forgotten” characters featured in Epic Mickey, I actually knew almost all of them when the game came out. Some of them I knew pretty well, others I didn’t but I had at least heard of before the game’s release. The one exception to this rule was this guy: the Mad Doctor. The Doc was the titular antagonist of the Mickey Mouse cartoon “The Mad Doctor” from 1933 - one of the few Disney cartoons that’s actually managed to fall into the public domain. Many consider it to be one of the darkest Mickey cartoons ever made, and in “Epic Mickey,” the infamous mad scientist has not mellowed much with age. It’s explained that the Mad Doctor, when he first came to the Wasteland, was seemingly a friendly figure, and became an ally to Oswald. He was considered one of Oswald’s best friends, in fact. However, it’s ultimately revealed that the Mad Doctor was always just as wicked as he was in the cartoon; biding his time till he could make a grab for power. When the Blot came to the Wasteland, in the wake of the Thinner Disaster, the Mad Doctor turned on the good people of the kingdom, creating an army of cartoon cyborgs called “Beetleworx” (part toon, part machine) to help conquer everything. There’s a lot more I could say about the Mad Doctor that makes him interesting - especially in regards to the sequel games and a few twists in the launch title - but since I’m trying to avoid spoilers, I think it’s best I save a lot of that for another time. Suffice it to say, this was a great introduction to a great villain and a great cartoon, and I’m glad that Epic Mickey was able to give a little bit more attention to the Mad Doctor for modern audiences.

1. Oswald the Lucky Rabbit.

Oswald was the main reason I got so interested in Epic Mickey so long ago, and was, in fact, more or less the reason the game happened to begin with. One of Walt Disney’s earliest creations, Oswald - who was the inspiration for not only Mickey himself, but also Bugs Bunny of WB fame in real-life - was the world’s first major cartoon star. After copyright issues led to Walt Disney breaking away from Universal Studios, and forming his own company, Oswald rapidly declined in popularity, and eventually pretty much vanished off the face of the Earth. In the real world, when Disney bought the rights to Oswald back from Universal many years later, this immediately transitioned into using him in a big (marketable) way, which led to the idea of Epic Mickey. Warren Spector (head of the team behind the game) became interested the instant Oswald was mentioned, being a huge animation buff, and as production went on, Oswald became a richer and richer character. In early concepts of the game’s story, he was actually going to be one of the main villains of the story, but by the time the game came out, he had transformed into the secondary protagonist. In the fictional story of the games, Oswald is the ruler of the Wasteland…but unlike others who are more or less happy with their existence, Oswald’s feelings of dejection have steadily consumed him. He is portrayed as Mickey Mouse’s long-lost brother; he resents the fame and fortune Mickey got, while he was basically left to rot. He is so obsessed that he creates a place called Mickeyjunk Mountain, where he spends countless hours brooding over his failures and his lost family, surrounded by remnants of Mickey’s fame that span decades; everything from bubble gum machines to NES game cartridges. The adventure in the Wasteland gives Mickey a chance to not only connect with his past and save the world, but to reconnect with and save Oswald, too. It’s the relationship between Oswald and Mickey, beyond all else, that makes the games so powerful, and Frank Welker - who provided Oswald’s vocal effects/voice in all the games - gives probably one of my favorite performances in his entire career. And keep in mind, this is the guy who played characters like Megatron, Garfield, Mr. Mxyzptlk, Fred AND Scooby from various takes on Scooby-Doo, and more “creature voices” than you can shake a stick at. To call this among his best is saying a LOT. For both his fictional prominence and historical significance, it’s no surprise that I name Oswald the Lucky Rabbit as My Favorite Epic Mickey Character. Case closed.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

The Three Little Pigs.

Horace Horsecollar.

Gremlin Prescott.

Clarabelle Cow.

Captain Hook.

#list #countdown #favorites #best #top 6 #disney #epic mickey #mickey mouse #characters #video games #epic mickey rebrushed #oswald the lucky rabbit #the mad doctor #phantom blot #pete #gremlin gus

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