#one day I will write a proper fic about this

[luxcuriousao3]

I've been messing around lately, writing Ghost in different ways to see which rings most true to his character (in my opinion). I wouldn't say that it does ring true for me in this one (then again this one did spawn from my stalker!Ghost thots, tho this fic isn't part of that universe), but I decided to post it anyway. So this little ficlet, despite being xReader, is more of a Ghost character study than anything else. This characterization is definitely experimental, and leans into the "Ghost and Simon are separate personalities" headcanon. No smut, but still NSFW.

Ghost x general's daughter!Reader

You were the daughter of some aging General, a balding, pot-bellied man on his way out, an honorable discharge in his near future. You’d come to visit him on the base, a tray of gooey brownies held firmly in your hands, two hot cocoas balanced on top, and a visitor’s badge pinned to your chest.

Initially, Ghost hadn’t taken much notice of you. Pretty thing, would be easy to kill, was his first impression. A casual, fleeting thought that he paid no attention to but made Simon shudder. There had been a time that when Ghost was in control, Simon was entirely unaware. He would come to and hours could have passed, sometimes days, or, on one particularly grueling campaign, even weeks. It was how he knew there was something evil lurking inside him. But in the desert, all was revealed, and Simon and Ghost were irrevocably tangled up in one another, the same but not, like two different sides of a single coin.

It wasn’t until you walked straight into his firm, broad chest and spilled the scaldingly hot drinks on him that he really noticed you.

Clumsy fuckin’ bird, Ghost thought angrily as he grunted in pain. Should break your bloody wings.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” You chirped, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. He waited for you to flinch and look away when you saw his mask, but you didn’t. You just shifted your tray of brownies to one hand, the other fluttering uselessly over his soaking wet chest for a few seconds, before you grabbed the hem of your dress in a panic and lifted it up to try and dry him off with it.

Your dress was long, long enough to keep you from flashing him entirely, but he still caught an eyeful of your legs, even a glimpse of your plush thighs. At least until you realized what you were doing and dropped your dress again with a squeak of embarrassment, cheeks reddening.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated earnestly, as Ghost stared down at you in bemusement. It wasn’t often he was shocked by someone’s behavior, but you were just so odd. It was, admittedly, amusing. Watching you squawk and try to smooth your ruffled feathers was like watching someone who’d tried to kill him choke on their own blood. Entertaining. Satisfying. Vaguely erotic.

“Are you okay?” You finally remembered to ask, reaching out to touch him again, as if to check him over. Ghost’s hands shot up, one wrapping around your wrist in a firm grip, the other moving to stop your dessert tray—which was tilting dangerously—from falling. He could feel your pulse thrumming beneath his finger tips, and the warmth of your skin seeped through his glove.

“M’fine,” he said shortly, voice deep and grumbly but not as hostile as usual. Simon’s influence, no doubt. Ghost almost rolled his eyes. His other half always banged on and on about treating ladies with proper respect. Ghost wasn’t particularly interested in sex with other people, preferring to fuck his own fist if the urge grew too great to ignore, but he thought about bending you over right here in this hallway and bullying Simon’s big cock into you, just to spite him.

“Oh! Thank you,” you said with a charming smile, entirely ignorant to the image he’d conjured up of you. One he found himself enjoying more than he’d thought he would. “I really am sorry,” you said for the third time, like a parrot echoing itself. Little bird indeed. “I’m such a klutz. Except for when I’m dancing. Then I’ve got at least a modicum of grace.”

Beneath his mask, Ghost raised a brow. Had he mistakenly given off the impression that he cared?

His silence was pointed, and you flushed deeper. You pushed the tray of brownies towards him, seemingly unphased by the grip he still had on it and your wrist. He let go.

“Go ahead, take it,” you said encouragingly, holding out the treat insistently. “It’s the least I can do to make up for ruining your shirt… I can always make more for Daddy another day.”

Simon’s cock twitched, and this time the dirty thoughts in their head were entirely his. Though Ghost could admit the thought of you calling him Daddy in that sweet little voice of yours, all innocent and sincere, was appealing. Perhaps there was something attractive about fucking another person after all.

“Don’t want any,” Ghost answered after a moment, and your face fell. But instead of taking his words for the dismissal they were, you perked back up and continued talking.

“Do you not like brownies? I can make you something else and come back tomorrow,” you offered, for some unknowable reason. Both Simon and Ghost were astounded the conversation had lasted this long, and worse yet, showed no signs of ending. “I can make lemon bars, white chocolate truffles, pudding, anything you’d like.. But nothing too fancy.” You giggled. No one had ever giggled in Ghost’s presence before. “I’m no professional baker. I just do it when the mood strikes, or when Daddy is craving something sugary. He’s the one who taught me to bake. Oh! Do you have any allergies? Nuts, gluten, anything? I don’t want to poison you…”

And on and on you went, rambling like Ghost was actually listening to you. Except that he was. Perhaps it was cruel curiosity, wanting to see how long you’d carry on making a fool of yourself. Or maybe it was Simon pitying you for the nerves in your voice, not wanting to interrupt you and make you more anxious. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that you were showing Ghost more kindness than he had ever received in his life.

Simon had experienced the joys of living, of companionship and love. Ghost had not, though he’d seen it all through their eyes. He hadn’t really thought that he was missing out on anything.

But now, with a lovely little dove like you offering to bake for him—not Simon, but Ghost—he thought he maybe he was, if just a tad. Especially if your pussy tasted as sweet as your baked goods smelled.

[gabessquishytum]

Just a concept I won’t write a proper fic for, but I thought you’d enjoy. Off anon because I’m putting in a specific detail I’m probably including in a fic I will write properly at some point, so might as well.

Hob works for a cleaning company. They give him the keys, the address, and have him go to town on the empty houses for however many days it takes. Yeah, days, because we’re not talking just any houses, but big fuckoff mansions that haven’t seen a duster in decades. You know, the sort of houses that might have loads of antique and/or expensive stuff in them. So much of it, even, that no one will notice if Hob takes home a few pieces (read: sells them to the best bidder).

Hob gets called to the Burgess house because the owner is going on a months-long business trip, and like the spoiled rich cunt he is he wants the house cleaner than he left it when he returns, but has no intentions of paying the regular staff while he’s away.

Honestly? The house doesn’t look promising. Hob has a look around as he cleans and there’s a lot of old books, but it’s hard to guess the value of those to begin with and this… is some pretty obscure stuff? Looks cult-y to Hob, and he’s not about to fuck with that. He does find a huge fucking ruby pendant, but he has a feeling Burgess will notice that missing. There is a locked basement, though. That’s promising.

The key to the basement is hard enough to find, which is also very promising, but when Hob unlocks the door he’s met with… a dingy, dark, damp basement, and is that a fucking moat? A hint of gold draws his eye, and that’s when he sees it.

A big glass and steel… container? Surrounded by a circle of golden lines and scribbles on the floor. Again, looks cult-y… no. Not a container. A cage. There’s something in there, something with tiny white pinpricks for eyes.

Too curious for his own good, Hob gets closer, using his lighter to illuminate the space. And what he sees is… a man. A beautiful, very naked, reed-thin yet muscular man, but a man. Except for the eyes, black as night with gleaming pupils. And only for a moment. He’s only a man for a moment, because when Hob gets close (in a hurry to free him, Hob’s not a saint, Hob’s fucked with human trafficking before but he’s bloody not doing that again-), the man transforms.

His shape doesn’t change much -prominent ribs, long limbs, lean muscles- but he does get bigger, taller. The shock of ink-black hair on his head spreads all over his body, short mostly with big longer tufts at his chest, groin, elbows and… ears. He has large cat-like ears now, and a long tail to match, and a carnivore’s teeth.

Something about the man stays so human, though. His expression, just something about him, that makes Hob not want to run.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He eyes up the creature, basically a were-panther? Were-feline of some sort? Anyway, an 8 feet tall big cat in human shape, and Hob ponders just how deeply he wants to fuck himself. He doesn’t care about losing his job, bugger that, but… “Will you kill me, if I get you out of this? I’d really like to get you out of this.”

There’s no answer, but there is a very human expression of surprise. Maybe he cannot speak. Hob remembers the books, though, and the scribbles on the floor. The glass is thick, but Hob is pretty damn strong, and smart enough to figure out the rest.

Turns out that Dream (that’s the man’s name) is a very powerful, very magical shapeshifter. He can speak, just not without air to breathe. And he’s very very grateful Hob freed him from a hell of loneliness, suffocation and starvation. He’s not open about his gratitude, at first, and haughty as hell about it later, but he really quite likes Hob. As he stays at Hob’s place (technically in-case-I’m-caught-robbing safehouse) he becomes quite affectionate and possessive with Hob, proprietary even… and Hob is not the type to turn down a beautiful man. Or a beautiful big cat, as it turns out.

Hob is especially delighted to find that the big “spines” on Dream’s huge feline cock aren’t sharp things like on a house cat, but rather cartilage not unlike on a human eartip, which bend this way and that and make Dream hiss in pleasure when Hob takes his cock in hand, and feel so so good inside Hob ❤

Ommggg my friend this is such a good concept, there are so many details that I love and appreciate! I really like the idea of Hob having a cleaning company that's a cover up to steal stuff. The idea of him rifling through antiques just really appeals to me. He enjoys the history of it all, as well as the money that he earns on those little trinkets!

And were-panther Dream!! I love him already. The idea of him basically deciding that Hob belongs to him now is so hot! Even in human form Dream is strong and tall, especially when he's no longer starving. He can pick Hob up and throw him around... and his paws in feline form feel incredible as they press against Hob’s chest and pin him to the bed. Dream growls softly against his ear, pants hot breath and against his neck and absolutely ravishes Hob until he can barely walk... and then he uses his big sensitive cat tongue to lick every drop of his seed from Hob’s body <3

So yeah. Big fan of this whole concept. Would LOVE to read more from you, dear friend! Thank you for sharing!

[sisaloofafump]

LOISBAT TRICK PLS >:)

Bruce was raised to drink tea in a proper, refined, and detailed way. Lois was raised with no regard for any ritual regarding hot water. Unless she's needing caffeine, Lois will go for a mug of hot water, honey, and lemon. She calls it tea. This goes against everything that Bruce knows.

In Lois' kitchen she has a set of justice league mugs. The Superman one she'd long taken to the Planet and it sits forever on her desk. The Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, and others are at the very back of the shelf, dusty and untouched. And then there is the Batman mug.

Bruce discovers the Batman mug one day while visiting her. It is stained and chipped and well used. He holds it in his hand. He puts it back on the shelf.

At home, Bruce has a Daily Planet thermos mug. When they've been working too long on their separate cases, when the distance between their cities is too great, Bruce will fill that thermos mug with hot water, honey, and lemon. It tastes like her.

Alfred finds it sacrilegious but he doesn't say a thing.

[supernovaa-remnant]

c!dreambur post-canon utah au is so important to me... c!wilbur leaves everything in the smp behind, only for c!dream to show up passed out in his yard a couple months later. and at first c!dream leaves when he wakes up, but he comes back not even a week later because the world is so big, and he's so alone and tired and lost, and he has no one else.

so c!wilbur, who really wants to be away from everything that even reminds him of his life on the smp, sucks it up and accepts c!dream into his home. and it's so hard because he's at constant war with himself, his desire fighting with his morals. and c!dream makes it so much harder because c!dream wants and craves even when he shouldn't, and c!wilbur wants and craves, but every night he makes the conscious decision to refrain himself because what they want wouldn't be good for either of them, at least not right now, and especially not for c!dream.

just something about them being in such a huge world with no one but each other. and it's so different than before. and no one here has even heard of l'manberg. tommy is not here. they don't talk about him even if they think about him. suddenly, the defining parts of their relationship hold no weight in the wider world, and they're both at a loss, fumbling through this newfound dynamic together.

and it's hard.

c!dream is such a shell of himself. he still isn't coping with, well, everything. and c!wilbur wants to make it better. because c!dream has been through hell and back and it's his fault and he wants to fix the broken pieces even if he has no right to. but who else will do it if not him? there's no one else.

but it gets better. c!dream will groan at c!wilbur's bad jokes and will laugh at his occasional funny ones. c!dream starts picking out movies for himself, finding vhs tapes that c!wilbur swears he didn't know he had. c!dream starts going outside, and it's such a small and insignificant town in utah with barely anything to do, but it feels like freedom. and he befriends the stray cats, and he lays in the sun, and he starts talking to some of the locals. one day, he goes to the gas station c!wilbur works at out of pure curiosity, and they have lunch together. and c!wilbur's co-worker gets them both christmas gifts. and they get invited to a new year's party.

and they're not the general of l'manberg and the leader of the greater smp. they're not the fallen hero and the villain. they're not any of the roles c!wilbur once built for them. they're just c!wilbur and c!dream, the two newest people in town who are a bit weird but mostly non-disruptive.

and it's all sickeningly domestic. but it's good. it's bad sometimes. it's really bad sometimes. but it's getting better. and maybe that's all that matters.

[gothamcityneedsme]

*starts another time loop premise* im sorry, time loops really are THE fic premise

[zukkaoru]

i think. everyone should stop reading my most popular fics that aren't really that good and start reading the ones with 18 kudos that are significantly better

[victory-cookies]

im like. two seconds away from writing a “norman and skip get used to the whole symbiosis thing” fic. I cannot stop thinking about them

[bromcommie]

the way I would kill for an M-rated howling commandos oneshot. she could’ve saved the mcu and this is 100% the hill I will die on

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

my new thing is obsessing over a funny little guy for a few months before moving onto another funny little guy

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

[desperatepleasures]

guhhhh i am struggling so much with ch3

[transingthoseformers]

I was thinking about this all day but: I like to think after all the Tarn and Megatronus Prime shit goes down and they're both dead, at least someone (more likely: multiple someones) decide to group all of the Tarn fics together in a sub-archive and tap a few warnings saying "Hey, there's a bunch of these, the guy who wrote these is dead, and most of them are barely tagged if at all, so here's a general warning that some these fics may contain some seriously fragged up stuff."

Some poor spark might try and go through them just to tag them more, but dear lord that would be one hell of a task.

[supernovaa-remnant]

yet another snippet of the c!dreambur post-canon in utah au

I'm not sure if I'll ever make this concept into a proper fic, and even if I do I'm not sure how many of these snippets will make it in/stay canon to the story, but I'm enjoying writing them anyway

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Some souls are bound by destiny. From the moment they meet, a thread of fate connects them which none may tear asunder. But what if you could see that thread? What if that thread - and the one it ties you to - is all you have to cling onto in a world that threatens to pull apart at the seams? Would you keep hold of that thread, trust in the powers-that-be that this MUST happen, regardless of what your love might say? Or would you let it all go, and cut yourself adrift from the one thing you care about most in the whole world, so they could be happy? Would you accept Destiny... or embrace Doom?

Here's more drabble about Ralsei - now in a strange two-shot style thingy! It's its own thing because I liked the idea of pairing these together and that couldn't really be done very elegantly within the larger scope of the Dark Menagerie. Consider it a benign offshoot of that style of fic, if you like :p

Also horray the title of the fics show up in the links again instead of that vaguely-ominious "New Session" it said before! Party poppers and balloon animals all around :D

[apollo-just-ice]

Love that I had the thought “hmm well some of this stuff in my fic might not be completely accurate :/“

But then I reminded myself it’s like a totally self indulgent written for *me* thing,,, like yeah! It doesn’t have to be perfect, I am writing what makes my heart happy! That is all that should matter really!! And so now I feel okay, honestly. Good job, me.

That rly is an important thing to remember when creating things, is that foremost it should be making you happy, no matter inaccuracies or popularity or anything else

Also an essay of my thoughts about writing a pmd fic below in the tags hahah oops: