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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months ago

Text

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role.

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless.

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam.

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.

“Things like me?”

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving.

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought.

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them.

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem.

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse.

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut.

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue.

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list.

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries.

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind.

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen.

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop.

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do.

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf.

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position.

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful.

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.”

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.”

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words.

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth.

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins.

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas.

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress.

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face.

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud.

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist.

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes.

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head.

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—”

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—”

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls.

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for.

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood.

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip.

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing.

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock.

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen.

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs, moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure.

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt.

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder.

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day.

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs.

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up.

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you.

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

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wukyma · 11 days ago

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yeeop hi, it’s me, the loser who’s writing fanfic for your ghost antinous au! i’ve got some vague and ideas and a decent amount of words done but i saw one of your posts saying you’re writing a document for the au?

i’m thinking i’ll be waiting for that before i make any other big writing decisions, i’m very excited for it :D

Ahhh sorry for the confusion, that was for another thing :'D

Regardless, I do have some ideas for ghost Antinous if you're interested!

(sorry for mentioning but u said u were interested too so @bb-bugspot)

Yappery under the cut 👇

You know that Hermes was also a guide for the dead? One of his "jobs" was bringing souls of mortals to the underworld – the 108 suitors as well, apparently, and whether they were buried appropriately or not doesn't really matter here

What happens? A certain ghosty someone (Antinous) spends the whole day trying to strangle both Odysseus and Telemachus (spoiler: he can't), missing Hermes' arrival to Ithaca like a loser ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Hermes bringing a hoard of souls to the underworld: let's see... One, two, three, four... ten......... nah I'm too lazy to do that, bye idiots *flies away*

Now we have Antinous, stuck in the mortal plane where no one can see him, having to watch the happy and thriving family, annoyed, jealous, and alone. Like he deserves tbh

And since I was leaning into comedy in the beginning, Telemachus starting to hear (and later even see; idk maybe Hermes' heritage activated or smth) him is a source of all kinds of moments where he has to act like ✨ everything is fine ✨ while there's an angry dude screaming in his ear "PAY ATTENTION TO ME"

If we sprinkle it with sad vibes then Antinous is pestering Telemachus for two reasons:

he hates him and has nothing better to do anyway

it's the closest thing to human interaction he has now lol

Basically talking to (read: pissing off) Telemachus is the only entertainment, and as time passes he just becomes something of a voice of conscience but diametrically opposed, and by that I mean:

"Who does this prick think he is?! Kick his ass Tele KICK HIS ASS"

"Wow, loser (Peisistratus probably idk) actually likes you, what a moron. You too btw"

Probably the first thing Telemachus sees in the morning too,, poor boy; maybe Antinous even tries to trip him up from time to time (they can't touch each other but small things like these work), invades his personal space, swipes off random objects from their designated surfaces, talks shit during family dinners (Telemachus actually thinks some of it is funny but he won't say that out loud, nuh uh) Penelope and Odysseus are a bit concerned about the strange expressions he makes XD

That dynamic goes on until the moment Antinous says a particularly foul joke and Telemachus slaps him (not really hoping for anything since every time he tried his hand just went through); the hit lands, both are like wtf just happened??? That puts an end to random chaos because (1) Telemachus is older now and will/can beat the shit out of him (2) Antinous just doesn't find the same satisfaction in annoying the prince like before, for some reason

So they just....... come to accept the situation and stick together like the weirdest pair of mismatched socks. END

(one more crumb of comedy material: Antinous now drops random objects on people's heads when they disrespect Telemachus or some similar thing)

That's it! There's one important thing I wanna say tho,, what I wrote is just my vision, if you had something else in mind and it doesn't align with this don't worry too much!! I want to know your ideas as well, and honestly, there wasn't a lot of thought put in cooking up an actual plot on my side; write whatever you feel like writing, I'm already happy those sketches inspired somebody X)

(And! Guys!! A bit of disclaimer: it's not like I'm sticking fingers in ears and going lalalalalala when it comes to Antinous' canon jerk behavior, or justify him – this whole au retains ✨funsies rights✨, don't take it too seriously please)

#epic the musical #epic the musical au #antinous #epic antinous #telemachus #epic telemachus

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novelmonger · 8 days ago

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I'd like to gauge interest in a fanfic exchange event, inspired by Blind Date with a Book, if you're familiar with that. Please read the details below the cut before voting, and if you do vote, please reblog and/or send to anyone you think might be interested!

Option A: It's a monthly event where, during a certain period of time, people can sign up to put their name on a list, and also submit a fic that they recommend. (There would be certain guidelines that would have to be followed for everyone to have fun, like an upper limit on rating, a story that can be understood without context, etc.) On the specified date, I would randomly match up names to fics and send everyone the results, at which point everyone gets to read something and leave the author a comment!

Option B: This would be more of a Secret Santa-esque event, where people would sign up with a brief description of the kind of things they're not interested in reading, e.g. categories of pairings, tags for personal triggers, etc. On the specified date, I would assign everybody a partner, and everyone finds a fic for their partner that adheres to their guidelines.

Alternatively, either of these options could also work with each person presenting a selection of, say, three fics in the form of links that don't give anything away, along with a vague description like "a peaceful day at home" or "whump leads to an important confession."

#blind date with a fic #please discuss and help me brainstorm!#it just seems like a really fun idea but i've never arranged something like this before so i'm a little uncertain ^^'#if something like this already exists PLEASE tell me!#my brief searches turned up nothing of what i was looking for

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jewsinfandoms · 2 months ago

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hey

So like Esther, I've been hiding my people and my homeland on tumblr dot com, because *points vaguely at the whole world*

I'm Israeli, so I've never had to contextualize my Judaism or represent it—which is to say, I don't actually know how to incorporate Judaism into my fanworks?

Can you give some examples of what that would look like? The only examples I know of are actually offensive in the other direction (Jewish!Peter Parker who speaks like Mel Brooks' rabbi character in Men in Tights).

Can the Judaism just be in the background? Like, the plot happens in a synagogue instead of a church? Or does it have to have a real role in the story? Does one of the characters have to be Jewish? Can it be just thematically Jewish, like a midrash-inspired story that's applicable to 911 characters?

I'd appreciate any direction or ideas you can offer!

(and also I salute you for being a publicly Jewish blog. That's... unfortunately brave these days)

Hello dear anon, and apologies for taking so long to answer! It is a great question that requires some thinking, we hope the explanation will help.

First, a hug from far away. Mods are from all over the world, including Israel, and we know how you feel. That's why we started this – to give Jews a safe space, where they could be proud in their identity and not hide it.

And now, for your question! In a true Jewish way, the answer will be – it's up to you. Do you want to make all your blorbos Jewish? Maybe only one of the main characters? Or just one supporting character will mention they went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem when they were younger?

It can be a Jewish Spiderman who goes to synagogue for a Shabbat prayer and notices a criminal activity, and needs to decide if to break the sacred day. Maybe Batman fell in love with a Jewish man, and Alfred needs to learn how to make Kosher food? Perhaps you want to explore the ways Judaism influenced the writing of Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri?

All forms of creation are welcomed - you can cosplay as a biblically accurate angel, draw a character with a Kippah, or podcast (after getting permission from the writer) your favorite fanfic.

Good luck, and may we all have a safe time!

#jews in fandoms #jumblr #judaism

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secretly-a-polar-bear · 3 months ago

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I think an interesting concept for a traveling companion would be a child dragon, I’m thinking 7 to 8 years old mentally. I was thinking the origin story for this character would be that in exchange for a night in an inn an old lady acquired a dragon egg from a traveling adventurer. Of course the village people weren’t fond of someone having a dragon, so in order for the dragon to live they agreed to cut off the dragons wings. The child was taught how to transform into a human. It’s rather bad for business to have a dragon around. Of course whispering of a dragon residing in the village trickle out of the village. Vox machina looking for work goes to the village. Asking around, the villagers seem rather hesitant oddly enough. Until one villager gives a vague and ominous answer, “go to the old woman’s inn and you will find what you’re looking for.” Of course coming near the inn vex gets a major headache, but the only thing they find is an old woman and an oddly helpful child. Discussing the evidence they have, they’ve landed on the old woman being the dragon in disguise. The old woman choosing to protect the child, agrees to cooperate. However the child returning from a scavenge finds the group, rushing to protect the old woman the child transforms into a dragon, shooting up dust. As the dust settles the group is shocked to see in the child’s place is a small wingless dragon. A conflicted silence over takes the group. The dragon is small and lacks the capability to escape, but it’s young. It has yet to truly see the world for what it is. They’ve yet to feel the greed and revenge that the world will hand them. After much discussion and despite every fiber of their beings to just kill the damn thing they can’t. The old lady knowing full well that the village wouldn’t hesitate to kill the child when she dies she offers the child to the party. They would certainly protect the child and guide it to a better path, one many dragons do not take. It wasn’t the most sound ideas but it would’ve been better than the role the dice to see the result. Hopefully these heroes would know what to do. The old woman would see to it that this village is destroyed peacefully or not. But no one but here needs to know that. The group of course not being particularly fond of this; takes in the child after being convinced by the old woman. Of course it takes forever for the group to… connect with the child. The first one to grow attached is probably grog or pike. Generally any of the members that don’t have a particular revenge backstory with any dragon. The child is helpful and has yet to be the most of the group’s problems. They’re a good lighter and has learned basic house work.

I wanna make it clear that the point of which the child meets the group is entirely dependent on what’s happening in the story. I don’t have the patience to watch live streams and I don’t know how much the show takes inspiration from them. Also I just started season 3. I think the issue with them encountering the child pre killing the first dragon is that it would require everyone to get over their dragon grudge WAY earlier than what the story wants or needs. Plus now they can form new grudges. I like to think the child is rather wise all things considered. I’m not entirely sure how dragon aging works exactly so feel free to update the age just make sure it’s child and all of their relationship with each member is platonic. Now do I think people will make a story with this character? Idk y’all are unpredictable and I know I can’t write this fanfic correctly, I already made many jumps in the origin story. Alright have fun kids.

#tlovm x reader #vox machina #the legend of vox machina #the legend of Vox machina x reader #tlovm season 3 #tlovm #tlovm s3 #critical role tlovm #tlovm imagines #dnd character #dnd oc #dnd #dugeons and dragons #child reader

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doriansredroses · 1 month ago

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I know you all (most of you) said that I should do the gothic literature school au as my next fanfic, but I’m still very indecisive about everything. Which should I do? This also factors in my mental health and emotional state. I’m hardly able to focus on anything currently but writing is one thing I can sometimes do, rather than just staring into space. I am going to list everything below.

Jonathan in Wonderland: The title may not be finalized but it’s an Alice in Wonderland au starring Jonathan Harker! I plan to write it as if he’s documenting his adventure in his diary and I’ll draw in references from the original Dracula novel plus add my own twists. This is definitely more of a whimsically gothic story that combines the whimsy of my childhood (I’ve always been obsessed with Alice in Wonderland) and my love of gothic literature. It is the shortest fanfic on this list and will prep me for my bigger Dracula project I tried to write two months ago but couldn’t due to stress.

A Court of Music and Mischief: This is my Amadeus faerie au that pokes fun of the ACOTAR series (hence the name) that stars Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Antonio Salieri, and my own faerie oc that’s inspired by the Queen of the Night (vaguely inspired). It is the second longest fanfic in length on this list. Mozart and Salieri basically play Feyra’s role and my oc is in Tamlin’s. I hated ACOTAR but love faerie lore so this idea was sparked. I plan to take this down the dark fantasy route rather than gothic, taking inspiration from 80s fantasy movies like Labyrinth and a more modern book called The Kingdom of Back by Marie Lu. Amadeus is an 80s film and I’m using its release date to further my creative flow. The book is actually about Mozart’s sister and he also is a character featured in this historical fantasy retelling. I’m also absolutely obsessed with Mozart right now and that’ll probably be a lifelong craze. Salieri, yes I like him a lot as well. Should I do this fanfic?

Gothic lit school au: I don’t have a title yet nor is this very developed, but I’m thinking about setting it in college/university that’s dark academia and focuses on my favorite characters from gothic literature in a more modern/alternate dimension. I want to do this one because I love gothic literature, dark academia, and I definitely want to base this around the themes of melancholia, darkness, and good vs evil/morals. My only concern is that it’ll be too taxing right now since it’s the longest fanfic on this list and that it’s insanely dark. I’ve felt awful emotionally lately and a lot of my writing has reflected those feelings (melancholy, evil, etc). Part of me thinks I should do something more lighthearted and shorter. I put aside a novel length collab I wanted to do with a friend due to my mental health so I’m unsure about writing this right now.

Thoughts?

Tagging:

@xxiamtiebrousxx

@ilovegayvampires

@mysteryofvampires

@mushroomsie224

@fetchmearum420

@urcrocsrsoggy

I can’t think of anyone else right now because I’m so fried.

#dracula #frankenstein #phantom of the opera #carmilla #jekyll and hyde #strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray #classic literature #gothic literature #jonathan harker #alice in wonderland #amadeus 1984 #wolfgang amadeus mozart #antonio salieri

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writingquestionsanswered · 2 years ago

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Interested in Writing But Can't Seem to Write

Anonymous asked: I've been interested in writing since I was a child. Used to be a bookworm. Whole chapter books in one night, completely addicted as a form of escapism. My first real dream job was to be an author - I decided this at around 11 maybe. No matter how many phases I've had, I always return to wanting to be an author. I am 22 now. I have not written a single thing. I vaguely remember writing like, maybe 3 things at most. Incomplete works that I just had fun with. And this was before I even turned 14. But in all those years of "loving writing and books" and "wanting to be an author" I did straight up nothing. Didn't even contribute to fanfics for the fandoms I was deeply obsessed with (I do remember trying once but wasn't into it). At some point reading was out of my life too.

I'm going to start here, because of these conflicting statements:

-- "I have not written a single thing." -- "I vaguely remember writing like, maybe 3 things at most."

See the issue? ;) If you've written "maybe 3 things" you have written something. They may have been incomplete, and you may not even remember what you were, but that doesn't mean you should discount them. You have written. That experience is still in there somewhere.

One of my biggest pet peeves as a longtime writer is hearing newer writers refer to themselves as "aspiring writers." If you write, you're a writer. Period. It doesn't matter if you journal, write poetry, write fan-fiction, or wrote a middle-school round robin with friends where you all married your favorite K-Pop stars. You write. You're a writer. And, honestly, even if you're not actively writing right now, if you want to write--if you think about writing, are constantly jotting down story ideas and character names, and are eagerly gathering inspiration from all around you... guess what? You're still a writer.

Now I'm trying to take my interest in writing more seriously, but I just can't sit down and write. I'm good at storing notes and ideas and daydreaming what my stories are about, but nothing is ever produced. If I think about it I immediately lose interest - even if I am in fact still interested in writing and publishing? I'm very confused by my behaviour and I wonder if it's normal.

What you're experiencing isn't unusual. In fact, most writers experience it from time to time, though usually it happens at points further into the writing journey and not right at the start. But I still wouldn't call that "abnormal." It happens.

There are a hundred-million reasons why it happens, and the only way to figure out why it's happening for you right now is to do some soul-searching. At your age, I think a prime suspect would be that you're in the jumping off point for your adult life. This can be a tumultuous time for a variety of reasons, and your focus and energy may be naturally geared toward the things that help you explore and settle into this new phase of life. Even beyond that, if you have have a demanding job (including being a parent or caregiver), are going to school or studying for job-related tests/classes, or have a lot going on right now (multiple projects, lots of travel, lots of appointments and social commitments, etc.)--your focus and energy is probably running thin as it is, so finding a way to funnel what's left into writing is going to take some finesse. And that's if this is even the right time for it, which I'll get to later on.

Writing Stress = Writing Avoidance

One of the most mind-blowing things I've learned about writing is that writing avoidance often comes down to writing feeling stressful for whatever reason. If you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself to write, write a certain amount, meet goals or deadlines, that translates to stress. It makes writing stressful, and the problem with that is evolution has wired our brains to avoid things that are stressful. At its most basic level, stress is a response to danger--you hear a lion roar in the distance, it causes you stress, you turn and run in the opposite direction. Stress triggers the "fight or flight response," a defense mechanism that protects us from the impending danger. With writing, "fight" shows up as self-criticism. "Flight" shows up as avoidance.

So, if you find that you want to write but are avoiding it, it's worth considering if you're avoiding it because it feels stressful to you. If so, there are things you can do to de-stress writing. For one thing, let go of the notion that you have to write any particular thing or amount in order to be a writer. Set yourself a bare minimum writing goal to reach every day... like writing for 10 minutes. That can be any writing--journaling, writing prompts, working on a story, fleshing out story ideas, fluffy fan-fiction, poetry, writing down a favorite memory, doing a book or movie review, anything. Try to do it every day, but don't beat yourself up if you sit down and aren't able to write anything, don't write a lot, or never sit down at all. Just try, every day, do your best. Also, try setting up a writing routine that you do every day when you sit down for that little writing session. Try to pick the same or similar time each day, do a little meditation or stretch beforehand, put on some soft music or light a candle, get your favorite drink or small snack. If you do this almost every day, what you'll start to find is that the writing happens more and more easily. Eventually you'll be spend more and more time doing it.

Why can I say I'm interested in writing when I don't write at all?

I'm interested in traveling to England but I haven't yet and have no current plans to. Does that mean I'm not allowed to say I'm interested in traveling to England?

Being interested in something doesn't mean you have to do that thing right now or you can't say you're interested in it.

And even if you can't write right now for whatever reason, there are still plenty of writerly things you CAN do. Following writing blogs and vlogs is a good start. You can listen to writing podcasts and read writing craft books. You can keep a notebook full of plot and character ideas, setting inspiration, favorite quotes, interesting words, and overheard bits of dialogue. You can watch TV shows and movies (and read books, which includes listening to audiiobooks!) You don't even have to do these things all the time or everyday. Just periodically, when you can. It all goes into your creative well and will be there to draw from when you are able to write.

One final word...

You do not have to be in a hurry to be a writer or to be a published writer. The average age of first-time publication is mid-30s. I was mid-40s. Jane Austen was 35. Toni Morrison was 40. J.R.R. Tolkien was 45. Richard Adams was 52. Annie Proulx was 57. Laura Ingalls Wilder was 65. National Book Award winner Harriet Doerr was 74. Poet Sarah Yerkes started writing poetry at 97 and was published at 101.

So, be interested in writing. Own that interest. Figure out if and how writing fits into your life right now. If it doesn't, do the other things. Fill your creative well so it will be ready when writing does fit into your life. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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Visit my Master List of Top Posts

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#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

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gremlin-writes-angst · 5 months ago

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"Lets get food"

The (short, less than 1k) beginning of my brother's best friend fanfic featuring Ash x Darlin

Currently unsure of what the whole fic rating will be but for this chapter id say it pretty safe.

content and trigger warnings: mention of vampire feeding, low energy, mentions of sleeping around.

I'd like to thank everyone who liked my original post about this idea. I had started writing a ( completely different) first chapter but wasn't feeling inspired till people started liking that post

a special thanks to @professionallyyappin and @dawnofiight . Thank you for rebloging my idea and just helping me feel motivated

Sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes and enjoy :)

'Let's get food'

A seemingly normal text message

That was the point, so if anyone, more specifically David, saw it, he wouldn't think twice about it

But what it meant was

“ I need a ride after sleeping with a stranger”

Darlin didn't drive anymore, not after Gabe

And there was no way they were going to let David know how many people they slept with

Originally they would just walk home, in the dark sketchy parts of town

Until Asher saw them one day

“Darlin?”

He called out at the hooded figure

They ignored him

“ Darlin, I know that's you.”

They didn't know why he called them that, he was the only one

“What Asher?”

They turned to face Asher, his car stopping in the middle of the road.

Darlin looked around and as usual, no other cars were on the street

“ What are you doing out here? I don't know if you've checked the time recently but, it's not walking around time.”

He smiled at them

“I'm just- yeah”

They didn't want to admit the truth.

They couldn't let him tell David

“That's not a very good answer”

He laughed before leaning over and opening the passenger door from inside

“ get in, I'll take you where you need to be”

He offered but didn't demand, like most of the men Darlin knew.

“ I'm- “

They take a moment to breathe, feeling woozy From the blood loss

“ I'm all good Ashy”

He barked out a laugh

“ If you're calling me Ashy, you're not good.”

They couldn't argue.

So they climbed in, defending their self

“ This is just easier, I could handle myself”

Their sparky sentence was shorter than it typically would be.

Another sign something was wrong

“ I know, but you don't seem at your full strength. And like you said, this is easier”

After a while he realized they weren't going to buckle their seat, so he leaned over to do so.

They simply rolled their eyes

Asher started to drive

Darlin Didn't say anything for a long time

he even though they might have dozed off.

Until they gasped and pointed

“Wendy's. Ashy we have to get Wendy's!”

They called him Ashy again, he's starting to like it

Silently he pulls into the parking lot and parks

“ They have a drive through”

Darlin states

“Darlin, If you're trying to hide what I think you're hiding from David, we're going to need more time.”

A vague sentence but Darlin caught on

“ lobby it is”

Darlin had a new pep in their step as they entered and started the order.

Once Darlin was done, Asher added his burger along with the same thing they ordered.

Before Darlin could get their wallet Asher had already Paid

It was a little disorienting, Darlin always paid, not because they preferred but simply because they knew the other wouldn't

They were too confused to even say thank you.

They found a table, amongst the sea of empty tables

Before Asher sat down their order was called, so he went to get it.

Setting the food down before going to fill up their drinks

When he returned, Darlin had already started to wolf down their burger

No pun intended

They didn't say a word as they reached for their drink, taking a swig before going back for a big bite

Asher just smiled to himself

When Darlin finished their burger they spoke

“ How'd you know what drink I wanted”

He jokingly rolled his eyes at the Question

“ I've known you for like, 8 years now. If I didn't know what drink you preferred I wouldn't be a good friend”

They started stealing fries from Ashers' plates, even though they still had their own heaping pile

With fries in their mouth, they said

“ I didn't know you considered us friends”

The sentence made Asher feel cold

He prides himself on being a good friend to almost everyone.

Darlin quickly caught on to Asher's negative reaction and tried to reverse it.

“ Not that you were bad or anything but I just thought you were David's friend, and I was just an extension of David”

Darlin's words didn't seem to cheer Asher up, but he still smiled And pretended it was fine

“ Well I see you as your person, even if you are related to David, you are not just His little sibling to me”

Darlin felt chills at that

Good chills

Probably their first time getting good chills

They didn't realize that was important to them

But they couldn't let Asher know that

“I'm only 4 months younger Than him”

Asher takes a bite of his food before, with His mouth full, continuing the conversation

“I wasn't talking age, he's At least a foot taller Than you”

Darlin laughed and rolled their eyes.

They then pointed to the extra burger

“ Can I?”

Others would probably not find that short sentence charming, but Asher did.

At least in perspective

Darlin was actively stealing Asher's fries but when It came to the burger they asked.

And when they asked, their voice was shy and sweet.

Asher liked every part of Darlin', but it was a side the soft sweet side one they hid away, so it was like a treat for Asher

“ I got it for you. So yeah”

Darlins' energy seemed to dip again, not severely but Asher noticed it.

He decides to hold back his thoughts for the day.

Darlin finished Their food and they left

The rest of the night was uneventful As he drove them home

He messaged them that night

'I know you can take care of yourself, but you don't have to'

After he sent it he felt vulnerable, so he tried to soften it

'We can get food to'

Low and behold a couple of days later he got a text

'Let's get food'

Followed By an address

Darlin was letting Asher into a part of Their life.

A part only he was allowed

#redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted audio #redacted darlin #fanfic #redacted angst #redacted fanfic #redacted david #redacted asher #asher/darlin

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