#vaguely inspired by a fanfic idea

[basket-of-loquats]

heaven, i’m in heaven

[crispyliza]

I've got you all figured out fanartists

[the-random-phan]

Sides of a Coin

[dw-flagler]

would be vaguely funny if there was a worm au fanfic where like annette survived and taylor died, she got some similar power to taylor's power, and then pretty much everything else was the same.

[fistfuloflightning]

Your brother made a contract he failed to fulfill. On his death it passed to the next of his blood. And that binds us in his place.

Izuna Week Day 4: Eldritch AU

[mikeisthricedeceased]

Maybe I should do ask prompts again

I’d need to figure out which characters I’m vibing with lately

One word prompts were pretty fun, that little bit of direction to see where my mind goes

I want to start writing again because the ideas haven’t stopped, I just haven’t been putting any words down

I’ve even come up with new original ideas, and so much fanfic

[im-some-lionheart]

enemies-to-lovers college au prompt

I heard the best getting-together story this weekend and I'm sharing it with strangers online bc it's a beautiful enemies to lovers college au prompt waiting to be written and I don't have the energy for it now so here it goes:

Person A had a horrible time in high school and decided to use college as a fresh start. So, they make it a challenge to meet new people in every class, and be more extroverted than they ever were before.

Person B is getting their degree for very specific reasons ™ and have no time nor energy for socializing. They're there to go to class, do the work, and then leave, and that's it.

B thinks A is hot but also an arrogant asshole, too loud, and self-absorbed. A hates how B is always frowning and grumpy and judging everyone from afar with an air of moral superiority.. but they can't help but notice how B has this one feature that A finds extremely hot.

They, of course, share a class.

While B works hard and even loses sleep to finish their projects on time, A waltzes into the classroom with something that clearly took them less than 2 hours to finish, and they get all the praise. The teacher loves A, because their work is always great. And B hates how effortlessly good A is, but they're also very intrigued and fascinated by the quality of work A produces.

A is used to being the best in class, until one day they aren't. Through sheer determination and hard work, B manages to finally! make the best project and have the teacher spend the entire class praising them instead of A. This, of course, makes something in A's mind short-circuit.

Montage of them getting progressively more competitive over who makes the best projects. They're progressively more annoyed and impressed by each other, with every passing week.

Until one day, A sees something they never had seen before: B smiling. And that's their "Oh." moment.

[ichimerapunk]

Plot Bunny: Danny Is an Unwilling & Unwitting Organ Donor 

Danny (in human form) and one of the Bats is captured by Doctor Hugo Strange (I can’t think of another Gotham rogue likely to do body experimentation). His weird experiments this time around started out with swapping organs from one person (Danny) and with another person’s (the Bat of choice).

Doctor Hugo Strange had only just sown both of them back up but before he could go any further in his experiments, the rest of the Bats arrive at the rescue. By the time Doctor Hugo Strange is subdued Danny’s ectoplasm has healed both wounds on Danny and the Bat-of-choice.

Thinking they stopped Strange before he could do anything, they take their family member home to recuperate and send the civilian on his way.

All is thought to be well until a day or so later when the Bat-of-choice starts having weird experiences. It starts out subtle, but things only grow more apparent as Danny’s ectoplasm-infused organ begins to “infect” more and more of the organ recipient’s body with ectoplasm.

Basically, Doctor Strange accidentally starts one of the Bats on the path to slowly turning into a halfa (or just heavily liminal, if preferred).

Which Bat is effected could be just about anyone; however, if its Tim/Red Robin, Tim gaining a new spleen (and Danny’s body just regrowing a spleen in its place) would be an easy choice. Or maybe Jason/Red Hood and the early signs of rising ecto-contamination could be mistaken as something related to his past dip in the Lazarus pit.

Explaining away shit:

- Handwaving explanations for there being no organ rejection, etc.? Ectoplasm BS.

- Handwaving how nothing was noticed by the Bats during a ‘just to be sure’ check-up back at the cave? Fast healing/ectoplasm BS. (This story idea is ever so vaguely inspired by the fanfic, “A Gift of a Heart” by Alexa Piper on Fanfiction.net.)   

[shnu-rock-san]

I've been wanting to write a fic about how these two drunk-heads got married in New Vegas for a while. The idea was inspired by the fact that there is the fastest registration of marriages and by the movie “What happens in Vegas”, I drew the poster-like sketch, think that it will be like a cover for the future fanfic. I have vague thoughts to translate it into English later, but I'm afraid not to cope with it as English is not my native language, besides Cooper's speech is quite difficult for me as a foreigner.

Also, I got inspired while watching Shrek, Livin' la Vida Loca hit my head with a terrible force! The lyrics and the hot Spanish vibe got me working hard on this sketch🔥

[heywriters]

yeah, don't trust asks like this

intentionally vague—they don't name the story; what does "on fanfic" mean; asking permission to "share an idea" when they could just say it is bait

brand new account, only three posts with copy/paste captions

their socials are filled with examples of "their" art in wildly differing styles which implies AI or direct art theft (two pieces at least have the tells of AI)

The ultimate goal is likely to make you to pay them for a commission of your OC or favorite fan character, and IF they actually send you a picture ever, it will be stolen/AI.

Even if this was a legitimate artist, this would still be the wrong way to get commissions.

---

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Visit my Pinterest & Unsplash for visual inspiration

[sinisterexaggerator]

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

[wukyma]

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)

[novelmonger]

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."

[creationandcalamityau]

Andrew and...Andrew??? Yeahhh

So I decided to draw Andrew Harper and his very outdated design. To differentiate the both of them, I'll call his old design Drew for now (even though Andrew also goes by Drew sometimes too uhhh just forget about that XD)

It's hard to believe these are both the same person.

More yapping under the cut!

The reason I wanted to talk more about Andrew and his origins in the early versions of this AU is that yesterday marked the 1st anniversary of when I created him (February 1, 2024, to be specific is when I created his first concept art) Happy late birthday buddy!!

So for those who don't know, Andrew Harper was originally going to be evil in the earliest drafts of the fanfic. He was a vengeful creature with violent tendencies. He was honestly almost as bad as Joey himself. Which is wild to think of now that he's changed completely. Drew (as I'll call him to avoid confusion) was inspired originally by the once-popular theory of the ink demon being Joey Drew. Though BATDR clearly disproves this theory, I like the concept. I wanted a character who was like Joey but not actually him.

So then I remembered, "Hey, memory Joey exists!" and wondered how Joey managed to actually create memory Joey. Because I am not sure if he has a soul, or even truly what he is. He's stated to be a ghost or in his own words "A Memory." so I took this idea and was like "There had to be a prototype for Memory Joey." Thus Drew exists.

Joey to me comes across as the type of guy who wants to be immortal in his own creation. This lore is actually still very much canon to Andrew's backstory, but it was also the same backstory for Drew, though he had hardly any depth at this point.

Drew's backstory goes as follows; He was a sort of "Prototype of Memory Joey." A clone basically, but a very imperfect one. He was very similar to how Twisted Alice acts in many parts of the plot, wanting to become better than Joey Drew himself. He was very selfish and terrible overall. Not a chill dude.

When I was writing him in Charlie's section of the Creation and Calamity Fanfic, things shifted from Drew being evil to being just another victim of Joey's stupidity. Which is how Andrew Harper was born.

Andrew Harper was created in a similar way to Drew but I changed a bit of his backstory, providing him more of a personality than just "Angry Employee Who Got Screwed Over By Joey Drew" which was basically all he had to him. Andrew really started to grow on me while I wrote scenes with him in them. I got attached more to him being something other than an evil creature.

The whole thing about him being a clone of Joey is kind of less explicitly there in his current design. I like to believe it's because Joey is not smart and didn't realize it wasn't going to work.

Andrew himself actually doesn't really have many features of Joey at all, in fact, he's got more features from the Ink Demon than Joey. Kind of funny how that works. If I'm being fully honest I have no clue how the process of making someone into an ink clone of yourself works so this is really vague on purpose uhhhh yeah...

Andrew like Drew was also seen as a failure by Joey Drew, however, Andrew was mostly angry about the fact his identity was ripped from him. Drew was angry because he wasn't perfect.

I prefer Andrew over Drew. Andrew is more tragic than just evil because, idk he's angry or whatever Drew had going on.

For those who actually have no clue about Andrew Harper and have not understood a thing about this post, that's okay. I can try to summarize his current lore for you (Without going into too much detail cause his prequel will do that)

Andrew Harper is my oc and a major character in the fanfic for this AU. Andrew was an animator at the studio and a cartoonist. He was a hard worker, got things done on time, overall a good guy. He met his future wife Delilah after she was hired as an animator at the studio as well and took the vacant seat beside him.

The two of them got along well and Andrew clearly was very terrible at hiding that he had a crush on Delilah. Delilah and him both got married on May 6th, 1936 and got the date engraved in their wedding rings (THIS IS AN IMPORTANT DETAIL.)

As the studio starts going downhill and the checks don't seem to come in on time anymore, Andrew gets asked by Joey Drew for a deal of sorts. Andrew is reluctant but agrees, confused as to why Joey would pick him. There wasn't really any reason for him to be chosen, Joey just sucks.

Without going into far too much detail, the next thing Andrew knows is that he's become an ink creature. He is deemed as a failure by Joey who locks him in a room for the time being.

One day Andrew hears Delilah asking Joey about her missing husband and Andrew is unable to leave the room to tell her he's still alive. Joey lies to Delilah and basically just tells her Andrew is dead (he just says he's not sure but essentially Delilah takes it as he's dead for good)

Somewhere down the line, Andrew breaks out of the rooms Joey keeps trying to put him in, and he runs off into the studio, finding his way into The Cycle. There he struggles to remember who he once was.

The majority of his prequel story I will one day write will explore what he does during this time along with how he and Delilah met and all that.

During the main events of the fanfic he serves as a friend to Sammy and Charlie and helps them escape Twisted Alice and ends up remembering his past a bit more as time goes on.

He later on reunites with Delilah who is now a Lost One and they, after the events of Wilson taking over the cycle, take over what remains of Sammy's cult of followers. (THE LOST ONE SUPPORT GROUP is what it basically is now lol)

But yeah that's him. The silly guy. Feel free to ask questions about him lol. I don't mind. I am horrible at explaining things sometimes so I hope this was clear enough.

I have no idea what this post is but I'm giving it a new tag probably "From the Archives" will be the tag. All oc yapping posts are going to be tagged this from now on.

[onehundredelevven]

FINALLY REMEMBERED AN I IDEA FOR A FIC I HAD HELLOOO

okay so a fanfic inspired by the song Terrified by Childish Gambino with a gender neutral or male reader (plsplsplspls need more male reader) specifically these lyrics:

Do you misbehave?

Haunt you to your grave

I′m going to eat you alive

Please don't find me rude

But I don't eat fast food

So don′t run to me, baby

I NEED SUGURU SOOO BAD PUHLEASE or any jjk man you think would fit the fic y'know 😋 interpret the lyrics however you want !

Here u goon !! I chose Geto cuz why nottt. And idk if I actually got the interpretation of the song, I think I wrote this too vaguely(and boring)😭😭😭

☆☆☆

Misbehave.

The moon was full and heavy in the sky, casting a pale glow over the large temple grounds. The chill of the night bit at your skin as you stood just outside Suguru’s private quarters. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as though the very walls of this place knew you didn’t belong here.

You shouldn’t have come.

But Suguru had called you—no, summoned you—with a simple message delivered through one of his devout followers: “Come to me. Tonight.” And like the fool you were, you had obeyed, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have over you.

Now, standing before the sliding doors, you hesitated. The distant hum of insects filled the air, but the temple felt too quiet, like the calm before a storm.

Before you could knock or announce your presence, the door slid open with a soft shhk. Suguru stood on the other side, dressed in dark robes that hung loosely around his shoulders. His hair, long and dark, framed his sharp features in a way that made your breath hitch. But it wasn’t just his appearance—it was the way his gaze bore into you, heavy and knowing, as though he’d been expecting you to hesitate.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone light but tinged with amusement.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat as he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter.

Once inside, the door slid shut behind you with a finality that made your stomach twist. The room was dimly lit by a single candle on the far side.

“You’re nervous,” Suguru noted, his voice low and smooth as he approached you. “Good. You should be.”

Your pulse quickened, and you took a step back, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist. His touch was firm but not painful, just enough to stop you in your tracks.

“Do you know why I called you here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head.

His lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Because I wanted to see if you’d come running to me like a good little pet. And here you are.”

You froze, his words sending a jolt of something—fear, excitement, maybe both—through your body. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go entirely. Instead, he guided your hand upward, pressing your palm against his chest.

“I’m too possessive to play nice,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dangerous. “Too selfish to share. And too obsessed to let you go.”

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes darkened, glinting with a predatory light.

“I don’t like things that come easy,” Suguru continued, his free hand trailing up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I like a little fight. A little chase.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved to your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his gaze. “But now that I’ve caught you, what should I do with you?"

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it.

“Don’t run,” he purred, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a ghost of a kiss. “I don’t like fast food. I like to savor every bite.”

The candlelight flickered, and for a moment, you swore you saw something darker lurking in his eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, each word sinking into your skin like a brand. “I’ll haunt you to your grave if I have to, but you’ll never be free of me. Do you understand that?”

You nodded, your voice lost to the weight of his presence.

Suguru smiled, but there was no warmth in it—only possession, only hunger.

“Good,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Now, be good for me and don’t misbehave. Unless…” His grin widened, a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes. “...you want to give me a reason to punish you.”

[jewsinfandoms]

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!