Hello and welcome to my blog! I'm a writer and lover of all things fandom. I wanted to make an introduction post so y'all can get to know me a bit. :)
Quick TLDR:
I take requests, see the second paragraph for details
[List of Fandoms][Fandom Resource Masterlist]
Tags: #ask the company (asks & previous requests), #the company speaks (non-fandom stuff), #the company asks (polls)
I made this account as a space to "dump" my shortfics and x reader fics. I've written fic for a while on my other account on here, as well as on AO3, but I found myself scared to post less polished work that I enjoyed writing but didn't feel were good enough to post. Most of my work is SFW, and every heading should have a label on it tagging any trigger warnings or content labels, as well as relationships. All of my headings are original and I do not permit the reuse of my graphics unless stated. That being said, I'm happy to share specific assets or tools I use.
I do take requests via my asks box, although I do not write smut at this time (romance/fade to black is fine). I will not write romance featuring characters who are generally considered children, even if the request is for "aged-up" versions of that character. For instance, I would not write a Damian Wayne x reader, even if it's aged-up!Damian. It's just not something I'm comfortable with. & reader (platonic or familial) fics are perfectly fine. If you aren't sure, ask! My list of fandoms can be found here (ellipsus link), but be aware that the list is not extensive, and you can always ask about fandoms or characters!
Tags I use: #ask the company for all asks, and #the company speaks for all of my non-fandom-related posts (shitposts, mostly), and #the company asks for any polls.
Two final things: I am planning to create a masterlist as I post more, and potentially taglists if I end up doing some multi-part series. If a taglist interests you, please let me know. Also, I have an ongoing fandom resource document that is set to "commenting," so if you're interested in sharing research sources within fandoms (or are looking for resources), please give that a gander. You can leave your username/link to your account next to any edits you make if you'd like to be credited. Please cite your sources if possible. That can be found here (google docs link)
The wind howled low over the sand, the dusk seeming to seep over her body as the minutes passed. She was getting thinner, he noticed, the lack of proper nutrition in the Wasteland finally starting to visibly affect her. She was shaking like a leaf, curling up on the sand, a blurry slash of blue fabric and dark hair against the ground. He hated that stupid suit and everything that came with it, all the ideas that made it possible for them to exist in the first place. He hated that everyone that wore one had the same twisted thoughts, planted from birth, the kind of idealism that got people killed. But most importantly, he hated that the suit wasn’t thicker.
Boone follows the Courier to Utah on what he thought was an easy security gig for a caravanning company. What he encounters there--and what he chooses to do--will change him forever.
Thank you to @christineroyceofficial for both the inspiration and the permission to act on it :)
A bullet is a certain type of justice, when you put it through the right skull. Boone wasn’t a poet, and he wasn’t a saint, but he was a problem solver. So when the Courier brought him along on a caravanning detail, swearing it was a quick gig for easy money, he came along. And when it went belly-up, corpses turning to leather in the valley sun, he shouldered his rifle and followed them deeper into the canyons. When they were led into the caves of a camp hidden down a river of bear traps, he went willingly. And when he saw the bandages, he knew exactly who he was looking at.
The Malpais Legate. Right hand of the father. Blue eyes, cold and serpentine, flicked up to his, boring through the sunglasses and piercing right through him. He stared back, heart pounding. In the span of a breath, three faces came into view, clear as day in his mind: Carla, seconds before tragedy, Caesar, seconds before justice, and finally Joshua Graham, before the fire and fall, just a man standing in the sun. The eyes were the same.
The movement was automatic, the slinging of the rifle to rest on his shoulder, faster than the Legate could move. Shots rang out, but failed to land properly. A hole formed on the wall of the cave, the rock buckling under the velocity. His disbelief was only stilled by the Courier’s hand gripping his arm, the final motions of a shove continuing to move them both.
“What the fuck.” He snarled, keeping his companion at arm’s length. If he’d had a pistol, he would’ve drawn it, turning it on everyone in the room, but unfortunately, he didn’t. “He’s Legion.”
“From a cave in Utah, Boone?" The Courier asked, voice muffled through the helmet. “Are you crazy?”
“Joshua Graham is a former high-ranking Legion officer,” He ground out. “He was thrown off a cliff, while on fire, and he should be dead. But he’s here, and from the looks of it, he thinks he’s a god.”
“There’s only one God,” A voice, rough and low, interrupted. “And I am not Him, simply His agent.”
“You’re about to see Him, just wait,” Boone growled.
“My business isn’t with you, Ranger. You may leave if you feel threatened.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He looked down at the pile of guns Graham was sorting through, watching him load them. His eyes followed a natural line, watching his hands move, the bandages tight and neat. The Legate was so unconcerned with him that he’d stopped looking at him entirely.
“Boone, go. The passage should be safe enough that you can get home.” The Courier said, the words cutting through him like a knife. “I’ll find you in Novac.”
“No chance. You send me out now, and it'll be the last you see of me.”
“Fine. Be safe.”
The cave shrank, his heart pounding in his ears. Those snake eyes were watching him intently, flicking up and down over his face. He might have glimpsed amusement.
“Don’t come by Novac. You won’t come out.”
He turned and left, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, a bead of sweat running down his brow. The desert was cooler at night, the sun no longer a direct threat. A little familiarity soothed his anger slightly, the river water seeping back into his boots, gluing his socks to his ankles. It ebbed and flowed around him as he waded through it, careful to avoid the bear traps, their gleam much less pronounced under the moonlight. The sand clung to him as he crunched it underfoot, trudging towards the closest outcropping to lie low in.
The sign said “Eastern Virgin”, and the drawings on the mesa were of a bandage-wrapped man with black eyes weeping red blood. The mouths gaped, black ooze seeping down the rock face. Shadows cast them in a strange pallor, the Legate watching him even now. He lowered his head and kept walking. He'd sleep on the ground.
He wasn’t used to spotting for himself, even after years of independent guard in Novac, and on the unfamiliar terrain of the Zion Valley, it was more difficult than he was used to. The road to the top of the Eastern Virgin outcropping had rubbed his feet raw, the socks he’d refused to take off in the still of the night resulting in blisters. He reached the summit nonetheless. The river wound lazy curves below him, roaming packs of geckos splashing along the banks. Bighorners gathered in their strange congregations, moving at a glacial pace through the valleys. But he wasn’t focused on them so much as what was beyond them: the entrance to the cave.
He sat for days, not eating, not drinking, just stationary…a sentinel with a rifle trained directly at the cave. The Courier came and went often, toting items back and forth—compasses, lunchboxes, medical kits—scampering around like a lost dog. He measured the shot several times, his mind spinning through the analytics before deciding, just like the time before, not to take it. Some perverted sense of loyalty stilled his hand. Six wasn’t a bad person, not really, they just weren’t close. Of course they would tell him to kick rocks in pursuit of a new thread to follow, especially with someone so…attractive as Graham. The former Legate had quite the personality, the type of conviction that vulnerable people aspire to follow, and despite all evidence to the latter, a head trauma victim definitely fell into that category.
A flash of white through the scope caught his attention, his finger instinctively sliding onto the trigger as he slowed his breathing. The sun glared across his glasses, but he looked through it, his vision slightly blurry. Time stood still. Right before he pulled the trigger, he could have sworn Joshua Graham tilted his head up to stare at him, right through the scope.
The shot echoed through the canyon, the whole camp ducking seconds too late. Graham didn’t move at all; he made no attempt to evade the bullet he saw coming. Arrogance, or maybe acceptance. Some holy purpose. Boone didn’t care. He watched as the Legate’s head snapped back sharply, a spray of red blooming into the still Utah air. He racked his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder. It was a long walk back to Novac.
Hey y'all, this is a strange request, but I'm working on some personal-interest type research, and I'd really love it if anyone would be willing to answer some questions about vampires. Here's the link :)
*psst, it may have something to do with a sideblog endeavor ;)*
Please answer these questions about Vampires to the best of your knowledge. Do not consult outside sources. These questions are designed to
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»-♡→ Brushed
»-♡→ Grazed
»-♡→ Caressed
»-♡→ Stroked
»-♡→ Patted
»-♡→ Cradled
»-♡→ Rested against
»-♡→ Smoothed
»-♡→ Trailed along
»-♡→ Glided over
...or comforting:
➺ Squeezed
➺ Held
➺ Embraced
➺ Wrapped around
➺ Clasped
➺ Pressed gently against
➺ Rubbed
➺ Supported
➺ Steadied
➺ Cupped
...or affectionate:
➵ Ruffled
➵ Nuzzled
➵ Kissed
➵ Linked arms with
➵ Nestled against
➵ Curled around
➵ Leaned into
➵ Rested a hand on
➵ Laced fingers with
➵ Pulled close
...or romantic:
̗̀➛ Traced
̗̀➛ Ghosted across
̗̀➛ Brushed against
̗̀➛ Skimmed over
̗̀➛ Lingeringly stroked
̗̀➛ Ran a thumb along
̗̀➛ Tilted their chin
̗̀➛ Tucked a strand of hair behind their ear
̗̀➛ Pressed their forehead against
̗̀➛ Intertwined fingers
Guys I am working on a fic inspired by this post and it's genuinely taking forever so I'm posting exclusively older content until I finish since all my fic-concept brain power is turned to it. Stay tuned and feel free to send in requests, I'd be happy to fill those (my list of fandoms is linked in my pinned post) :)
Been doing some Original Content lately, lmk what y'all think! This one in particular is inspired by the Myth of Icarus from Greek mythology.
Icarus still remembered the taste of salt. He hated the taste, the feel of water purging his lungs of their oxygen and choking him, the weight of feathers floating with the bubbles above him as he was dragged down into the depths. He could remember his father telling him not to fly too close to the sun or too close to the sea, but it was so warm, so bright, he couldn't resist. He was 13 then, on the cusp of manhood and full of curiosity about the world outside his prison, the one his father created for them both with his bare hands and a corrupt king. He couldn't fathom something so beautiful ever being so dangerous, so searing, and so, so unmerciful. So Icarus fell like an angel from the sky, slamming into the ocean below. Drowning wasn’t a forgiving death. Memories of salt and water invaded his mind in the wee hours of the morning and woke him up at night with fresh gouges on his skin, crescent moon fingernail marks. It was then that he cried, his shoulders shaking and breaths heaving quietly for hours at a time.
He’d been in the cell for millennia, it seemed. Days bled into night with little consequence, and when the stars came out at night, they gave him little comfort. He was sure he was in the Underworld, but he didn’t know where. Was this his fate?
He didn’t hear the door open, nor did he see the tall man who entered, staring at him silently. It was only when his visitor stepped close did he look up from the floor on which he was sitting. Hades himself looked down upon the boy, taking in the halo of blonde hair, eyes that seemed to be leaking like a faucet even still, and a blush made permanent by the searing arms of Helios. The god of death was taken aback, momentarily, for several reasons. One, the boy was just that - a boy, not even close to military age, and the other was the wings. They were made of hollow bone, singed at the edges, but still very real. They were no small appendages either, about half the boy’s height and wider still. Hades assumed that they had to do with the nature of his untimely death, and although they were lovely to look at, he wondered if Icarus could actually fly.
“Are you crying?” Hades asked, as gently as he could manage.
Icarus wiped furiously at his tears, muttering a pitiful-sounding “No.”
“Good,” The god replied. “Because now is no time for tears.”
Ok, quick disclaimer: This is a laundry list of stuff I have accumulated over the years that I reference often when writing fic or just for
On the heels of my last post about the fallout chem conversions for DnD, I wanted to share my Fandom Resource Masterlist that I've been building for a few months :). It's currently open to comments/contributions, so feel free to put your accumulated resources for others to use! There are only a few fandoms for now, but feel free to add new ones; just observe the heading sizes. In addition, I source all my third-party resources if possible; please do the same to the extent of your ability. Any questions can be directed to my profile :)
In addition, feel free to do a bit of self-promo in your contributions! Guidelines are outlined immediately at the top of the doc.
Hey gang! I recently made a system for several Fallout chess for tabletop rpgs, specifically DnD, and thought I would share if anyone wanted to use it! Feel free to adapt and change whatever. :)
Part 2 of 2. Part 1 is here. You're working on a secret project, and you need to keep MacCready distracted.
You'd called in hundreds of favors, from vendors and shop owners, from other mercenaries, and from plenty of Minutemen. The newly independent Nuka-World had pitched in with some old rolls of film and even a few holotapes, and eventually, Starlight Drive-In was, well, a functional drive-in theater.
Keeping it under wraps was the hardest part. Starlight was so close to everything. Getting to Diamond City from Sanctuary? Walk through Starlight. Getting to Goodneighbor? Walk through Starlight. Going to Drumlin Diner, Concord, or any of the three other settlements in the immediate area? Go through Starlight!
Eventually you'd just bribed Hancock to send you on a series of random fetch quests for nonexistent items. He'd loved that, sending you all over the coast looking for weapons that "went missing", rare trinkets, and whatever else he could come up with. A few scandalous magazines were discussed before you shut that down. You two carved a bloody path all the way down the coastline, ruining entire camps of raiders, infiltrating Super Mutant lairs, and slicing through ghoul-infested highways.
"We're getting paid for this, right?" He muttered, his long legs dangling over the side of the high rise you were resting in. "Ammo is freaking expensive. We might have to resort to pool cues and grenades."
"Baseball bats," you said, joining him. The sun was setting, red seeping over the horizon. You had a feeling that if you looked, the colors would reflect in his eyes. Your hands intertwined, your thumb stroking over his. "So we can hit the grenades. America's favorite pastime."
"Now that, I can get behind. You want me to take first watch?"
"Nah, I got it. You get some sleep."
Most of your watch was spent looking at him and smoking, exhaling into the open air. You'd picked a good spot today, the shell of the skyscraper open enough to let some air in but just sturdy enough to provide some shelter. He was a restless sleeper, and had been since you met him. He went from not being able to sleep around you ("nothing personal", he'd explained) to struggling to sleep without you close. Even still, he was remarkably catlike. His nose wrinkled as you drew closer, his entire body twisting closer to you. It was easy to forget he was only 22 during the day, especially in the constant chaos that you two thrived in. But at night…he felt small.
Then again, you weren't that much older, not really. Aside from that, the wasteland aged some people way faster than others. Deacon hadn't looked as old as he was, and you'd have thought "Elder" Maxson was in his 40s at 20 years of age. You sighed, padding over to him and kneeling, gently shaking him awake. "Mac? It's your watch, sweetheart."
He woke up immediately, eyes clear and alert. "Trouble?"
"No, no trouble. I'm just tired."
"Okay," He said, getting up and plucking your cigarette out of your hand and bringing it to his own lips. "Enjoy your sleep, baby."
. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ
"Why are we going to Starlight?"
"Got something special planned," You responded slyly, pushing open the rusty gate. It was vacant except for the few cats you kept around, and they were milling around the food dishes that you paid a few traders to refill when they came through. "Had Sturges working on it for weeks."
You grabbed him by the arm, tugging him across the cracked concrete to a blanket that had been carefully laid out the night before. "Sit. Relax. I'll be right back."
"Okay," He said, immediately trusting you. It had taken a long time to get to this point of mutual honesty and trust. "Hurry back, though. It's cold out."
"Two minutes."
You jogged over to the door, ducking inside and hopping up the steps into the box. You'd made Sturges promise to leave written instructions by the circuitry, and you leafed through it. The man had awful handwriting. You eventually just started flipping switches randomly until you finally hit the right one, the projector kicking on with a clack and a hum.
You joined him on the ground, resting against one of the nearby cars just as the screen came to life. The title card was just as you remembered it, but the situation was entirely different. It had been a new movie over 200 years ago, but now you were holding a different hand.
He was transfixed, gazing up at the screen with a kind of childhood wonder as the lights blinked in and out, their motions on the screen a bit grainy and dim at times, but still clear enough for interpretation.
"You did all this?" He asked, glancing over at you during a slow part. "How?"
"Babe, never ask questions of a woman with an incredibly effective network."
"You had Hancock come up with awful side jobs for us while Sturges restored everything, didn't you?"
"Yeah, that's exactly what happened." You smiled, turning your attention back to the screen. "Minor help from me, honestly, I was just a distraction."
"You're my favorite distraction," He said, and you rolled your eyes, grinning just the same.
"Watch the movie."
You two lapsed into a comfortable silence, nothing but the lights and him to keep you company. Both were beautiful.
