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@hi-fidelitea’s prompt: Lucy and the Ghoul arguing about the most Low-Stakes issue at the most High-Stakes moment

So this is the first one I’ve done for this prompt, I do have a second idea hahaha - also I thought I’d start releasing one or two of these before I go away, because I can’t resist!

If anyone has any other prompts, just let me know!

“Ghoul?”

Of all the… The Ghoul turned towards the annoying, distracting woman he’d invited along, and gave her a look that he intended to mean - Really? Now?

She couldn’t wait just an hour or so before asking him some inane question? She really had to pipe up, now, after he’d all but dragged her and the pup into the small storage cupboard, obviously trying to keep them hidden?

The room was dark, the light above them obviously non-functional - even if this place still had power, the bulb was long since broken - but her Pipboy lit the room in an almost eerie green light that left a sickened glow on her skin.

Had one of the Cazadors stung her?

She was pale but flushed, eyes narrowed, and he hated the annoying spike of worry that surged through him as he gave her a quick once-over. She wasn’t bleeding, as far as he could tell. There was no blood on that monkey-suit of hers, or, well, no more blood, anyhow.

If the poison was eating at her, it needed to do so quietly. He’d have an antivenom down her throat soon enough, but right now, they just had to be quiet. He could hear their enemy in the distance, slamming around, and turned back towards the door to try and glance through and see how close it had gotten. The glass had shattered long enough ago that it no longer crunched underfoot, that it had been replaced by thin slats of wood, nailed into place. He couldn’t see much through the rotting gaps, but if he squinted, maybe…

“Is that-”

He turned again, glaring fully, this time; his train of thought vanishing in lieu of survival-driven panic. Were they not taught common fucking sense down in that vault? He put his finger over his lips to try and mime for her to shut the fuck up, and held his goddamn breath as he tried to pay attention to the world outside their humid little cell.

She glared at him in turn, snorting through her nose like he was being ridiculous, when all he was trying to do was keep them both - and the dog - alive long enough to make a half-way decent attempt at catching up with her dad.

“-My finger?”

Oh.

He’d been wondering when she’d finally notice, though, considering it was held up against his lips, right in her face, it was only a matter of time.

She’d lowered her voice, at least, practically a hiss at this point, but her indignation was clear as day.

It was his turn to snort, to huff air out of his nose and inflame her even further. This close, he could see the dilation of her pupils and the angry rush of blood into her cheeks; and liked it just as much as he had every other damn time he’d managed to provoke the reaction.

“And what of it?”

He turned back towards the window, looking for a shadow, a silhouette, movement, even. He couldn’t see much, but he could hear just fine, and knew it’d scarper, eventually. Wander away, taking its young and their equally sharp talons with it.

“What of it, I, well, um,”

He turned back towards her, eyebrow raised, and back to the window.

“Spit it out then,” he murmured, keeping his tone under control. “Don’t go making threats you ain’t gonna see through, vaultie.”

She hadn’t been threatening him, not really, but as he glanced back he could see those expressive, wide eyes, could see how annoyed she was.

It suited her.

“I am not threatening you!”

He didn’t turn, waving his hand - the one with her finger - beside him to tell her to shut the fuck up. He could see it, outside.

Maybe.

“Actually,” she continued, all but verbally stomping on the ground, “maybe I am threatening you! Maybe I’ll take it back, what do you have to say about that?”

Why had they put these slats so fucking close to oneanother? He could barely see, even at a squint, and whilst the dog was perfectly still and quiet beside them both, the woman in the room with him wasn’t, and if he could hear her rapid-fire complaining behind him then the Deathclaw out there certainly could.

She grabbed at him - fingers sinking into the fabric of his coat, and pulled him away from the door to face her, instead.

“And that’s why I’m going to ask that you give it back, otherwise I’ll be forced to take it, well, by force!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

They spoke in unison, her tone angry, his moreso.

Hers a lot louder than his, even if her words petered out towards the end

He heard the roar outside, and slapped his hand - the one with her finger - against her mouth, pushing her away from the door until her back hit the wall behind them both.

“Finders keepers, Vaultie,” he hissed, leaning in close enough that his scarred lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “You took my finger, I took yours. It ain’t my fault you didn’t think to hang onto mine. This here finger, I’ve grown attached. The only way you’re gettin’ it back is by biting it off again and believe me, now is not the time.”

He pulled back, glaring down at her - expression stuttering slightly when he saw how wide her eyes were, how blown her pupils had become. The realisation of her arousal hit like a freight train. She… liked it. The room was small, but felt miniscule as he stared down at her, looking up at him like something from…

The dog barked, and he all but screamed at her to shut up, body tense, confusing interaction shoved to the side.

Postponed, but not forgotten.

These two were gonna get him fucking killed.

Claws ripped through the ancient metal of the door, and he pulled his guns from his holsters, gesturing for Lucy to do the same.

“This is why I work alone.”

[hi-fidelitea]

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i love being a 30+ woman in fandom. reblog if you also love being an old dame in fandom

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Fallout New Vegas ‘what’s in my bag’

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Hello Dr. Tingle, sir. I have a question. Do you ever begin to doubt yourself while writing? I've been writing stuff myself but sometimes get this sadness that makes me think it's not good enough writing. And I'm not sure how to work around that sadness. Do you ever have to? How do you do it? Thank you, I hope your day is as wonderful as you!

as far as a trot of 'is this part of my book is as effective as it could be?' or 'is this character working the way i want them to?' then yes i have doubts about this type of thing while building stories. i think that is essentially was the CRAFT of art is

but as far as a broader existential sort of 'i doubt myself as an artist' then no, absolutely not. i am the worlds greatest author. this is not a joke and it is not something i kinda think maybe could be true or i am pretty sure about, this is something i know with absolute certainty.

ART and creation are not objective, they are subjective. i AM the worlds greatest author and guess what bud, SO ARE YOU. the hurdle we must all overcome as creators is not talent, it is the hurdle of UNDERSTANDING. we already are all the worlds greatest authors, and everything else that claims we are not is a distraction

ignore the bog of hands reaching out to pull you down into this feeling of worthlessness, they are fake. they are an illusion. the only truth is that we are ALL the greatest, and the real journey is simply an internal one where we finally arrive at knowing this

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did everyone else fall in love with dulcinea septimus at chapter 10 or was that just me

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ghoulcy prompts

@oraeliaa's prompt: I always always love a quiet campfire moment 🔥 Far out in the desert, they come across an outcrop of rocks. A lonely shack hangs off the side, half-buried by sand.

It's a good place for 'a little R-and-R', as the Ghoul says—that stands for rest and relaxation.

Inside the shack is a dried-out corpse. That doesn't surprise Lucy. What does give her pause is the position of body—curled in the corner, clasped hands pillowed under dusty red hair.

Not dead, just sleeping.

The shack's roof is mostly gone and beyond the rafters, the sky grows dark.

The Ghoul wrenches a board from the wall and uses his heel to break the dry rot apart, then stacks it in the middle of the room like Lincoln Logs. Lucy watches with some curiosity until his attention turns to the body. When the knife comes out, she turns away.

She flicks to the map on the Pip-boy.

Zooms out.

Tries to measure the time between here and New Vegas. Tries not to listen as the Ghoul reduces the body to parts. The sound is hard to ignore—a soft, dry sawing that turns her stomach. This far out, the radio only picks up static, so she hums a little to herself.

But then there's a sharp, stinging smell. Burnt hair.

Lucy looks up. The Ghoul is on one knee, fanning the beginnings of a campfire, using corpse hair as kindling.

"I don't think you should build a fire inside."

"Given the state of this shithole,"—he makes an empty gesture to the dirt floor, and all the holes in the siding—"I'd say the inside's outside."

"Well, okay, but won't the light attract attention? Or the smoke? I made a campfire my first night up here and almost got my face chewed off by a radroach."

The Ghoul gravely says: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for I am the baddest motherfucker in the goddamn valley." "Is that...a quote from something?"

"Don't worry about it," he sighs with a shake of the head. "Listen, Vaultie, there's a couple miles of sand between us and anything worth shooting. The only thing to worry about out here is me."

"Oh. Okie dokie, then."

She drags her bedroll into the circle of warmth. Dogmeat grumbles at the relocation, but is soon back to making small sleeping noises at the foot of the bedding. Lucy sits and hugs her knees to her chest.

Smoke drifts into the night sky. Pop—a burst of sparks shoots upward.

Across the campfire, the Ghoul lies on his side on the bare earth, propped up on his elbows. He takes a swig from a flask and bares his teeth on swallowing. She drops her stare into the bright center of the flames.

Lucy wonders how he'd use her body if she died.

"That looks uncomfortable," she says, making conversation to distract from going down morbid rabbit holes. "Laying on the ground like that."

The Ghoul shrugs. "I got whiskey, jerky, and enough chems to get to where I'm goin'. Can't get any more comfortable than that." Then he looks at her in a sly, angling way. "Why? You got room in there for me?"

And there's just something in the way he says it— When Norm was little, he would wake her up every other night. He was afraid of everything; afraid of the dark, afraid of the HVAC sounds, and afraid of the closet, and the underside of his bed, and he was afraid of having that one dream again, it was so scary, Lucy, can I sleep in bed with you, please? Just this once?

The firelight casts strange, flickering shadows over the skeletal remains of the shack. The Ghoul doesn't need her to check for a monster under the bed, he is the monster. But she's feeling tender and lonely, and a little afraid of everything.

Lucy wiggles into the bedroll and holds the corner open.

Just this once.

"Sure."

The next morning, the cinders of the campfire have long cooled. The Ghoul does not protest as she digs a shallow grave and lays the body to rest.

[hi-fidelitea]

Chapter three of my ghoulcy fic is up -> waiting for something to happen: chapter 3

and folks... things happen

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ghoulcy prompts @queenlovett's prompt: Lucy tries her first cigarette with the ghoul after a hard fight with raiders

After the firefight, they hung around the smoking wreckage of the settlement.

The Ghoul struck a match against his palm.

"Well, that was a hoot and a half," he said around a cigarette before puffing a cherry into the tip. He stamped out the match under his heel.

The Vaultie did not reply.

She was on her ass in the sand. Her focus was locked somewhere in the middle distance, those honey-brown eyes huge and vacant as a cow chewing cud. Some dumb fuck ran over a landmine, and the Vaultie had gotten a face full of exploded raider. The little lady kept on shooting—good on her—but once all the raiders were down, shock set in. She parked it right there and had not moved as the Ghoul picked through the bodies for good loot and good meat.

Now it was time to get a move on, and by the looks of things, she was too haunted to function.

The Ghoul took a drag from the cigarette and held it, relishing the burn in his sinuses. Hot tendrils of smoke twined from his nasal cavity. On exhale, a white plume went up in the air.

"Bet you never seen a body come apart like that before."

She shook her head slowly, staring at nothing.

The Ghoul continued: "Shit like that happens from time to time. One second, a fella is runnin' atcha, and the next—pow!" She flinched at the sound effect. "He pops like a balloon."

The Vaultie pressed her lips together fretfully, then panicked and leaned to the side, spitting. She scrubbed at her bloody mouth with the underside of her wrist, where the Vault-suit was still blue. She'd get used to the taste of blood up here in the Wasteland. Everyone did.

He lowered himself to the ground beside her and offered the cigarette.

"Wanna smoke?"

The Vaultie accepted.

She looked at him for confirmation as she gingerly puffed, as if to ask, 'Like this?'

Smoke poured from the edges of her lips.

"No, no, no. Don't just hold the smoke in your mouth." He mimed taking a deep drag. "Really suck it in. Make those lungs work."

With a nod, the Vaultie vacuum-sealed around the filter and inhaled. Her face screwed up. She dissolved into a coughing fit and shoved the cigarette back at him.

"Oh jeez—! Why d'you—?" The Vaultie said, covering her mouth. "Why do you do that?!"

He slapped her back when another round of coughs hit. The Ghoul cackled. "It puts hair on your chest, sweetheart!"

Then she glared, and all the air went out of him. It was like getting sucker punched. No one should be that damn pretty with dried innards stuck in their hair.

His next pull of the cigarette tasted of smoke, and blood, and her.

And, well...the Ghoul could get used to that.

[hi-fidelitea]

@hetchdrive's prompt: When Lucy first stepped out of the vault all I could think was damn I bet I’d want some sunglasses in her situation. Get Lucy some sunglasses 😊

The cloudless sky offered no protection from the sun. Lucy felt like she was being cooked alive. Sweat plastered down her bangs and stung her chafed thighs, and a hot ache had settled on her cheeks.

Worst of all, it was so dang bright she couldn't even see, really. It burned to open her eyes past a sliver. Lucy squinted into the white-heat of the day, barely able to make out the shape of the Ghoul ahead—wait a second. She put a hand to her brow, shading her face.

Where was the Ghoul?

Suddenly, a cool shadow passed over her and Lucy startled back, falling into a defensive stance. Her vision danced with sunspots in the new dimness.

The Ghoul scoffed, "Ease up, sweetheart." Oh! It was him. His dark outline held something toward her face. "Hold still."

The temple-tips of sunglasses slipped over her ears and all of a sudden the world was cast in an easy greyish-blue. Lucy blinked up at the Ghoul whose craggy hands still hovered near her head. He was just...staring at her . Did the glasses not fit? A spike of self-consciousness had Lucy reaching up to adjust them. "Is there something—?"

The Ghoul's hands dropped. He looked away. "Found 'em on a corpse," he said gruffly, turning on his heel and continuing on. "They suit you better. I guess."

Trying to get out of a writing slump! Send me ghoulcy prompts and I'll write a little snippet~

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Trying to get out of a writing slump! Send me ghoulcy prompts and I'll write a little snippet~

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Y'all...We've reached 1,000 fics!!!!

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"Gee whiz! My new neighbor’s just radiating with charm!" (wip)

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enjoy another outstanding ghoulcy piece + bonus by @theosviscera 🧡

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fallout (TV 2024), Fallout (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Cooper Howard | The Ghoul/Lucy MacLean Characters: Cooper Howard | The Ghoul, Lucy MacLean, Maximus (Fallout TV), CX404 | Dogmeat (Fallout TV), Siggi Wilzig (Fallout TV), Birdie (Fallout TV), Overseer Benjamin (Fallout TV), Lee Moldaver, Hank MacLean, Original Fallout Characters, Thaddeus (Fallout TV) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Episode: s01e04 The Ghouls, POV Cooper Howard | The Ghoul, Protective Cooper Howard | The Ghoul, Cooper Howard | The Ghoul Being an Asshole, Soft Cooper Howard | The Ghoul, and he doesn’t like that he is, Horny Lucy MacLean, Explicit Sexual Content, twice and neither was intentional, Cunnilingus, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Enemies to Lovers, Uneasy Allies, maximus gets the short end of the stick here lol, Bonding, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Quote: Thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time (Fallout TV), Fallout Meds, aka the magic of stimpaks and radaway Summary:

Post-Episode 4 canon divergence:

Cooper sees the holotape in the Super Duper Mart, and when confronted with the ghost of his past, decides that he can’t let the Vaultie win. He hasn’t owed anyone for two hundred years, and he’s sure as shit not about to start now.

Inspired by this art by @pignk!