more reading recs
because one post isn't enough. we are hashtag blessed with fic.
as requested, i've highlighted fics with noncon and/or dubcon elements in orange. beyond that, you are responsible for reading tags, warnings, and summaries.
pairings are indicated, although these may change or may not be established yet.
there is no method to this madness, no specific order. these are listed here as my brain remembered them.
i've checked all the links maybe three times, if they're broken, i blame tumblr's formatting.
without further ado...
Slasher Handler by @dragonnarrative-writes - Ghost x Reader
"Simon does serial killer things. What a rascal!" Another fantastically written Simon, with wonderful dashes of Gaz and Price. It's put the term 'romance knives' in my vocabulary. There are many quotable bits and moments that made my blood run cold with how normal the ~situation~ feels, but everything has to be experienced firsthand.
The Far Shore by @deadbranch - Soap x Reader
DB's fic collection is rich, and The Far Shore is no different. I fucking loved Pacific Rim, so when I saw her first mention a PR AU, I did imaginary backflips. DB's Readers are some of my favorites because of how complex and realistic they feel, and when combined with the visceral depth of the neural handshake AND Soap? Compelling. The dynamic between them is fascinating. I almost can't wait for it to be finished so I can go back and dissect it.
Falling into Place by @mortuarywriting
Morg's brought the first COD Isekai AU I've read, like a little treat, with A/B/O to boot. The first chapter hooked me and cracked me up. Their dialogue reads so well, it truly feels like I got sucked into the universe. The panicked ramblings, the over-explanation, the 'oh shit, we don't even have a shared cultural touchstone' moments. I cannot wait for more.
Carvings by @femalefemur - Price x Reader
Cyn's got this amazing thing going on called 'Top Quality Worms' where she takes me by the hand and leads me down a rabbit hole I didn't know I'd find so cozy. Carvings is one piece from her incredible list, featuring a bloody, possessive Captain Price. Somehow, out of this entire piece, Price snapping a pen really did it for me. Did someone say loss of control? Oh no, not my kryptonite!
Under Your Spell by @groguspicklejar - Gaz x Reader x Soap
This fic had me at the pairing tag. Lured me right in. No hope for me, and I'm not mad about it. The way Gaz and Soap play off of each other in Under Your Spell is spine-tingling in more ways than one. The definition of scaroused. Kelsi writes a wonderful Gaz. The first two paragraphs in part two, Split My Skin, describe him perfectly to me.
Chokehold by @ccrites - Soap x Reader
Chokehold is a chef's kiss read. Starts off as a cute and sweet gym read, and uh, well, it does get sweeter, in a way. Without spoiling anything, there is a brief cab ride that made me take a lap before things got really going for Reader. CC's Soap is a delightful tease that is tender all at the same time. I'd join his gym in a heartbeat.
Knight/Princess AU by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - Price x Reader
I've read and re-read this AU series a dozen times. It's so gd cute, I might need to see the dentist about how it's rotting my teeth. Seriously, it makes ME want to be a princess. Specifically Price's princess. Bear writes such a sweet and gruff Price, catch me holding a hand over my heart and just sighing. I'm also a big fan of multiple POVs and the insight into each character.
Martyr in the Making by @eilidh-eternal - Ghost x Reader
I had a tattoo touch-up the other day, and while waiting, I thought about this fic: the dream and nightmare of being tattooed by Simon and the rest of the 141. It's a dream for obvious reasons (probably unhealthy for me) and a nightmare because of, well, you'll have to read the story. Getting a tattoo can be such an intimate experience. You put yourself into someone's care and get something permanently etched onto your body. When Reader sits for Simon, you're right there with her, the two of you on an altar.
Liquid Smooth by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader
Bodyguard!Gaz save me, save me, bodyguard!Gaz. Ugh, Gaz is fucking incredible in every flavor, but there is something that hits different about the guy when he's flexing those 'VIP protection' skills. There are several tiny moments in Liquid Smooth that made me audibly whisper, "God, I wish that were me." If you have a conifer tree allergy, you might not be able to handle the god-tier pining. (I'll see myself out.)
pornstar!Gaz by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader
Gotta include the series that I drop everything for whenever I see an update. Another fantastic depiction of best man Kyle Gaz Garrick. The charm, the jealousy, the care...My personal favorite installments are Whispers and Threesomes.
plus size puppygirl!reader / Simon & Reader / Punishment by @secretsynthetic - Price x Reader x Ghost
Ghost gets his Captain a puppy, and Synth gives us a tasty Price x Reader x Ghost story. I've linked the intro and a Simon x Reader snippet, but my personal favorite is Punishment. Punishment is a deeper dive into Price the disciplinarian: "how the hell do i get a mutt like you to fuckin’ listen?" I'd gush about it, but again, this is another one to read and experience firsthand. One of my favorite recent explorations of a PriceGhost dynamic.
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i'll probably cobble another one of these together in may 2024. my fic backlog is something else. i blame it on all the massive talent. mwah.
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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asagiri. hi. hello. how's it going. I'm placing my hands on your shoulders. hey man what's up. listen there's this thing i wanna talk to you about, are you free? great, ok so hear me out. you remember that one character- no, not bram, the other- yeah the clown. remember him? you know, it's been a while since we last saw him. what's uuuh what's up with that? where is he? i miss the little guy, you know? asagiri. hey. look at me. look me in the eyes, asagiri. what do you say about putting him in the next chapter? hmm? sounds like a good idea, isn't it? squeezing your shoulders now. hey man. bring me my fucking clown back. i need him. look me in the eye. do you see the desperation? the longing? this is what being apart from my special little guy does to me, asagiri. please, you have to bring him back. i haven't eaten in days, waiting for him to return. i am going to die. you don't want me to die, do you? huh? oh really now? great, that's great. so you'll put him in the next chapter, yeah? awesome. thanks man. glad we had that talk. take care
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wip wednesday
405 words of delicacy, next part of spoils.
poly141! x transmasc!reader
cw: noncon, pre-gang bang, human platter, bondage
“Clean them up. Eat.”
They descend like dogs, like sharks. Creatures with millennia of deep-seated instinct and the intimate knowledge of how blood and flesh taste. You howl in poor imitation. They don’t answer.
Kyle noses your mons, licking incessantly at your bumpy, irritated skin. John insisted on the first night you be shaved, shaved, so that the hair might grow back in a fashion he prefers, undoing months of progress. Kyle's hands rub your thighs as he eats the jam. At least there is nothing to mat.
Your shaking dislodges more food, scattering treats to the floor, and Simon’s gloved hand sweeps off the rest. Someone mutters about waste. It’s difficult to listen when the big man kneels, digs his fingertips into a flattened tit and laps at the icing that John smeared. A protest bubbles up in your throat, but he catches the nipple in a mean pinch, quieting you with a glare and a bite.
A moment passes before you realize Soap’s not on you, though as if summoned by thought alone, he wedges in next to the behemoth, brow pinched. He abruptly and clumsily closes in for a kiss. He tries to coax your mouth open for a solid ten seconds, then retreats with a yelp. He hisses, head jerking sideways to bark at Simon. “Cut it out, I cannae–fuck, stop, Simon–”
John clears his throat, and of course, he listens to Soap’s begging.
Their feast continues in near silence after that. The noises they steal from you occasionally punctuate their smacking lips, groans, and grunts. It’s disgusting, yet you can’t help but watch. Streaks of spit stripe your skin, glistening under the light. It’s revolting, yet you tremble anyway, unable to calm yourself.
The smooth warmth of Simon’s leather glove follows his mouth to soothe the bites. His unnerving, constant stare from your chest anchors you to the present, refusing to let you float. He wants you here.
Kyle avoids the heat pooling between your legs, where the apex is somehow messier with the strawberry preserves cleaned away. He licks and kisses your thighs, hips, and waist. It's there that Soap fights him for territory, tongue dipping into your navel, sighing contentedly when Simon lets him briefly suckle at your other nipple.
The quiet fools you into thinking they may be sated like this.
However, when John coughs again, their three heads lift in unison, and in your dazed state, you think of Cerberus looking to Hades for a command. John must give a sign or a gesture because their attention returns, and they pounce.
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