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luxaofhesperides · 5 months

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We Are Robins meeting to Signal apprehending Danny ; requested by @zylev-blog!

“Hey, Danny. How are you feeling?”

Danny gives Duke a tired smile, his head falling back against the wall. He’s sitting up today, which is good. It’s definitely an improvement from the many days Danny was unable to do much but lie down and grit his teeth through the pain as Duke checked on the gunshot wound. It’s a good thing Danny’s a meta with a healing factor, or nothing Duke could have done would have saved him.

As it is, the wound was severe enough to keep Danny vulnerable and unable to move on his own without making it worse. Though Duke has looked, he hasn’t had any luck in finding whoever did this to Danny. He hasn’t brought it up to the rest of the We Are Robin gang, but only because Danny only let him help if he kept it between the two of them.

What’s another secret? If it lets him stay close to Danny and make sure he’s healing well, then he’ll keep quiet and carry on the search by himself. He’s got plenty of practice in doing things on his own.

“Busy out there?” Danny asks as Duke sits down next to him, dropping his backpack onto the ground.

“Yeah, it’s tough with the cops after us, but someone needs to help Gotham and with Batman gone…”

A pained expression crossed Danny’s face. Eyeing him carefully, Duke opened his backpack and pulled out a few protein bars and sports drinks for him. Once Danny takes them and began eating one, Duke takes out the first aid kit, always kept at the bottom of the backpack, and sets it in front of Danny.

The most he can do is offer supplies and company at this stage of Danny’s healing. He gets twitchy and tense when Duke tries to tend to his wound, and seems to have plenty of practice in patching himself up.

He didn’t answer when Duke commented on it once, so Duke let the matter drop.

Metas may have legal protection, but that doesn’t stop people from targeting them. Duke has no intention of pushing Danny into remembering unpleasant things while he’s already wounded, hiding out in the upper corner of an abandoned warehouse taken over by a group of homeless people. Most aren’t inside during the day, choosing instead to be out with the rest of the city, which leaves them alone.

Duke keeps an eye on the ground floor of the warehouse, making sure no one comes in while Danny tends to his wound. When he peeks back, he can see that it’s much smaller than it was the night Duke found him, crawling down an alley with one hand clutching his side, tears slipping down his face. There had been so much blood that Duke was sure he had just stumbled upon someone dying and froze, horrified.

And then a shout down the road prompted him to move, hauling Danny up and helping him into the warehouse to hide.

For a normal person, if it didn’t kill them, the wound would still be raw and bleeding, larger than any gunshot wound he’s seen before. But Danny’s wound is closing up quickly, no longer bleeding, the edges a healing pink.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to scar, either.

“Think it’ll be all healed up by the end of the week?”

Danny glances up, then continues covering it with new bandage, large enough to cover the entire wound. “Hopefully,” he says. “Then I’ll be out of your hair and can figure out a way to get home.”

“Your folks gonna look out for you?”

“Probably. I’m not planning on telling them, though, since they’ll get way too overprotective. The only reason they’re not tearing Gotham apart looking for me is because I came here with my godfather and he told them we’d be gone for two weeks. Can’t believe he tried to kill me on day one…”

“Your godfather tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Not personally, or anything, but he definitely hired the guy who shot me. Though he also yelled at him for shooting me? Not sure what that’s about, but I never trusted the guy and he didn’t try to help me afterwards when I ran away, so. You know.”

Duke wants to have a conversation with Danny’s godfather. Maybe bring the other Robins along to make sure the message sinks in: Don’t touch Danny.

But Danny, acting so casual about his godfather trying to kill him, would be unhappy about it, and Duke would really rather be able to take care of him than be shut out for trying to take control of the situation.

“Shit, man, that sucks,” he offers, instead of prying for details so he can hunt down his godfather. “You want a hug or something? I can’t really do much else, but if it can make you feel better about all this…”

Danny brightens and shoves the first aid kit away, his shirt (one of Duke’s old ones he offered up to replace the bloodstained one) falling to cover the bandage. “Please. I would love a hug, dude, I don’t remember the last time I felt so lonely.”

Carefully, Duke wraps his arms around Danny, leaning back so Danny could relax fully and not worry about holding himself up. Danny sighs into the hug, going fully limp as he drops his forehead onto Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks for this. And everything,” Danny says some time later. He doesn’t move to pull away, so Duke stays as he is, watching the weak sunlight slowly move across the warehouse as it spills in from dirty windows.

“You don’t need to thank me. I mean, I’m a Robin.” He brings up a hand to tap a finger against the R embroidered into his jacket. “It’s what we’re here for.”

It’s been years since he saw Danny. After he was fully healed, Duke helped him get to city limits, watching as he boarded a bus and disappeared down the road, leaving his life just as suddenly as he entered it.

After spending so much time together, quiet hours of stillness just looking out for each other, his life feels emptier without Danny in it. He knew it wouldn’t last, that Danny would go home eventually, but it didn’t make the parting any easier.

Even now, as Signal, taking a break from going on missions with the Outsiders to spend some time with the Bats, his thoughts drift towards Danny, wondering if he’s alright. In his darker moments, he wonders if Danny’s godfather has tried to kill him again, if he’s succeeded. In calmer, happier moments, he remembers Danny’s quiet stories about his family, his town, all his dreams and hopes for the future, remembers the easy company and how Danny didn’t look at him with pity when talked about his parents, just quiet and contemplative.

Sometimes, he can’t resist the urge to look him up, but there are so many Danny’s out there that he doesn’t know where to start. He never got Danny’s last name or learned when he came from.

It’s not like he can just ask the Bats for help finding a guy he knew for two weeks before he ever joined them. They’re all busy with their own missions, and definitely don’t have time for Duke’s reminiscing.

“Just caught sight of the truck entering city limits,” Oracle says in his ear. “It’s heading towards the Coventry.”

“On it. Any movement from the mobs?”

“None yet. I expect this to change soon. Red Hood and Black Bat are patrolling nearby if you need backup.”

“Got it. Signal out.”

His comline shuts with a little click, and then he’s grappling over the roof tops, keeping an eye on the roads in search of the truck. He doesn’t have time to think of Danny anymore, not when a shipment of new, experimental weapons is passing through Gotham. Spoiler had heard a few whispers of it and Red Robin helped find more solid details; the mobs are all looking to take the shipment for themselves in an attempt to get the upper hand in the nonstop fight for control of Gotham’s streets.

It’s passing through during the day, visible and a good move to keep from being ambushed at night, but it’s not enough to stop mobs hoping to take out their competition with new weapons. Duke enters the Coventry just as his comline beeps once and Oracle begins giving him specific directions, along with a brief description of what the truck looks like.

Apparently, the weapons are being moved in a U-Haul rental truck. That is… certainly a Choice™ to make for moving weapons around the country.

He follows it from the rooftops, but nothing happens. The truck passes through the Coventry without incident and takes a turn that keeps it away from Crime Alley and the Bowery. It gets to the middle of East End then pulls to a stop in the parking lot of a diner.

Two people get out and stretch, then head in to get something to eat.

It would be the perfect time for someone to break in. Duke pulls the light over himself, manipulating it to make him disappear from sight as he looks down from the edge of the rooftop, tense and prepared for anything.

He almost doesn’t see it at first. It’s just a flicker, a flash of color, a shift in the shadows across the street. But he does see it, even if he can’t find it again, and drops down from the roof, creeping towards the truck.

Duke waits, holding his breath, off to the side of the parking lot.

A minute passes. And then a figure materializes out of thin air, floating right behind the truck. All Duke can see is white hair and a black body suit; they’re either a meta or an alien, but either way, Duke is ready to take them down.

The figure lifts their hands and a bolt of neon green energy hits the truck, melting the back and leaving a large hole that gives them direct access to the weapons. And then they shoot again, destroying the weapons.

“Phantom!” someone shouts, and the truck driver comes tearing out of the restaurant, a white gun in his hand. His companion follows, her gun also out, and the begin shooting.

Phantom dodges the blasts, then vanishes from sight. He reappears behind them a moment later, tackling back of them into the side of the truck.

“No you don’t!” Duke say, rushing forward as he pulls at the shadows around him then sends them racing towards Phantom, restraining them. The driver and his companion collapse onto the ground, groaning weakly, and Duke grits his teeth. “O, send someone to look after the people moving the weapons. Apprehending an attacker now.”

He doesn’t wait to hear a response, tightening the shadow’s grip on Phantom, who struggles fiercely.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he says, pulling Phantom closer to him.

Phantom doesn’t answer. They just scream, the force of it making Duke fall back. His shadows dissipate, and Phantom flies up.

“Get back here!”

Duke gives chase, dropping in and out of shadows, throwing some at Phantom in the hopes of catching him again. But Phantom is fast and it takes all he has to keep up as they cross Gotham.

He thought Phantom was flying around blindly, but the way they move across the roofs and then through the streets are too confident, too focused to be anything other than someone with a destination in mind. But where? Where could they be going? If they’ve been in Gotham, then Duke would have heard of them.

A flying, powerful meta with a multitude of powers? Yeah, he would have known about them.

Phantom flies through a wall and Duke curses, going onto the roof and looking around, waiting to see them fly out. But they don’t and Duke finds a broken skylight to drop in from, landing on the support beams of the warehouse, well above the ground.

He knows the warehouse, he realizes suddenly. It’s the warehouse Danny hid in while he was healing. Duke hasn’t been back in years.

“Just listen to me, please,” a voice says behind him, and Duke tense, spinning around to face Phantom, floating just out of reaching distance. “Those weapons are dangerous. No one should have them, it’s why I had to destroy them. Please, you can’t let them get those weapons out.”

Duke stares. Something about Phantom is familiar. The shape of his face, maybe. His voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s in the warehouse again, with someone pleading for his help.

Maybe it’s all in his mind.

“Danny?”

Phantom flinches, floating back a few inches. “What— How—”

“What happened? Is it your godfather again?”

“My— Duke? Is that you?!”

He definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but Danny’s here. Danny’s here in front of him, needing help, and he doesn’t need the Signal. He needs Duke.

He pulls off his helmet and lifts his bare face to Danny.

“Oh,” Danny breathes. “Well. I guess I should have known you’d be a hero. Can you help me one last time?”

“Yeah, of course Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“Those weapons, they were first made to kill me and others like me. It’s a whole thing I don’t have time to explain. But they’ve been changed to affect humans, all types of people, as well. I can survive a few hits from those weapons, but for most people, it would kill them instantly. I need to destroy all of them and stop any further production before the rest of the world gets a hold of them.”

“That’s why you—”

“They have to be destroyed,” Danny says. “And the people making and selling them need to be stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve tried, but…”

“I’ll help,” Duke says, “I’ll help. This is a big enough problem to bring the Outsiders into it. Or the Bats, but they like to stay in Gotham.”

Danny floats closer, looking painfully relieved. “Really? They’ll be able to put an end to this?”

Duke reaches for him. “Yeah. they can do it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Danny’s feet land on the support beam as his hand meets Duke’s. They balance above the rest of the warehouse, drinking in the sight of each other. Duke rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles in soothing circles and watches as the tension begins to fall away from Danny’s shoulders.

“Duke,” he whispers, “I’ve missed you—”

The door below is kicked open, and a gunshot rings out.

Moving on instinct, Duke tackles Danny, wrapping him up in his arms as they fall off the support beam. They hit the ground hard, rolling a bit, and Duke tucks Danny into his chest, bodily protecting him.

“Narrows!”

The Red Hood stands over him, menacing, a gun pointed at him.

“Hood?” He loosens his grip on Danny. “What the hell was that for?”

“Thought you needed back up. You chased after our guy and lost your helmet, I think I’m right to be a little worried about you. So, who’s this?” There’s a hard edge to his voice, and Duke realizes with a sinking heart that all anyone else sees is an aggressor, a meta who attacked a truck full of weapons, attacked two people, and had to be chased down by the Signal. Jason’s seeing a threat and acting accordingly, putting Duke’s safety first.

And with his helmet off, identity clear, Danny’s even more dangerous now that he has this knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers to Duke. He doesn’t have time to ask for what? before Danny’s shooting another beam of green energy at Jason then taking off, flying through the roof and out of sight.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, straightening up from where he ducked to avoid being hit, then puts his gun away and kneels next to Duke. “You alright? Why’d you let him go? I thought you had him.”

“I’m fine. He’s not… He wasn’t going to hurt me. He just needed help.”

“Sure. And what are you not telling me?”

“I knew him. He’s a good person, but he’s been in danger for a long time. This was him trying to protect others from what he went through.”

Jason takes off the helmet and stares at him. Then he sighs and reaches a hand down to help Duke to his feet. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back to the truck. You have until then to convince me that they’re the problem, and if they are, then I’ll help you blow up more of their weapons.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, then pulls his helmet back on. “Grab your helmet. We’re wasting daylight, Narrows.”

There’s nothing else he can do, no way to search for Danny when there are other leads to chase, so Duke grapples up to the catwalk where his helmet landed and grabs it.

Just before he puts it on, he sees a flicker of white just outside the window he’s facing. He ducks his head to hide a smile. It’s almost like he’s stepped back in time; Danny’s here in Gotham, needing help and asking for it in the warehouse.

And though so much has changed in those years, there’s still one thing that Duke will ensure never changes: he’s Danny’s hero. Above Robin, or Signal, or anything else, Duke is Danny’s hero.

This time, he has the power to actually help Danny. He’s going to make sure no one ever hurts Danny again.

“Let’s go,” he says, jumping back down to Jason, helmet on. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dp x dc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #gotta be honest i do Not know much abt the We Are Robin movement. have yet to read those comics....#also this definitely deviated a bit from your prompt. sorry!! still hope i got the main things you wanted to see #duke being dannys hero is something so special to me...#also it is his parents selling weapons and blueprints and things to the giw which is then given to the military for new weapons #a truly terrible pipeline #duke and jason and whoever else joins will find the source of the weapons. break into the fenton home. and dannys just there eating toast #in his pjs like. um hi guys did u need something? (and staring at duke like DUDE HELLO WTF??)#a mess of a situation :) not gonna write it bc i know it would get away from me and get so long #thanks for the prompt!!

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maladaptivewriting · 2 months

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being on marauders tumblr has made me realize that a lot of people would actually share anne rice's (terrible) opinion about fanfiction if they didn't write fanfic themselves.

#what do you mean people aren't allowed to make transformative works of YOUR transformative work?#people will literally come on this terrible website and say “no one can write fanfic of another person's fanfic”#the call is coming from inside the house #“ask before you make fanart”#sorry but maybe just take your fanfic down #how are you going to create fan works and then turn around and act like a dickhead when someone else does the same thing #btw this is not about selling bound fanfic #that is an outlier cause that's just copying someone's story and using it to make money for yourself #marauders #fanfic #ao3 #wolfstar #jegulus #jily #drarry #dramione

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wreckedandpolemic · 2 months

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insatiable, is what she is - matty healy

prompt: love potion

(mdni) day 2 of the valentine75 prompts by the inimitable @abiiors <3 i hope i'm doing them justice

warnings: aphrodisiac use (lets pretend these are real its my mind palace ok), unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), degradation, dom/sub dynamic, choking, d word

You stare down at the chocolates sitting on the table, unassuming foil wrapped around an alluring promise. “You ready?” Matty asks, his tone chasing a shudder up your spine. You’d teased the idea of an aphrodisiac a little while ago, tempted by the idea of lust so uncontrollable it consumes you entirely. In his way, Matty had gone off and ordered it, and you’d both promptly forgotten until it was sitting innocently at your doorstep.

Smirking, you pick up a chocolate and tap it against his in a toast, twisting the wrapper off with your teeth and placing it on your tongue. The familiar tastes of chocolate and champagne fill your mouth as it melts, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You aren’t sure what to expect, studying Matty’s face carefully, searching for any sign that he’s affected. His eyes flicker over you and he laughs, giving a little, clueless shrug. “Waste of money, that, innit?”

“Give it some time,” you say, hand wandering to unbutton your blouse and grinning as Matty’s gaze drifts downward.

“That’s cheating,” he mutters, swallowing thickly. “You know your fucking tits drive me crazy.”

Raking your fingers through your hair, you lean and arch your back, pushing your chest out towards him. “Is it working yet?”

A smirk pulls at Matty’s lips and he shakes his head. “Nah. Just you, I think.”

You lean across the table with a pout. “Well, that just won’t do,” you say, spinning around in your chair and getting to your feet. “We’ve got to see if it works for real. Give it…” You examine the box. “Ten minutes, and we’ll see, hm? Good boy.” You pat his cheek patronisingly as he nods, swaying your hips purposefully as you stroll into the living room. A smile plays on your lips as Matty’s gaze burns brazenly into your ass, heat licking up your spine.

You kick back on the sofa, flipping through the channels and settling on some mindless sitcom, obnoxious laugh track blaring as you sift through your thoughts. It barely takes five minutes before heat is prickling under your skin and you’re sweating like you’ve just run a mile. Your hands act without your permission, stripping off your clothes and tossing them away, leaving you stretched out on the sofa in blush-pink lingerie. It barely works, the cool air brushing over you doing nothing to combat the fire roaring to life under your skin. You palm one of your tits and squeeze gently, that scant touch sending a bolt of desire through you.

Yeah, the chocolate definitely works.

Without you even noticing, arousal has started pooling in your underwear, damp as you dip a finger below your waistband. The pleasure is dramatically intense with the barest brush over your clit, shooting up your spine with a fierceness that sends you reeling. A moan slips from your lips, and, as if on cue, Matty cracks the living room door open. He looks as dishevelled as you feel, face flushed and sweating, damp curls sticking to his forehead, already stripped down to his boxers. You moan his name and his eyes blow impossibly wider as he crosses the room in two strides, collapsing on top of you and attacking your lips with fervour. Your legs tangle around his waist, grinding hard against his clothed cock, frenzied desire swallowing you whole.

“Need you,” you gasp out against his mouth, erratic bursts of pleasure snapping all over your body, the heat of him against you glorious and extreme all at once.

Matty moans into your mouth and you swallow the sounds greedily, your lips meeting in a slick, messy facsimile of a kiss. “Need you so fucking bad, fuck,” he hisses. “Couldn’t wait any longer, can’t keep my fucking hands off you.” He shoves his boxers down his legs and kicks them to the floor, his red, dripping cock thudding against his belly.

Your hips rock as you discard your panties, a whine falling from your lips when Matty’s rough fingers find your clit, rubbing over it for the briefest second and sending a pulse of white-hot euphoria shrieking through you. “Don’t tease,” you beg. “Need your fucking cock, Matty, please,” you whimper, savouring his low moan as you grasp his drooling cock and guide it to your greedy, dripping cunt.

“Fuck, princess.” Matty’s breathing is shaky as he pushes into you, filling you in one fluid stroke that knocks the breath from your lungs, your cunt clenching around his cock like a vice. “Love this cunt so much, yeah? Love your pretty hole taking my cock over and over and over.” He punctuates the words with deep, intense thrusts that have you unspooling faster and faster with every passing second, the pornographic sounds of your hips meeting driving you wild. Matty dips his head to bite savagely at your neck and chest, sucking stark, red bruises into your skin.

Thrashing under him, incoherent curses fall from your lips; you pant as your heartbeat races, hammering like a wounded animal. Heat pools in your core, your cunt wet and sticking your thighs, your head swimming in pleasure. Matty rubs tight, fast circles into your clit, fire catching under your skin and raging into a blaze that melts your flesh and chars your bones. “God, you feel so fucking good,” you whimper. “More, harder, please.” Your voice cracks on the last syllable, breaking into a drawn-out, desperate whine that has Matty groaning into your mouth.

His hips snap against yours with abandon, your eyes rolling back as you struggle to breathe through the sheer pleasure that crushes your lungs. “That’s it,” Matty murmurs, breaths coming hot and heavy against your lips. You swallow greedy lungfuls of him, intoxicated. “Good girl. My pretty little slut. Fucking drunk on my cock, hm?” A smirk stretches wide and filthy across his lips, bruised and spit-slick. “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Have you fuckin’ dripping for me,” he promises, his words sending steady drips of hot pleasure down your spine. Matty’s eyes go wide and he smirks down at you. “You like that? You like hearing how bad I wanna cum in this sweet cunt? Want me to stuff you full, put a fucking baby in you?”

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, filthy words washing over you like a prayer. One last harsh circle over your clit, and you scream, the taste of iron filling your mouth as you bite down hard on Matty’s lower lip. Euphoria spills over you in unending waves, your grip on your consciousness going slack as Matty fucks into you over and over. He spills inside you with a sound that starts as your name and crumbles into a long, low moan, murmuring how he adores your cunt and how pretty it looks pumped full of him.

You’re dizzy, back arching and body sweat-soaked as you come down from your high, whining when Matty pulls out of you. It barely takes the edge off, your body still simmering and weak with desire. “Want more,” you beg, grabbing at him as he pouts down at you, the faint edge of humiliation coiling hot and heavy in your core.

“Sweet baby,” he croons. “Let me take you to bed, hm?” You crush your lips against his in lieu of an answer, your stomach swooping as he scoops you off the sofa and gets to his feet. Your legs stay twined around his waist, grinding your cunt against his stomach and moaning wantonly into his mouth.

You only make it a few feet before Matty is depositing you on the kitchen island, kissing over the bruises on your neck as he makes his way down your body. “Drive me fucking crazy, love. Need to eat you. Please?” he murmurs, kissing over your thighs as you giggle and squirm.

Carding a hand through Matty’s greying curls, you rest your legs over his shoulders. “So fucking pretty when you’re on your knees for me. Fucking cuntstruck, yeah?” Patting his cheek, you shift your hips, arching your back to press your cunt towards him.

His tongue darts out to brush over your clit and you gasp, a bright spark of pleasure buzzing intensely up your spine. Your hand fists in his hair and you drag his head so his mouth meets your skin. A silent gasp falls from your lips as Matty works his tongue over you in long, sloppy strokes, alternating between sucking your clit and lapping at your hole in a toe-curling rhythm. Unbidden, your hips grind against his face, ecstasy churning in your belly as your hands white-knuckle the edge of the counter.

Matty moans into your cunt, the sound rolling through you deliciously, white-hot pleasure flooding your vision as your eyes screw shut. “Taste so fucking good,” Matty murmurs reverently, palms gliding over your thighs and sending a shiver up your spine. “I can taste myself on you. So fucking hot,” he adds, burying his head back between your thighs and tongue-fucking you wildly.

Pulses of heat throb desperately in your cunt, a second heartbeat jackhammering against Matty’s mouth. His fingers come up to rub at your clit, calluses scraping at your tender nerves gloriously. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as he eats you like a man starved. Pleasure builds at the base of your spine, spreading through your limbs and setting your head spinning as you grind desperately against Matty’s mouth. The elastic band of tension in your belly pulls tighter and tighter until it rends in two, shockwaves coursing through you as you gasp and writhe. Your vision whites out, euphoria overtaking you, so hot it’s blinding.

Matty moans softly between your legs, murmuring encouragingly as your arousal drips down his chin, your cunt pulsing with the aftershocks. The storm of desire still rages under your skin, wanton and begging, thick and sticky in your lungs as you struggle for breath. He gets to his feet, leaning down to kiss you, and you lick the taste of you out of his mouth eagerly. On instinct, your legs lock around his waist, your wrecked, soaking cunt pressing against his cock. “Think you can take one more?” Matty asks, nails biting into your hips as he lifts you off the counter.

“If you don’t fucking split me open on your fucking cock in the next five fucking seconds—” Matty cuts you off with a searing kiss, your lips tender and swollen against his as he carries you into the bedroom. You smile blissfully up at him as you fall against the sheets, his eyes blown wide and his jaw slack. “Come on, baby,” you moan, hand falling to toy with your clit. You’re greedy, soaked in a pleasure so all-consuming that you can’t think of anything but him. You want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Can have me any way you want, just want your fucking cock.” Your words come out slurred, thick with desire.

Matty holds still, eyes roving over you. How he has so much control over himself still, you can’t begin to fathom. Then, a muscle jumps in his jaw, his fists clenching, and you realise how hard he’s fighting for it. You widen your legs and moan theatrically, showing off for him, and you watch the thread of his control snap. “Fucking slut,” he hisses as he collapses on top of you. “Greedy little whore. Fucking gagging for my dick, yeah?” he murmurs between kisses so hungry they border on violence. “So fucking wet and needy,” he adds, trailing teasingly across your cunt, sharp pleasure spiking when he meets your oversensitive nerves. “Just a pretty little hole for me, hm?”

“Yeah,” you moan out, whining needily. “‘M your whore, Matty, please—”

Your words break off with a gasp as Matty rests a hand around your throat; not yet choking you, just a warning, a promise that tingles deliciously up your spine. “Shh,” Matty murmurs, soothing tone at impossible odds with the pressure of his hand at your throat. “Be a good fucktoy for me, yeah? Nice and quiet?” You nod frantically, your grasp on language faltering, slipping from your mind to make room for the ever-growing pool of desire swelling there.

A dizzying burst of pleasure wracks you as Matty tightens his hand around your throat and fucks into you at the same moment. Your pulse hammers under his fingers, your heart racing so fast it’s deliriating, your limbs heavy with euphoria. A string of pathetic whines and moans fall from your lips as Matty — there’s no other word for it — pounds into you, the mattress squeaking rhythmically with every thrust. The stretch burns deliciously in your sore cunt, the angle mind-numbing as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“My pretty girl,” Matty murmurs reverently. “You love this, don’t you? Being a good little toy for Daddy?” Your mind goes blank, breath trapped in your lungs, your body suspended in endless pleasure. It’s constant, unyielding, stronger than you’ve ever felt, your cunt clenching around Matty’s cock, every thrust drawing you closer to rapture. Matty watches the change in your face with a smirk, gripping your throat harder as he speaks. “Daddy’s little slut, yeah? Just a pretty hole for me to fuck, hm? Get off on being used like this?”

You moan out something that sounds enough like yes to satisfy him, and he lifts his hand from your neck to grip your jaw, pulling your mouth open. Your tongue lolls out expectantly, and his spit lands in your eager mouth. Eyes fluttering closed, you swallow obediently, a shudder rolling over you when Matty returns his hand to your throat. “‘M so close, Daddy, please,” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet his as ecstasy wipes you clean.

“I don’t care,” he hisses, punctuating his words with another squeeze against your throat. “Shut up and fucking take it like a good girl, yeah?” His words wash over you, degradation striking you with all the tenderness of a caress. Slick, pornographic sounds ring out, your world going fuzzy at the edges as a yawning chasm of pure bliss opens under you. You balance precariously on the edge, your orgasm pulling you closer every time Matty’s hips meet yours. “You feel so fucking good around my cock, princess. Such a good little cumdump for Daddy. My pretty toy.”

His words tip you over the edge, praise sliding sweetly against the burn of humiliation. Your world shatters into sparks that burn behind your eyes as you come harder than you think you ever have. A scream you’re only vaguely aware is yours rings out, arousal gushing out of you and soaking Matty, puddling on the sheets under you. Chest heaving, you gasp for breath, clutched in euphoria so dramatically intense you aren’t fully sure you haven’t died.

Your body shudders, wracking with aftershocks and finally sated as Matty fucks you through, making good on his promise to use you like a toy. He offers you the small mercy of lifting his hand from your throat, eyes glazed as he gazes down at you. “Fucking hell, angel. Such a good girl, squirting on my dick. ‘M so fucking close, fuck.” Matty drops his head to kiss you, muffling his whines against your mouth as he comes, cock twitching and pulsing, pumping you full and painting your insides.

You pout at the loss when he pulls out, and he chuckles fondly, thumbing over your bruised lips. “Such a good girl,” Matty says. “Did so well, princess.”

Still cradled in bliss, you smile beatifically up at him. “‘M your good girl,” you murmur happily, eyes slipping closed.

“Yeah, you are,” he whispers, rolling off you and pulling you close, gathering you into the safety of his arms. “That was fucking amazing, darling. Can’t believe I made you fucking squirt,” he adds, awed, and you can hear in his voice that he’s going to make a mission out of recreating it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you tease, finally coming back to yourself. “Never been that horny in my life. Fucking chocolate.”

You giggle when Matty pinches your hip in response. “Oi. Thought I fucked all the brat out of you already.” He brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, adoration plain on his face as he watches you smile and blink sleepily.

“You’d try,” you scoff, whining and cuddling closer when he tries to move.

“Baby, we really need to get cleaned up,” Matty says with a quiet laugh, extricating himself from your arms and padding into the bathroom.

Matty runs you a bath, acting a complete gentleman the whole time, cleaning you diligently and crooning apologies at all the right moments. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you, your body bone-deep exhausted against him. Somehow, in that time you lost to your hazy, satisfied mind, he’s changed your sheets. He pulls one of his shirts over your head and lays you down gently, letting you relax against the crisp smoothness of the fresh sheets. Limpet-like, you cling to Matty as he falls next to you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck; the warm, familiar scent of him envelops you as your eyes finally flutter closed.

#can u tell i was ovulating when i wrote this #the ending of this is shockingly terrible but i feel that is not what u guys are here for #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #valentine75

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sea-buns · 7 months

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wow... what a season. it feels weird to say that this little 6-episode side quest, in all of the 19 seasons of d20, is one of my favorites they've ever done but it just is. it had all the stakes and humor and drama that you could possibly want, all balanced with an incredible cast of players. the table chemistry was excellent, the characters were so perfectly themselves, the TROPES were OFF THE CHARTS!

i can't quite remember the last time i finished something and ached so sharply for there to be more. i just know I'm gonna be thinking about this one for a long time

#i didnt delay watching the ep like i normally would so i feel like ill end up delaying making posts about it instead lol #i dont WANT to. i have lots of thoughts id like to share. but also once i get started putting them to words im gonna get WAY off track.#lots of revising will need to be done.#the adhd is strong with this one.#v excited to continue collecting cool art and fanfics tho. ever since trw ive been on the verge of picking up writing again #and i fear the worst for my already terribly hectic behaviors when it comes to hyperfixation consumption #dimension 20 #d20 #mentopolis

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sunnydayaoe · 23 days

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scene redraw... they did this... gwosh original under cut.

#okay to tag as ship; I personally don't see this as shipping still but it's okay ifyou do... I guess...#they are so cute togeather #they are a like.. a qpp to me #they might make me write fanfic for eel #it's terrible #my crack ship has been validated #I think I need to lay down #I havn't been thinking straight since I saw the video #tpot #tpot two #bfdi two #ii mephone4 #mephome4 ii #mephone4 #object show community #osc #jbird's art

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isalisewrites · 5 days

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TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER THIRTY

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

THIRTY EXCERPT:

“And you, Hatchling,” said Nagini, her eyes on Harry now. There was an air of contentment surrounding the two of them, as Tom stroked her scales. Harry’s heart swelled with warmth at the fond gaze Tom held for his familiar. “Have you agreed to learn how to better speak my language, Hatchling?”

“I’ve agreed to lessons, yeah,” said Harry. “It’d be nice to learn how to control it.”

“We’ll practice parseltongue tomorrow while everyone has gone to Hogsmeade.”

Harry sank in disappointment. “What?” he said, looking directly at Tom and not noticing his switch to English. “But I’ve been looking forward to the Hogsmeade trip. Aren’t you going? Don’t you have a plan for it?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Plan?”

“Yeah, do you want to get some sweets or check out the bookstore?”

“I’m not going.”

“What?”

“I don’t need anything,” said Tom, shaking his head. “Why would I go?”

Harry was at a loss now. He wasn’t sure why he felt so disappointed about the fact of missing a Hogsmeade trip. It wasn’t like he really needed to go either. But… I’d like to go with Tom. “I dunno,” he said, scrambling for a reason. “Uh, for a change of scenery?”

Tom folded his arms. “Harry, have you seen the grounds?” he asked with a sardonic lilt. “There’s plenty of scenery to take in. If you’re in dire need of the outdoors, we can always take the lessons to the grounds.”

“Not quite what I meant and you know it.”

“You know it’s rude to exclude the other party in the room from your conversation. Are you two fighting again?”

Huh? Wait, I wasn’t speaking in parseltongue?

Tom rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. You are not convincing me.”

“Yes, yes, forget I exist again, why don’t you?”

“Nagini, he’s being difficult.”

“Me?” protested Harry, shifting back to parseltongue when his gaze rested on Nagini. “I just would like to go to Hogsmeade.” With you. “And the others are going, too. Come with us. It’ll be fun.”

“A Hogsmeade trip is a waste of time if you’re not buying anything in particular,” said Tom, shaking his head. “I’m not interested.”

Nagini’s eyes were sharp as she eyed them both. She uncurled from Tom’s lap, slithering away silently, until she disappeared from the curtains. Neither Harry nor Tom noted her absence.

“But aren’t there other interesting places to visit? We could get a butterbeer.”

“It’s frivolous spending.”

Oh.

Harry blinked. Oh. That was right. While Harry knew what it’d been like to live without money of his own as a child, that had changed when he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter and discovered the wealth his parents had left him. He hadn’t exactly been ‘frivolous’ with his money, but he hadn’t paid attention to it either, not like Ron had often worried about money.

Even now, with his funds somewhat limited, he hadn’t really thought about it too much or what he’d have to do in the future to earn a living. But Tom, on the other hand, was on an assistance fund here at Hogwarts. The only reason he could attend the school at all was because of that fund. Though Tom had always appeared immaculate in his appearance, Harry couldn’t help but wonder now if his belongings were secondhand.

“Right,” whispered Harry. “I forgot.”

Tom frowned. “Forgot what.”

“Well… you haven’t got any family, so I forgot that also probably means you haven’t got money either.”

A mixture of embarrassment and anger flushed through Tom’s cheeks. His chest puffed up; the light in his eyes grew flinty.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #hp #fanfiction #fanfic #harrymort #terrible but great #hp fanfic #mywriting #harry potter/tom riddle #hp fanfiction #isa's writing

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toxintouch · 5 days

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Love the thought of Mhin’s monster being terrifying; a true threat to your (the MC’s) safety, an insurmountable burden that has destroyed Mhin’s life and that’s why they are so desperate for a cure.

But also…

Thinking about Androcles removing the thorn from the lion’s paw…

The thought that maybe if the monster doesn’t successfully kill you the first time, it will recognize you the second.

That transformation looks like it hurts. Before, after, during.

The idea that it will be a slow process, a dangerous one, but if you can survive, if you can calm it down–

Preening broken feathers. A slow and methodical process, but your heart beats like you’re running for your life. You keep retreating, feather by feather, because you’re not sure how stable this moment of calm is, how long you have before it will try to kill you again.

You gain Mhin’s trust the same way. Slow and methodical. Showing your hands at all times. No sudden movements.

Mhin knows you ran into their Monster–knows that you know. They hate the thought of putting this much faith in another person but they hate the thought that the monster might get out and harm people even more. You could be an ally in this too, they suppose…

They hand over a key to their safe house, show you how to use the security measures they have in place for when they transform. They explain to you how to safely lock them inside–it can be done from either side effectively but Mhin never gives any thought to which side of the door you’d choose to be on…

You start asking Kuras for medical supplies, unable to give any information regarding why you need them. You see someone selling hunting birds and carrier pigeons in the market so you ply them for information, paying them back by shelling out a ridiculous amount of money on whatever care products look like they might be moderately useful.

More preening broken feathers. It seems to–they–seem to understand that you mean to help, now. The process becomes easier. You start carefully removing bits of broken glass you find embedded into them–you’re not sure how it got there, if the glass is something mystical or if they went on a little rampage before you were able to lead them into the safe house. Maybe they’re just like a regular bird and they ran into something by accident. Maybe it’s been there for years because no one’s been around (or able to) take it out.

Does it hurt Mhin, too?

You’re even more determined with that thought, though you have to be so-very-careful because if you startle or hurt them, they become agitated. You’re not sure if they would hurt you on purpose anymore, but they sure as hell could kill you by accident.

It burns your heart to leave some pieces in before Mhin changes back, but you know you have to. You can’t help if you don’t stay safe. And Mhin always makes you promise to look after yourself when they can't.

Mhin transforms back and realizes that it didn’t take so much from them this time, that the usual pain is a little lesser, that they still ache but it isn’t debilitating. They write it off at first but the thought sits at the back of their mind. Filling them with unrest. A thorn in their side that they cannot quite reach...

They go to their safe house to check how the locks are holding up and they notice some things. A large basin for water. Your supplies. A music box, of all things.

Needless to say, they’re horrified. They demand to know what you’re doing. Are you trying to get yourself killed?

“I knew you had no sense but–”

You assure them that you’re taking every precaution.

Besides, aren’t you doing the right thing? It’s totally logical that they (–it , Mhin insists) can get thirsty, of course Mhin is feeling better when they aren’t being locked in an empty room deprived of water half the time.

The monster looks so sad, now that they aren’t trying to hurt you. As they became more used to you, you began to see the parts where they and Mhin overlap. Shared habits. The way they settle down to sleep at night is the same…

Mhin hates the monster inside of them, but you don’t.

#i wrote this so fast i am omw out the door forgive me the are for sure mistakes this is the energy today that we are bringing #Something something loving the parts of someone that they think make them Bad And Terrible #but not in an ‘i can fix you way’ but in an i’m here to support you even when you’re at your lowest’ kinda way #Soft Mhin Hours ft. The Bird Monster #mhin touchstarved #Touchstarved Fanfic #Touchstarved game #grammar edits made next day #the music box is so Atheris-coded btw u know they gotta play their bird some tunes even while their hands are occupied #toxintouch writing #touchstarved Wishlist: Mhin

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allastoredeer · 22 days

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"Chaggie's Totally Legitimate Dating 101 Crash Course" - SNIPPET

Alastor sighs again. "Fine. But if it’s over five classes, I'm leaving. No relationship, however fake, is worth that headache." "Wow, what a saint." "Hmm, I figured that was your job. Or, at least, it used to be.” He cackles. "Oh, fuck you." "No, I'm afraid that isn't in our agreement." "Oh, this is going to be good," Angel whispers, wiggling into a more comfortable position on the couch. Husk, on his part, has the good sense not to respond. Niffty's already buzzing with far too much excitement for Alastor to handle. Unlike with Husk, he doesn’t have it in him to reprimand her. The wild gleam in her eye is simply too endearing. "Call me down when Charlie's back, then," he says, heading to the stairs with a short wave. "I am not walking all the way up there to get your sorry ass,” Lucifer shoots at his back. Alastor snaps his fingers and his shadow peels off the heels of his shoes. "Send it up to get me, then." The glower of his shadow weighs on his back, a faint press of unhappiness between his shoulder blades, that softens into resignation as it sighs, and slinks across the floor to lean against the shadow of the grandfather clock. Crossing its arms, it gives the rest of the room a dull, miserable look.

It's been a while since I posted anything (life stuff, you know how it is), but here's a snippet of the next fic in the "Just Kiss Already" series.

Get ready for some silliness with a side of unwanted emotion (on Alastor's part, of course).

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slicznymartwy · 8 months

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I’m not sure if your comfortable with it, but if it’s alright, can I request Billy Lenz and the reader (established relationship) having some sort of conversation on his past and the reader comforting him?

this one is rlly sad im sorry :(( this is mostly hc since i've only ever watched the original 1974 film, so idk if this lines up with the canon from the other movies. from what i know about it, i think it's similar. no mention of agnes in this warning: sa of a minor mention, please do not read if that bothers you. also, reader insert was abused/beaten by their mom. very sad take care of yourselves please

☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!reader

Night fills your bedroom and coats itself on the floors and walls, except for where the yellow streetlamp spills in past your curtains. Sparing a glance to the alarm clock on your bedside table, you see the time is so late it could already be considered early.

Still, you can’t think about sleep; not when Billy is laying beside you and the house is blissfully empty, two things so rare that it almost seems serendipitous. You’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you keep staring at the ceiling and let the warmth of his body radiate into yours.

“Billy,” you whisper into the quiet room. “Are you asleep?”

You can hear him grunt and squirm beside you, and you feel bad for waking him. It wasn’t often he got a full night’s rest on a bed, and you knew for a fact that there was no mattress in the attic. There were only so many chances to have Billy and the house all to yourself, though, and you don’t want to squander it.

“Billy,” you say again, nudging him with your foot.

He grunts again, but it sounds more cognisant than before. He reaches over himself to pat your arm, almost like he’s quieting down a noisy cat, and you can feel his hand trail down to your own. His palm covers the back of your hand, and he threads his fingers in between yours, curling them down together.

It’s a gesture so sweet that you’re tempted to let him fall back asleep. There’s no helping your addiction to him, though, and you tighten your fingers on top of his.

“I’m not tired,” you say with a pout. “I wanna talk.”

This time, Billy groans, low and long. You think it might be out of annoyance, but you can feel him stretching out beside you, straightening his long legs underneath the covers. He huffs when he’s done, eyes blinking open.

You love his pretty eyes, an orangey amber that you were always getting lost in, no matter how unsettling they could be. It always felt like he was staring into you, like he could see the marrow in your bones.

You loved his intensity. It made you feel alive when the rest of the world was tired and grey.

“Hi,” you say, reaching over with you unoccupied hand to touch his jaw. “I didn’t ask before. How was your day?”

He’s quiet for a long time, and you wonder if he can fall asleep with his eyes open, but then he says, “Bad.”

The word hangs in the air. Billy’s face gives up nothing, a blank page with no words of his own to say. You frown and pull your hand back from his face to rest on your own chest. The other stays in his hold, neither of you willing to let go.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, although it doesn’t surprise you when Billy shakes his head against your pillow.

“Okay.” You squeeze against his fingers again, pulling gently on his arm so that it rested more heavily on top of you. The bedroom air is quiet, but your mind continues to race. It’ll be good for him to get it off his chest, you tell yourself.

“Is it something old or something new?”

He thinks about your words for a while, but then you hear him mutter, “Old.”

“Bad memories?” you ask, looking back at him. He blinks at you, then nods.

“I get bad memories, too.” You lean against him slightly, and glance up at the ceiling. “From when you were a kid?”

This time, Billy shrugs. You know you shouldn’t push him, but your heart aches to see him hurt and to not have the rememdy.

You turn around and let go of him for only a moment. You search for his hand again, this time with the opposite one to press your hands together, palm to palm. Your fingers entwine so easily, so naturally, that it makes your heart ache.

Maybe he just needs to know he’s not alone in whatever bullshit he’s had to endure in his life. Maybe it will help to know that you have bad memories too.

“My mom used to hit me,” you admit quietly. You stare at the way your hands mesh together, with your nails polished and Billy’s own chewed up. “She used to take my stepdad’s belt and hit me with it. Used to just be the leather part, but then she would swing the buckle at me too. She broke a tooth, but it was just a baby one. My adult teeth grew in alright.”

You keep your voice casual as you speak, because facts are facts, and there’s no reason to get upset about something you can’t change anymore. Besides, you reminesce about your childhood so infrequently that it feels like it all happened to another person.

You remember the beatings like you’re watching it happen to someone else – something else, because you don’t feel bad for them when they can’t sit at school because of the welts on their ass. You don’t bat an eye when their mom has to take them to the doctor to reset their broken nose.

“Bitch,” Billy spits out from beside you, and you have to laugh at the venom dripping in his voice.

“I don’t talk to her anymore,” you tell him, smiling sadly. You glance at him, but it’s hard to look at the mean look on his face. It probably isn’t for you, but your mind is traitorous and too sensitive.

Even worse, Billy could be mad on your behalf. No, you can’t think about that either, not when you’ve spent so long pretending that it didn’t really happen.

“Anyways. All that to say, I know what it’s like, having bad memories. You don’t have to tell me, just… I’m here for you,” you say, running your thumb along his hand where they’re still locked together.

“Want to,” he mutters, voice croaking unnaturally as he speaks in his own voice.

Quietly, you release his hand and instead wrap yourself around him, laying partially on top. He lets out a heavy sigh as you settle, with your arm coming up to rest by his head and your same-side leg resting over his hips. He watches the ceiling, and you watch his face from where you lay your ear to his chest

“Bad billy. Disgusting,” he mutters, and you pet his cheek with the back of your hand.

“I don’t think so.” You keep your voice careful and quiet, but he sighs and its agitated. Pent up memories start to overfill, and you can see it on his face.

“Mommy,” he starts, but his voice breaks and he coughs to clear his throat. “Mom. Fucking hate her. I hate her. Stupid fucking slut. She’s disgusting. Not me. Not Billy.”

You take your hand away from his face, watching how his expression continues to contort, mixing between anger and disgust and fear. It wrenches your heart in your chest.

“You’ve been so good, Billy. You’re not disgusting.”

“I hate her. I hate her,” he chants again. “Oh, Billy! Shut up!”

When he says his own name, it sounds like a feminine moan. You almost don’t understand, but the implication dawns on you only a moment later. It’s not difficult to piece it all together: his rage, the names he calls himself, the moan. You feel sick.

“Hey, we can stop,” you try gently, but Billy either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t want to stop.

“No one needs to know, Billy. Be a good boy.” You can’t look at his face anymore, the ugly way it scrunches up hurts you down to you core. Guilt claws at you from inside, and you wish you knew the right thing to say but you don’t. The truth, you decide, is enough for now.

“I hate her, too,” you tell him, and it sounds a little wet. You don’t let yourself cry, but your heart breaks for a younger Billy, afraid and confused.

“That’s my mom,” he says. You don’t know what he’s trying to convey when he says that – if he wants you to pity her, or if he’s sharing his betrayal with you. He whines, a painfully soft noise that gets trapped in his throat.

Gently, carefully, you card your fingers through his hair where you can reach, and you kiss his shoulder.

“She’s gone. She can’t hurt you anymore,” you tell him, although you don’t know if it’s true. You do know that, as long as you’re by his side, there’s no way you’ll let that woman touch him again.

“I wish I could kill her,” he says through clenched teeth. His voice is thick, like he might be crying. You can’t bare to look. Billy’s grief melts into you like it’s thermodynamics, heat into cold, and you can only hope that you can take some of his and ease his mind.

“How would you do it?” you whisper, pressing your hand over his hammering chest.

“Cut… cut her head off. Smash it like a pumpkin. Oh, Billy! Good boy, Billy. Shut up!” His voice breaks when he shouts. He coughs, then gasps for air, his breath shaking as he fights against the tightenness in his throat. “I’ll turn her teeth into pumpkin seeds,” he snarls.

Without warning, you move yourself to lay completely on top of him, pressing against his body with your body weight. He groans, and you’re sure you must be squishing him, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, his arms come up around you, hooked under your arms and pressing you against him with his hands at your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” you tell him, pressing your face against his neck. “You’re okay now. It’s just us in here. Just me and you.”

“I hate her,” he whimpers again. “I hate her. I hate her.”

You don’t say anything, because you don’t think there are any words that could possible take away his hurt without also being a complete lie. Underneath your body, you can feel Billy start to relax, grounded back to reality from the rotten memories playing in his head.

“I’m sorry today was a bad day. We can have a good one tomorrow,” you say. It’s an impossible thing to promise, but you mean it like one. You’ll make sure Billy has a good day, whether fate wants it or not.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll kill your mom too.”

“Thank you,” you say. You kiss his temple, and he leans into your lips.

a/n: reblogs and replies are really appreciated

#billy lenz #black christmas (1974)#billy lenz x reader #slasher x reader #₊*. ⋆༘ — requests #i'm sorry if the pov changes anywhere accidentally #please ignore if i accidentally left in a 1st person pov mention i think i fixed most of it #if not .. forgive me pls #i shouldnt admit this but ive been messing around on c.ai #but its the worst thing ever idk why people rave about it #writing ur own fanfic >>>>>#its such a waste of time refreshing for a better response #when i know what i want them to say .. its just letting people be lazy #i want to shake everyone using it and tell them to just write their own stuff #its so much more rewarding #anyways i am ovulating and thinking about cod men .. its a terrible curse idk why i let this happen

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apricots-word-corner · 1 month

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So I did a thing.

I blame you two (/j), @kitsuneisi @xmaruu11

It’s a DDVAU fic that I started writing and planned to be a short one-shot that grew WAY OUT OF HAND

Enjoy~

Summary:

“Just… don’t neglect those injuries of yours, okay?” Scar leans forward, looming over Grian with an analytical gleam in his eyes, and butterflies burst in his stomach as Grian tilts his head up automatically, baring his neck.

Those butterflies drop dead in response to the ice cold panic that grips him as Scar adds, “The scratches on your face are probably gonna scar.”

Or:

Grian gets a very prominent injury while on duty as Cuteguy. It changes his life drastically.

#hermitshipping #scarian #omg words!!#<- the official writing tag for my blog now lol #not tagging the main fandoms but its both hc and trafficblr #DDVAU #DDVAU fanfic #how long is the fic gonna be? idk man you tell me #when are you gonna update it next? idk man you tell me #the start of either something terrible or something great lol

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vulpinesaint · 1 year

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want to post on ao3. don't want to write things to post on ao3. want to post on ao3.

#*starts another longform witcher fanfic*#i'm incorrigible i have a problem i just can't stop #series continuation too. 'i can stop whenever i want! i won't write more of this character!'#and then i was Wrong. humiliating.#anyway ummmmm kgdfghs somehow my brain is NOT enthusiastic about having to write another 25k piece like that piece will be.#sucks enough already having to get 6k words down before i can post a chapter for my current wip </3 #and then i'm ignoring jaskier fic entirely rn. awful. terrible.#it's alright jaskier i uh. i'll have a Second longform fic going for you soon. and then it'll balance out i prommy #terrible terrible terrible!! why must i create in order to have content to show people!#writing should just appear in my google docs overnight for me to post #fanfic #valentine notes

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swaps55 · 1 year

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...did I really just see a poll asking how much art an artist should be EXPECTED to produce?

The answer is zero expectations, jesus fuck. Art you consume for free is a fucking gift, and if you're paying for it, the schedule is between you and the artist.

Can you even imagine feeling that entitled to someone else's creativity. What kind of capitalist dystopian hellscape do we live in.

#adventures with swaps #hell i put an awful lot of expectations on myself to produce stories #to the point i am rewarding myself on finishing fugue by playing god of war guilt-free #as if that wasn't something i could just DO whenever i feel like it #because i don't get paid to write fanfic #AND YET I FELT GUILTY playing a game instead of writing #and even devoting MOST of my free time to it #I STILL went without posting an update for over three months #which i felt TERRIBLE about #HOW MUCH ART SHOULD AN ARTIST BE EXPECTED TO PRODUCE?#fuck right off

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tsintotwo · 11 months

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Meant to post this ages ago but forgot- if you're writing a Sandman/Dream romance fanfic and think you're making Dream too mellow, too lovey-dovey, too sweet, I hope you know that this is literally canon

(Fiddler's Green talking about Dream and his gf):

#i am having a terrible workweek #it's bad #it's rough #i need something #to write #or just more Tom #more more always more #morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #sandman #fanfic

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isalisewrites · 1 month

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TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

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TWENTY-NINE EXCERPT:

Tonight, the moonlight shone through the rippled window glass of the lake depths, illuminating the darkened shades of green of their Slytherin dormitory. The source of those heart wrenching sounds came from one bed, the one nearest to Harry’s bed.

Tom…

Harry stood up with his wand in hand, double checking for wards or traps that might’ve been set by Tom, but there were none. Frowning at that, Harry pulled back the curtains, stepped towards to the bed, and closed the curtains behind himself. Harry turned back in the darkness, drawn towards Tom’s agitated mumbling in his sleep. Harry cast a silencing charm around them, just in case, and eased himself onto the edge of the bed with his torso twisted towards Tom’s head. Somehow, sitting on the bed didn’t wake Tom up.

That’s not normal. He better not curse me for this…

Harry lit his wand with a gentle lumos, dimming its intensity, and lowered it towards Tom’s face. It revealed a sheen of sweat on Tom’s brow, which was crinkled in pain; pale lips were parted in quiet agony. Seeing the distress on Tom’s sleeping face shattered Harry’s heart into endless pieces. Tentatively and ever so lightly, he placed his left hand on Tom’s shoulder and shook it.

Just as Harry touched him, Tom’s eyes burst wide open; he gasped a stuttering breath, as if drowning for air. He moved. Fast, so fast—Harry couldn’t retaliate: Tom shot out with lightning precision, wand magically in hand, its heated tip digging painfully into the bottom of Harry’s chin and forcing Harry’s head to tilt backwards. Harry froze. Those dark eyes stared at him, dull, yet wild in their light.

“It’s just me,” whispered Harry. His hand was still on Tom’s shoulder, so he chanced a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Tom twitched, eyes barely darting towards the touch, before they snapped back onto Harry, hard and unwavering. “You were having a nightmare.”

Silence.

Tom stared at him. With his torso halfway twisted off the bed, he caught his breath as if he’d been sprinting, his chest heaving up and down a few times. He visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once. His last large exhale was slow and long. “Oh…” he whispered. The tension slowly drained from his body, his shoulders dropping slightly, and the pressure beneath Harry’s chin lessened. “I… my apologies if I disturbed your sleep.”

The wand lowered and Harry let out a breath. “No, it’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Tom dragged a hand through his hair, grimacing. Tom set his wand beside his pillow and made an attempt to wandlessly vanish the sweat from his body. It didn’t work. He gritted his teeth; he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. On his second try, Tom succeeded, drying the sweat from his skin, hair, and pajamas.

What… what the hell… hang on, has he been struggling with his magic all this time, too?

Fuck.

Did lack of sleep make using magic more difficult? Harry knew Tom had been struggling with his classes a bit, but… had he really spent the last two weeks not in full control of his magic? How the hell had he managed to hide it for so long?

‘My lord, are you all right? Did you let him hit you?’

‘Yes.’

But that’d been a lie, hadn’t it?

With rising horror, Harry realized Tom had not taken that cutting curse from Archibald Nott for Slytherin political bullshit clout. No. He hadn’t been able to defend himself. If Harry had declined Abraxas’ request to search for Tom, who had expressed concern about his whereabouts that night, Tom might’ve been hurt far worse. So much worse. Archibald Nott had been downright lethal.

Fucking hell, I’m pants at noticing shit. I should’ve…

I’ve got to do better. I’ve got to start keeping an eye on Tom and the other Slytherins, like Voldemort said.

Tom met his eyes briefly, before he collapsed backwards onto his pillow and covered his eyes with his right forearm. He exhaled again, low, deep, and exhausted to the deepest of soul depths. Harry marveled at this display from Tom, shocked that he’d been allowed to witness it.

“I didn’t want you to suffer through your nightmare, so I woke you,” said Harry in a low voice. Tom didn’t move; he didn’t acknowledge him. After a beat of silence, Harry shifted to leave to give Tom some peace. “Sorry, I’ll go—”

A hand shot out, clutching Harry by the wrist.

“Stay.”

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