#fanfic master posts

[waywardstation]

Look for anything (or anyone) that could be familiar

For part two:

❤️ 300 likes

🔁 70 reblogs

Reblog with the hashtag:

🔼 for Ingo to find Emmet

🔽 for Emmet to find Ingo

[kissoflightning]

Master-List of Active Detroit: Become Human Writers On Tumblr

(Updated November 22, 2024)

[Update includes the addition of some new names & AO3 but unfortunately the hyperlink is capped, so I still dropped their pseuds and regular links in the list!]

[Colors to indicate my reader checklist have been scrapped; Tumblr tag colors do not show up on mobile, so I have highlighted the AO3 names with the applicable colors.]

New to writing fiction for the fandom, or your name isn't on the list? Comment/Reblog and I will add your name to this post! Note that I am adding writers with fics already up on AO3/Wattpad only, but I will continue to add more as we grow!

Apologies for mass tagging people, but I wanted there to be a list of active DBH Fanfiction writers to make it easier to find each other on here! LINKS TO fanfic source and Tumblr are included!

I also would like readers to take note that EVERY WRITER that I post here will appreciate positive comments on their fic! Even if it's just a heart, emoji, "I enjoyed it", or "Second Kudos", it will MAKE THEIR DAY! Please comment on fics that you enjoyed no matter hold old they are!

Also stats such as Hits, Kudos, or the fact that I have read the fic is in no way a reflection of the quality of the fic! I will put the writers in alphabetical order based on their Tumblr name for organizational purposes!

Also if you wish to be taken off this list, just shoot me a DM and I will do so. It is so awesome that there are not only so many active DBH writers but also - if you made it to this list, that means you haven't blocked me yet, so Kudos to you for that! :D

[Update pending: Will add relationship/family/character tags in a future update on December 5th, 2024. (You can also feel free to comment your fave ship to write about in the replies) Sorry this is just a list of names with any distinguishing of category, but this already took so long, you will just have to try your luck! Please notify if one of or more of the links is wrong/broken; Tumblr has a limit on hyperlinks unfortunately, so for some I had to just drop their pseuds.

Color coding:

Recent - Updated within the past 3 months

Active - Writing for the Fandom (Updated within the last 13 months)

Hiatus - Updated over 13 months ago/Leaving Fandom

??? - 2+ Years Since Last Update/ No Longer Writing for the Fandom, but still replies to comments!!!

[Sometimes I'll mix colors 'cause they wrote recently but are leaving the fandom or something]

[Example of my color system would be:

@kissoflightning because this writer has posted a DBH fic in November, 2024]

Okay, brace yourself for a LONG LIST below the cut!

# - C

Tumblr: @8-rae-rae-8

AO3: emogoose

Tumblr: @a-feral-coffee-enthusiast AO3: Unfortunately_sentient

Tumblr: @aghostinmyownmachine @scribeofred @thewritinggrindstone

AO3: scribeOfRED

Tumblr: @alecthewreck AO3: AlecTheWreck

Tumblr: @andthekitchensinkao3 AO3: andthekitchensink

Tumblr: @angelgirl768 AO3: angelgirl768

Tumblr: @anonymousedward AO3: anonymousEDward

Tumblr: @autiacorart AO3: Autiacora

Tumblr: @archadianskies

AO3: Archaidian_Skies

Tumblr: @astrahannah AO3: AstraHannah

Tumblr: @average-mako-enjoyer

AO3: AverageMakoEnjoyer

Tumblr: @aydaptic AO3: Aydaptic (Fic & Webcomic)

Tumblr: @brokskar AO3: brokskar

Tumblr: @calamity-jc AO3: Calamity_JC

Tumblr: @chaos-thirium AO3: chaos_thirium

Tumblr: @connor-rk800 AO3: thespacebetweenstars

Tumblr: @connor-sent-by-cyberlife @timebird84

AO3: Connor sent by Cyberlife (Timebird84)

Tumblr: @connorboyyy AO3: hereforthegayy

Tumblr: @connorsjorts AO3: connorsjorts

Tumblr: @cptjh-arts (Fic Art) AO3: cptJH

Tumblr: @cryptidblossomd AO3: C0nt0l_cha0s

Tumblr: @changethecircumstances AO3: ChangeTheCircumstances

D-K

Tumblr: @detroitbecomeonline

AO3: TrinityOnline

Tumblr: @discodeviant AO3: DiscoDeviant

Tumblr: @einradi AO3: Einradi

Tumblr: @illegalvampire Wattpad: vampyrl0ser AO3: vampyrl0ser (TBD)

Tumblr: @incomprehensible-phasmid AO3: IncomprehensiblePhasmid

Tumblr: @insignova AO3: Insignova

Tumblr: @fadedflame

AO3: FadedFlame

Tumblr: @fizzlefudge AO3: FizzleFudge

Tumblr: @fumikosushi AO3: FumikoSushi

Tumblr: @gauzyfruitcake AO3: beeayy

Tumblr: @gavinisqueer @listeningboy AO3: ListeningBoy

Tumblr: @gildedfrost-ao3 AO3: GildedFrost

Tumblr: @glxyqst AO3: GLXYQST

Tumblr: @hauntedoneao3 AO3: HauntedOne

Tumblr: @headfulloffantasy

AO3: HeadFullOfFantasy

Tumblr: @hemlockdumpling AO3: Hemlock_Dumpling

Tumblr: @hothotpot

AO3: hothotpot (https://archiveofourown.org/users/hothotpot/pseuds/hothotpot/works?fandom_id=23172234)

Tumblr: @katlakitty AO3: katlakitty

Tumblr: @kamari2038 AO3: kamari2038

Tumblr: @karasgotagun @jazzmckay AO3: karasgotagun (jazzmckay)

Tumblr: @kissoflightning AO3: KissOfLightning

Tumblr: @konami-code-ao3 @alcatrazoutpatient AO3: AlcatrazOutpatient

L-N

Tumblr: @l1av AO3: L1av

Tumblr: @ladydrace

AO3: LadyDrace

Tumblr: @leelany-world AO3: Leelany

Tumblr: @lethotep

AO3: Lethotep

Tumblr: @lilaccadenza AO3: LilacCadenza

Tumblr: @littlehaize AO3: haize

Tumblr: @litoperezito (Webcomic) AO3: LitoPerezito

Tumblr: @lugiadepression

AO3: LugiaDepression

Tumblr: @mangabirdao3 AO3: Manga_bird Wattpad: Manga_bird

Tumblr: @mercilessflowchart AO3: Mercilessflowchart

Tumblr: @moonlitmilo AO3: MoonlitMilo

Tumblr: @mnictasbcl

AO3: mnictasbcl

Tumblr: @my-name-is-markus-with-a-k @unlisshed AO3: Unlisshed

Tumblr: @nartes

AO3: nartes

Tumblr: @negative-citadel AO3: Negative_Citadel

Tumblr: @nock-and-bolt

AO3: Nock_and_Bolt

Tumblr: @nothinggathers AO3: AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)

O- S

Tumblr: @peachymilkshakes

AO3: peachienne

Tumblr: @peskellence AO3: peskellence

Tumblr: @r-ate-9

AO3: Kangarooney

Tumblr: @qrjung AO3 : qrjung

Tumblr: @ranunculus-bloom

AO3: Queerapika

Tumblr: @pseudonymmcwriter AO3: PseudonymMcWriter

Tumblr: @rking200

AO3: rking200 (Mawific)

Tumblr: @rk800-is-hot-change-my-mind @spensual AO3: Spensual

Tumblr: @sevdrag

AO3: sevdrag (seventhe)

Tumblr: @shinyportalsandthings AO3: FancyPantsu

Tumblr: @simping-for-kamski AO3: TranscientNight

Tumblr: @sunwarmed-ash AO3: sunwarmed_ash

Tumblr: @sweeteatercat AO3: SweetEaterCat

Tumblr: @systemic-dreams AO3: systemic_dreams

T-Z

Tumblr: @temporary-enthusiasm AO3: TemporaryEnthusiasm

Tumblr: @the-ineffable-wanderer

AO3: KetchupOnToast

Tumblr: @thenookienostradamus AO3: nookienostradamus (https://archiveofourown.org/users/nookienostradamus/pseuds/nookienostradamus/works?fandom_id=23172234)

Tumblr: @titaniumpsychologist

AO3: TitaniumPsychologist (https://archiveofourown.org/users/TitaniumPsychologist )

Tumblr: @veilder AO3: Veilder

Tumblr: @wamblings AO3: ambling

Tumblr: @wyntereyez @wynterscribbles @wyntergamez AO3: wyntereyez

Tumblr: @yayen-chan AO3: yayenchan

Tumblr (Inactive) : @zeliannetascho (Will actively discuss HCs with you in the breakroomDMs Discord server) AO3: ZeliaTascho

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Recs by aethon 🐍

Hi! Thank you for your interest in this blog 🤍 This is a rec blog focused exclusively on Tomarrymort recs.

If you're looking for Tomarrymort rec lists, keep reading! I will keep this master list of links updated as I post more rec lists to this blog.

*

My standard list of rec list disclaimers:

• Please mind all tags and warnings on AO3 before reading (including CCNTW, explanation here). I strive to include a balance of themes and a diverse range of fic genres and ratings in my rec lists, so you'll come across lighter fare such as fluff and crack fics, along with fics that may cover darker themes. • Recs are always listed in alphabetical order by title. • Because I'm reccing Tomarrymort ship fics (all ratings from G through E) rather than gen fics, I aim to find fics where both characters in the ship are a meaningful part of the story; there isn't significant focus dedicated to side ships for Harry or Tom before getting to the endgame ship; and the Tomarrymort ship is central to the story. • Finally, this blog is not a fic-finding blog, but please visit our friends at @findingtomarrymort if you're having trouble locating a specific fic!

*

Tomarrymort Recs Master List

I. Longfic Recs

(coming soon) Part 0 — Longfic Master List (56 fics) Part 1 — Tomarrymort Beginner Pack (10 fics) Part 2 — Intermediate Pack (16 fics) Part 3 — Advanced Pack (12 fics) Part 4 — 2024 Longfic Update Pack (8 fics) (coming soon) Part 5 — 2025 Longfic Update Pack (8 fics)

II. Themed Rec Lists

Harry-Raises-Tom Riddle recs (14 fics) Voldemort-Raises-Harry recs (13 fics) Fem Tomarrymort (F/F) recs (15 fics) Part 1 — Dead Dove Tomarrymort recs — Non-Con/Dub-Con (30 fics) Part 2 — Dead Dove Tomarrymort recs — Incest / Chan (25 fics) Part 3 — Dead Dove Tomarrymort recs — Necrophilia (11 fics) Tomarrymort Recs by Horcrux (22 fics) Tomarrymort Recs with Hemipenes (25 fics)

III. Answered Asks

Professor Potter recs (13 fics) Professor Riddle recs (12 fics) Tom & Harry Co-parenting recs (8 fics) Creature Fic (naga, vampire, mermaid, werewolf, veela) recs (25 fics) Unhinged/Dark Harry recs (13 fics) Independent/Strong-Willed Harry recs (10 fics) 1940s-era Tomarrymort recs (23 fics) Tomarrymort crack recs (34 fics) Tomarrymort casefic/mystery recs (15 fics)

IV. Recs by Publication Date

24 Tomarrymort Recs for 2022 (24 fics) Jan 2023 recs (10 fics) Feb 2023 recs (30 fics) December 2023 HP Rec Fest (36 fics) 23 Tomarrymort Recs for 2023 — One-Shot Edition (23 fics) 23 Tomarrymort Recs for 2023 — Multi-Chaptered Fics (23 fics) 30 Tomarrymort Recs for 2024 — Complete Multi-Chapter Fics (30 fics) 30 Tomarrymort Recs for 2024 — One-Shot Edition (30 fics) (coming soon) 40 Tomarrymort Recs for 2024 — Longfic Edition (40 fics)

V. Tomarrymort Weekly Recs (for recent fics)

25 October – 7 November 2024 11 – 24 October 2024 4 – 10 October 20242 8 September – 3 October 2024

*

[aealzx]

Phantom Rogues

A DP x DC fanfic

Rated: M (because of swearing, mild gore, medical details. just making sure)

Pairings: None (Please don't tag as any pairings either)

Warnings: Blood, medical devices, dehumanization, mentions of experimentation, violence, mentions of mild gore

Summary: After thwarting the GIW's second attempt to destroy the Infinite Realms Danny, Danielle, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker have ended up in Gotham after the GIW's machines exploded. They don't have IDs, money, or anyplace to stay, and after getting badly injured in the fight Danny's ice core has put him in a semi cryogenic stasis, leaving the rest of Team Phantom to fend for themselves while taking care of him. After two months of theft, avoiding the authorities, and sometimes doing a little vigilantism of their own, Team Phantom pissed off the wrong group of criminals by stealing a vial of Lazarus water. Team Batman is called to rescue them, as well as finally figure out what this new ground of rogues is doing in Gotham, and how to get them back home.

AO3 ________

Tumblr posts: Prologue

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26

[opiopal]

I think mc most likely gets away with a lot, and I think that’s really funny.

cause obviously they all favor mc, and they’re normally so sweet that when they do end up being at fault for something it’s kind of like “aw it’s ok you silly goose🫶☺️” and they just straight up let mc get away with it if they feel it wasn’t that bad, and obviously mc sometimes does get punished if they were apart of something, but clearly luci isn’t as harsh on them as he is everyone else. however.. hear me out.

how little trouble do you guys think a teen mc would get in?? cause clearly there’s the factor of they aren’t an adult and don’t know right from wrong quite yet!!(at least in the eyes of the brothers ofc lmao) how could they be so cruel to punish someone who doesn’t know any better???? And of course I’m sure we can all be in agreement that in the case of a teen/kid mc, they would become the 8th sibling. A spoiled one at that.

and depending on who mc is as a person, they probably take advantage of this a lot whenever they mess up. of course there’s also most likely the fact of mc being able to explain their thought process without the fear of being punished or yelled at and they’re simply redirected and told to not do it again, however I think it’s funnier if they’re about to get in trouble for something they did, but they just look at whoever is upset at them with watery eyes and a guilty face, and suddenly it’s- “oh- mc- no no I didn’t mean to yell- im sorry I know it was a mistake- here I’ll take care of it don’t worry we’ll talk later- of course you’re not in trouble mc it’s ok I swear,”

and for some reason literally everyone else can see how much they spoil mc except for the brothers themselves. Like maybe it even gets to a point where Dia feels he has to bring it up,

“I’m so glad we’ve had this time to enjoy each others company Lucifer, however I was planning on asking you about Mc..”

“Did something happen that I wasn’t aware of?”

“goodness no! Nothing at all! I simply wanted to bring up that uhm.. don’t you think you and your brothers… spoil them a bit much?”

“Respectfully, unless they are rotten I do not believe they could ever be spoiled ‘too much’ Lord Diavolo.”

“Ah,”

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

Guilliman's Soup

"Look, I'm not going to harm any of you, not unless it involves stuffing Guilliman in a room without his....." Fulgrim trails off, the demon prince's lower half coiling in discomfort as he stares at the abomination that bubbled within the pot. It smelled distinctly of both Mjød and cigarettes, appearing as something that Fulgrim was uncertain if even a Nurgling would eat. He certainly wouldn't. Actually he doesn't think any Slaaneshi demon is depraved enough to even attempt to make such a thing. He shakes his head. "Will I be allowed to help?" Calgar, who was certainly not at all expecting to see the demon prince of excess himself at the entrance to the Imperial palace, couldn't decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it meant that his primarch wasn't affected by any chaos god, if even Slaanesh was getting involved; on the other, did he really want to accept the help of a demon prince? Especially one that is well.... Calgar sighs deeply, "Fine, you might actually be a good deterrent to Dante anyway. He's been a pain in the ass" "Who is-" Fulgrim doesn't get to finish his sentence as a very old marine of what appears to be of the blood angel's chapter is shooed away by a serf with a broom, wacking the marine's shins with it as he hisses like an angry goose. Fulgrim has his answer on who Dante is but is now even further confused, "I thought Blood Angels were supposed to be noble?" "I'm hoping the soup will kill me" Dante helpfully responds which has the demon prince blinking in utter shock, because what the fuck happened to Sanguinius' sons!? Another Ultramarine, this one apparently named Cato is crawling on his hands and knees out of the room where Dante came from, coughing and generally being a rather sad sight with the stench of both vomit and the abominable liquid upon his breath. Slaanesh, who just briefly decided to turn her head towards whatever the fuck her demon prince was doing, vomits and mutters 'I can't believe none of this was Nurgle's idea; he actually wants the fucking recipe!'. Needless to say, Fulgrim doesn't really want to know what's exactly in that pot. Instead he dryly says "I'm amazed this hasn't summoned anything other then myself..." Calgor sighs "No, it has, there's the Sanguinor, and it's currently being kept back by some Sister of Silence out of fear that it's going to beat Dante to death with a sandle. Personally I'm not fond of trying to explain to the blood angels that we didn't kill their chapter master; it was the soul of Sanguinius, himself, that ended his life. I can't see that going too well...And Cato, please stop eating father's soup." "But-" "No buts or I'm throwing you into the same room as the Sanguinor" That stopped any more protests out of Cato who shuddered at the very idea of confronting the very angry warp spirit that was half of mind to possess someone.

The sound of what Fulgrim could still recognize after all these years as a very angry Leman Russ can be heard in the distance yelling "WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO WITH MY FUCKING MJOD, ROBOUTE!?" This was going to be a long and terrible process, Fulgrim just knows it. ____ This short story was inspired by a convo between myself and @moociaoafterdark on this post.

[impyssadobsessions]

WWT Mer Edition Doodles !

Here's my Collection of doodles from Haunting Heroes Discord event Who Wrote That? Mer Edition. I drew doodles of everyone's fics >w< Probably will break these down in separate posts. But I will go back and add links to this post <3 there was like 22 fics XD Also slight spoilers ahead. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

This one has batfamily entirely different types of mers. So many descriptions in a fun fluffy way.

I love the description of Danny in this one >w< And the cute flirting between Kaldur and Danny <3

This one was so bittersweet- I love it ;w; Two creatures of sky and ocean and neither can really be with each other except on the shore <3

This one is so interesting! Changing Amity to shore/island like city. Ghosts being sirens instead- just such a good switch up. Its refreshing! Love all the detection work.

I love the interactions in this one XD Danny's disbelief that crying is not him just dying. Kind of wished I done a more detailed doodle ;w; but still <3 And it has a happy ending ;w; Demon twins back together even if Danny still works for Vlad XD just very nice <3

This one is short and funny- though also like Noooo don't flush the baby mans!!! XD

This one is so cute. Danny/Tim >w< Tim just enamored <3 Its sweet, just a tale of them growing closer despite Danny being stuck in a tank and Tim being a biologist. <3

This was so sweet at the end. Jason in fight mode the whole time and then gets family he needs >w< <3 Also the mers are tiny in this one.

The only fic where Jazz was not doing so hot! Jazz became human and then ill- So Danny doing whatever he can to help her. ;w; Its a bit ambiguous as her fate- but I still enjoyed the oh shit realization XD <3

Cujo is a shark pup in this one >w< He found Danny's twin. This was so cute- don't be too put off by the uwu language- the second chapter is the same story just not with the uwu language XD I had to read that version. Dialogue still in uwu <3

[flashypunches]

( REUPLOAD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT im so sorry )

You're someone who's held great resentment for your godfather.

For your first meeting, for his ego, for his murderous intent towards your father.

For his failure to provide comfort or understanding when your parents refused you as a son, when your friends have left you as a corpse.

You suffer through long years, sticking with him through thick and thin, because he’s the only one like you, the only other Death refused to take.

( The daughter he made, the cousin you mourned, Dani, is gone. She will not return to either of you. It is always his fault. )

Because he’s all you have left. The only one who wouldn't refuse you.

He moves you to a city that matches your dreary state. Vigilantes take residence, closing in on crime. Closing in on your godfather.

Vlad leaves. He doesn’t take you with him.

He leaves you his wealth, a place in a school that makes you miss home, and an order to never speak to the ones who made him run– the Waynes.

He doesn’t return. Never properly. You make due with phone calls and brief visits every now and then. You don’t mind, you preferred this more than his haphazard attempts at providing companionship when it was too late.

Your schoolmates does not like you. That is okay, even if it leaves you longing for friends.

( Sam and Tucker are in Amity and will stay there until they die. They would never come and visit a corpse like you. Not when you desecrate their friend's body, parading it around, like you're him. They know who you really are. They've always known, they just couldn't see sense before. )

But you find someone who could be one.

He is prickly, rude, disliked less, but disliked nonetheless. But he is the only other person who does not care about your worn out shoes, for your scars, your clammy skin, all the things that made your parents refuse you as a son, as sentient— or about you coming in the middle of the school year.

You care not about his attitude, desperation clawing at your mind for any form of socialization not from Vlad or who he calls company.

You make quick work of befriending him, a shared rivalry for an annoying schoolmate pulling you close together.

You learn his interests, his pets, his family. You know his name but do not ask for it. Willful ignorance could be considered bliss. Just for a moment.

He lets you stay at his house for a night, though his siblings push the matter more enthusiastically. You do not see his father.

( “He’s on a business trip.” Daniel blinks, looking up at his friend.

“Who?” he asks, despite knowing there’s only one person that Damian could be referring to.

Damian tsked automatically, “My father, you imbecile. He will return in two weeks notice.”

Daniel thinks of his godfather, of his various excuses over the years to many people, including him. But instead of telling Damian the likely truth, that his father won’t return, never like how his best friend wants him too, an “Okay” comes out in place of it.

Let him bask in ignorance, Daniel tells himself, Let your friend have this. )

His father comes back. You don’t call Vlad when he forgets you. For all he wanted you as a son, now he never tries to treat you as such.

You continue the cycle of avoiding an empty house, of sleep-overs, of waiting for something to happen.

And something does. Your godfather comes back. He lies to you that he won’t leave again. He says that he will stay longer, that the family who tried to run him out won’t succeed again.

You do not think of your best friend. Why would he even care?

Your godfather treats you like he had before, when you still had your friends, your home. Like you are a misbehaving child, and him, the tired parent.

( Shouts of an argument ring from an dead manor, before being shut out to the upstairs.

Daniel slammed the door, not caring if Vlad had heard it or not. Ancients, he'd forgotten how much of an utter fruit-loop Vlad was. He gritted his teeth, rubbing the bruise left on his wrist by the man.

Why'd he expect anything different? Vlad was just going to be his usual nutty self, and go back to treating him like he was still some misguided kid, that he would just come around to playing nice with Vlad.

The wood of the door was smooth, most likely sanded down from any splinters by the past families who lived here. Daniel moved his fingers along the grooves, faintly remembering how he had done this before, when he was better. He bit his tongue, ignoring the bitter taste of ectoplasm it brought forth.

He hadn't thought of who he was before since he'd ran. He hadn't been this angry at Vlad since he ran. He hadn't felt so like himself after he ran.

Daniel would be lying if that thought didn't make him feel just a little bit better.

He let his head fall into his knees, back leaning against the wooden door, limbs sagging. He did not cry, because the Danny from the empty home did not do that. )

It irks you, but not like before. Maybe you were doing something right if he’s treating you like this now, treating you normally. Maybe you’re back to who you were before, before the rejection scarred you.

Damian notices the change in your personality, as you notice his change in costume. He is on the rooftops, in the streets, cloaked in muted colors, not unlike your own old costume, and his family knows your godfather is back.

When you come back to school after a week of Vlad trying to bond with you without success, Damian doesn’t say a word about your godfather.

You don’t either. What even is there to say?

“Oh, I know that you are investigating my godfather, and that you’re a vigilante, surprise!”

You would have been killed ages ago if that was your response.

Your friend does not invite you over anymore. You know why, understand why but it still stabs your core, in the way a butter knife does to wood. Dents it but does not cut.

You repeat the loop of boring conversation, of stilted companionship. You grow tired of it, as you always do.

Vlad's signature is easy to forge. You get to skip your classes under the guise of it being a family emergency.

( Damian is near the gate when he gets off the bus. Daniel's ratty sneakers are hitting the ground, as he walks over to him.

The weight of his backpack feels heavy, the evidence that Daniel had stuffed inside not helping his back. Damian twirls around at his steps, a scowl already on his lips.

Daniel smiles back, readjusts the straps on his shoulders. He whispers to Damian, uncaring of the fight currently breaking out in the front, the fight that Damian is watching, "I'm getting out of school today, wanna come with?"

His friend tears his eyes away from the brawl, looking intrigued at Daniel's offer.

Damian considers the chance. The thought of having to sit through another day of school with only Jon for mild company sickens him.

"I suppose I can, though if this is a trap Masters, then let it be known that—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you in still?" Daniel flashes his (only) friend a cheesy grin, ignoring Damian's eye-roll at his theatrics.

"..Yes."

-

The route to the local park is quick, though slowed by the need to be away from the public's eyes, lest they be caught right away in their venture.

Daniel gasps in a breath, ancients, did he need to jog way more. Damian easily strides beside him, the only sign that he was showing off being the smug gleam in his green eyes. Bastard.

The papers, the records, the flash-drive, all weigh down his back. Vlad has definitely noticed them missing, and he most definitely knows who took them.

But Daniel didn't care, not right now, because right now, he was spending time with his bestest friend in the whole wide world, and he'll deal with Vlad later. )

You drag Damian over to a secluded bench, taking no mind to the mutations Poison Ivy has given the plants near. The backpack is emptied, and you guide your only friend to the path that leads to Vlad's destruction.

The dread fades away, the high of adrenaline taking its place, at the crimes left behind in pieces, put back together in a backpack, and let loose into the hands of your only friend.

It feels good, like something’s been taken off your shoulders. You know that Vlad has anticipated you telling someone about what he’s done. He’s still not leaving.

Your high is running down, as you start to beg Damian not to arrest him, lying to your only friend that Vlad is a better man, and doesn't deserve to rot in a cell. You know that when you take a separate route to your homes, that he’ll tell anyway.

You can’t bring yourself to care. Vlad’ll just weasel out of it, as he always does.

He knows what you did, doesn’t bring it up, with the only sign being a watchful eye whenever you’re back in his grasp.

You get invited to a gala by your friend. You accept, uncaring of Vlad's reaction.

Your friend gets held ransom. No one’s worried, no one feels anything but annoyance. You stay away, not wanting to feel your core straining to help, to protect.

The Bats swoop in to help. You ignore the envy at their luck at having a team of other heroes to depend on.

( Your friend ) The Waynes send people after your godfather. He tries to bribe his way out of the charges, out of the jail cell that cannot hold him. They leave with him in tow.

You start staying overnight at your friend’s house even more. Damian doesn’t say a word about it.

His father does. His siblings do.

They talk about adopting you, they fight about Vlad, about what they are meant to do with your godfather, and what to do with poor old Danny. You don’t listen in much. They remind you of your parents, just a little bit. It hurts.

Vlad is let go. False charges, apparently. You know he just bribed the judge and juries.

He wants to talk to you, intent on having a conversation that lasts more than five minutes without shouting and tears ending it.

I'm sorry for not being there, please, give me forgiveness, are the only things you remember from the conversation. You do not give him what he wants, but the conversation doesn't end in slammed doors and withheld tears.

You sleep under his roof for the first time in weeks, the most civil conversation you’ve ever been with him looping in your mind. You even wonder if he’ll let you go to your friend’s birthday party.

You don’t sleep at your friend’s house as much. There’s not much need to anymore.

You wake up one night, to hear the sounds of ectoblasts and footsteps. They are on the roof, and you know what they’re here for.

You go ghost, going up the roof, watching invisibly as Plasmius shoots at the vigilantes who yell about something. You stay like that for a moment. You almost decide to let him go.

He's the only one you have left, to leave him, to abandon him, is to leave the last person in your corner. That thought is the only reason why you lift your thermos up, capturing Vlad in one fell swoop, before he leaves too.

The vigilantes are not pleased, as the Bat barks out orders to find you. You can imagine Vlad is the same, fuming at your disrespect inside the can.

With Vlad in your thermos, the Bats on your tail, there is no hope in your mind of getting out of Gotham with everything you need.

Oh Danny, what are you going to do?

[inkyrainstorms]

Martian Stan AU - Aftermath & Discovery

The Beginning (1), Aftermath (2) (here), next

Extra! (The Apology)

Ford didn’t know how long it took for him to pry himself off the floor, but it felt like hours later when he managed to trudge his way upstairs, eyes burning and throat raw. There was new blood on his knuckles, and Ford couldn’t remember if it was Stan’s or his own. He’d tried to scrub the blood off of the portal, but most of it had been too high and Ford was so tired.

He couldn’t fall asleep in the basement, he chanted to himself, again and again and again and it only occurred to him once he stood swaying at the top the of the stairs, that is didn’t actually… matter, anymore.

It didn’t matter what Bill did, or didn’t do.

The portal was broken beyond repair. His brother was dead.

The journal is gone. his mind whispered insidiously, and he couldn’t remember if he’d always been so cruel to himself, or if it was a byproduct of Bill. You got what you wanted, Sixer. How does it feel?

Ford hobbled to the bathroom as fast as he could manage, and hurled his guts out into the toilet. When all that came up was acrid bile, though, and Ford wondered idly when we he last ate. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered, Ford decided firmly, hands clenched on either side of the porcelain bowl so hard that they looked bloodless in the harsh white light. It didn’t matter what he felt, or didn’t feel.

Not anymore.

The journal was gone. That was a good thing, it meant that the portal could never be rebuilt again. Stanley made an honorable… he. He’d made an honorable sacrifi—

Ford hunched over the toilet and heaved again. Nothing came out.

Impossibly, time kept moving.

Ford was left drifting in the current, from room to room, machine to first aid kit to paper to specimen to paper to circling the door of his lab again and again like an anxious sentry. He didn’t process any of it, and eventually, the door was the only thing left in the house that felt truly real. It was the only mystery left that Ford could pay any real mind to, and most of the time he wanted nothing more than burn the whole thing to the ground.

Sitting against the door, head leaned back and staring at the ceiling, Ford searched his mind for something. Anything.

A plan, a goal, fuck, he’d take the will to actually get out of the house and get groceries despite the constant chance of being watched at this rate. There was near nothing left to eat in the cabinets that wasn’t rank with age, and Ford knew he was wasting away like this.

But there was nothing. No part of him cared.

He knew he’d always had the wildest aspirations as a kid and as a young man, that he’d never stop reaching for bigger and better heights, but the light had blinded him with its promise, and now he’d fallen. He’d fallen so far.

He’d said Icarus didn’t flap hard enough, when Fiddleford tried to warn him of his own hubris all those weeks ago. Now he was just glad he wasn’t an English major, because it had taken him all of this just to realize that Icarus had found the sun, been embraced by the promise of warmth, and burned for it.

Trust no one.

Ford traced an idle finger against the freshly bandaged burn on the underside of his hand.

And no one should ever trust you.

…

The worst part, Ford thought to himself as he brewed another pot of coffee and searched for a clean mug, was the uncertainty of it all. There was a grief in loss, of course, but not knowing could be so much worse.

Stanley could still be alive out there, among the creatures of the Nightmare Realm, all alone. He could be dying. He could be dead. He could be sitting on the other side, waiting, hoping Ford could open the portal and bring him home—

Ford slammed down the sole clean  coffee cup he had left hard enough to startle himself, and then sighed.

He’d have to go clean up the remains of the portal, eventually. Before he fell asleep and Bill…

Ford poured out the coffee and leaned heavily against the counter as he took a sharp swig. It burned the whole way down. 

What did he have left that Bill wanted? What reason did Bill have to keep him around if his research was beyond saving, if he couldn’t be threatened or tortured into complying anymore?

The next time he fell asleep…

Ford didn’t know what’d happen to him, and despite everything, damnit, Ford didn’t want to die. He couldn’t let Bill win, couldn’t become another footnote in the history of the world because he was just another one of the poor schmucks who fell for Bill Cipher’s lies.

Taking another gulp of liquid courage, Ford pulled his coat tight around himself and marched to the door of his lab before he could talk himself out of it.

Forget not sleeping in the lab. Ford couldn’t sleep at all until he found a way to sever Bill from his mind for good. Project Mentem had been a bust last he’d checked, but it was worth another shot. What else hadn’t he tried? There was something… a protection spell? A charm?

Ford contemplated his options all the way down the stairs, one hand keeping him steady on the wall while the other held his mug. 

He still wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted yet, or what his next step was, but Ford could do this. He just had to secure his mind, like he’d planned, and then get rid of the blasted portal once and for all. Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed. Nothing, nothing, except that Ford felt hollow where there must’ve once been something warm and vital in his chest. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel warm again. He didn’t deserve to.

Ford remembered a detail about sleep deprivation, as the elevator neared the basement level again and his heart dropped in time with the doors hissing open. Hallucinations were a common byproduct of the resulting sensory overload and exhaustion. They could take auditory or visual form, though visual hallucinations were a more common symptom by over 52%.

That was the only explanation he could conjure for the faint singing that echoed through the dark, cavernous sub-level before him. 

“It’s not real,” Ford whispered to himself, hands a vice around the coffee mug. He felt cold. “Auditory hallucinations are an expected and well documented symptom to experience in conditions less dire than these. Focus on your intellect, Stanford. Focus, focus, it is not real.”

For a long stretch of time, seconds, or perhaps minutes, Fords feet were glued to the floor of the elevator. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he said or did, the singing, or the static, remained steady and quiet. 

It wouldn’t go away unless Ford made it. 

Finally, Ford forced himself to creep into the basement, and then the control room to set his mug down on the desk. The music was louder now, more distinct here than it had been before. Had Ford left a radio on down here? Was that it?

Holding his breath, Ford crept around the trashed room, checking behind spare sheets of metal that had been propped up against the walls, kneeling to look under the control panels, and then behind them too. All the while, the music droned on, buzzing and humming and settling under his skin like an itch. 

-any- wind blows—

It got louder as he neared the very back of the room, the words filtering through the humming static and becoming clear. Ford couldn’t deny it anymore. That was a voice. He shivered hard, jolting like ice had been pressed to the back of his neck, and hurried forward. 

-really matter to me… To me. 

There was a pile of debris, in the back of the control room, farthest from the door where he’d entered. Stanley must’ve crashed into it, when Ford and him had been… when he’d…

-just killed a man —a gun against his head…

Ford slowed his pace, staring down at the dented metal plates and machinery that had fallen loose in a heap on the floor, the stray wires and screws jutting out of the mess every which way. Slowly, Ford sank to his knees and pressed his aching palms onto the cool floor beneath him.

He could hear the singing now. Warbling, staticky. Familiar.

-Life had just begun, and now I’ve gone and thrown it all away.

Ford choked on his next inhale, thin and trembly as it was, and searched through the wreckage with wide eyes. 

There. Nestled between a dented panel with half its screws undone, and a jumble of wires and smaller panels of sheet metal, was the source of the sound. 

For a long, long moment, all Ford did was stare.

Oh mama… oh ohh oh. Didn’t mean to make you cry.

If I’m not back again this time tomorrow…

Ford’s hands trembled as he reached out, carefully prying the radio out of the scrap heap and holding it up in the dim light.

Carry on, carry on…

As if nothing really matters…

The voice faded out. Static.

Ford set the radio down on his lap, gently, as it would shatter into a million pieces otherwise, and pressed a trembling hand to his mouth.

“Stanley?” Ford choked out, and it was like trying to breathe glass. But he had to know, he had to, because— because…

He sat there, dully staring down at the radio Fiddleford had cobbled together months ago, when they’d still been in the implementations stage of the data and blueprints they’d collected, when the preliminary tests had begun. A device to send and collect waves and other information from beyond this dimension without actually opening a rift.

And here it was. In Fords hands, dented and scratched and still whole despite everything. Ford had turned his sights completely to the portal before the it’s completion, since Bill had deemed the entire endeavor a waste of time and energy and an ineffective outlet for his genius.

Fiddleford must’ve completed it, back when he was still just as enthralled in the project as Ford was. He missed his old friend, but Fiddleford was likely back home by now, in California to try and reconnect with his wife and child. As bitter as Ford was, he hoped Fiddleford was successful. His old friend deserved as much and more. 

There was no reply to Ford’s question, except, Ford brought the radio to his ear and strained to listen through the faint static. Was that… humming? 

Doo- doo doo, yeah, no poindexter, I‘m done, man. That’s the last song of the evening, I’m not paid for overtime. 

Moses, wish I were getting paid for this.

Ford jumped, wincing at the sudden burst of noise loud enough to make his ears ring, then processed what Stanley, because that had to be Stanley, had said.

“Stanley! Where are you? Are you in the Nightmare Realm? You must be… what sort of method did you find to transmit your signal? Are you al—“

But Stanley continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard him. A thrill of irritation  went through him. Was Stanley ignoring him? Was this some kind of petty revenge tactic?

When’d that song come out anyway? ‘75? 

He hummed.

Sounds about right.

Ford shook the radio and bit back a growl, before he remembered that the technology in his hands was damaged and sorely in need of a repair and upgrade, and loosened his grip again. He set it down in his lap.

“Stanley, I need you to take this seriously, please, for once.”

Wow, that song was everywhere back then, wasn’t it? I remember thinkin’ Ford probably liked it when it came out, wherever he was. The nerd was probably in college.

“Stanley?” he tried again, but he wasn’t expecting a reply anymore. Stanley soldiered on, rambling about everything and nothing and Ford could almost hear the smile in his voice if it didn’t sound so tired. 

Hell, where’d I first hear it? Must’ve been over at a gas station in… eh, Kansas? Somewhere over there, the big ol’ middle states. 

We sure aren’t in Kansas anymore.

Ahh, those were the times. Me, the open sky, and so, so much dirt in my hair. Seriously, where did the dirt come from. I roll around in one haystack and suddenly i’m fishing filth out of my hair a month later.

Stanley went quiet again, before he laughed. 

Aw man, I actually like this story. Buckle in folks, and I’m taking us back to that weirdly cold summer day in Kansas, where I had to steal 5 prized chickens. For some reason.

Look man, when someone pays you a hundred bucks and tells you he wants chickens, you don’t ask questions. 

Anyways, I’d been-“

For the past few… well, it had to have been days since Stanley fell through the portal by this point, if Fords state was anything to go off of, Ford’s mind had been eerily blank. He’d been a hollowed out shell of his former self, a ghost in his home and life that held onto the living plane by only the barest threads and pure spite.

It was like a switch had flipped. Ford’s fingers drummed on the outside of the radio as he forced himself to his feet, mind whirling at a hundred miles per hour and making calculations and theories and discarding some and contemplating others, and he was nearly jittering as he walked out of the control room entirely. He’d need to find a way to secure this side of the portal from Bills influence, recollect his journals, and then, he was bringing his brother home.

He stopped just before he got into the elevator and turned around to stare down the wrecked portal that loomed overhead. The once perfect inverted triangle, now ruined and warped nearly beyond recognition.

He grinned in a way that was more just like baring his teeth.

“You may be a god, Cipher, and you may think you can control me, but never forget. I am a scientist.”

The portal stood dead as it had been, but Ford didn’t care. He whirled around and stalked into the elevator. He felt more awake than he had in days. And he had research to collect and a demon to banish.

Stanley was still talking, as the elevator began to shudder and rise, and Ford’s adrenaline shot began to ever-so-slightly wane. Something about… attack pigeons?

-And when I finally think I’m in the clear, I duck around one of the hay bales and come face to face with, and I’m not kidding here, a cow wearing heavy duty armor, like a helmet and shit the guy in ‘Nam would wear. It even had holes for the ears!

There was a strange sound then, and Ford realized with a start that it was coming from him. He was laughing. It wasn’t even than funny, really, but something about Stan delivery made Ford wheeze. 

When was the last time he’d laughed? It must’ve been before this whole thing started, when he’d been with Fiddleford or B—

The laughter died in his throat. Oblivious to Fords inner turmoil, Stan kept on jabbering.

And there I was, 5 chickens smuggled into my coat and in my bag —and if you’ve never tried to carry 5 chickens, never do, it’s hard as hell and not worth it at all— staring down ol’ Bessie. 

And then, because this fucking farm couldn’t get any weirder, the cow started moo-ing like it was setting off a tornado siren, and all the other cows in the whole place started mooing in sync too. It was fucking terrifying man.

They must’ve been calling the attack pigeons, because those suckers came back, and they started dive-bombing my sorry ass, and really, that was when I reached my limit.

I dove into the hay bale like a damn football player going for the end line, and even though it was by far the itchiest thing to ever happen to me, it saved me from death-by pecking so I’ll take take it. 

The itchiest, of course, save for my stint in Albuquerque.

Ford could almost imagine Stan shaking his head as he paused again. With a start, he realized he was still smiling.

Just. Don’t try selling pillows in Albuquerque is all I’ll say.

Stan gave an audible shudder. 

So many feathers… And itch powder. The itch powder didn’t help. 

Ford couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out of him at that.

Tags! (I’m sure I’m forgetting someone, pls tell me if you want to be on the list! Or just follow the tag that also works) @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @littlelilliana15 @empressofsamoyeds @pinesfamilycatsau

Super Epic Secret Surprise!

[coldarena]

mota uniform studies + a very good boy

[the-random-phan]

Sides of a Coin

[blixabargelds]

snowing already- a superstar christmas

set one year into superstar's main story timeline.

tags: rimming, anal fingering, blowjobs, substance abuse/ addiction, fluff (?!), mild angst.

word count: 4.3k

The first time Gale remembers seeing snow he was seven. 

His mom had taken him on a road trip. She had called it a road trip. She’d told Gale they were going to stay with a friend for a little while. It had struck him as strange- that he’d never met this friend before, and now he was sleeping on her couch, wearing her son’s winter clothes, but he hadn’t asked about it. She was easy to be friends with, his mom. She was Gale’s best friend. 

He’d understood, later, that his mom’s friend was a friend of a friend. That his dad didn’t know about their road trip. But his dad wasn’t around, and Gale’s mom was happy, so he was happy, too. They’d woken up some day near his birthday, both of them on this huge, worn couch, in a part of the city he’d never been to, and snow was stacked thick against the outside of the windows. Nobody knew where they were. They had their own, entirely blank universe. He’d run outside in his socks and soaked them straight through. Had hurdled back into the house with sopping feet, jostling his mom awake, and begged her to come make a snow angel with him. She’d told him to take the socks off, voice hushed and clipped and angry in a way she rarely got, telling Gale they didn’t have any spare clothes, that he was getting the carpet wet and cold, that they needed to make a good impression because they didn’t want to cut their road trip short. His lip bled from biting down against its wobbling. 

She’d smiled at him guiltily that afternoon. Kissing the top of his head, she took off her combat boots and put them on him, and took him to the garden to make a snowman. Her hand steady near his shoulders to keep him from toppling over; her hair dyed blue that month, bare toes the same colour in minutes. 

Gale doesn’t like Christmas. He knows John doesn’t much like it, either. But where John’s kept his thoughts on planning Gale’s ‘surprise’ birthday party, Gale’s been growing steadily frozen. The heater in their apartment is on the fritz again. He’s finding it harder and harder to feel the effects of the coke. He wakes up chilly, pulling the drawstring of his sweats tighter again, and the threat of festivities looms over him. More often than not, these days, he’s on the edge of a comedown. He leans over, squinting at the alarm clock. It’s 10am. He hasn’t been awake this early for weeks, save for nights he hasn’t slept at all, and he almost thinks twice before picking up the little bag on his nightstand. There’s just about enough coke left in it to rack up a few substantial lines. He fumbles for the waiting bill, re-rolls it, snorts one chalky trail in practiced silence. 

The motions of his morning routine wake John all the same. His hand snakes across Gale’s waist and pulls him back under the covers, tugging him on his side to face him. Sleepy, pink-cheeked, curls in disarray, a furrow pulling his brows as he blinks himself aware. He brushes the space between Gale’s nose and lips with his thumb. Puts that thumb between his own teeth and licks it.

“Snowin’ already?” he says, with an uneasy kind of smile. Gale sniffs, hiding his face in the pillows, but John just coaxes him back out, tucking his long hair behind his accessible ear. “’S’it early?”

Gale hesitates. “’Bout ten.”

John looks pensive for a moment, frown deepening. “Think we oughtta keep this shit ’til after midday?”

Gale gnaws on his dry lips. They’re already tingling, his head buzzing and fingers restless, and he doesn’t feel particularly happy. “Think it’s Christmas,” he says. 

John glances at his phone with a grimace. “Shit. Sure is.”

Gale swallows. John watches him, like he’s trying to predict the day on the way Gale’s mouth twitches, twists on a sentence and stalls.

“At Marge’s,” he starts to say, for no real reason at all, “they- we used to do the whole thing. Turkey an’ a tree. Had a fireplace goin’ all day.”

John nods slowly. Gale can see his expression tearing, knit together by patience, and an effort to fight some great uninvited feeling. “You wanna do the- whole thing?” 

Gale knows the answer he’s hoping for. Luckily, it’s the one he’s got. He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t know what to do. Sounds damn ungrateful, but I didn’t want a- a mini DVD player or a pair of boots. Said thank you and smiled, and all, of course. But why would I need new boots if mine ain’t got holes in yet. Were my boots- were they offensive? Or-” he clears his throat. The cocaine’s agitating him more than lifting him, like it has been lately. John’s right. It’s a little too early. “Just wanted the day to be over.”  

John nods again. Gale can tell he’s making him tense. Knows without asking that he is being ungrateful. That no matter how bad his holidays have been, John’s had worse. John’s never been gifted a mini DVD player. 

“Shit, Bucky, ’m sorry. Complaining ’bout nothing like some- think my teeth are too fast.” 

“Hey, Buck, no,” John says. When Gale looks at him, he’s looking back with nothing but understanding, eyes bright and kind, and Gale feels vaguely nauseous at his hasty assumption; that John would be comparing hurts at all. “Was just gonna ask what you would’ve wanted, is all.”

Gale’s cheeks warm with some unpinnable flush of shame. He says quietly, “books, I guess. Never asked for anythin’, though.”

John’s twirling Gale’s hair around his finger, now. Gale’s playing with the hem of his t-shirt, needing to touch something solid before his heart beats out of his palms. “And have some old perv come up your chimney? Better off without, really.”

Gale laughs. It bursts out of him feather-light, a shock to his system. He hadn’t noticed his chest growing so heavy. “Didn’t have a chimney, Bucky. ’N I’m pretty sure he’s meant to come down it.”

“Tomayto, tomahto,” John shrugs. 

Gale smiles, but it’s forced. He’s hollow. Hungry for something he can’t figure out; itching for more sleep, or more blow. He slides further down in the bed, pulling the covers up to his ears, hoping to stay there for the rest of the day. John shuffles down with him. He drags the sheets over their heads entirely, caging them in with a cotton shield, and Gale knows he’s telling him that he can stay there, if he wants. That he’ll stay with him, too. He moves into Gale’s space with a series of rustles, close enough their noses touch. 

“If it helps,” John whispers against his mouth, “I didn’t get you anythin’.” 

Gale huffs out a short laugh. “Didn’t get you anything, either.” 

John closes the minuscule gap between them, kissing Gale soft and deep. His fingers slide under Gale’s shirt, tracing the peaks and divots of his ribs and spine, tickling gently until he’s truly smiling at John’s teeth. 

“Can give you a present, if you want one,” John says, pulling back just enough to press his lips to Gale’s jaw.

“Mm.” John’s touch is falling lower, pushing Gale’s sweatpants down to his knees. Gale kicks them the rest of the way off. “Maybe.”

“Just one thing,” John carries on, his breath warm, tongue flicking out to lick lightly at Gale’s throat. 

Gale hums. Grabs John’s ass, drags him so their hips are flush, sighing at the contact, tugging at John’s boxers. “Yeah, Bucky?”

“You gotta sit on my lap and tell me what a good kid you’ve been.”

Gale can’t stop the snort that happens before he can turn it into a groan. He shoves at John’s chest. “Jesus, Bucky.”

“Don’t say the birthday boy’s name in vain,” John chastises. He crowds back in, sets his lips to Gale’s overworked pulse point, whispers there, “or you’ll be on my naughty list.”

“Christ,” Gale laughs, swatting at John’s chest. 

“There you go again,” John says. “Askin’ for a proper lesson, now.”

“Thought this was a present?” 

Gale’s hair is sticking static to the sheets as John tents them with his body, expanding their private world by leaning up and over him. Hands either side of Gale’s shoulders, he digs his fingers underneath. Rolls him onto his front and rucks up his shirt, exposing his back for kissing down. He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh at Gale’s side. Gale groans.

“S’pose you can decide that.”

John makes his way back up, pressing his lips to the squirming line of Gale’s spine, and for the first time in a while the attention doesn’t make him cringe. He knows he looks a little wan. That he’s getting a little thin. He’s told himself he’ll get back into shape. Back into regular sleep and regular meals; after this bag, after the next. 

John licks at his lower back, and Gale settles face-down. He thinks John’s about to spit on his fingers, open him up and fuck him from behind, but John spits directly onto his tailbone instead. Gale feels it slide down, and John spreads Gale open with both hands, tonguing his own spit inside his hole. Gale’s brain misfires. He jolts in surprise. Gasps, as John licks around the tight seal of muscle. Lapping at him with gentle pressure, not quite slipping inside, breath warm on sensitive skin. John’s hands are kneading his asscheeks absently, gentle thumbs pulling him apart.

“Bucky,” Gale says, head still catching up, the strained plea of John’s name muffled by sheets and wet with drool. “What-”

John just hums against him. Gale keeps expecting him to sit back at any moment, to slick himself up and slide his cock into him like so many mornings, only he doesn’t. John stays there. He licks a long stripe all the way from Gale’s taint to the last notch of his spine. Hovers there, breath a tickle, a tease, a quiet little laugh, before moving back down to tongue messily at Gale’s hole. Gale moans stupidly loud. John’s hands are still prying him open, baring each inch of wetted skin and making him feel exposed in a way he hasn’t since John first tied his wrists behind his back. Gale grinds his hips down into the sheets. His shirt’s sticking to him with sweat. His cock’s sticking to the bed with precum, every part of him hot and dizzy. He’s gasping in unsure little chirrups, each swipe of John’s tongue a new experience, each damp flick at the rim of him sending a chain reaction up his spinal cord. He’s still barely taunting him. Gale’s watched John’s tongue dart out between his lips on stage, spit clinging in clear thread from his teeth to the microphone. Seen the way he presses the flat of it to the grill, throws a wink at Gale, unaware, or perhaps only conceptually aware, of people in the crowd fawning, too. John’s a menace with his tongue. Gale makes a shocked, strangled noise as he proves this- fucking into him fully. 

“God- hell, Bucky,” Gale groans, fingers tight in the sheets beside him.

John doesn’t relent. He lets go of one of Gale’s asscheeks, using his hand instead to curl around his hip bone, pulling him further down onto his mouth. Gale’s cock is so wet at the tip he half thinks he’s come already, until John shifts his other hand, presses a fingertip to Gale’s rim alongside his tongue, and Gale bites down on the pillow so hard he tastes polyester foam. He makes a feral sort of sound into the cotton. Thrusts onto the mattress and back down onto John’s tongue, stuck between the two, rutting like a dog, panting like one. John withdraws just enough to lap at Gale’s relaxed, spasming hole as he slips his finger inside him. The sensation of John eating him out, licking at his insides, was fresh and overwhelming, but Gale’s near convulsing immediately with the length and precision of his movements, now. He gets another finger inside him with ease, lips never moving from the ring of muscle, and Gale thinks he might be sobbing. He can barely breathe. Ragged, wet gasps eaten by the sheets, and he realises, in only vague horror, that the reason he hasn’t hurtled over the edge already is because of his chemical fucking breakfast. John brushes his prostate with the pad of his pointer finger, and Gale laughs in sheer delirium. Sweat’s pooling at the base of his spine. John smiles, Gale feels it against him, and lifts his head just to lick at the perspiration. Gale wishes he could turn around only to see how wet John’s moustache is. He can’t move an inch beyond his trembling. 

“You okay?” John says at the small of his back, soft and somewhat smug. He punctuates his question with a crook of his fingers. Gale’s cock leaks more precum into the bed.

“’M close,” he manages to gasp.

“Uh-huh,” John says, and Gale groans at the toying tone of his voice.

John dips his head again, but doesn’t move any closer. Gale spreads his legs wider without thinking. His breath catches in his throat as John fucks his fingers in and out. Slowly, each drag out and press back in felt down to the nerve, no lube but John’s drying spit making it sting just enough to ground him. John’s still just there. Just far enough away from his own fingers, from where they’re disappearing into Gale, that Gale realises he’s watching intently. Creating a show for himself: Gale’s shaking back, spit slick between his cheeks, John’s fingers dipping, pulling, crooking, being swallowed. The scrutiny makes him whine. Makes his face flush as he presses it hot into the crook of his elbow. John angles his next press just so, and Gale jumps, fucking himself down onto the bed with a pitiful whimper. John does it again, and Gale’s just about to strike up a fuss when he sets his mouth back to him. He doesn’t pull his fingers out, but pulls them apart, spreading Gale’s hole as far as it will comfortably go and then some, spitting then slipping his tongue between them. Gale moans again, choked-off, and his next sound is closer to something begging. His face is wet. John takes one finger out just so he can fully fit his tongue back inside him, and his head is white noise as John finds his prostate. Circles it, rubbing and pressing, tongue aimless and nothing but further wet heat stuffing him full. Gale’s humping the bed desperately, not entirely sure which way is up, the drag of the sheets against his dripping cock no mercy as he pushes himself away from John’s ministrations and back down. John makes a moan of his own against Gale’s body, and Gale comes rocking back onto John and forward onto the bed like he’s wild, hardly a sound scraping from his throat with the last of his desperate lung capacity. John’s fingers and mouth stay at his hole until he’s shedding fresh tears.

Gale goes boneless and brainless when John’s touch leaves. He’s stroking his spine when Gale comes back to himself, fingertips tacky with sweat, catching on each vertebrae. There must be a bruise on the hill of one, because John settles there, pressing down on something tender just slightly, the rise and fall of each breath drawing that aching touch closer, bringing the ringing in Gale’s ears down to a low throb. John bends and brushes his hair out of the way, kissing the nape of his neck. 

“You good?” he says. His lips are at Gale’s ear, wet. 

Gale makes a contented sound into the sheets. Clears his throat and shifts slowly, curling his legs up to his chest and tugging his loose shirt back down around himself. He rolls onto his side and looks up at John. Smiles, half-buzzed and on the cusp of laughing again. John’s face is open and pale in the light. Gale reaches up to touch the glistening spit on his chin, hand shaking a little. 

“Liked my present,” he says.

John’s the one who laughs, then. Grabs Gale’s wrist and kisses his pulse, flips him onto his back and kisses the underside of his jaw, nipping at the lobe of his ear. Says, words shredded by his beaming, “You loved it. You fuckin’ loved it, you noisy fuckin’ treasure.”

“John-” Gale tries to bat him away, futile under the strength of John’s precious joy. 

“I fuckin’ love you,” John says. 

“I love you, Jesus, Bucky, get off I’m disgusting,” Gale’s breathless, wrestling John far enough away to peel himself from the damp sheets. 

He leans down and kisses John’s face. His lips, slips his tongue into the overworked heat of his mouth and smiles into it. With a lingering grin and shaking legs, Gale stumbles into their bathroom to change. He fucks around with the heater some more. It’s still flashing some awful pressure warning, so he groans, strips, towels off the worst of the cum from his stomach, tugs on yesterday’s sweatpants left on the bathroom floor. He grabs a clean enough t-shirt from the edge of the bath and turns back into their bedroom.

An idea occurs to him as he’s looking for a matching sock. Something’s buried in their chest of drawers. Something that shouldn’t have been buried at all. He roots around until he finds it; the small, angular shape tucked inside an old glove. He grabs it, tipping the contents into his hand. 

“Bucky,” he says. John’s tugging on his own shirt and pants, pushing damp hair back from his forehead, glowing. Gale bites the inside of his cheek. “Y’can have this. I mean, I want you to. I want you to have it. For Christmas.”

John frowns at him. He hesitates, stretching out his hand, and into his open palm Gale drops the necklace. It’s a star. Silver, a little smaller than a dime, one of its points shorter than the others. John blinks down at it, turning it over slowly. 

“Chain’s a bit delicate,” Gale says. His chest feels tight, throat dry. “Was Mom’s. But I’m sure you can get another, it’ll- it’ll fit another.”

John looks up at him with wide eyes. “Buck.”

Gale yearns, suddenly, for another line. He’s not sure why. “She wore it nearly every day. Gave it to me to hold onto when she thought- when Dad had sold everythin’ else. Never really knew what to do with it. Felt wrong to just wear it, but it should be worn by someone. Someone who-” he takes a breath in through his nose. Making a meal out it; chewing on his words, he concludes, “it’s special. Y’know?” 

“Buck,” John says again quietly. His eyes are still fixed on the pendant, brows drawn tight. He shakes his head slightly. He looks almost pained, and Gale wonders, for a moment, if he’s stepped on some hidden land-mine he had no prior knowledge of. John takes a breath. “It should be on someone special.”

Gale exhales roughly. Torn somewhere between relief and an aching sadness. He shrugs, like it’s easy, like it’s simple. “It is. Here-”

He crosses the distance from the doorway to their bed, climbing up onto it and situating himself behind John. There’s a faint pull to his shoulders. Maybe the tiniest tremble. Gale takes the necklace gently from his hands, fastening it around John’s neck before pressing a kiss to the clasp. 

“Suits you,” he says lightly, without turning John around to face him. 

Gale stays like that for a minute. He can feel John’s heart beat steadily through his back, Gale’s running a faster rhythm still. He’s waiting for the tension to leave through John’s lungs. For him to sag a little under his touch, let him lean into the line of his body and drape himself over him like a shroud, not like something boneless over glass. He wants to tell John that a gift is not a weight; it isn’t something to be earned or something he has to fulfil, but Gale knows that would only strengthen that wall. Eventually John just rolls his shoulders, letting out a shaky breath. He leans back awkwardly, dislodging Gale in the process of kissing his temple.

“Goin’ for a smoke,” he says. A tight smile.

Gale nods and falls back to the mattress. There’s a flash of white as John twitches their blinds open, just enough to climb out onto the fire escape. Smoke begins to drift in with the cold air. Gale curses under his breath, flopping over to his side of the bed and doing another line. 10:40am isn’t so bad. He feels it buzz beneath his eyelids as he counts the racing beats of his heart. 

“You comin’?” John calls from outside. It startles him. Gale sits, rubbing a hand over his face. He pulls on his boots, the closest hoodie, tugging the hood up and zipping it to his throat. “You’re really gonna want a smoke, Buck.”

“Alright, ’m comin’,” Gale says. He snatches a cigarette from John’s pack and dips out onto the fire escape.

It’s snowing. 

John’s backed up against the railings, grinning around his cigarette, as fat white flakes of snow fall fast into his hair, sticking to his clothes and his lashes in a thick, glittering film. “Merry fuckin’ Christmas, huh?”

“Jesus,” Gale breathes. “There’s so much of it.”

“Most of a blizzard,” John says, shaking his head hard enough to send snowflakes spiralling off his hair, drifting into Gale’s face until he’s blinded. 

Gale splutters, wiping snow from his eyes, tilting his head up to the sky. The whiteness of it is all-encompassing. He can’t see the tops of buildings, the clouds, the middle distance. There’s a sprig of holly hanging loose and dead from the fire escape above. Ice creeping off the end of it in suspended free-fall . He closes his eyes. Feels his cheeks rapidly freeze, moisture sticking to his lashes and landing on his parted lips. Without thinking, childish and impulsive, he sticks his tongue out and catches the snowflakes to taste. When he looks back at John he’s looking at him, thoughtful, the tip of his nose red, smiling a small kind of private smile. His fingers, a gentle shiver to them, are playing absently with the pendant around his neck. 

“It’s beautiful, Gale,” he says seriously. “I mean it. It’s the most beautiful thing.” 

Gale’s heart thuds. He looks out at the snowfall around them. “Yeah. Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

John’s chewing on his lip, the way he does in those rare moments Gale knows he wants to say something, but can’t quite reach the right words. He looks a little unsteady. Gale takes the front of his sweater in his hands, wet cigarettes knocked loose and forgotten, fast buried in fresh snow. He pulls John close and casts his eyes up above them. To that rotting, discarded sprig of holly. 

“Close enough, right?” he says. 

John quirks an eyebrow. Smirking, pulling on that thread of raw softness inside Gale that takes an age, or a kiss, to unspool. “To what, hm, Buck?”

Gale rolls his eyes and presses their lips together. It’s wet and cold, running noses and smoke, and when Gale’s had enough of John’s tongue against his he drops to his knees. His sweats soak straight through. He thinks, with some level of amusement, that numb knees might help here. His lips are losing sensation, too; ice cold and humming with cocaine. He tests that sensation, dragging his mouth against the metal zip of John’s fly, flattening his tongue at the denim already stiffening in the air, against the shape of John’s cock. 

John’s hands are in his hair already, when he says, “Get up, baby, you’ll freeze.” Gale shakes his head, slipping his fingers into John’s waistband, eliciting a small gasp and a breathless giggle. “Buck, I’m not tryin’ to lose my dick out here.” 

Gale looks up at him, and the laughter is shimmering on the breeze as it goes. “You won’t.”

“When d’you get so- Jesus-” John chokes off as Gale gets his chilly fingers around his cock, pulling him out of his pants and directly into his warm mouth. “Out in the fuckin’ open-”

Gale swallows his response. No one is seeing them through the drift, tucked inside their apartments, warm and sensible. Gale’s half-brave streak of bold exhibitionism is blanketed in white. John’s hot on his tongue; hard already, as Gale takes him down deep. He keeps him there, using his hands to work what won’t fit, preventing John from exposure to the frigid air as much as possible. Gale finds his slit and licks at it. Finds the full vein on the underside of John’s cock and runs his tongue along it. Takes him further down his throat, gently aching and relaxed, until his eyes are watering, tears cooling on his cheeks and wind-whipped sleet chapping his stretched lips in record time. John’s fingers dig into the back of Gale’s head. Gale moans around the size of him. 

“Buck,” John says. Gale can hardly hear him. “Jesus, Buck-” John groans loud into the open air. 

Gale keeps his pace, pulling back far enough to taste John’s arousal; falling forward to take him so deep he can’t taste much of anything at all. John’s clenching fingers pull at his dampened hair. He’s begun to move his hips a little, and Gale makes no move to steady him as John bullies further down his throat, taking it and flexing his muscles around him. The sounds John’s making grow louder, bolder, bordering on a dare for the world to hear them. The world won’t. Each gasping hitch of breath, each honeyed deep moan; they’re muffled by the dense, steady fall of snow. 

[deadtiredghost]

*Splinter to Leo*

"Pick your battles. Pick... pick fewer battles than that. Put some battles back. That's too many."

[amuseintime]

Shattering Realization (Pt 3)

Star Souls AU

Bonnie doesn’t understand why Stupidfrin isn’t moving or why no one can do anything about it. So they take matters into their own hands, sneaking into the tent.

<<PREV || FIRST || NEXT >>

Bonnie squinted at the setting sun. They were still camping at the same place as yesterday. They should’ve still been moving, but Dile said they could wait until tomorrow afternoon, no later. If they waited, the curse might get them. So they should’ve still been moving!

But they couldn’t, because Frin couldn’t.

Za was still distracted talking to Belle on watch, and Dile was reading, so no one was guarding Frin’s tent. They slipped through the cloth barrier as silently as a cat, stopping in the doorway. It was dim inside, but maybe that was better. They didn’t like looking at his face like this, didn’t like seeing him stare at nothing forever and ever no matter whether they were standing in front of them or not. He was still curled up in his sleeping bag, looking almost like he was sleeping but he wasn’t… was he? Not even Dile seemed to know, and she knew everything!

“Frin… Frin!” They whispered, lightly shaking him. He didn’t respond.

“… is this really you?” They said, taking his arm and pulling up the sleeve. It was cool to the touch. “I know you said you’re you and you’ll be back, but you’re not acting like it! You’re all cold and stare forever and won’t move!” Their whispers were verging dangerously close to yells. They swallowed the lump in their throat, eyes stinging. “Why won’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell us, you- you…” They sniffled, rubbing tears away from their eyes.

More than anything they wanted him to wake up, to be flesh and blood, to tell them they had a nightmare and he never got hurt. They wanted him to move and talk and just do something besides lie there! Anything! Even if it was yelling at them!

“Frin? C’mon, wake up! Wake up, Stupidfrin! Belle said you aren’t cursed, so you gotta get up now!” They shook him a little harder, but nothing.

“… Frin?”

Nothing.

Bonnie bit their hand to muffle their sobs, big fat tears blurring their vision. Desperate for something, anything, they pulled up the corner of the sleeping bag and wiggled in. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, Frin was hard. He was hard and cool to the touch, but it was as close as they could get. They tugged one arm to hold themselves to his chest, feeling their own warmth seep into his clothes, into the sleeping bag, slowly replacing what should’ve been there, but wasn’t. All the while, their tears made an increasingly damp spot on his cloak.

“Please, please wake up…”

Something touched the back of their head. At first they thought they imagined it, but it repeated. Gloved fingers threaded through their hair in a slow, rhythmic pattern, and they held Frin all the tighter.

“Frin! That’s-that’s you doing that, right? I feel it! You’re here! You’re here…”

They didn’t know what else to say, just nestling against him as he stroked their hair. No more words were said, they just held each other until Bonnie fell asleep.

————

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

[waywardstation]

Cloud Gazing

Ingo and Akari make out shapes of Pokémon in the clouds while taking a break from training.

This is a low-effort segment I had written to try and get myself used to just writing again -- just one simple interaction that can focus on dialogue! Nothing much goes on, just more uncle Ingo content ^^

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

—————

“Hmm… well then, what about that one?”

Akari’s eyes followed Ingo’s finger as he pointed up towards one of the smaller clouds that had separated from the rest.

“That one-” Akari hummed for a moment, considering as she squinted against the sunlight. “That’s a grumpy Paras.”

Ingo’s laugh, while quiet, was one of surprise. “Grumpy? Why’s it grumpy?”

“It’s got angry eyebrows, see?” Now it was Akari’s turn to point, doing her best to try and guide his eyes to the details she interpreted. “There are its claws, and there are the mushrooms on the top.”

“I see,” He reassured her, though she suspected he couldn’t entirely make out what she saw.

The Fieldlands’ tall grass swayed as another gust swept across it, stringing along fallen leaves. The large clouds overhead covered the area in expansive traveling shadows, providing a cool reprieve from the sun — a perfect day to relax in between training sessions.

The two had opted to battle outside Jubilife’s gates today seeing as Freight, Akari’s alpha Shieldon, had recently evolved into a Bastiodon. He barely fit in the training grounds’ battle arena now, so Ingo had suggested a more open area for the sake of the surrounding buildings.

Now taking a break after several well-fought matches, Ingo’s Probopass — Freight’s battle partner — had joined the Bastiodon by one of the nearby streams to soak and cool down. Ingo and Akari had followed suit by lying down in the tall grasses. While Ingo had seemed content to just lie there and rest his legs, the break had only made Akari grow restless. It hadn’t been long before she began looking to the sky for something to find, and had started pointing out shapes of Pokémon she recognized to the warden.

“Ok wait, now it's your turn to do one. What does…” Akari scanned the sky for a moment, searching for a lone cloud. “That one look like to you?”

Ingo, who had taken the previous silence as a moment to rest his eyes, blinked up wearily; it seemed the idea of a nap was tugging at him. But he observed the cloud as it passed overhead, squinting until it graciously covered the sun from view.

“An upside-down Avalugg.” He concluded after a considerable amount of time, sounding rather confident in his answer.

“What?” Now Akari couldn’t help but blurt out a giggle, turning to look at him. “Why’s it upside down?”

“Its underside is completely flat,” The man reasoned, Akari's contagious laughter inflecting his own tone. “A perfect resemblance of an Avalugg’s back.”

Akari watched the cloud pass overhead until it once again revealed the sun from behind it. “Alright, I can kind of see it. Now… do that one over there.”

She pointed to a tall, splotchy cloud. Akari immediately thought it looked like a Hisuian Lilligant, but she wanted to know what Ingo saw.

The man gave another long stretch to ponder before he answered, though there was a certain expression on his face now, replacing the genuine thoughtfulness he conveyed earlier. “That one appears to be a Basculin with two long legs.”

“Hey!” If he wasn’t joking around with her before, he was now. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“Says who?” He sounded rather proud of himself for getting her a second time. “It’s what I see!”

“Oh fine,” Akari’s smile stayed as she returned her gaze to the sky, browsing for another shape. This time, she picked out the most convoluted, misshapen cloud she could find. It didn’t look like anything — surely this would stump him. “Ok, now do that one.”

“Two Mr. Mimes fighting over a chair.” His answer was immediate this time.

“Sto-op!” More laughter broke Akari’s outburst as she playfully shoved his shoulder. “You didn’t even look at it!”

“That is what I observed!” He insisted, keeping it going as she continued to push at him. “Look, there’s the chair in the middle, and over on the left, you can clearly discern a fist pulled back, ready to punch-”

“No you can’t!” Akari had to sit up now with how much she was laughing. By now the cloud had begun to separate at its thinnest areas, practically gone to the wind. “There’s nothing even there anymore!”

“You asked what I saw!” His gaze followed her up as he stayed where he was, lying in the grass with an amused smile in his eyes. “I am simply answering your questions!”

“Liar!” Getting up, Akari nudged him in the side with one of her legs. “Come on, I think Freight’s ready to train again. Can we do some more battles now?”

Sure enough, the overgrown Pokémon was lumbering back up the hill towards them, his own Probopass following behind — the two of them had probably been attracted to their laughter more than anything, but Ingo had to admit he was looking forward to getting back into battling too.

“Of course, Miss Akari,” The man sat back up with some effort, then got back to his feet. “Let’s get back on track with our training, then.”

[tinfoil-jones]

For Your Own Good: Masterpost (Story Complete)

Askbox? Closed

If you don't know what this post is about, "For Your Own Good" or tagged as "Early Amnesia AU" on tumblr is a dialogue-only Gravity Falls fanfiction, that I wrote as a writing exercise after not writing fanfiction for a few years.

The basic rundown of the plot is that Stan has his mind mysteriously wiped thirty some odd years early, in a scenario where Ford doesn't build the portal.

Ford happens across Stan in Gravity Falls, a few months after what would have been the Portal Incident, and quickly realizes that Stan (who believes his name is Stan Malone) has no memories of his true identity, or anything from before he was kicked out, in fact his memories have only been clear for the past year. So Ford does the only reasonable thing a man in his position would do, and immediately kidnaps him. And later drags Fiddleford into his shenanigans.

This story is a Dramedy. Yeah, the focus is Ford and Stan's relationship and the drama of holding a grudge against someone who straight up doesn't know who you are, while also trying to help them. But there's a lot of jokes and banter because the scenario isn't going to pretend like it isn't off the wall. Before the AU was called 'early amnesia' some of the askers referred to it as 'the kidnapped Stan fic'.

Also, there's Fiddlestan in the background. Bill is also there, but he isn't a malevolent figure. He's more like an enigmatic instigator and chaotic entity who strives to raise Fords blood pressure, he's entirely too busy simping to actually be evil. Bill and Fords relationship isn't intended to have them be a couple, because Ford's is portrayed as Asexual, but if you want to read Ford and Bill as a romantic but not sexual couple, I wouldn't fault you.

It's also loosely based on the "Mystery Trio" concept. In this case, you can boil Fiddleford, Ford, and Stan down to: Done, Extra AF, and Cartoon Logic, respectively.

It's going to be about 25 chapters long.

Anyways, here's links to all of the posts:

AO3 Link: FYOG

Chapters (Tumblr): 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, BONUS: The Stranger, FINAL: Trivia

Nutshell Posts: 1-5, 6-10, 11-15, 16-20, 21-25

Art (done by @nekobeats0): Comic #1, Comic #2, Comic #3, Comic #4

Other: Fiddlestan Scene (18+), Intermission, Ford in Ch.20, 20.5, Stanchez, Rick in Ch.24, Jimmy Snakes

Asks: Fords 'Denial', Stan and Kidnapping, Cereal, Filbrick, 'No One Mourns The Wicked', Jimmy, Stan the (ex)-Con man, Crimes Stan Wouldn't Commit, What to Tell Fiddleford, Does Fiddleford know about Bill?, Stan and Gangs, BIG TALK Stan, What if Stanford wasn't there in time?, Shermie, Updated Stan Lore, About: Trivia, Fords Regrets, What If: Twin Bond, What if: Stayed Dead, In Every Universe, Stayed Dead Filbrick, Fords Arc, Routine Interview