#i won't be posting this on AO3 just on here

[noctispuffin]

Danny Phantom x Dc universe crossover

Hey Guys, I've been captured by the hyperfixation train as you can probably tell what it is from above. I have started writing out a fic and just wanted to post the beginning of what I have here to get a general consensus before I think of publishing it on AO3.

So Long summary short, it's gonna be braindead pairing (Tim/Danny). The general ideas I have going so far are as follows.

Notes/plans for Future chapters: -captured by giw (gonna work on some gore, get that absolute hate going for them, and we all love the autopsy scar) -cosmic/eldritch horror danny (later in fic/Series)

maybe trans danny -ghost cannibalism

revenant red hood

liminal amity parkers

constantine/ soul fragments

ghost politics

coffee Is ambrosia

17yr old danny/ 17 year old Tim Drake

summoning - jl bashing

scarred danny

ghouls Are Trapped By The Bound. -ghouls are the boogeyman of the infinite realms -ghouls feed off the life force of other beings -ghouls use spiders as spies -All realms have spiders/ Spider adjacent creatures.

There will be Oc Villians and Characters later in the Story

So yeah Long post but here is the beginning of chapter 1.

Waking up with a raging headache was not fun. He was dead. Or half dead at least. Headaches should not be an issue. Also, A. He was missing his coffee. B. He was tied to a chair in some… Funhouse? Warehouse?? and C. His. Coffee. Was. Missing.

Now don't get him wrong the tied-to-a-chair thing was rather important but being who he was it wasn't the first time it's happened and it won't be the last. Now the lack of "guys in white" was a bonus, as it means his identity is still intact at least but that doesn't rule out any of the other usual suspects. However, the Funhouse or warehouse… (seriously what's with all the weird clown-themed shit??) atmosphere was at least a little off-putting.

He frowns a bit as he looks out from beneath his bangs at the large area, boxes, and crates pushed out of the way to the sides of the warehouse. Nothing particularly menacing persay… if you could ignore the fruitloop standing 10 feet in front of him in the plum tuxedo with wild green hair, and holding a comically large red button monologuing to a camera.

A Camera.

Shit.

That means he can't just up and leave, even if this is Eisenhower he can't just leave and reveal his identity as Phantom or add any more suspicion to Danny Fenton. The GIW were dumb but they weren't that dumb.

He heaves a deep sigh and decides to at least get this dumb interaction over with.. Maybe he can make this freak knock the camera over cause he's almost entirely sure that the camera is still functioning enough to send out a signal if the red light on it meant anything.

"Freakshow what the hell. Look, We get it circus gothica-" He snaps his mouth shut as the man turns to look at him with a small glare and a deranged smile.

That.

That was most definitely not Eisinhowen. Not unless he somehow managed to fuck up his pale ass face more than it already was.. were… were those scars??!! up his cheeks?!! What the fuuuuck…

"It seems ladybirds and gentle bats that our esteemed guest has finally awoken from his beauty sleep!! What do you have to say to the people of Gotham Young Timothy Drake?!" The man (- the Joker. OH fuuuuuck This is the Joker!!!-) cackles to the camera as he makes a grand sweeping gesture towards him.

Wait, how did he get to Gotham?? -- Not the time.

"who?"

Ok well, that wasn't the smartest response he has ever come up with.

"Wh- What do you mean? Who? WHO?? What is this some sort of knock knock joke?" The clown looks at him and deflates slightly with his confusion before he shakes himself, fixes the lapels of his suit and turns back to the camera with a large smile and a deranged cackle.

"Well, it seems the young CEO has some gal to him! What’s to say I finish this knock-knock joke with a punch line hmm? Better hurry Batsy you know how much I love a good punchline." He giggles with a smile - giggles? seriously?? How much creepier can clowns get-

"Look uh… Joker right? I think you have the wrong person" He starts off, slowly speaking as if he were talking to a particularly unstable ghost. Only to cut himself off at the gun that swiftly appears out of the clown's suit and is pointed directly at his head.

“You have half an hour, Bats. Half an hour before the smart mouth here learns what the taste of good old-fashioned lead tastes like.” The clown's smile just grows ever wider as he takes a few dancing steps towards him.

He feels his mouth pull into a disgusted grimace as the barrel of the gun swings around to tap him on the forehead as the creep gets closer to him.

“Look-” He tries to start again, his view of the camera obscured by the gaudy purple suit and painted face hosting wild eyes.

BANG

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t. That would be silly. He was already half dead. There is no way that a simple bullet through his frontal lobe, mixing the grey and white matter of his brain together with a burning efficiency and the fury of a fire would kill him fully.. Right? When did he close his eyes?? Fuck this asshole was laughing again..

His blue eyes opened slowly and trail to the sting along his left temple. The gun was aimed just to the left of his forehead and there was some sort of sharp metal rod with a piece of fabric hanging from the end laying along the stinging, and now he was pretty sure bleeding along his temple.

“Hehe! Whoopsies!” The red of the clowns painted smile seemed to crack a bit as he leaned away and waved the gun around, splattering small drops of red blood from the-

Was that a fucking prop gun?! With the whole stick with the bang flag on it?? Wtf…

“This thing just has a mind of its own!” The freakshow look alike turned back to the camera with that deranged smile of his.

“Now as I was saying, As much as i'm sure Mr. Wayne would like for you to come and rescue him, you my little friends have some more important things to be dealing with!” The man strides away and grabs the camera swinging it away from Danny so it could focus solely on what seemed to be some sort of pipebomb- no- time bomb? Bomb. Was attached to a crate full of gas cylinders.

“This is one of many I have set up at certain places in the city. Detonated, of course, by the timer running out. You only have enough time to find and disarm all of them or save the poor soul of this child. See cause if you miss even one bomb, well they all go off. Disarm all of them or None of them!! HAha! Now I'd hurry along. The timer has already begun!!” The joker slams the camera back into place on the tripod so that both Danny and the digital clock behind him are visible.

He keeps his face carefully neutral as he watches the Joker waltz past him to presumably where the exit is located in this mess of a warehouse. He can hear the distant sounds of a door slamming and a large padlock clicking shut before a car starts up and drives off.

Well. This is not how he expected to spend his evening.

Last thing he remembered was trying to put together how much savings he had saved up so he could visit Jazz at college and meeting with his mom and dad for his birthday supper at nasty burger… After that it just became fuzzy and when he tried to think harder his head started to pound and the stinging of his temple seemed to double in intensity. Weird.. Not the current concern though. Time to get out of here. He couldn’t see the clock from where he was tied up but he could assume it probably wasn’t the most gracious amount of time.

He shifted back to lean into the back of the chair and wiggled his hands and fingers to figure out just how tight he was tied up. Tight but not terrible. He still had the normal amount of decreased blood flow in his hands. So, not as tight as the GIW goons like to do them but tight enough to bruise his skin.

Scowling lightly, his left hand phased through the ropes with little issue before bringing both arms around front to wiggle his torso out of the rooms holding him to the chair. His legs took a bit more work from slightly numb fingers to work the knots open and free his legs.

Pushing himself to his feet and nearly falling flat on his face was a surprise however. His legs felt like dead weight. Pins and needles starting in his thighs alerting him to the lack of blood flow to his lower half. His legs were.. Asleep? That was not normal. With his slowed heart rate and half dead metabolism the only times that ever happened was when he was with nocturne and went into a more “dead sleep” as he liked to call it. Usually the ancient would help him wake up before it got that far though..

Letting go of the chair that he had used to catch himself and half shuffling half limping over to the camera he scowled at the older model and flipped the screen so he could see what was being recorded.

A very static filled screen with hints of warehouse at the edges. Perfect. That was normal at least then, well normal for him around non ecto- contaminated electronics. He stepped back towards the chair and watched the static recede with his figure from the camera. Alright, hopefully this works.

“Hey uh.. Look I am not who he thinks I am? I am fine, I'll disarm the bomb here as best I can and then I’ll head out.. It seems like we are by a river? So I am hoping no workers are around but better to get rid of the thing, am I right?” He chuckled nervously, hand coming up to wipe at the beads of blood trailing down his cheek.

“So uh yeah Ill just do that and go? Uhh.. Yeah bye.” He nods a bit as he walks back to it and shuts the camera off.

Alright disarming a bomb.. It can’t be that hard can it? The mess of wires and C4 clay connecting the bomb and the cylinders looked more like a mess of silly string and playdoh than anything. Well it was more intuitive than the wiring his dad used at least.

Alright so that one to there.. That one connects the detonator and the… Right. Ok looks like separating the yellow and purple wires from the timer and the green and red from the detonator and back up detonator should prevent this thing from turning this entire area into a gas covered crater. Hopefully.

Using his fingers he disconnects the first two wires from each other only swearing slightly when electricity races through the wires and singes his fingertips. He sucks on the finger that got the worst of it before turning his other hand invisible and pushing it into the bomb to disconnect the wires hidden within the clay casing without disturbing anything that would set the backup detonator off.

“Fucking clowns… Robbing banks, kidnapping people, and now bombs.. Of all the things that could make me hate clowns more..” He grumbled around his finger under his breath as he observed the bomb closely and used his enhanced hearing to listen for the tell tale buzz of the still live bomb.

Silence.

Good. Now to get the hell outta dodge and figure out a way back to Amity.

And maybe pick up another coffee.

He wiped his fingers on his now rumpled jeans and dirty shirt before walking directly through the wall out to the side of the warehouse.

Tim was a smart kid. Sure he could get a little.. Exuberant, when something caught his attention. But that was normal. Completely normal. So maybe he gets a little sleep deprived now and then and maybe a little dehydrated, but that doesn’t mean anything!

Any person would stay up for 4 days straight to figure out why the riddler changed the font of his riddles to make sure it wasn’t some convoluted plan that meant he was working with some cult or was a clone working as a distraction for something larger!!

So sue him for drinking from a random coffee in the mess of half empty mugs in the hidden study he was working in, that may and or may not (read: definitely was) laced with enough melatonin and benadryl to knock out a horse while he was distracted with a case.

That was 13 hours ago.

Waking up from a sleep like that can always be a little disorienting. So when the silence of the manor finally reaches his muddled mind through the thick fog of sleep he immediately clocks something as wrong and is fighting to wake himself up fully. He narrows his eyes at the cups around him before pushing himself up and stumbling down the halls to the kitchen where he can grab a can of cold coffee from Dick’s stash hidden in the locked minifridge.

A few good sips from that has him at least alert enough to clock once again just how quiet and still the manor is. Now to be fair the manor was always a revolving door for the Wayne family and friends. But the only people who were often living here were him, Alfred, Bruce, and the demon brat.

Even with such a big place like the manor he should at least be able to pick up the tell tale signs of Bruce listening to music while doing paperwork or Alfred moving around the manor cleaning, or even the demon Brat playing with his menagerei or working with his literal arsenal of sharp weapons in his room.

Now, Silence.

Ok so based on his phone he was out for about 13 hours. That wasn’t all that long. He had gone longer without checking in so it's not like B had everyone panicking looking for him.. But where was everyone?

He lifted the cold coffee to his lips again and reveled in the bitter taste for a second before starting off towards the cave. It was probably fine. They were probably just out on patrol and Alfred was probably out doing something or other..

The cave was in a state of pandemonium. Well as much pandemonium as could be considered as such for the bat family. B, Dick, Steph and Damian were all standing staring up at the main computer. Well Dick was holding on to the hood of Damian who looked like he was trying to escape the grasp to get to his weapons and Bruce looked downright murderous. Even Dick and Steph looked pissed off.

The lilting and crazed sound of the joker's laugh echoed in the cavernous space of the cave and his scarred face and lithe body filled up most of the screen. He seems to have wandered in, just in the middle of the Clowns next big scheme. Great.

"Well, it seems the young CEO has some gal to him! What’s to say I finish this knock-knock joke with a punch line hmm? Better hurry Batsy you know how much I love a good punchline."

CEO huh? Wonder who he grabbed this time, he scowls slightly as he takes another sip of the cold drink only to choke as Joker steps aside and he catches a glimpse of himself?!!

He coughs sharply and feels 4 pairs of sharp eyes swing to him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see 3 sets of shoulders relax slightly and 1 set of suspicious eyes immediately start ping ponging between the screen and him as he works to clear his windpipe of cold brew.

“What the fu-” He starts to cough out before being interrupted by Not Tim.

"Look uh… Joker right? I think you have the wrong person" Not Tim starts as the camera tries to focus on them but seems to have difficulty as the picture around him is warped and covered in pixels and static. Even his voice had a slightly warped and staticky quality to it.

Shit. Everyone in Gotham knows not to give the joker sass.

“You have half an hour, Bats. Half an hour before the smart mouth here learns what the taste of good old-fashioned lead tastes like.” The joker cuts the guy off as he takes a few steps towards the man. And man he was.. Damn he looked skinny and honestly not that great from the little bits and pieces he could see of him through the static and distortion but the closer the Joker got to the kid the more the static seemed to open up a bit.

All eyes are drawn back to the Joker as he pulls his revolver from his coat pocket and aims it at what he can only assume is the other boy's forehead. Bruce- No Batman, the cowl and uniform were on. Was already leaping into the batmobile and Robin and spoiler weren’t far behind him. Here’s hoping Oracle had already pinpointed the location this was at, but it was unlikely even B and the others would get there in time to save this kid from Joker's wrath.

“Look-” the kid tries again and he can hear the slight waver in their voice as the Joker obscures the camera’s view of the kid.

He feels his jaw tick as he looks back up the screen, feet slowly carrying him up to the platform to stand just behind Dick as they watch the unfolding scene. The pixelation and distortion of the screen was visible in an almost halo effect around the joker as he stands just in front of the boy. The boy was completely obscured but the joker was perfectly clear.. Well about as clear as an old video camera got. Looked like from the quality like it was an old D90 digital point and shoot.

Not known for having video problems like this though..

BANG.

He scowls looking directly at the screen even as his stomach rolls slightly, expecting to see the blood start dripping down the guys pixelated form and his head to be forced back by the metal pole from which Joker had probably skewered him with his gag gun.

Blood and guts weren’t exactly a new thing to him and his siblings. Especially not in this profession. Not in this town..

““Hehe! Whoopsies!” The lack of blood that he is seeing as the Joker laughs and steps back enough for them to get a quick view of the form before the pixels swarm back in to obscure him.

“This thing just has a mind of its own!” The Joker prattles on as he reaches past Dick to press a few keys on the keyboard and bring up a still shot of the somewhat blurry but probably the clearest view they have had of the person tied up so far. It sits hovering in the left corner as the Joker goes on to prattle about his plans for destroying the city or the bats or whatever in the background.

“Now as I was saying, As much as i'm sure Mr. Wayne would like for you to come and rescue him, you my little friends have some more important things to be dealing with!”

“Mr. Wayne?” he says quietly to Dick who was standing beside him leaning forwards to look closer at the screen.

“Thinks it’s you apparently.” He responds sounding confused himself as he glances between the still shot and Tim with narrowed eyes.

He just shakes his head slightly as he starts running the still shot through the city's databases. He hears Oracle reporting sites of possible bombs to B and the others as Dick stands up and walks off to get on his bike to go help.

“Nightwing you're with Red who I hear is completely fine by the way.” The voice says pointedly as Tim slides a com into his ear.

“Hey it's not my fault you guys thought it was me!” He retorts as he slips into his uniform and starts his bike to follow Nightwing out of the cave towards the docks.

“Oh Noooo It's not like the black haired insomniac who went MIA for half a day definitely couldn’t be the Black haired unconscious insomniac tied up by The Joker of all people.” Jason retorts shortly through the comms as they pull away form the cave. He can see Dick smirk a bit as they make the trip over to the area Oracle sent them.

“Nice to hear from you too.” He snarks back slightly, even more annoyed now, knowing that even Jason was brought in on this. He did not need more blackmail for Todd to use against him. “Why is the walking dead helping anyways. Shouldn’t he be digging his own grave again?”

“Fuck you too replacement.” Comes the annoyed response.

“Enough.” B’s voice cuts across the banter. “While the unknown civilian was unconscious we could see him a lot better on camera. After being unable to contact and locate you we assumed the worst. Focus on your missions. I want all bombs and statuses related to Oracle as they are defused.” The communicator clicked slightly meaning he had been put back to a channel with only him and Nightwing and presumably Oracle if she was still listening, well she was always listening but not the point.

“Did they really look that much like me?” He asks after a few seconds of silent racing through the paved alleys and streets of gotham. The docks on the gotham river weren’t too far off he could smell it in the distance through his helmet. The building they were going to was in Gotham Proper (the lower of course).

“Yeah. They did.” Nightwing responds, his voice slightly strained showing that he was concerned that it really had been Tim kidnapped at the time.

“Huh..” Is all he can respond with as he thinks back to the still shot and pulls his bike to a stop behind Nightwing in the alley across from the building that Oracle sent them.

From the outside it was dark, not exactly clean and obviously uninhabited. The same couldn’t be said for the remainder of the buildings on the street. Light from covered windows and the distant rattle of a cart being dragged showed the life wading through the heavy atmosphere of Gotham lower.

Once Nightwing and him had gotten into the building and had located the bomb. Connected to laughing gas. New batch probably seeing as Robin and B had destroyed the last manufacturing plant. Which means no immediate antidote. Great.

He sighs as he pulls open his wrist computer to start analyzing the wiring only for his com to be reconnected with a flurry of activity from the others. Making him and Nightwing glance at each other as he worked on disarming the bomb in front of them.

“He’s escaped-”

“Not Possible-!!”

“He’s gonna get himself blown up?!!”

“Quiet.” The commanding voice of Batman broke across the chaos of the comms silencing all of the voices at once. No one wanted to cross a direct order from Batman.

“Oracle. What is going on.” He continued after a moment of silence.

“The civilian managed to escape his bonds and is going to attempt to defuse the bomb at the warehouse.” Her voice was calm and for the most part steady as they had all been trained to be when giving reports but the slight tremor was unmistakable. She was concerned.

To be fair, so was Tim. Who was this kid? Why did he think he could diffuse a bomb??! Especially one made to specifically lull those into a false sense of security only to blow up in your face a second later! A glance over at Nightwing showed he was just as concerned about the news as he was.

“Ill deal with it.” Batman’s voice responds after a brief pause and then the coms are silent once more aside from Oracle directing members of the bat family to the secondary bomb locations of those who had managed to defuse the initial ones.

He hissed softly as a sharp jolt manages to pierce his insulated gloves when he disconnects two of the wires. He can feel Nightwing’s eyes on the back of his head but he ignores the look and continues reaching further into the bomb to find the last 2 wires that had to be disconnected from the detonator and backup detonator.

He pulls his hand out and Nightwing reports that they defused the bomb getting an affirmative grunt from Batman.

“Bomb at the warehouse has already been defused. Civilian is no longer in the building or immediate area. Robin and I will go after the joker. Keep your eyes open for the civilian. I want them found. There was blood at the scene, they may need assistance.” Batman’s words are short and clipped but the concern and curiosity are there.

That only works to make Tims curiosity over this whole thing even worse.

After a brief discussion, Nightwing and him split up in hopes of covering more of Gotham to see if they can find this strange civilian. Oracle was going to keep an eye out on the cameras but Tim had his doubts that that would work with how the camera acted when it recorded the stranger.

Pausing on the edge of the roof he crouches down slightly to pull up the footage of the Jokers video before he got to the cave. All this concern over if this kid was him or not was starting to bug him. B and the others prided themselves on being able to pick out small details. Small differences. That is what made them such great detectives!

So how was it there was someone out there that looked exactly like him, was not in any of the records of Gotham and that also got captured by the joker? It just wasn’t plausible!

Now sure dopplegangers, clones, shapeshifting aliens, those were all things that came with the lifestyle and things that they had encountered and dealt with but usually with all that they tended to claim that they were the original.

Well most of the time at least.

But not this kid.. He scrubs through the footage quickly on his wrist hologram, it was just so weird.. One minute the Joker is setting up the camera and laughing as he taunted the Bats, an unconscious “Tim” in the background. The next his eyes flashed open under the black fringe of hair and the pixels and distortion just appeared!

Ok that was kinda weird, he’s pretty sure he has that shirt.. And those shoes but they were way cleaner and didn’t look like they had run a mile and a half through the swamp. The lighting was crummy enough in the warehouse that he supposed the jeans could look like the new pre- worn pair that he got from Kon.. Just who was this guy?

He pauses the feed after the Joker leaves and the guy manages to get out of the ropes holding him to the chair in a frankly worrying amount of time. No civilian knew how to get out of ropes that fast. Not even a tried and true gothamite who got tied up on the regular.

The stumbling and almost falling flat on his face on the concrete definitely was not something that spoke to someone who was just knocked out however. Drugged maybe? Or a concussion?? Both of those weren’t above something that the Joker would do..

And there is the static and distortion again. What the hell is going on with this camera and this guy.. It's like the static was specifically hiding this guy's identity! It followed him for god's sake as he walked away from the camera!

“Hey uh.. Look I am not who he thinks I am? I am fine, I'll disarm the bomb here as best I can and then I’ll head out.. It seems like we are by a river? So I am hoping no workers are around but better to get rid of the thing, am I right?”

The voice was similar in tone to his but even with the distortion warping it it had an accent to it. He couldn’t place the accent immediately but it was definitely there. “So uh yeah Ill just do that and go? Uhh.. Yeah bye.” The camera shuts off shortly after that concerning statement. Although, he supposed there was nothing to really be concerned about? After all this guy diffused the bomb. And well enough to have B concerned.

The sound of a trash can falling over and quiet swearing from a few alley’s over quickly garners his attention. Probably some drunk stumbling around but better to be safe than sorry. He deftly stands from his crouch and swings over the next few rooves, dropping onto the edge of the roof to look down into the darkened alley curiously.

That was.. That was the civilian. Well guess it's his lucky day! Wait - night? Night.

“SHit?!” Danny hisses to himself as he clips his foot against the metal trash bin sending it and whatever was inside crashing onto the already disgusting alleyway. His one leg was still bothering him for some reason. The pins and needles had barely eased up in his leg calf and foot and yet his right leg had returned to normal already. Something was up with that.

He lifts his hand to his left brow to double check the bleeding from the gunshot (stab? Cut- thing?) had eased off and closed up. With how polluted Gotham was already he didn’t need to be adding his weird ass blood to the mix. Luckily enough for him it seemed that Gotham had a larger than normal amount of ambient ectoplasm in the area meaning he could heal up his wounds faster then he would be able to using his own ectoplasmic energies.

“Son of A BI-” He spits out as he trips over a shade that darts out of a wall and makes him fall face first into the sticky and wet alley ground. He groans annoyed as he pushes himself back up to his knees and looks at his shirt and pants. How the hell was he supposed to explain this mess to his parents now… He smelled like piss and vomit and unfiltered ectoplasmic waste. They would already be pissed he missed his birthday supper and now he was in another state entirely. Fuck.

Someone was watching him.

He blinks slowly knowing the familiar feeling of eyes on him but this time it wasn’t some ghost. No, these eyes had weight behind them that ghosts simply couldn’t convey.

Homeless? … No, too intense.. Robber? Probably not but can’t be ruled out… Murderer? Well knowing his luck..

He frowns to himself and glances down at his left leg before pushing himself to his feet and angling himself to see if he could spot the person watching him without letting them know he knows they are there. As long as it was just some human he can lose them pretty easily by walking through a few walls but if it was something else.. Well he will cross that bridge when he gets there.

There. On the roof. He could just barely see the slight movement as whoever this was slid out of his line of sight.

Fuck. Probably a vigilante then. That was the last thing he needed right now. He just needed 5 minutes to himself to breathe, check his leg, and get the ring out of his pocket dimension to tear himself a portal back to amity.

He takes the next turn down the maze of allies and picks up his pace only to practically turn the corner and run into a dark figure about a head shorter than him.

He scowls slightly as he takes in the cape and domino mask. So a vigilante then. He was right. Damn.

“Where are you off to?” The guy smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks up at Danny. His outfit was a mix or red and black armour. Well at least the armour cut some nice figures over his outline.. Wonder if being hot was a necessity for being a vigilante here.

“Anywhere but where I was.” He answers cryptically, crossing his own arms over his chest as he gets a better look at this guy. Sharp jaw, thick black hair, high cheekbones, fit- damn if this dude wasn’t a vigilante he would be just his type..

“Well that's one way to answer, but seriously why are you out here? Don’t you know it's dangerous out here at this time of night?” The vigilante frowns slightly as if he was worried about Danny of all people.

“I.. I can take care of myself.” He responds shortly as he looks down at the smaller hero and moves to step around the guy. “Now if you don't mind.”

“I do mind actually,” Red responds, reaching out to grab his arm.

Danny moves out of reach as quickly as he can, letting this guy's hand phase through his arm to prevent him from actually touching him.

“Don’t. Don’t.. Don’t touch me.” He snaps out quickly trying to reign in his emotions before he actually did something to this guy he might regret.

“Look, it's been a long night. I just want to get home and sleep all this” He waves vaguely around and behind him “off. So I don't know what you want or who you think you are but leave. Me. Alone.”

He glares at the vigilante, hoping that this would work. Maybe if he was just rude and annoying enough the guy would back off enough for him to go intangible and get into one of these buildings so he can properly work on getting home.

Red just raises a brow making his mask arch with the movement, as his hands come up in a surrendering gesture.

“Easy there friend, look probably not the best way to have started this encounter but it's clear you aren't from around here. And therefore probably don't know who I am” He says the last bit under his breath.

Danny can't help the small snort that he gives that sentence but otherwise doesn't acknowledge him aside from just glaring.

“Names Red Robin, vigilante of Gotham. And you are??…” the guy- red Robin, offers him a hand to shake like a peace offering.

He considers the hand for a moment before sighing through his nose and dragging a hand through his hair. He shakes the hand and drops it quickly to keep the contact to a minimum. He didn’t need to give Red another reason to be suspicious and his lower body temperature tended to be a cause of concern for people who didn’t know him. He grits his teeth a bit before shifting his weight off his left leg. The feeling was still coming back, if a lot slower than normal. He would have to have Sam take a look when he got back.

“Danny. Now I really do need to be going.” He says shortly. “So if that's all.”

“You're injured.”

Those two words make him freeze and his heart stop In his chest.

“Look we can help just-”

He didn't even notice when this body decided to start running but he was. Dark and twisting alleys flashing past him as he pressed his legs to go faster. He couldn’t phase here. He said ‘we’. Who was we?? The GIW?? Fuck if he was working with them- who was he kidding they all probably were, the justice league any of their little hero's. Fuck he needed to get out of here yesterday.

He risked a glance behind him as he could still feel the energy of the person chasing him but for the moment he was out of sight. He had to risk it. There's no way a Gotham Vigilante would give up the chase. He'd seen what they were like from the news.

He dove around the corner and threw intangibility around himself like a familiar cloak as he nearly crashed through the brick wall that made up the end of the alley.

He quickly stopped breathing as he heard the near silent steps round the corner he did just seconds ago. The vigilante was alone still… For now. He couldn't stick around to see how long that would last. He stuck his hand into the fabric of reality and opened up his pocket dimension sliding the ring onto his finger with a small frown at the familiar overwhelming wave of power that accompanied the damn thing.

He shifted slightly and let the phase cover him silently till he was back as Phantom. It was familiar at least. Being Phantom. Not ‘high king Phantom’ just.. Phantom.

He shook his head as he listened to the other side of the wall. Red Robin seemed to be talking to someone but there were no other signs of living energy in the 500M radius of the two of them. Must be some sort of communication system.. sounded like it wasn't working very well if the muttered curses were anything to go by.

That would be his cue to leave anyways. If the vigilante put 2 and 2 together about the electronics.. If he hasn't already. He really would be screwed.

The high-pitched whine of something being launched and catching on the roof above him had him simultaneously ripping a hole in the fabric of reality and turning to look at the windows that were not boarded up, above his hiding space.

The minute toxic green eyes met those of the domino mask he was throwing himself through the portal and sealing it shut behind him.

[necrotic-nephilim]

Fandom: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Omega Dick Week (DCU), Omega Dick Grayson, Alpha Tim Drake (DCU), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Reverse Robins, first heat, Tim Drake is Red Hood, Dick Grayson is Robin, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Porn With Plot, Mildly Dubious Consent, Degradation, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting, Bratting, Dirty Talk, Begging, Pre-Flashpoint (DCU), Dacryphilia, Overstimulation, Batkids Age Reversal, Imprinting Summary:

Dick doesn't expect to have his first heat like this. He doesn't expect to have a first heat at all.

But when he presents around Tim Drake, the Red Hood he's been clearly warned to stay away from, he imprints on Tim and Dick will do anything to be near him. Sometimes, flirting with danger is worth the price.

-

Omega Dick Week 2024 - Day 1: Reverse Robin | First Heat

[luckyartdrawer]

Small WIP Moon fic drop

Sooo over the summer I started a new dca fic WIP (ik I shoulddd write for my other stuff but shhhhhhh-) and I'm doing a thing where I'm aiming to start posting this one until I'm either completely done or very close to done with the fic. (Because if I post right away my ass will not be able to keep them coming regularly 😔)

Rn I'm about 6 chapters of my expected 15 in! I wanna make this a pretty short story that'll still pack a bit of a punch. I got a message I wanna send >:)

I'm really feeling good about this fic, but since I'm holding back from posting the full chapters, I'll satiate my need to share by giving small tid bits from the beginning chapters. :)

TLDR:

This story is Moon centric and mostly takes place in his pov! (Sorry Sun lovers, I swear I adore that boyo too-) It's also an x reader and it'll be SFW - Moon is just gonna be a really clingy attention deprived goober. o3o

(Edit from the future: Okay so there's a lot of pinning going on so while it could probably still be interpreted as platonic/queer platonic, I'm not gonna label it as such anymore and chance making people uncomfortable)

If you're curious, I have 2 snippets and the story summary below the cut! Ty for reading through my yapping <3

Summary:

Moon was never one to outwardly complain about his place in life.

He had simply lost the lottery. Only out for moments at a time, too afraid to do anything wrong. He's active for so little as is, why risk losing even more time?

Moon prefers nap time. The one place where he can interact with the world calmly for a whole hour. To be a comfort rather than a tool. When everyone sleeps, he can relax, knowing he's done everything right.

Time for himself…

Now that's his favorite. But even then he cannot do much. Only in his wildest nonexistent dreams could he be truly free.

But one day, somehow… Moon actually dreamed.

Who knew how addictive a sweet dream could be?

vvvv Main Ch 1 scene vvvv

vvvv Scene depicting details about the Reader vvvv

Thank y'all for reading! This whole fic is based more on a world I created on my own, but you can definitely see influences from other things within.

The fic is so far planned to be called "Everything You've Ever Dreamed" - and if that rings a bell to you then it's likely exactly what you're thinking :)))

I don't mind if any of y'all wanna give your opinions on it. Tbh I'm not looking for criticism since this is just going to be a short story with unrealistic aspects. Plus, I just want to write something like this for my own satisfaction! Indulgence!!!

These snippets may or may not change once it comes time to finally start uploading the fic to ao3. This is still a WIP after all, I just love it so much to share it :3

(calling this fic Dreamlike and EYED for short/tags)

[trickstersaint]

hey hi hello! first of all i'd like to say i took your patron saint uquiz and it. Changed my life unironically it's so good. i follow you now because every line in that quiz was a gut punch and i loved it. top tier hurt honestly

my question is this - i am a fanauthor. on the side i also write my own original fiction but i specialize in fanfic. Am I allowed to use your poetry for a reference folder? I wouldn't use your poetry in a fic without explicit permission and without linking back here of course, and I'd never use it for commercial work outside of maybe taking inspiration without copying, but I wanna have a ref folder of Things That Made Me Feel Things about a character. It's not planned to be public as of yet, it's just supposed to be a bunch of screenshots in my drafts, but I'd like to maybe one day make it public once the fic was complete. (I already have your blog linked in my drafts actually, so if it goes public I'm not gonna forget.) I just want to make sure you're comfortable with me using your poetry for fanfic of all things

It's cool if not and have a great day! I still think your poetry is great and evocative and all

hi, anon! you're all good, i prommy. so glad you like the quiz + the poetry, and i would always prefer people come and ask questions if they're uncertain! no trouble at all.

my general stance is that as long as it's clearly credited, i am totally cool with my work being used in personal projects. like you said, i've got a tag for the things that people make! i love to see what people create. if it's for a noncommercial creative project then i would say there's no need to ask beforehand (unless it would make you more comfortable to ask, in which case go ahead and i'll almost certainly say yes <3). my only thing is that if you post it, please tag me in it/send it to me so that i can reblog it here for people to see!

if there are any questions about using my work that anyone has, feel free to ask. i don't think i've got anything particular going on outside of common practice! same way you'd treat, like, a richard siken poem or smth: you wanna credit it so that people can find the source material, and make sure you're not using it for profit unless you have an understanding with that author. i trust you all to be decent about it <3 kiss kiss go out and make your cool little things so that i can be delighted and amazed with them

[harudnae]

Sorry for disappearing, it will happen again

(but not before I post my latest fic)

[halfadeckofcards]

🤔

[aparticularbandit]

The Illusion of Choice: Junko Enoshima and Conjunction Junction

Summary: The imminent frustration of having to teach every single one of these characters what a fucking joke is sets Junko on edge.  Did their creator not program them to understand jokes?  Did the player character not make jokes?  What sort of game doesn’t involve a good ribbing between club members every now and again?

Ugh.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M because, as has been stated, this is a Danganronpa/Doki Doki Literature Club crossover, and given the content of both, this is inevitable.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

“I was told there would be cupcakes.”  Junko crosses her arms as Sayori leads her into an empty room.  “And a club.  You’re not just making all this shit up to get more alone time with me, right?  Because you don’t have to make up an entire club just to—”

“I’m not!”  Sayori waves her hands between them and backs up, an awkward grin on her face.  “I didn’t make anything up!  I—”

Junko clocks out of whatever Sayori says next.  It was a joke.  She knows Sayori isn’t making the whole club up, not after that conversation with Monika two days ago.  Or one day ago, if the repetition of Sayori’s lines says anything about the day when she met Monika.  It might as well have been erased from everyone else’s memories.  The game must lock Junko into a single day loop until she finally joins the club – or at least tells Sayori that she will, apparently.

How unfortunate for Monika.  An entire conversation.  Gone.

(Yeah, right.  Something tells her Monika remembers everything that happens.  Even if no one else does.  Equally unfortunate.)

Regardless, the fact that Sayo-chan doesn’t realize that her bestest friend forever is joking maybe says something about the quality of their relationship.

Or about the relationship the game expects them to have had before it began.

Either way, ick.

So instead of focusing on the continued rambling of her game-assigned bestie, Junko lets her gaze scan the room around them.  It looks just like the classroom she’d been in before.  Someone must have decided to just reuse art assets instead of making each area look different.  Lazy.  There’s not really much detail to the room; sure, the player is supposed to be paying attention to the characters and not the general atmosphere, but why not put in fun easter eggs or potential cheat codes?  Some people live for that sort of thing.

How boring.

As she scans the room, the door to the classroom slams open, and a girl with short actually bubblegum pink hair and eyes the same color as her hair parades in.  (It surprises Junko that she’d though Sayori’s hair was the right color, when this girl’s is – like maybe she hadn’t seen the right shade of pink in so long that she’d forgotten.  But how could she forget the color her hair was supposed to be?  (Easily enough.  Bitch, thy name is Chiaki.))  The girl carries a tray covered with an opaque plastic top and carefully sets it on the teacher’s desk as Monika follows her through the door.

“Natsuki!” Sayori squeals out.  “Don’t slam the door open—”

“I kicked it.  My hands were full!  What was I supposed to—”

“I could have opened it for you,” Monika interrupts, the only one of them to actually complete her sentence.  “When you kick the door open like that, you could break something.”

The new girl – Natsuki – rolls her eyes. “But I didn’t.  So it’s fine.”  Then her gaze lands on Junko.  “You’re the new girl?”  She smiles, and a fang peeks out of one corner.  “At least you’re not a boy.”

Sayori holds her hands up in front of her and bounces a few times as she says, “Did you think Ryo-chan was a—”

“Junko.”

“—boy?”

“Well, duh.” Natsuki crosses her arms.  “Ryo­-chan.  Sounds like a dude to me.”

“It’s Junko,” Junko repeats again, her teeth gritting together.

Natsuki turns to her.  “What is?”

Junko’s eyes grow dark.  “My name.  It’s Junko.  Enoshima Junko.  NOT Ryo-chan.  So quit fucking calling me that.”  She turns to Sayori and glares at her.  “Got. it?”

Sayori quivers under her heavy gaze.  “Sorry, Jun-chan!  I just….  I forgot!”  She taps her head with her hand and offers up an awkward smile.  “I…I don’t remember when you changed it—”

“I have never been….”  Junko takes a deep breath.  “That.  I’ve only ever been me.”  She pinches the bridge of her nose again.  “You would think,” she mutters under her breath, “that my bestest friend ever would know that.  But no.  No.  You have to call me—”

A hand lands on Junko’s shoulder and gives it a little squeeze.  She glances up to see—

Nothing.  There’s no one there.  Just the feeling of someone trying to be comforting but continuing to do absolutely nothing to fix the situation.

Chiaki, you fucking bitch, you did this on purpose.  I know you did this on purpose.

“Jun-chan,” Sayori murmurs.  “I’m sorry.  I won’t forget again.”  She tries to offer her another, just as awkward smile.  “Okay?”

“Whatever.”  Junko sighs.  She moves away from Sayori, who keeps trying to meet her eyes, and leans up against the wall just next to one of the windows.  Then she crosses her arms and tilts her head back as she focuses on the new girl.  “You’re Natsuki?”

Natsuki nods.  “Tsumiki Natsuki.”  Her eyes narrow.  “Don’t call me cute.”

Junko raises an eyebrow.  “Or what?”

“Or I call you Ryo-chan.”

The very idea sends rankles up Junko’s back, but she can’t fault it.  Game recognizes – well, not game, because none of these characters are going to be on her level, but she can at least recognize equal pettiness.  “Fair.”  She shrugs.  “You’re not all that cute anyway.”

Natsuki stares at her, as though trying to decide if Junko’s being serious or just joking.

The imminent frustration of having to teach every single one of these characters what a fucking joke is sets Junko on edge.  Did their creator not program them to understand jokes?  Did the player character not make jokes?  What sort of game doesn’t involve a good ribbing between club members every now and again?

Ugh.

It’s fine.  She’ll learn the in-jokes and whatever humor their creator seems to run on – everyone has some sense of humor, even if it’s incredibly dry, even if someone else might consider it humorless – and in a game that focuses on character interaction and club dynamics, there has to be one somewhere.  She just has to find it.

Or, you know, make them adjust to hers.  Whichever bends the game to her will more easily.  (You’d think that would be adjusting the characters’ sense of humor to her own, but often playing within the bounds of the game will be much more effective than demanding it cater to her.)

“Well, Enoshima-san.”  Monika moves over to her with an outstretched hand, endlessly formal.  “I know we’ve already met, but I’m Ikusaba Monika.”

If Junko didn’t internally flinch when Natsuki introduced herself as Tsumiki, then she does now.  Her eyes narrow.  “You’re kidding me.”

Monika’s brow furrows.  “Is there something wrong?”

“No.  Nothing.”  Junko lies through her teeth, knows that it’s easy to tell that she is, and grits her teeth before her eyes flick not so subtly upward.  Then, she relaxes, grins.  “Moni-kun.”

Monika’s eyes widen.  “Wait—”

But Sayori interrupts, clapping her hands together so loud that it might as well be a thunderclap in the silence surrounding them.  “Moni-kun!  That’s amazing!”  She turns to Natsuki.  “Don’t you think that’s cool?”

“I could have thought of that.”

But as Natsuki pouts, Junko’s lips curve into a much more smug expression.  She slaps her hand into Monika’s and squeezes tight, then leans in and whispers, “Mono-kun.”

The change in the nickname doesn’t seem to shake Monika as much as the first version did.  Of course.  There’s nothing about Monokuma or Ultimate Despair in this game; she doesn’t have to go through its entire code to know that.  Even if there was, Chiaki would have scrubbed it clean before putting Junko in here.  But it’s still fun to force it into the space.  It might just be for her own personal benefit – a reminder of something that shouldn’t exist – but it’s there all the same.

(Or she could drop it entirely.  Give herself that little booster shot of despair every time she has to remember.  Chiaki might not be right about the game being made for her, or whatever, but the constant drip of despair might be.)

Then, while Monika squeezes Junko’s hand just as tight (but still isn’t nearly as painful because Monika doesn’t know how to use her shorn nails), the door to the clubroom opens again, a fourth girl walks in, and whatever petty fascination Junko has with Monika disappears.  She can’t see much through Monika, who stands directly in front of her, but she knows that height, and she knows that hair.

Mikan?

As Junko drops her hand, Monika turns.  “Yuri!  You’re running a bit late today.”

“O-oh, no.”  The girl with deep purple hair moves into better view as she carries a tray of tea over to the teacher’s desk and sets it just next to the tray Natsuki set there.  “I was here early, b-but you said….  Sayori said we would have a…a new member today, so I just thought….”  She blushes a bright, bright red and gestures to the tea before hiding behind one of her long strands of hair.

Not Mikan.

Seeing her now – her hair not disheveled and uneven, the darker saturation of its color (and that of her eyes as well) – Junko is surprised she ever mistook her for the woman she—

“Enoshima Junko,” she says by way of introduction, pushing herself past Monika with her hand outstretched.  “Moni-kun called you Yuri?”

“Y-yes.”  Yuri blushes an even brighter red.  “Matsuda Yuri.”  She takes Junko’s hand, then glances up and meets her eyes.  “It’s a…a pleasure to meet you, Enoshima-san.”

Ah.

Junko smiles – soft – and says, “You don’t need to be so formal.  Call me Junko.”

Yuri’s blush remains as she averts her eyes.  Her hand is soft, gentle, and warm from carrying the tea.  For a moment, just a moment, Junko is sure that Yuri rubs her thumb along the back of her hand.

That moment is lost when Natsuki slams the top of the table behind them, and Yuri jumps away, dropping Junko’s hand as she does.  “Great,” Natsuki says.  “You’ve met everyone.”  She grins, that canine poking out over her lips.  “I made cupcakes.”

Behind them, Sayori squees.  She comes to the front, accidentally separating Junko and Yuri even more as she does.  “Cupcakes!”  She turns to Junko with a huge grin.  “Natsuki makes the best cupcakes, Jun-chan!  You’re going to love them!”

“I won’t be eating—”

“You should eat one,” Monika murmurs, sidling up on her other side.  “To be polite.”

Natsuki glares at both of them.  “Don’t eat it to be polite!  If you don’t want one, don’t eat it!  But you’re missing out!”  She crosses her arms and grins.  “I’m a master chef, and this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“Once in a lifetime when you make cupcakes for every special occasion,” Mikan Yuri mutters under her breath.

Immediately, Natsuki’s glare moves to her.  “What did you say?”

“N-n-nothing.”

“Good.”  Natsuki takes the opaque plastic top from her tray with a bright smile.  “Look!”

But Junko isn’t looking at the cupcakes.  (They’re cute, and they look like kittens.  Natsuki’s a good cupcake artist, sure, but that doesn’t mean the cupcakes will taste good.  It doesn’t matter.  She’s not eating one.)  Instead, she’s focused on Yuri, who moves to one side of the table to start pouring the tea.  She walks over to join her.  “How do you take yours?”

“A little cream, no sugar.”  Yuri doesn’t glance up.  “Sugar can enhance the natural flavor, but I find it makes the tea far too sweet for me, especially when paired with Natsuki’s cupcakes.  Having something a little bitter makes the whole so much better, don’t you think?”  Then she flinches.  “S-s-sorry.  I don’t know what came over me—”

“It’s fine,” Junko murmurs, smiling as Yuri blushes again.  “I like mine the same way.  All that sugar makes my teeth ache.”

Yuri nods to the cupcakes.  “They are very good, though.  Natsuki…she puts a lot of thought into them.”  But her eyes darken as they drop.  “They’re very…cute.”

“I heard that!”

~

The rest of the meeting goes…easily.  Not poor, not well, just easy.  Like the introductory phase of a—

“Did you put me in a fucking dating sim?” Junko rails at her empty bedroom when she returns.  It’s the spot of silence in a day that feels as though it’s been full of people, and she’s tired – so tired.  She hates this.  They aren’t even real people, and they’re wearing the names of people she loves, even if they don’t know it.  The worst part is that their names don’t even match!  Monika is nothing like Mukuro, Natsuki is nothing like Mikan, and Yuri is nothing like—

Junko’s eyes narrow.

“How much scraping did you do to pull all of that out, huh?”

Chiaki sighs behind her.  “I didn’t modify the game, Jun-chan.”

At her words, Junko whirls to her, eyes narrowing.  “It’s not fair that of the two of us, you’re the one who can appear and disappear at will.  You said you put us both here, and you aren’t even playing.”  She leans forward.  “You and Sayori would be such good friends.”

“We would be, I think,” Chiaki admits with a nod, “but the girls all like whoever joins the club.  It’s a function of the game.”

“Yeah.  Because it’s a dating sim.”  Junko glares at Chiaki, who first leans back against and then finally sits on Junko’s bed, tucking her feet underneath her.  “You think getting boned down is going to fix me?  Me?”  She laughs.  “Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t.  You’d know that if you paid attention to any of those memories you mined from me.”

“I didn’t mine any of your—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Chiaki shrugs.  “I won’t if you don’t.”  She glances around the room.  “I didn’t do anything to you that I wasn’t programmed to do, other than putting you in a different game, and even that is programming.  This one suits you better than the island and gathering hope fragments; that’s all.”  Then she pats the bed next to her.  “Do you want to talk, or just to yell at me?”

“Yell.  Glare.  Call bad names.  Give you shit for—”  Junko yawns and covers her mouth with one hand.  “Nope.  That’s all getting pretty boring.”  She sighs.  “Even being petty loses it’s charm after a while.  I could think of a hundred thousand ways to kill you, but the moment the execution happens, I’ve already thought it out, and it loses its appeal.  The shock value’s there for a viewer, sure, but I don’t need the real thing.”

“Sure, you do.”  Chiaki meets her eyes levelly.  “If you don’t really kill me, how do you feel any despair from my death?”  She pushes herself from the bed and brushes her skirt.  “Are you enjoying the game, at least?”

“No.”

Chiaki smiles.  “You are, I think.  Or you wouldn’t be so mad about it.”  She glances up.  “I need to go.”

Junko rolls her eyes.  “Of course, you do.  Can’t stay and have a good chat with your friend, Jun-chan, who you’ve locked into—”  As she continues, Chiaki disappears again, fading completely from view.  To be honest, she isn’t surprised, and if she’s even more honest with herself, she’s glad she’s gone.  She flops back onto her bed and stares up at the Rocky Horror Picture Show poster tacked to her ceiling.  “Oh, Frank-N-Furter,” she sighs.  “We’re really in it now.”

Except she knows that this, being just the beginning, isn’t in it at all.

This is coming in during the Time Warp sequence.  This isn’t even the arrival of Frank-N-Furter himself.  This is all lead up.

Everything after this is the real game.

(She hates it here.)

POLL HERE

[merlinfromberlin]

Masterpost 2.0

Hello and welcome to my overhauled Masterpost. ^^

I’m not sure if it’s better than before, but it’s up-to-date and prettier (in my opinion). And it has smileys now. :D

About Me:

early twenties | they/them | not actually from Berlin

AO3-Profile

University student majoring in History.

English is my second language, so, please forgive minor vocab/grammar/syntax mistakes – they tend to pop up from time to time, especially if I’m tired.

I’m always open to talking to people! It might take me a bit to answer, but always feel free to start conversations via DMs or send asks. <3

Fics: mostly Angst, Hurt/Comfort & Found Family, sometimes a bit of fluff; mostly Transformers

Ships: ships may vary depending on continuity/story and are usually not the focus of my writing; however, OptiRatch (TFP) keeps popping up here and there;

Also just going to sneak that in right here. I’m open to beta-reading fics, especially for people I’ve interacted with before/interact with somewhat regularly – be that on tumblr or AO3. I actually kind of enjoy it, so, feel free to hit me up and I’ll see if I can help. <3

Fanfic Overview:

A Little Left Of Right

"Apparently our cross-dimensional counterparts belong to the more faint of heart," said Optimus. His words sent a cold shiver down Bumblebee's backstrut. "Weren't they keeping pets, too?" asked Arcee, the cold sneer that accompanied those words basically audible. "Pathetic. I don't know what anyone could ever find in these squishies. It's a shame we're stuck here with them." ::What?:: bleeped Bee.

Or: When Bumblebee wakes up after a crash, something is not quite right with Team Prime.

- chapter: 2/? - words: 4,058 - date: October 2024 - ?

- first two chapters written for Angstober 2024

Angstober 2024 Oneshots

Series containing all the oneshots I wrote for Angstober 2024.

- works: 10 - words: 10,992 - date: October 2024

 Champions Aren’t Born

When a scout injured at Tyger Pax turns out to be barely older than a sparkling, Optimus and Ratchet are horrified. Nevertheless they are determined to keep the youngling safe from now on. But while they try to grapple with the challenges of trying to care for a traumatised youngling, their time is running out. Not only are the days of Cybertron counted and their departure now inevitable, but they also need to find the bot who took in a sparkling to send him onto the battlefield.

- chapter: 3/? - words: 8,564 - date: September 2023 - ?

- on Hiatus until I’ve watched some more of G1

Dreaming of Home

Megatron has constructed the perfect fantasy to trap Bumblebee in his own processor. After all, if the scout doesn't want to wake up, he won't interfere with the warlord's plans to resurrect himself, either.

- chapter: 1/2 - words: 1,797 - date: October 2024 - ?

- first chapter written for Angstober 2024 Day 11: Wake Up  

Empty Words by Empty Sparks

“I’m still writing letters to you.” It’s the only justification Bumblebee can think of as he stands in front of Optimus Prime’s grave for the first time since his funeral hexacycles ago.

- chapter: 1/1 - words: 400 - date: July 2024

MYFA

All My Tears Have Been Used Up

What baby Bee was doing before Optimus and Ratchet found him.

- chapter: 1/1 - words: 1,629 - date: October 2024

- Heed the Warnings on AO3, please - based on an Angstober 2024 prompt 27: Curled Up

Make You Feel Alright

Primus knew, Ratchet would do anything to shield his sparkling from harm. Yet, the War made exceptions for no one, not even at the insistence and threats of grumpy old medics. Thus, sometimes the only thing Ratchet could do was to hold and comfort Bumblebee in the aftermath of disaster.

Or: 5 times Ratchet had to encourage Bumblebee to open his servo. The gritty, the wholesome and the dark.

- chapter: 5/5 - words: 23,105 - date: June – July 2024

So You Know I Care

As Ratchet waits for Bumblebee to wake up after being tortured at Tyger Pax, he makes a promise.

- chapter: 1/1 - words: 1,003 - date: October 2024

- based on Angstober 2024 prompt 09: Promise

Nooks & Crevices

Hiding was a skill essential to those growing up on Cybertron during the Civil War. However, for a certain vibrantly yellow sparkling raised by the Autobot High Command, and highly sought after by the Decepticons, being able to stay undetected is even more vital than most. It’s a good thing then that Bumblebee is a natural.

Or: 5 times Bumblebee ‘played’ Hide & Seek with his family and 1 time a Decepticon played with him.

- chapter: 1/6 - words: 5,965 - date: August 2024 - ?

- on Hiatus until I’ve watched some more of G1

Numb Little Bug

The feeling was already there when it became aware of life for the first time. It was eternally graceful and wise.

The feeling would still be there long after its awareness of life had ceased. It was eternally graceful and cruel.

- chapter: 7 - words: currently I have c. 30,000 words written across all 7 chapters; - date: don’t know yet; hopefully I’ll be at a point where I can start sharing more at the end of the year

- TFP rewrite - find the first few paragraphs here

The Best of My Spark You Took

When Optimus Prime gave up the Matrix of Leadership and his memories, some of the Autobots lost more than just their leader.

Or: The reactions of two Autobots, one Decepticon and one guy to Orion Pax. In drabbles.

- chapter: 1/1 - words: 400 - date: July 2024

Fanfic Recommendations:

Bee & Ratchet Fics

I hope you’re having a nice day wherever you are!

And now I’ll get back to writing:

[its-all-ineffable]

Hey guys. All my followers and mutuals old and new, and those peeps who ocassionally wander across one of my posts/reblogs.

I'm afraid I'll not be posting much on Tumblr for a while, or likely getting many fanfics posted in the coming months.

I've just started a new part-time job that's 20 hours a week, 5 days a week, and I am also starting a part-time Master's Degree that will take up 2 evenings per week and much more of my time (because it's coursework based). So I will be VERY fucking busy and also VERY tired, and will likely be using any spare time I have from these things to sleep, watch some tv/movies or read (if I feel up to it).

I will be around for sure, and I hope to keep writing and posting fanfics. However, don't expect the productivity you've seen recently repeated for a LONG while.

Love you all, and thanks for your support. All of you. x

[jinxofthedesert]

To all wanting an update: I am hoping to get chapter 29 of Carve My Name Into Your Skin out next month. I was really hoping to make it for January but I just haven't had the time.

To those who are unaware, I began my Masters Program at the start of Jan and that is literally all I've been doing. It doesn't leave my mind with much clarity afterward, so the writing has been incredibly slow.

Ironically the chapter is getting long despite this as I've been working on it when I can. I was hoping there would be a place to break it off, as I've done with the last few chapters concerning the scene with Thorfinn and Bjorn. Make it a 4 part, instead of my planned 3 part. But there has been no good spot to end the chapter, unless I did it mid-dialogue which isn't something I want to do.

Currently the chapter is sitting at 18k, very close to 19k honestly. I have a possible place I could break it off a bit further from where I am and end the chapter early since the conversation will be switching but . . . we shall see. That would be great.

Either way, thought I'd let you all know! Wishing you all a fantastic rest of your weekend and a good luck to the start of your week. You got this~

[shivasdarknight]

Putting this over here to isolate this point: the OTW Volunteers did a lot of work to get AO3 back up and running after the DDoS. The OTW Board didn't do shit.

Your donations to AO3 go into OTW's financial reserve, and an estimate of how much they have is around $2.5 million (thread that breaks this down). They can maintain the platform for five years with what they have stored, and that number may be a low estimate.

OTW doesn't need your money. OTW's volunteers deserve financial compensation for all they've been subjected to, but none will see a penny from your donations.

Support the volunteers all you like, but know that your donations do nothing for them nor improve their working conditions.

Also stop being islamophobic assholes, the people who did this called themselves Sudanese just to get this kind of response. Grow up, learn to spot a troll, and go educate yourselves instead of constantly spewing racist shit.

[artemisdesari-blog]

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[soaps-mohawk]

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks. 

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all. 

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

Updates are posted on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday PST

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

I will no longer be using a taglist for this fic, please follow THIS BLOG and turn on notifications

**This fic is currently in progress**

NAVIGATION PAGE

CRCB DIRECTORY

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful

Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer *

Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry

Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost

Chapter 9 - Save Me

Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming

Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins*

Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together*

Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie*

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes *

Chapter 17: Alone

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Chapter 19: Daddy Issues

Chapter 20: The New Normal *

Chapter 21: Crime and Punishment *

Chapter 22: I Won't Be Gentle

Part 5 - A Pack of Five

Chapter 23: Regrets

Chapter 24: The Last First Time *

Chapter 25: Animals *

Chapter 26: Fuck *

Chapter 27: Drown In It *

Chapter 28: Two Is Company, Three Is A Party *

Chapter 29: There's Something Wrong With My Omega

Part 6 - The Tragedy

Chapter 30: Butterfly's Wings

Chapter 31: Forced Proximity

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Part 7 - The Aftermath

Chapter 35: Threads

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Chapter 37: The Silence

Chapter 38: Shattered

Chapter 39: Life

Part 8 - The Next Chapter

Chapter 40: Where Do We Go From Here

Chapter 41: Revenge

Chapter 42: Comfort and Joy

Chapter 43: Lies

Chapter 44: Little Shit

Title card made by the beautiful @141wh0re

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 What If....

You ask him to leave the uniform on? 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I am feral over this. FERAL. Literally chewing on my own arm because I need to calm down. Your prompts always get me going. I totally blame you for this. Now, I went with a little variety here. We've got Kyle in formal military dress, John coming home from deployment, Johnny returning on break for a quickie, and Simon playing out a pre discussed fantasy. Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, CNC, breeding, restraints, welcome home sex, quickies, formal events, semi-public sex, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), sex in a car, dirty talk, brief knifeplay, light degradation

Word Count: 3.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s return is delayed.

He was supposed to come home to you a month ago. But it wasn’t him that notified you about his postponed reunion. Someone from SAS contacted you via the post. The envelope held a singular piece of paper. No apology. Just black ink on a white sheet with an official letterhead. John has always been good about making sure you know when he’ll return. It's something you constantly worry about.

While on a mission, you won't hear from him—this you know. But whenever he is able, John makes an effort to let you know when to expect him or if he's okay.

To not hear from him is odd, and it stirs up all sorts of emotions, pushing your brain toward any number of possibilities. Each scenario appears briefly before sliding into another. They worsen—and then you’re sick, stomach twisted into a tight knot.

That piece of paper is on the kitchen counter. Untouched—but not forgotten. It said yesterday. And yesterday, John did not return.

You’re chewing on your fingernails. Pacing. Stressing.

It's the familiar squeak of the doorknob from the front door that finally stalls your racing thoughts. All that mental energy becomes physical. You're sprinting, throwing yourself at John the moment he enters.

He chuckles—the sound is pleasant and soothing to your heart.

“Didn’t think you’d be home,” he says, drawing you close.

Your answer is to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, and seize a kiss from him that says so much. You need John to know how much you’ve missed him—how worried you’ve been.

His hands on your hips tighten, squeezing slightly as he melts under your kisses. Each one is desperate. Needy. You savor him like you’ll never know this again. John's grip on you is firm, and much stronger than you can resist. He draws you away from him—not enough to create a separation—but enough to talk.

“Slow down, love. Let me look at you.” His hands move to your face, cradling your cheeks. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," you reply. You pull him close again. "Need you." Just a murmur, hardly audible, but John hears it.

He does not resist. He gives in, accepting your love, answering every kiss and touch with one of his own. Hands roam, fingers cling, and yet you're not nearly close enough. You need him on his back with you atop him.

John breaks away, breathing heavy, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. "Bedroom."

You shake your head. "Right here,” you reply, going in for another kiss. “Uniform stays on.”

The middle of John's brow scrunches slightly in confusion, but your fingers are already looping in his belt buckles, guiding him into the living room. That brief moment of confusion morphs into a sultry smirk.

John allows you to guide, allows you to push him onto his back on the sofa. His hands never leave your body, they roam constantly even as you undo the front of his pants and shimmy them down to mid-thigh.

You have him in hand instantly, coaxing him to hardness quickly. The need for him is a driving force, positioning yourself above him, ready to impale yourself.

John's hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your center. "Your—fuck." The sound of your slickness greets him and John groans.

Placing your hands on his chest, John palms the base of his cock, lining it up. You don't slowly ease down. You drop, accepting every inch of him in one go. There is a brief flare of pain from the rapid intrusion, and then it's gone, replaced with the fullness of him inside you.

With your palms splayed wide, you're able to rock your hips, moving up and down his length in a steady movement that has both of you groaning.

"I missed you," he murmurs as you come back down on him. "Fuck—I missed you."

Your thighs start to burn with every bounce. John's fingers dig into your hips, dragging downward before ascending again. With the next roll of your hips, John meets you, thrusting up. It cuts a sharp gasp from your lips.

He grips harder, taking control. You cling to the front of his uniform, fisting the fabric as John brings you down just as he thrusts upward. It is not sweet. It is brutal and desperate. Each connection drags more pleasure out of you until your head falls back and you clench around him.

With a deep groan, John sits up, and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there is nowhere to go. All you can do is take what he gives.

John buries his face against your neck. "Love you so much."

You hook your heels behind his legs, urging him on. "Love you," you manage to gasp.

It is all sweat and heat. John's lips graze the line of your throat and then your chin. You turn toward him, the two of you meeting as he holds his body against yours, his release flooding your pussy.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle drapes his arm over your shoulder, tugging you against him, the noise of the function receding with every step. Usually when the two of you attend a formal function together, Kyle is in a suit, but this attendance was requested by Kyle's superior officer, Captain John Price.

Instead of a suit, Kyle wears his formal military dress. The uniform is freshly steamed and free of wrinkles. His shoes are polished to perfection. Like this, he's incredibly handsome. You've been admiring him all night, resisting the urge to touch him too much around people he works with on a regular basis.

"Can't wait to take this bloody thing off," sighs Kyle, lightly tugging on the neckline of his uniform.

You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring his warmth. "I think you look rather dashing."

"Dashing?" he laughs.

As the two of you enter the parking garage, you snag his hat, placing it on your head. Kyle's smile widens. He leans in for a kiss, greedily accepting what you offer him. Removing the car keys from his pocket, Kyle hits the button to unlock the vehicle. The SUV beeps, headlights coming on.

Kyle takes his hat back, holding it with one hand instead of putting it back on his head. He offers his mouth again and you close the distance.

"Can't wait to get that dress off you, love," he murmurs against your lips. “Been thinking about it all evening.”

You place your hand against his chest. "I think I'd like it if you leave the uniform on."

Kyle nearly chokes. "What?" he draws back slightly.

With a mischievous grin, you tug Kyle around the side of the SUV. The vehicle is in a corner spot, leaving the two of you tucked between it and a cement wall. There is no camera and no light. Both of you are hidden in shadow.

No one will notice the two of you unless they come looking.

You lean in slowly, offering your mouth. Kyle places his hand on the side of your throat, thumb slowly rubbing against the front of your neck. The kiss is honey-sweet, and tinted with seductive need. You seek another, and yet another until the two of you are gasping for air.

"Not here," murmurs Kyle, drawing back slightly.

Your hand slides downward, pausing at his belt. Kyle whispers your name, but there is no fight in it. If anything, it is lustful. Fingers toying with the belt, you kiss him again, loosening the buckle and then the front of his pants.

Reaching your hand inside, you find him hard and wanting.

"Someone will see," he groans, grabbing your wrist.

"Who will see us?" you reply softly. Kyle's gaze shifts outward to the parking garage.

"No one is around." You start to descend, opening his pants further.

Kyle's attention returns to you. His pupils expand as you take him in hand, painting your bottom lip with a pearly bead of cum. You present your glossy mouth to him, and Kyle brushes the pad of his thumb across it.

You lightly nip at that thumb, and then take him into your mouth. Kyle stifles his groan, but it comes out as a muted whimper. He gently cups the back of your head as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks when you come back up.

This is just a tease. You want his resolve to slip.

Kyle doesn't break eye contact. He is completely focused on watching you. His dick twitches in your mouth, and Kyle grunts.

"Fuck, love. Come here."

With gentle tenderness, Kyle grasps the back of your neck, easing you off him. You extended your legs, leaning into him.

His voice is slightly husky. "I can't wait until we're home."

Kyle opens the rear passenger door and helps you up into the seat. You slide backward to the other end, Kyle following. With a hand on your throat, he pushes you onto your back. These next kisses are rough and possessive. Hungry. Claiming. You open for him, wanting to consume.

His free hand is gripping your dress, shoving it upward where it collects at your hips. Your tongue meets his the moment his fingers slip between skin and underwear. It is brief, and then he's drawing back only to bury his face between your legs.

Digging your heels into Kyle's back to stabilize yourself, you give in, moaning loudly as his tongue swirls a path up and down your sex. He teases just like you teased him. But it is short-lived.

Kyle is desperate for you. He finds your clit and stays put, tongue working quickly to send you over the edge. Your body shudders, a breathy groan escaping you as the orgasm hits. Still on your back, Kyle ascends, one hand pressed to the inside of your thigh while the other finds leverage against the car door just above your head. You lift your hips slightly, presenting your pussy to him.

He takes the hint, thrusting deep.

He does not go slowly. It is skin slapping against skin. It is all low groans and desperate fingers. His body weight keeps you pinned, and if anyone were to open door they'd have a clear view of his bare ass.

"Don't stop," you beg. "Please."

Kyle's answer is to seize your mouth, to force his air into your lungs, to firmly press his body to yours and swivel his hips, pelvis grinding against clit. Your hands fall on his ass, and then he's transformed. An animal. Rutting.

Surely, the car is shaking, but you hardly care. You only want him to finish. To give you every drop of his release.

You feel his muscles tighten under your hands, and then your bodies are sealed.

There is a small pause between then and the moment he kisses you, this time tenderly.

"So much for waiting," you tease.

Kyle’s exhalation is a pleased one. "Just wait until we get home."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

Johnny's smile is devilish. "Came to see you."

"Me?" you laugh. "You just saw me this morning."

"And it wasn't nearly enough," coos Johnny, grabbing hip and waist, tugging you against him. "Missed you the whole time. Couldn't stay away."

Before you can form a reply, Johnny is lifting you up and onto the kitchen counter. He pushes everything up and out of the way, revealing your pussy to him.

"Johnny!" you exclaim.

With one hand on your thigh, Johnny uses his other hand to remove his belt and undo the front of his pants.

"I came home to fuck my wife." You instantly feel your cheeks grow hot. With a sultry smile, Johnny leans in but doesn't close the distance. "Would you like that?"

You nod. "Yes," you reply, voice nearly a whisper. "But—"

"But what?" he asks. You gesture at him. "The uniform? That stays on, love."

Guiding you wider, Johnny circles your clit with the pad of his thumb. The touch is electric, making you shiver as he toys with your sensitivity.

"Look at that," he purrs. "Look how wet and ready you are for me."

You whimper as Johnny tests your pussy with a finger.

"I think this deserves something bigger. What do you think, love?" He inserts a second and you whimper again. "Use your words."

"I want you inside me."

"I am inside you," he teases, pumping both fingers.

You shake your head, gasping as his thumb toys with your clit. "Your dick, Johnny."

"That I can do." His fingers are gone instantly, replaced with the head of his cock. He holds himself just inside, inching slowly until you've taken him to the base. "We'll have to make this quick. Can't be late and disappoint Price."

Johnny lightly swivels his hips, and then he's holding you in place, thrusting steadily. He kisses your lips, then your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple, Johnny boxes you in, using your pussy for himself.

"You take me so well," he says softly. "Watch. Want you to watch."

Your gaze shifts downward, locking on to where your bodies meet. Keeping one hand on the countertop to stabilize yourself, you bring the other between your legs, fingers lightly playing with your clit.

"That's it," purrs Johnny. "Come for me."

A brief swirl and you're gone, squeezing hard around Johnny. He fucks you through it, grunting as he increases his pace. With a moan that claws up his throat, Johnny seals your bodies together, and his warmth floods your pussy. He thrusts lightly and stills.

A beat of silence, and then you both burst out into laughter.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, shaking his head.

"You came all this way on a break just to have sex with me?" you laugh.

Johnny leans back, grinning sheepishly. He glances down at his watch, smile fading. "Shit."

He pulls out and steps back, fumbling with his pants.

"Are you going to be late?" you ask teasingly.

Johnny tightens his belt and then helps you off the counter. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he heads out the door.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Every light in the house is off. The blinds are closed and it's completely dark except in one particular room.

The deep red glow calls out to you like a siren song. You stride toward it, moving through the hall silently like a shadow. The bedroom door stands open, revealing the blood-tinged space. From your point of view, nothing is out of place. All is calm and as it should be.

But Simon is here somewhere. Lurking. Watching.

This is what you wanted after all. An idea you passed off to Simon with the hope that he'd indulge your fantasy. Clearly, he took it to heart.

Adrenaline spikes in your blood as your gaze focuses on the bed. Attached to each corner are wrist and ankle cuffs. To be immobile and bred at Simon's pleasure is all you asked for, and here it is.

As you step forward, a large gloved hand slides over the front of your throat, squeezing. Simon is right behind you, and you feel every inch of him. Without even having to look, you know Simon is in full tactical gear. Parts of it dig into your back.

The leather of his gloves squeak as his fingers adjust against your throat. With a little pressure, he tilts your head back and you meet his whiskey-brown eyes. It's all you can see of his face. The rest is shrouded behind a balaclava.

"Do as I say," he growls. "Or you'll make this harder on yourself."

His command sends a bolt of need straight to your clit. Already, you feel a growing slickness between your thighs.

"Answer me if you understand."

"I understand," you murmur.

Simon makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb rubs a gentle line back and forth over the same spot.

His head tilts, lips pressing against your ear through the balaclava. "Then be a good little slut and get on your back."

Using his leverage on your throat, Simon lightly shoves you toward the bed. This time you turn around, facing him completely for the first time. He's dressed in all black tactical gear. Every inch of him is covered except his eyes, and his large frame fills the doorway.

When you take a step back, he takes a step forward. The backs of your thighs hit the bed, and you push yourself up and on, reclining until you're nearly horizontal. Simon saunters, gaze predatory and observing. His gloved hands hover just above your legs, pausing there before he bends slightly, reaching for an ankle cuff.

Simon glances between it and you languidly. You're not sure what his intentions are, not until he grabs your ankle with his other hand and tugs hard. You yelp, surprised, and then you kick out, attempting but failing to free yourself as Simon attaches the cuff into place.

"You said you understood," he growls, as you sit up to swing on him.

Simon snatches your wrist right out of the air. He hops onto the bed, kneeling as he grabs one of the cuffs for your wrists. Still, you fight and still you fail as he latches it in place.

You're not immobile but you're more restrained than before, movement restricted enough that you can't fight back like you want to. Not that you want to escape.

With a fluidity that surprises, Simon removes a knife from his boot and hooks it under the hem of your shirt. A sharp tug and the fabric surrenders to the blade. Simon tears it further, removing the garment completely.

As you use your one free arm to lash out, Simon is already prepared, blocking the blow and forcing it back to the bed. He attaches the cuff and returns the knife to your clothes, splitting your pants and tossing the remains aside.

You're on your back, completely naked and cuffed to the bed.

Simon's hand wraps around your throat, the knife tip dangerously close to your face. "I was going to worship your pretty pussy," he murmurs. "But I think I'll just take what I want."

It's all a game—a scene. You want Simon to use you, to fuck you ceaselessly, to do whatever the fuck he wants because he can.

Simon flips the knife and imbeds it into the bed above your head. Slowly, he removes his belt, tossing it aside. When he opens the front of his pants and eases them down a fraction, you nearly groan at the sight of his hardness. Simon palms the base of his cock.

"I won't be gentle," he says, gloved fingers pressing against your pussy.

He rubs back and forth, easing a little more from your body before grabbing your hips and slamming home. There is a brief flare of pain from the intrusion and then nothing at all except excitement.

"Your body is mine," he growls as he fucks you. "And for the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to breed this pussy until I'm satisfied."

You are unable to move, unable to do much but take it. Simon is situated between your spread legs, and you have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you. If you want an orgasm, Simon will have to grant it. Begging for it won't get you anywhere. You need to be good, and then he'll reward you.

Simon grunts as he thrusts, pace increasing as he nears his end. Watching him is lovely. His groan is lust-drenched, his orgasm sending a little shudder through him that you feel in your core.

Simon's gaze shifts to between your legs where he slowly pulls out. "What a fucking sweet sight," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His cum pools at your entrance, threatening to drip out. Soon you'll be overly full, a mess between your legs and on the bed.

Already Simon is stroking himself back to hardness. "Think that cunt of yours needs a bit more.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[avaoracle]

Okay, I have a little rant, and because I don't like to leave negative comments on people's works, I am putting it here. So ao3 has an amazing filtering system, it is truly beautiful and remarkable, but some people try to work around it and that bothers me. There are many things I could say about this, but the one I want to talk about right now, is the complete works filter, and how people circumvent it by saying "It's a series". No, it's not, if it is under 5000 words, and just abruptly ends, with zero resolution, that is a chapter, not a complete work, and you mislead me. You abuse that label, you got me hooked and this is fanfiction, so I have no guarantee that you will ever finish it. When you read an incomplete work, you know that going in, you make that choice and accept that it may never be finished. But when someone games the system, and posts an incomplete work, but labels it complete, they disrespect me and the entire, beautiful tagging/filtering system ao3 has. Just be honest, it's a wip, 1359 words with zero plot resolution does not a complete story make. Please and thank you, thanks for listening to my Ted Talk.

Please share if this annoys you too. I'm posting this here because I refuse to shame people directly on their works. As a fellow fanfiction writer, negative comments, no matter the context, can be devastating. At the end of the day the only reason I'm mad is because they started something amazing, and the last thing I want to do is discourage people from writing more, negative comments have been holding me back on some of my fics (well one of them) so as frustrated as I am, I won't put that on them, besides, it's not just one author I'm annoyed at, so many people do this. Either finish it, or be honest.

[salstray]

posted something to ao3 and i am sweatign so bad i forgot how scary ptuting your actual writing out there was jesus CHRIST