Posts tagged fanfic
Posts tagged fanfic
JH: he’s managing okay though, right?
JD: john seriously i think after more than a week he knows how to take a shower without you!!!
JD: i promise i wont drown him even a little bit :ppJH: well you’d have to sneak into his stall for that, and after how much he nagged me to shower on the girls’ side today i think he might bite you first.
JH: but seriously wtf, i really didn’t think it bothered him that much to shower on the guys’ side.
JH: do you think he’s like trans or something? oh no, i’ve been calling him by the wrong pronoun all along!
JH: her. i mean her.JD: X’DDDD
JD: OR MAYBE HE WAS TIRED OF HAVING HIS BOY PARTS OGLED.JH: goddamn it not you too!!!!! I’m so TIRED of this joke!
JD: … :X
JD: i… meant… dirk…JH: oh.
JH: wait, what, dirk ogles him in the shower??????
I love this fic so very, very much.
Formerly “Demon Summoner Urban Fantasy AU”. Click the demon summoner AU tag for more about this ‘verse.
Previous chunk’s here, has the others linked, i’m too lazy to hunt them down.
Warnings for this part: porn, dubcon.
Wasn’t sure i wanted to cut it up like that because of reasons, but the part would have been too long. I will post more, uh, tomorrow or the next day idk yet.
—
He has a headache when he wakes, which doesn’t presage many good things for today. There’s a few forks back on the floor, but half-heartedly. He eyes them from the couch and doesn’t move. It’s… Nine past nine and nine seconds, Aradia informs him. Okay, he’s pretty sure she woke him up. She likes patterned numbers like that.
He bends at the waist, rummages under the couch, finds a candle in the offering box. There’s a little shelf over the armrest where he put his head, usually for the TV remote. He puts the candle on it, looking at it upside-down. She’s not asking him to do that, he’s just refusing to sit up for real.
I don’t mind, she tells him, soothing and amused. Time flows the same way upside-down!
You’re the best, babe. Neck draped over the armrest, temples beating a slow, aching tempo, he watches the candle drip upwards.
Sixteen past nine and sixteen seconds. He blows it out, closes his eyes, and dozes.
Someone is staring at him. Bnurgh.
“Go ‘way, Karkat, ‘m not stepping on any legos for you today.”
Karkat fails to go away.
He also fails to say anything. Dave cracks open an eye, bleary-eyed, hair in disarray.
Karkat is on the coffee table, doing the cat loaf pose, limbs tucked in under his body. Staring a hole into his head.
“Fff. What.”
No answer. Just more inscrutable staring. Dave is almost tempted to say fuck it and let him stare his fill as Dave snoozes mightily, but there’s that armored chest, that chitinous breastplate his shield hangs over in the shadow under his throat.
“Uh. Hungry?”
No answer, but his upper eyes squint like he wants to look away.
Well. Uh.
Great.
Okay, self, Dave tells himself, you’re a twenty-three year old male, you’re about to get off, show a little enthusiasm.
GODDAMN I love this so much.
Post-Sburb Beforus AU
2k gen, Karkat and Kankri
*
You get culled.
You remember a planet where it was called therapiercing, diagnostrikes, and the tools were scalples and mind probes, were culling forks and heads on pikes outside the scienterrorist’s labs, you remember staple tropes of white rooms and crying protagonists and glistening blue-green slices of brain. You remember troll Sucker Punch. Alternian Sucker Punch. But without Rose — John, Jane, Dirk, anyone— you’re the leader again, Karkat Vantas, just smart enough to know what you’re doing is phenomenally stupid but not bright enough to think of anything else. But you have to learn assimilation, which means learning what’s normal and how you aren’t.
yessssss god i love where you went with this.
[A palate cleanser after all of the bullshit that’s been on my blog lately. Also especially for ceruleancynic, who is a gem. <3]
carcinoGeneticist began trolling twinArmageddons at 04.35
CG: HEY ASSHOLE.
twinArmageddons is idle!
CG: OH OF FUCKING COURSE.
CG: THE ONE TIME I ACTUALLY WANT TO TALK TO YOU YOU’RE IDLE.
CG: WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO OFFLINE WHEN YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BE AT THE COMPUTER?
CG: DO YOU GET SOME KIND OF SICK THRILL FROM COMING BACK AND SEEING ALL OF THESE MESSAGES PILED UP?
CG: FUCK, I BET YOU’RE SITTING RIGHT THERE EVEN NOW WITH BOTH HANDS AROUND YOUR HIDEOUS MUTANT BULGE AND GETTING OFF ON EVERY NEW BLINK OF THE CHAT WINDOW.
CG: UGH, I THINK I’M GOING TO BE SICK.
CG: BRB, VOMITING.twinArmageddons is no longer idle!
oh my god this is perfect @_@
best goddamn thing to come back to, thank you so much!
For the Kink Meme.
Contains: Jade&John/Karkat flushed sex, light femdom (strap-on), double penetration, hermaphroditic troll, xeno, threesome. The prompt mentioned wanting to concentrate on the nook and not the bulge. Also, some Karkat angst. Also, silliness. Also, egregious misuse of game dynamics.
(Also some underage drinking. I do not intend to imply it was significantly impairing their ability to consent but it bugs some people so hey.)
Thanks for all the help with the title by the way guys. XD <3
10 500 words.
—
One minute Karkat was shuffling random odds and ends out of a cupboard in the meteor’s lab-kitchen looking for that mythical last package of Instant Grubcorns, the next he was standing like a dumbass on space-black brittle rock, a bottle of Magnetic Wodka in hand and lakes of blood all around.
Pulse and Haze. Joy.
He scanned his surroundings for other people — the meteor crew, memories of people, dead Karkats — but there was no one in sight. Just a lot of red all around, and the next island of brittle, sharp-edged rock just a little bit too far away.
Yep, sounded like his life.
He considered. The bubble looked pretty huge — he couldn’t see a spot where it merged with any other memory, or a spot where it ended. He could be here a good long while, stuck on a rock five steps wide and just jagged enough to thoroughly tenderize his rear flesh cushions.
Or he could drink a mouthful of liquid courage — urgh, why the fuck did the humans call it that — and … a second mouthful for the road, and then take three running steps and jump for it.
Predictably his foot slipped a bit and he ended up heel deep in the lake. The meaty, warm scent of fresh blood rose, making him gag.
A third mouthful couldn’t hurt, and it could make the smell go away.
When he saw them his first thought was oh fuck no because they were the last left who he’d never seen with white empty eyes and he’d have appreciated if he never had to, and his second thought was I am never telling Dave how much of a lightweight I apparently am, because their eyes were moon-green and sea-blue and of course if one person in the whole universe could get drunk to the point of hallucination in three swallows it was probably required by law to be him.
His third thought was ow jegusfuck. “Ow, jegusfuck!”
There was a girl in a black dress around his neck. She weighed approximately the same as a little boulder. There was a beanpole of a guy doing the loadgaper dance behind her, all in blue with a stupid-long hood tail that inexplicably refused to be stepped upon.
“Karkat Karkat Karkat!!! Hiiii!!!! It’s you!!”
“It’s me,” he replied, mouth on automatic, still blinking dumbly. Girl, boy, girl. Boy. Humans. Definitely humans. “A fact which I bemoan daily.”
Definitely alive.
Holy shit, this is a good read.
oh my god
this is so stupidly hot i can’t even
and also so well written
(via roachpatrol)
Loophole - Chapter 2 - Letters and Numbers
Guess what.
Chapter two!
I’ve got a defined ending on this thing- Just not sure how many chapters it’ll take.
YESSSS
Your name is John Egbert, and this is definitely not what you intended when you signed up to be a foster home for animals in legal cases. Either way, a bit of love and nursing to health, then his charges would be ready for trial, and a rewarding, happy home. You’d seen trolls on television and YouTube, they were popular exotic pets with celebrities. Certain breeds were even useful for guide pets and companion animals for the elderly. Since they were almost-sentient, of course. Almost.
Chapter one because oops this thing got away from me fast.
Trigger warnings… uh… implied past non-con, major character death, past heavy abuse, incredible self-indulgence.
First things first, and credit where credit goes. The concept of trolls-as-pets is not new- but the universe this exists in owes itself entirely to ceruleanCynic, or coldhope, for her fantastic fic, “Unwanted Free Ugly Troll,” which is based on a fanart, and. You know what, there is just so much “yo dog I heard you like fanwork, so I put some fanwork on your fanwork, on your fanwork.” Since CC graciously let us run off with some of the concept, I will definitely tie it to UFUT, BUT, that said, THIS SHIT IS NOT CANON TO UFUT. It’s. An AU of an AU. Or a tailgater hanging outside an illegal tent city hanging outside an AU. DOES THAT MAKE SENSE? This. Was not supposed to be this long and forgive me for my self-indulgence, and many, many thanks to CC for allowing me to run away with her concept!
YO GUYS
READ THIS
GET THE FUCKING TISSUES READY BUT READ IT AND ALSO MIND THE TAGS
We Used To Play Outside When We Were Young
7.5 k, Terezi/Sollux, helmsman-kink consent play, mentions of past noncon. Please mind the tags.
holy goddamn fuck.
Spring that year came in a fury of daffodils, a brilliant bouncing scrambled mess of yellow nodding in all the verges and all the undergrowth of Anningley’s woods. You’d started classes again while the weather was still fucking horrible and you bundled yourself up in all your warmest things like a fucking cocoon and even so you couldn’t ever get warm until you found yourself alone again with him, wrapped up in him like a web of annoying angles and violet and that wonderful sharp-rose smell that you think has to be him as much as it is that orange-bottle crap he puts in his hair. You were always warm when he held you.
By the time February gave way to March you’d got him okay enough with the Mercedes that he felt comfortable driving the two of you out to your glade. The glade. The theater people’s glade, but fuck it, he’d taken you here on your first real soi-disant date and now it was yours, suck it theater people. Dead grass and leaves had crackled under your feet and the chill had bitten into your thin bones but when you’d made your way down the narrow trail to the gorge itself you were wordless at how simply lovely it was: that bright cheerful stupid wonderful yellow of the flowers was drifted like snow on every flat surface that could sustain a root, wide exuberant trumpets turned up to the sun’s touch, nodding and dancing as a skirl of breeze flickered through their ranks.
Eridan had picked you one, a jonquil rather than a daffodil, something so fragile and precious it was almost a pity to cut it from its stem—but, as he pointed out, it would be battered to transparency anyway by the night’s forecast rain and it was better to appreciate something while it was there to be appreciated and it was such a lovely, lovely little thing and you had held it carefully between your fingertips, wondering if the arrangement of petals had anything to do with Fibonacci, and then he’d caught your chin in his fingers and he was kissing you.
“I cannot fuckin believe this,” he is saying and staring despondently into the shitty dorm kitchen’s drawers. They contain a motley assortment of bent cutlery and the occasional plastic utensil that has very obviously been forgotten in a hot pan long enough to bubble and droop. “Sol, we gotta make a Super Fuckin Basic Kitchen Shit run to Target.”
“We don’t have time,” you remind him. “Improvise.”
“Fuuuuuck,” Eridan groans and runs his hands through his hair. The brown dye over the violet is a weird almost auburn shade, the fluorescents striking wine-colored sparks from it. “Okay. No fuckin non-serrated knives, check, not that they’d even be remotely fuckin sharp enough to do a goddamn thing. One shitty cuttin board that is probably harborin colonies of bacteria that have worked out fuckin space travel by now. Two saucepans, neither one with a lid. One hideous motherfuckin roastin pan that I do not even wanna look at—no, take that shit away, Sol, I’m feelin downright faint over here.” He droops against the counter and you relent and quit waving the offending article in his face.
“So can we do this shit or is this a ‘sorry our kitchen blows syphilitic goats no joy for you’ situation?”
He straightens up. “Let it never be said that Eridan fuckin Ampora shucks a goddamn challenge. Go find us some bleach to start with, all that shit wants disinfectin, and oh turn on the oven, it’d be ideal if it would maybe fuckin work.”
You have undertaken to make Dinner for Rose and Kanaya. You are regretting it. You have been regretting it ever since you fucking agreed to do this shit.
You get used to this.
Your life settles into a more even tenor than you think you can ever really recall it managing before. Your collaborative Ampora/Captor hellvirus made the rounds of Gresley—by the end of that week practically all of the guys on your floor were sick, with the exception of one Dave Strider, who was overheard to mention that germs were just not capable of piercing his indestructible shell of awesome; you thought you could hear the iron fist of Nemesis, or possibly narrative causality, creak gently in his direction.
(There is nothing more pathetic than a sick Gamzee, unless of course it is a feverish and irritable Karkat attempting to persuade him that he is not going to die but if he does for some unforeseen reason kick it he, Karkat, will ensure that Gamzee receives a full juggalo funeral with all the trappings.)
Eventually perhaps they will forgive you.
here, just for that have a preview of IFC 15.
You get used to this.
Your life settles into a more even tenor than you think you can ever really recall it managing before. Your collaborative Ampora/Captor hellvirus made the rounds of Gresley—by the end of that week practically all of the guys on your floor were sick, with the exception of one Dave Strider, who was overheard to mention that germs were just not capable of piercing his indestructible shell of awesome; you thought you could hear the iron fist of Nemesis, or possibly narrative causality, creak gently in his direction.
(There is nothing more pathetic than a sick Gamzee, unless of course it is the feverish and irritable Karkat attempting to persuade him that he is not going to die but if he does for some unforeseen reason kick it he, Karkat, will ensure that Gamzee receives a full juggalo funeral with all the trappings.)
Eventually perhaps they will forgive you.
((Cripes, you guys, here comes the Oh God Can I Live Up To The Previous Bits Of This Story insecurity. I hope you like this bit; I hope it’s not too cloying. ))
You weren’t sure what to expect, but it turns out the mysterious Kanaya drives a very boring car indeed. It’s a dark green Camry. Practical. Sensible. What the fuck does someone like that have to do with people like Rose Lalonde and Eridan Ampora?
Wait, no, you can actually picture this. That much theatrical swag needs someone level-headed to stop it imploding in a vast euphoric clusterfuck of stupid clothes and pretension. You kind of feel like Kanaya Maryam must put up with a lot.
Mostly you feel like Eridan’s coat is wonderfully comfortable and it smells like him, which is kind of like being wrapped up in his arms and that is fucking awesome. “—Where are we going?” you finally think to ask him when he’s done fucking with the mirrors and moving the seat back and actually gets the car started.
“It’s a surprise,” he tells you, and grins. “But I think you’re gonna like it.”
This is shorter than the most recent chapters, but hopefully makes up for it with content.
~
You must have fallen asleep properly at some point because the next thing you’re consciously aware of is someone sitting on the edge of your bed and bending over you, and your world is full of that weird awesome stuff he uses on his hair, it’s like roses but sharper, you don’t even know how to describe it. You’d been thinking things. What had you been thinking? You remember it being miserable but you’re not at all sure of the details.
“Sol,” he’s saying. “Hey, Sol. Wake up. I brought you something.”
Oh.
Right.
Strider had come by and done his cute thing.
You are aware of the heaviness of your body, filling up your consciousness like water in a sack. Your skull hurts. You think you’re aware of every single bone in your head, each of them, where they stick together and rub against each other, and that vault of bone is way too tight for your bursting brain, jesus that feels terrible.