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 Posting a reply to post #45069

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45069 No.45069
Past threads: >>44414 >>43727 >>42807 >>41900>>41426 >>40879 >>40156 >>39172 >>38480 >>37910 >>36992 >>35898 >>35079 >>34623 >>34098 >>33328 >>32818 >>32233 >>31704 >>31068 >>30578

Tessa's DA:
Character Q&A:
LJ Comm:
Kink Meme:
Current PChat:

how to IRC like a Hannafag:
1. go to
2. namefag
3. ???

New rule: no wank. Just porn. Have an opinion on the spoiler? Realize that nobody cares, shut up, and post more porn.

Recap of cool stuff: The forums are working again, there's a new strip up, Worth mini-comic has been sent to donators, (and if you missed out on it, it's also available at 4DE's website along with the poster and t-shirt), an art book is scheduled to be released in '11, AND there are six new sketch previews up:

I seriously can't wait to see the effect this has on Conrad, you guys. Also, Lamonnnnt! This calls for porn, guys.

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i somehow missed this the first time i looked through this thread, and let me tell you, if it does not appear somewhere where i can favorite it and then read it everyday i will cry.

so maybe not everyday but jeez that was fantastic. and i learned about voodoo! AWESOME AND EDUCATIONAL

OH SWEET JESUS. Please, never ever stop! How you managed to fit all that fluff underneath all of the tentacle rape, I'll never know. But it was amazing!

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"Sentient, cave-dwelling tentacle monster. Erotic nipple-pinching. What."

My new favourite quote.

>>45477 >>45303
You have single-handedly caused me to ship this.

(so... since I raided someone else's religion yesterday, I figure I may as well raid my own heritage today. None of the nice bits, though.)

You'd think that midsummer might be Hanna's favourite time of year, for all sorts of reasons. The readily available ice cream, the lovely sunny weather, the trips to the beach... unfortunately, you'd be wrong. Oh, he loved summer, sure. Summer in general was pretty damn awesome, had so much cool stuff. But midsummer? Oh no. No no no. Midsummer was Not Good.

This was because of fairies, so far the only thing Hanna had ever disagreed with Disney movies over. Fairies were not cute little giggly balls of sparkles and light and magic dust. They were horrible, sadistic, with social mores totally alien to mere human morality. And Midsummer was their time. The Summer Solstice, the longest day on earth, would burn with their power and malice, and quite often would burn in a more literal sense as well.

Arson attacks and other mystery fires tended to happen a lot more at Midsummer. Some people put that down to mere hot, dry weather and human carelessness, but cigarette butts and unattended barbeques could not explain the sheer hike in fire around this time.

So Hanna was not fond of this particular point in the season. The fairies had been an import from the Celtic traditions that Irish and Scottish immigrants had brought to America. Unlike the mostly genial and hard working (if rowdy) Celts, the fairies had all the trouble-making skills and none of the friendly nature. Their proper name was sidhe, the unseelie court, the Fair Folk, the Shining Ones, the Beautiful People. Because you never, never called a sidhe ugly in appearance or temperament. You never, never wanted to incite their wrath.

All this in mind, it was only normal that dread tempered Hanna's usual summer cheer as Midsummer approached. The calendar pages wandered through June, and all too soon it was the twentieth, Midsummer Eve, and he was in a frenzy of preparation.

Milk left discreetly by doorways. Salt, everywhere there had to be salt, even if no one would notice it. Iron- mostly filings, rescued out of bins and dumps and so on. And it was impossible to count how many flowers he'd picked and woven and distributed around the places the faeries liked best. Some to flatter and charm them, some to ward them off, and plenty more just for luck. Hawthorn sprigs as well. Schools, hospitals and anywhere else where the young and weak gathered all had some kind of rudimentary ward hidden nearby. He'd taken the precious little time off his job allowed him to make sure he got it all done, and he was exhausted and there was still so much to do and oh god it was Midsummer Eve...

He chugged down another energy drink. Worth forbade the things, but this was too important and it would really be better if he was hyper because he didn’t want to face the damn sidhe feeling tired. There was always somewhere he missed, and always something that got through, and always he had to go deal with it- bargain, persuade, goad, threaten, plead, offer, whatever it took to get the fairy back of the world. He couldn’t face them tired.

Midnight struck after a day of ever more frantic groundwork. He felt his hackles rise, felt the tingle of old, raw, vicious magic starting to fill the air. And this even in his little flat with all the warding runes he knew painted on the doorways and windowsills. The air fizzed. If the sidhe that loved his city best weren’t such particularly unpleasant specimens, he’d have loved it. Midsummer was a time of pure power- it was why the sidhe could get through, and why so many of those pagan types worshipped it. Every little spell worked at absolute maximum capacity at this time of year.

He stuck a spare XXL tin of liquid caffeine in his belt, filled his pockets with iron and flowers and all the little salt sachets he’d taken from canteens in the previous few months, and left his flat for the night. It was too early for them to cause much trouble, and they were just feeling their way out of their strange world. It was normally impossible to ‘sense’ magic, but these things were like fireworks in a napalm factory. There’d be a blaze, and it would be visible to anyone with even a remote sense of the supernatural world.

Hanna saw the first explosion of cackling, giggling, malicious glee and ran for it. One of the plants he carried was catnip, and he gathered a following of curious city strays as he ran. Never hurt to keep cats around, they could distract or even ward off some types of fairy.

This one was a standard thing, just an idly wicked little half-beast. It would do no more damage than knocking over bins, stealing the match to every sock on a washing line, tearing out the seat on wicker chairs. It was a good thing they hadn’t learned about how cars worked, or the vicious thing would cut the brake lines for fun as well. As it was, this was the most the little fairies could really do. It retreated rather face an actual human magic user.

Several more were like this. It was always the little ones first, sent to test the waters before their older, wiser, madder masters dipped into the mortal world. Sometimes, if he got enough of the little ones and they exaggerated his abilities far enough, the biggest ones wouldn’t bother. They’d save up for Samhain, even though they’d not be able to generate the same level of entropy later in the year.

Red fireworks, and this one really was like fireworks in a napalm factory. It was drawing toward 4am, toward the earliest dawn in the whole year, pre-light touching the sky, and he came through to the world. This was something Hanna was not prepared for, and he knew he’d never be prepared. It was the Master of the Wild Hunt, and where he trod he would rule. Hanna knew he hadn’t much chance, but he had to try. The Hunt always took someone back with them, and he couldn’t bear the thought that someone would end up stolen by the fairies because he hadn’t tried hard enough.

The Huntsman, when Hanna found him, was tall, dressed in pelts and skins, and his features shifted and blurred like shadows under trees. He seemed animalistic, then human, then neither at all but something far worse. His eyes gleamed brown, green, grey, red, and he held bow and spear with arrogant pride. He smiled.

“Hello, little prey. Shall I give you a head start?”


You guys have so delighted and overly-flattered me. I will definitely have to do more writefagging. Cause I love you guys. -baw- I'm still in the process of finding a name to stick with.

AND SO MUCH CONTENT. It is so wonderful.


That was all the hint Hanna needed to flee. It was one thing to try and distract the Hunt, to discourage or trip them or try to help their prey, but being the prey it was an entirely new and entirely terrifying concept. He heard the Huntsman’s laughter as he ran. Back to his home, maybe? It was warded, he’d done everything he could to make sure it would be okay. Maybe Worth’s? Not Worth’s. Worth was easily one of the most intimidating people on the planet, but he was human and way too vulnerable and god it was so tempting to try to stand at bay and maybe hide behind the scalpel-wielding Doc. No. No, not Worth’s place.

He wove through the alleys, trying to form a plan and make sure he didn’t get lost and not let himself end up anywhere without another escape route and not not not think about what happened to the last prey he didn’t manage to help in time oh god. There was a howl. Well, that was the Hounds out then. Shit. He scrambled up a fire escape and started a rooftop pattern instead. Yeah, he was now way more visible to whatever birds of prey the Huntsman fancied, but at least it would be harder for the Hounds to track him, even if they could climb up somewhere.

He heard laughter, and realised the Huntsman was pacing him easily over the rooftops on the other wide of the street, and the Hounds were still below, barking up at the rooftops they couldn’t reach. He grabbed his favourite marker and scribbled something on a few hawthorn twigs and tossed them over the ledge as he jumped to the next stretch of roof. There was a sharp yelp, and the Hounds fell back a little. The Huntsman laughed again, sounding genuinely amused.

“You know us, little prey! So you know you can’t evade us!”

Hanna wanted to yell something back, but it was taking all the air he could get just to keep running without falling off anything. What else what else what else could he do? There had to be something. He couldn’t lay his own false trail. Might work for other people, but you needed two people or more and he didn’t want to drag anyone else into this. Likewise most of his other distraction tactics. What else, what else, what else?

Water. Yes. Maybe holy water? Where was a church when you needed one? No. Normal would do. If he could get to the river... well, if he could get to the river he’d probably end up hemmed in and trying really hard to hold his breath and hide underwater, but at least they couldn’t cross or enter moving water and he might have a chance of safety even if he’d be totally soaked to the skin by the time he got out. Yes. Water. Right.

With an unpleasant start, he realised the Hounds were between him and the river, driving him away from it. They knew what they were doing. Okay, so, no water unless he could circle around them somehow. He felt in his pocket and grabbed a little posy he’d tied up earlier. Stuffing it liberally with catnip, he threw it as far away from the river as he could, then bolted sideways while the Hounds debated fighting with the oncoming horde of cats or following their proper prey. It got him a few moments. He snagged a strand or two of hair, tied it round a twig, scribbled shapes in silver, wedged it into the airvent of a passing building and kept running, circling the vent twice, retracing his steps to the edge of the building and then taking a massive leap to another.

They’d think he’d tried going to ground in the human-sized air vent, hopefully. Stay there, snarling at the empty metal passage while he continued on in a wide arc toward the river. And on he ran. Several streets later, just as his pace slowed, he heard a furious cawing. Annnd that was his cue to speed up again, wrestling open the energy drink and gulping it, heedless of how much spilled down his shirt and praying he wouldn’t flag any time soon.

And there was the river, oh yes that gorgeous strip of sluggishly flowing water, shining and sort of polluted but that was okay because at least it was mostly water and that was good enough. And, uh. There were the Hounds, and there was the Huntsman, and there was Hanna angling off again in another new direction, maybe that new water feature at the city hall or maybe if he tried for that new grove in the park that had all the sorts of trees that Fae didn’t much like, but the trees wouldn’t bother the Huntsman, only the Hounds, so that was right out and oh hell where could he go?

Home. It was the only choice. And from the very second he turned in that direction, he knew it was exactly where the Huntsman wanted him. Prey brought to bay in his own den. But there was no other choice. At least at home he had a bit of warding, maybe enough to keep off the rest of the Hunt if not the Huntsman himself. He had no idea what to do about the Huntsman.

“We’re catching up, little prey! My Hounds can smell your blood already!” The Huntsman was laughing, and the sounds of horns were echoing, only audible to those who knew what Midsummer really was.

Hanna leapt onto the roof of his own building, stumbling down the stairwell even as he heard the Hounds crashing in at the bottom of it, fled for his own room, emptied his pockets onto the floor outside and waited, hoping the combined weight of every single thing he could think of covering his doorway would work. The Hounds yelped and snarled at his door. They weren’t in. Good. He put every lock on it to be certain. It broke casually inwards, the locks tearing gently from the wall as the Huntsman opened it.

“You put up a good chase, little prey. We’ve not had one like you in years.” He approached, stinking of sweat and animals and blood. “You could be wonderful sport for us. We might even bring you home with us.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere!” Hanna waved his elderly iron frying pan like a combination of sword and shield. “You can’t take me with you!”

“Oh, but we can.” The Huntsman grabbed the rim of the pan. He winced as skin met iron, eyes flaring red and teeth flashing as fangs for a moment before he wrenched it from Hanna’s grasp and threw it behind him. “We can have whatever we want.” He leaned over the unarmed Hanna, cornering him and grinning. “And what I want, little prey, is you.”

So, so good. I'm on the edge of my seat.

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More please, holy fuck.

Auwghah, I guess I'm just not one for tentacle porn..
I'm just going to go sit in my corner with a blanket over my head and hide now. Aghuh.
The writing made the situation less painful, though.

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Yo, Veser, I'm real happy for you and imma let you finish but--


Veser looks so Jersey in this for some reason. I need to hop on it like now.

I agree whole heartedly with >>45635 . Wow.

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I.... yeah idk, guess this is reason enough to delurk


You just went from my favorite writefag to my INSPIRATION FOR LIVING. Please have more?

I can't get over how perfect this song is for ConWorth:

Um, have another bit of punk!AU, if that's okay. Sorry it's not the last bit of Midsummer (which I think will only be three parts, but I haven't decided on an ending and there are several options including rescue, rape, and being spirited away to the Fairy Realm)


It was certainly an unexpected sort of discovery.

The broken-limbed Hanna had been at Jayne’s flat for a week, spending most of his time trying to get used to scribing runes with arms that didn’t work. Provided he was left with adequate paper and enough pens, he was surprisingly little trouble. He would find a comfortable spot on the sofa and sit there, scribbling and refining, and be in that exact spot, as if he’d not moved at all, when Jayne got home at night.

The evening of the discovery, Jayne came home a little earlier than usual, intending to get to work on dinner and spend the evening reading, or maybe attempting to entertain his invalid guest. Hanna, however, was not on the sofa he usually rested on. Nor was he in the kitchen, and the bathroom door was ajar as well.

“Ahh… hn… Jayne…” It didn’t sound like a cry for help after some accident or further injury. Curiously, and perhaps a little more quietly than was really necessary, Jayne approached the door to his own bedroom.

Hanna was on the bed, visibly frustrated by the casts that limited his wrist movement as he touched himself and murmured his host’s name. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t notice that Jayne stood in the doorway, taken aback by the discovery.

Jayne knew he should do something—maybe go back to the kitchen and start dinner, pretend he’d seen nothing—but this was captivating. The little breathy sounds, the taut, pale skin, and, and his name being repeated in that voice. Whatever was going on in Hanna’s mind, the cop featured heavily.

Hanna’s eyes opened as he stopped what he was doing to swear at the casts that bound his arms. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, neither quite sure who should feel more embarrassed.

Hanna was first to break the silence, not bothering to cover himself. “Well? Seen enough?”

Jayne didn’t know what to say—he took a couple of steps forward, faltered, stopped. He recognised Hanna’s defensive posture emerging. Squared shoulders, chin tilted defiantly, a scowl rapidly forming.

“Stop fucking looking at me, Christ. If you have a problem, just fucking say something.” Hanna glared. “Help out or get out. I don’t need you making this scene worse by just… just standing there.”

He knew—he absolutely knew that “help out or get out” only really meant “get out”, but the challenge was there.


Hanna’s angry exclamation was silenced by Jayne’s lips pressing against his. He tensed, frozen for several seconds, but the kiss didn’t stop. He started to fight back, kissing more aggressively, forcing his tongue between warm lips into a hot mouth.

God, he’d wanted this. Well, not this, not the broken arms and the being caught trying to jack off while unable to even use his hands properly and the weirdness of the whole situation, but he’d wanted Jayne. He felt it was wrong somehow because, you know, policeman, but Jayne was so patient and always so kind and so incredibly fucking thoughtful and just nice and was like a genuinely good person or something, and besides that he was gorgeously tall, and he had that body, all made of tight muscle, and Hanna knew he kept fit because he woke up each morning to Jayne coming back from his morning run for a shower before work. And now here he was, kissing Hanna.

Jayne’s hands were on his body, one on his waist and one on the back of his neck, tangling in the remains of the unkempt mohawk while they kissed. He broke away, and Hanna bit his tongue so he wouldn’t make that little whimpering sound that he just knew he would otherwise.

Jayne looked uncertain.

“I… can stop, if you want.”

“No, shit, no, keep going. Where did you even learn to kiss like that, it was amazing, man, don’t stop now, seriously—” The words stumbled out of Hanna’s mouth and relief blossomed on Jayne’s face. He wasn’t used to acting impulsively, and feared that single slip could have soured their comfortable friendship. He kissed Hanna again, but more carefully this time. It was slow and thorough, and by the end Hanna was whining softly, wanting something more.

Hanna’s hard-on hadn’t softened with neglect, and Jayne remembered it only when his hand brushed past it on the way to Hanna’s thigh. His fingertips wandered over it, stroking and exploring so-so-gently and hesitantly. Hanna keened through the kiss, squirming even as Jayne’s other hand still held him around the waist.

Growing more confident, Jayne deliberately held back. He wanted to tease Hanna, to see the younger man’s reactions. He wanted to hear his name called out again.

It didn’t take long.

“Nnh, Jayne, please, you can’t keep me on edge like this, come on,” Hanna mumbled, half chewing on his lip even as he spoke.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Get me off. I don’t care, just do something, don’t keep me hanging, do something, anything…”

Anything? Jayne’s hand wrapped around Hanna’s cock, stroking in earnest now, and Jayne continued to kiss Hanna for a moment while he considered an unfamiliar idea.

He’d had a few girlfriends in the past, and they’d gone down on him; he was familiar with the concept and the mechanics, but he’d never gone down on another man before. He’d never really felt tempted before (well, that wasn’t strictly true… he had to admit, he’d had more than a couple of untoward thoughts about his houseguest), and certainly he’d never really had the chance before now. But the sounds Hanna was making, the way he responded just to simple touch… He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t tempting.

“Hanna? Would you mind if I… if I sucked you off?” The shape of the words was unfamiliar, alien. He should have phrased it differently. Should have found a different way to say it. He should—

He was interrupted by a strange little ‘gnee!’ sound from the redhead and an outpouring of enthusiastic encouragement. “God, yes, please, man, go on—”

He kissed Hanna’s throat and the sharp dip of his collarbone before bending down to cautiously lick the tip of Hanna’s painfully hard cock. The strokes of his tongue became bolder, swirling around the head in a manner that made its owner gasp his name again. Oh, he could get used to that reaction, could definitely hear it more often. He took the entire head into his mouth and started to suck, moving a little down the shaft and back.

Hanna’s voice got higher, faster, words tumbling out without even forming first, just sounds and syllables. The sounds started to fade in and out as his uneven panting stole even that from him, and he came utterly silently, catching Jayne by surprise as the hot spurts hit the back of his throat. He crumpled in around the taller man, shivering as the orgasm ran through him.

Jayne pulled away slowly.

“Was that… all right?”

Hanna collapsed back on the pillows of the bed, laughing, barely even wincing as his injured arms were jolted. What a stupid question.

“It was fucking awesome, man.”

Christ. I feel guilty derping the place up with all my Hyde!Ples shit while Ziggy and all the other writefags are actually (incredible) porn. D:

He sat idly at the piano. No music was coming to mind.
Everyone who'd ever seen the piano was astounded at what a beautiful piano it was: it was always tuned, always perfectly cared for--just like everything else he owned.
The room was dim, and what little light there was glinted on the piano's keys.
A minuscule brown spider crawled over the back of his hand, which was perched to break the lock on the piano's sweet silence.
Most would've flung it away. He was not most.
"Hello, there," he said.
The spider paused, unsure as to whether she was being addressed. It seemed so. She waved one of her legs at the blackandwhite ticktockman.
"Whatever are you doing on the piano, love?" he asked as softly as the notes the piano produced when he caressed the mellifluous music out of it.
She shrugged as well as spiders can.
He turned his hand over and she climbed into his palm, enjoying its warmth.
He smiled ruefully. "Seems you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, then," he said and closed his hand into a fist, crushing her tiny body.
He sneered and dropped her corpse onto the floor.
He played a threnody, using his own ticktocking as a metronome.

Just noticed the irc channel address is wrong in the first post. So if you wanna ircfag like all the cool kids
is where you wanna be! Sorry for no content, I promise to deliver some tomorrow.



My bunk. I will be in it!

Dude. Yes.

>"Whatever are you doing on the piano, love?"

Oddly enough, I read this in Murdoc Niccals' voice...



It's so beautiful...
Thank you, thank you, this is everything I could have wanted in a continuation of the AU, OMG the kiss, you are amazing-
*one hour later*
- and Jayne being unsure, that was just great, really realistic, and the 'gnee', and -
*one day later*
- and have I mentioned that I love you? And you are now in the top three of my favorite authors for this fandom, which is hard because they're all so frikkin' amazing.
Thank you.


Tentatively, an spontaneous Part 2.

Along came the spider; he sat down beside her.
Well, that was how it was supposed to go, but things never really did.
"I--I apologize. For killing you."
She was silent. Her mahogany-colored lace gloves stood out boldly on her chalk-white skin. Her thin lips were pressed into a stern line; she refused, it seemed, to look at him, because she stared at the mist in the distance.
Sensing that there was probably nothing better to do, he kept speaking.
"I wasn't myself, you see."
He adjusted his glasses. He fidgeted.
Her eight-eyed gaze was ice-cold and glassy-black; obsidian sharp, it was, too.
"D-do you forgive me, Madam Spider?"
"I might."
Her voice sounded like a thousand-million screaming insects, yet somehow it also reminded him of the sound of the piano she'd been forced into calling her grave. It was soft, but its dangerous volume couldn't mask the hostility within it.
"I really wasn't myself."
"Who were you, then?"
That caught him off guard, he had to admit. He wasn't expecting that question of her, certainly--and even if he had been expecting it, he probably wouldn't've known what to say anyway.
"I... can't say as I know, Madam Spider."
She blinked her eight eyes slowly, carefully, deliberately. "Perhaps a re-examination of your psyche is in order, Mister Tibenoch."
He hesitated. "You m-may be right."
She smiled cruelly. "You are forgiven, I suppose. What you must deal with is worse than death, I fear. Perhaps it would be best to wake up."
"Oh, you're not saying this was all a dream, are you?"
"Afraid so."

He woke up in a cold sweat, panting, and prayed to whatever god would have him that he hadn't been listening.

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What is this I am not good with computers.



Okay, the third and final part. I swear.

Dualistic cognitive dissonance is an awful, awful thing, especially when one is forever forced to play the villain.
I had, in reality, done nothing wrong, but he seemed intent on avenging the poor, pitiful spider I'd killed. Honestly--it was only a spider, hardly worth rebelling entirely over.
However. Digression is one of my tendencies.
It started, this amateur rebellion of his, with sluggishness in moving out of the way.
Normally, if he wasn't under the influence of alcohol--and I constantly tried to ensure he wasn't--, he'd hop to it right-quick. He knew his place, and that was bloody good for me.
For him, not so much, but bear with me. Always I'm shoehorned into the villain's role.
He woke us up in a cold sweat and breathing heavily, which was unusual. I was vaguely aware that he'd been dreaming--of his next trip to that wretched liquor store, no doubt!--but I paid it no mind. Our heartbeat and mechanical frequency seemed as thought their paces had increased.
"What have you done?"
"N-nothing. I've done nothing."
His mind tasted like dread. Normally, I enjoyed the particular savory flavor of his shaky nervousness, his apprehension--his emotions were always so human, and even if they did taste like polished metal every once in a while, I didn't mind.
"Why am I hesitant to believe that?"
"I-I don't know. Perhaps you're distrustful."
"Perhaps you're lying to me." At my words, the scent of guilt filled the air around us. "I thought so."
"She forgave me."
"The spider."
"Is that all she did?" He hesitated, and that was all I needed. "What else did she do, hm?"
"She said to reëvaluate m-my psyche." His voice was quiet and sharp enough to cut.
"And you won't be doing that, will you?"
"N-not if you have anything to say about it. And you always do."
"I thought as much. Now go back to sleep, dear boy, haven't we plans with Veser tomorrow?"
He sighed. Defeat. "I su-p-pose I--we have."
I had won for now. Whether or not I would win next time was thrown suddenly into a harsh, judging light as he drifted off uneasily.
He was tired, exhausted, plagued by his human needs; I was not. He had the spider, Hanna, Veser, Conrad, and very possibly the zombie on his side.
I, ever the villain, had no one but myself.


I love this. LOVE LOVE LOVE IT andmaybeamstartingtoshipitjustalittlebit.


Ples' face oh my god I died laughing.

This is not my definition of derping. I honestly love Jekyll and Hyde stuff, and the "other" being scornful of Ples's alcoholism was hilarious to me for some reason.

This is kinda petty but would you put line breaks between paragraphs/dialogue next time? It makes it easier to read.

Oh wow I came. Literally.

>first written!porn
Are you saying you're a drawfag as well?! Poooost

MORE! Lovelovelovelove! <3

And this nicely punctuated how my seemingly dream man fell into my lap a mere few days after Joey broke of his intensely emotionally abusive relationship with me...

I just... it's so.... there needs to be WAY more Conrad/Hanna HC Fluff!


*blushes liek woah*

I drew the silly!awful pun!Ples and the fappingtoVeserinformalwear!Ples from last thread.

(I think I'll stick to drawfagging. Writing porns is not my strong suit.)

Aaaaaand the moment we've all been waiting for (sorry about that, I found this rather more difficult than expected so I hope it's up to snuff). I <3 you all, this thread is kicking ass right now.

( continued from >>45303>>45477 )


"Oh," Hanna says quietly, almost a whisper, but Conrad can hear the smile in it. "Well. Then...I guess..."

"We just...take it slow?" Conrad murmurs, and there's a quick nod and a gentle, almost chaste kiss on his cheek. His head spins for a moment---this is Hanna, Hanna, what am I doing?---but then his attention is quickly drawn back by the fact that Hanna is standing up, beginning to peel out of his jeans himself.

Finally it occurs to Conrad that something difficult to clean up might be about to happen to his sofa. "I do have a bed, you know."

Hanna grins sheepishly, the top of his dinosaur boxers peeking out from the sagging waistband of his pants. "Ha! Right. Sure. Um..." and Hanna looks about for a moment, locates the door to the bedroom, and bounds off in that direction. Conrad sits for a moment staring after him, head cocked to one side in mild disbelief. After a moment he stands and follows.

Conrad pauses in the doorway. Hanna is sitting on the edge of the bed looking up expectantly, lower lip slightly tucked up under his front teeth. He's removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand---something about seeing Hanna without his glasses makes him look even more exposed, more vulnerable, and Conrad suddenly has the ghost of a second thought. The last thing he wants is to hurt Hanna, in any way. He reminds himself that Hanna is not a child, however much he may sometimes look and act like one. He pictures the way Hanna looked only moments before, flushed and needy, and feels a low sweet ache that draws him forward towards the bed. He takes off his own glasses---so much for seeing each other clearly---and sets them down next to the other pair. Grinning, Hanna reaches out to pull him into a playful kiss, drawing Conrad down onto the bed on top of him.

The delicate brushing of their stomachs sends a chill down Conrad's spine. He lets himself sink into Hanna, into the comforting warmth of him, then arches up again to begin trailing kisses down Hanna's torso. Hanna giggles a little as Conrad reaches his stomach, then moans softly as his lips move lower, down to the place where his jeans lie half-open. Conrad looks up, locks eyes with Hanna for a moment, then starts to slide Hanna's pants and boxers down over his hips and legs. With a little kick from Hanna they settle to the floor. Conrad straightens up to slip out of his own remaining garments, eyes roving hungrily over Hanna's bare form. Hanna watches him disrobe with equally unwavering attention. He begins to sit up, but Conrad gently grips his shoulders and pushes him back down.

Conrad has only a general idea of what he ought to be doing, but seeing as neither party has any sort of experience to judge by, he supposes it's safe to simply give it his best shot. His hands curl around Hanna's hips and he lowers his head, admiring Hanna's now painful-looking erection. His tongue finds the base of Hanna's cock and he licks upwards, slowly, enjoying the salt of Hanna's skin and the way Hanna cries out and has to dig his fingers into the bedspread to keep from bucking his hips. He reaches the tip, and slowly takes Hanna into his mouth (he's going to have to be careful of the fang, he realizes almost too late, but makes the necessary adjustment in angle).

Hanna moans and turns his head, brow furrowed, desperately trying to keep himself from coming too soon. Conrad's own cock is aching for attention and he reaches down with one hand, feels it jump and throb against his palm, tries to concentrate on what he's doing to Hanna while gently keeping up a steady rhythm on himself.

"Hnnnhh, ohh! C-Conrad, nnnnggg, don't s-stop," Hanna pleads, gasping as Conrad sucks a little harder out of curiosity. He wishes he could see Hanna's face more clearly, but settles for listening to the incredible sounds he makes, soft low moans and high breathy whines. One of Hanna's hands has found the back of Conrad's head and his fingers work through Conrad's hair, stroking and clinging. Conrad licks and sucks at the head of Hanna's cock and then swallows him down almost to his full length, causing Hanna to shudder and pant and curse softly. He repeats the motion a few times and then suddenly Hanna's hips thrust forward and his breath catches in his throat, and he's coming---Conrad can taste him, hot and salty on his tongue and he swallows it down, pulls back just in time to catch a glimpse of Hanna's face, eyes shut tight and mouth forming a perfect O in ecstasy.

Conrad licks his lips, stretching up and sprawling on the bed next to Hanna, who is still breathing shallowly and recovering from the force of his orgasm. He watches fondly as Hanna's eyes open and his head turns to look at Conrad. Hanna sighs, eyes glassy, a lazy smile creeping across his face, and then his eyes widen in realization. "Oh!" he starts. "You, uh, you didn't..." Conrad certainly hadn't forgotten about himself, cock still half-hard, but Hanna looked spent and he supposed he could finish himself off. He's undeniably pleased as Hanna props himself up on his side, begins to kiss Conrad's neck and shoulder, hand trailing down his stomach and brushing against his stiffening erection.

Hanna's fingers trace the length of his cock, almost maddeningly lightly, and Conrad is embarrassed to hear himself whine breathlessly, anxiously. Hanna's grip gradually begins to tighten, and he works the shaft of Conrad's cock slowly, lubricated by the pre-come that has begun to leak from its tip. Conrad moans and writhes, thrusting into Hanna's hand as he speeds up his strokes---"nnnhhh, fuck, FUCK ohhhh"---and then Hanna is kissing him, muffling his cries. Conrad is beginning to see white on the edges of his vision, and he's having too much trouble focusing on trying not to come to be careful about his fang anymore. It catches on the edge of Hanna's tongue and draws blood---barely a drop, the lightest of scratches, but the taste of it pushes Conrad over the edge and his eyes roll back. He comes hard, so hard he thinks he might faint. When it's over, he sees Hanna above him, looking thoroughly startled, sucking gently on the tip of his wounded tongue.

"Woah," Hanna breathes, and then smiles amusedly.

"Sorry...about your..." Conrad manages, but Hanna shakes his head emphatically.

"No! It was an accident. I'm fine. That was...amazing, though. Wow." He falls back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling, and laughs quietly. Conrad nods slowly and closes his eyes. They lie side by side for a few minutes in silence, Conrad listening to the sound of Hanna's even breathing.

After a little while, he turns to Hanna. "I...I really can't believe we just did that."

Hanna rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, expression utterly earnest. "We're going to do it again, though, right?"

A pause. "Absolutely."




I vote for rape... then rescue? Or maybe just rape

Lovely ending! A++++ <3


Oh Conrad.
I feel the pain.

no, successful rescue, sex. YES.


I love how delightfully eager Hanna is, right there at the end. Thank you for writing this, it was amazing from start to finish!

ffffffffffffffffffffff... still hard. need more.
polite sage for no contibution.

I vote for rescue and then consensual thank you sex in the missionary position.

Also, I think we're autosaging.

New thread?

oh no we're off the front page D:

There you go.

>>45530 OHFUCKHOT. Raging metaphorical hard-on.

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