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 Posting a reply to post #46639

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46639 No.46639

Past threads: >>45916>>45069>>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.

Expand all images
was on the last thread. Some Conrad/Hanna fluff with ... getting jealous then the sex would be awesome. XD

I feel bad requesting without at least providing an image or something...I promise I'll try and draw you guys some decent porn some day soon.

Anyway, I kind of want to see something (fic, snippet, sketch, ANYTHING) of Cas dirty talking Hanna.

...Or pretty much anything at all with Abner.

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How about some evil!Ples/good!Ples dubcon? Made in pchat with very helpful folks (FUCKING ERASERS HOW DO THEY WORK). Hopefully the next drawing I do with pchat will be better. But eh, it's something.

That fapping Conrad at the end of the last thread was adorable<3 I love your style, do very much want

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Heh, more from last night's pchat. good!ples/evil!ples




The neighbors must hate it when Ples masturbates...

Oh man, please tell me there is more Evil!ples/ples because i've yet to see any fics yet.


>>46585 Oh God it's so beautiful I can't take my eyes off itttttt

>>46957 Glad it hit every button for you hahahah yes. Def. glad.

>>46563 Oooh God I don't know, um, like, can I pick anything? Or, Gah. I dono.

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Quick fanart because I loveloveloved that evil!Ples/Veser fic <3

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This is AWESOME. Do more.

omg FFFFF THIS IS HOT i love you


oh my GOD MORE.

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You've yet to see any fics yet, wut. This is an injustice, good sir.

...Totally porting this from my dA, though. Sorry, Anonfags and /co/mrades.

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 though 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.




Hope you like it :V

He was getting tired of this. Very, very quickly. Not even the glass of what was scotch laying on the coffee table, empty for a fifth time, could make this situation better. It was a fear that something would be brought upon him when he didn't even technically do it. He did it.

Ples sighed heavily, and left the glass alone, walking with a pounding headache and shuffling feet to his bedroom. He turned on his heel, and slumped against a mirror, about as tall as the door frame itself but skinnier, of course.

The metaphorical gears turning in his mind felt worse than the actual gears turning in his torso, before he felt a... peculiar pull of energy. As if something left him and exited into at his side. Against the mirror.

Ples immediately jolted, and was met with his reflection. Until he stood up straight and smiled. Crookedly. But, no, his reflection was doing that, Ples still had a look of terror on his face.

"You're going to hurt yourself, Ples," his reflection spoke. "Thinking as hard as you are."

"It's your fault," he still felt achy and exhausted, leaning against the mirror once more. He groaned, rubbing his temples. "A young man found the note, you left a note, w-why would you leave something like tha-"

"Oh, now now," his reflection moved, and Ples could feel it. This wasn't the first time this second 'half' spoke to him in something reflective. In fact, it was usually helpful, even if, in reality, he was only talking to himself and his mind - and this damned thing - was playing tricks.

The said damned thing placed his palm on the mirror, as if wanting to comfort Ples at his shoulder, "I had to attract Veser, how else would I? Perhaps the young man knows him."

"But they will look for me, not you. I will get the heat of the fact that I was part of a murder, not you," Ples' eyes narrowed, "You realize this don't you?"

"Then I will come out and tell them it was me-"

"But it's still me!" He turned and faced the mirror and his damned doppelganger's grin. "I am still in control of myself, and y-you will forever be this foresaken parasite- wu-"

Ples felt that connecting force pull at him, and he was pressed against the mirror, his shadowed eyes wide. His reflection simply tsk'ed.

"You are thinking this far too much. You're going to kill yourself with fear. This build-up of stress, Ples," his reflection pressed his palms on the mirror, where Ples' had been. "You should relax. I have everything under control. You will see."

"I fear you taking something 'under control' could mean a nightmare." Ples eventually softened his features and sighed once more, his forehead bumping the mirror. "When it is never..."

"I have it under control," his reflection said once more, quieter, almost soothing if it wasn't for that echo-like ringing in his tone. "And, speaking of control... if I may."

Ples straightened his posture, looking at himself before he turned, or was turned, with his back flush against the mirror. "I-now what are you doing-!"

It was something else, someone else, at the control of his arms. He couldn't break into the bond, at least able to tilt his head down to see his fingers play at the buttons of his fly. And then to the side to see his reflection peering over his shoulder like some poltergeist in a horror movie. "I asked what you are doing!"

"I said you should relax, did I not? You need it. It'll help you understand. The scotch didn't work, did it?" The reflection chuckled, and continued to watch Ples' fingers eventually open his fly, his hands shaking as Ples was trying to regain his control over them. The reflection cooed, "Relax, relax..."

He hated how easy it was for him to just relinquish something so important. His chest began to rise and fall slightly, as his hand sunk down past his trousers, past his boxers and through the slightly lighter, slightly curly hairs of his pubes. Ples closed his eyes tightly and a jolt hit up his mechanical spine. There was another chuckle in the air, and Ples swore.

"You've masturbated before, and yet you always look so surprised," it quipped, and Ples bit his lower lip, finally able to get his right hand free, smacking it against the mirror. His left hand was still occupied, too much so for him to get it back. His body began to lose its tension, and the doppelganger in the mirror was relieved. Ples tilted his head back against the glass, as his cock was growing hard with the attention it didn't seem to get often. "You should see it as a favor to yourself. And how ironic, that it's technically me doing it?"

Ples glanced to the side, "It's technically me, not you... you're doing nothing, hng-" his eyes immediately shut. The reflection did have a point; Ples was rather awkward in moments like these with himself.

"Ah, but I'm doing everything," the reflection grinned. "Don't think I've sat around bored every time you've encountered sex, Ples."

"...y-you make it sound like-o-ooh-l-like I've hardly had any-!" There was another jolt, as his fingertips breezed the underside of his erection.

"Hm, but, anyway, I've taken notes, as you've begun to notice?" Ples merely nodded, as each touch that was barely a touch gave him shivers, and he swore the sigh in the air wasn't his.

"Alas, if I could only have a body of my own. I would be perfect for you," it cooed against Ples' ear, who let his eyes close and succumb his want to regain himself. It just felt too, well, good. "I know every button, every kink, every tiny detail on your body that makes you scream, and I can get them right each time."

Ples felt as though something was pushing against his lower back, or wanted to. "Can you hear how amazing your breathing sounds right now? Because I can," Ples' free hand left the mirror and began pulling and feeling at his shirt, upwards until his fingers found his collar bones, his clavicle, caressing them both in idle circles. The back of Ples' head was completely against the mirror, his fingers now at his throat moaning softly as he could feel his adams apple bob slightly with a breath.

He was feeling dizzy, his thumb and palm wet with precome already, completely lost in the pleasure of himself and what he was doing to himself. Ples had been dismissed to nothing but skin, bone, gears and off-sequence breaths while his hand began to move in a rhythm in near-perfect time with the ticking of his body.

"I knew it wouldn't take you long," It sounded like his reflection was purring at him now, and Ples responded with an impatient growl, "Just a-"

"-few more, just a few more..." His hand was now moving out of rhythm and going faster, just desperate by now. "There you are, that's it, you're liking it, you're loving it, if you could only see yourself-"

Ples' breath hitched, his mind drawing a blank if only for a few seconds before it was woken up with an overwhelming sensation that left him helpless and nearly screaming unintelligible words through his orgasm. His hand shook, jolted, pumped along himself, milking the moment for what it was worth until his thought process finally kicked in again.

He was panting heavily, but in time with the ticking from his body, eventually calming down and glancing into the mirror. "How do..."

Ples trailed off, as he was looking at his reflection. And it was his this time, his cheeks flushed and eyes completely sated over with a high that was still tapering off. He wasn't there. He wasn't talking to him in those final few seconds before his understatement-of-the-word-orgasm hit, was he.

He slowly looked away from the mirror, and slumped onto the floor, the bottom of his shirt catching and bunching around his shoulder blades.

"I'm so proud of you."

Does anyone want to set up another RP or something? Preferably something long-term, gay, explicit, and plot-based.


Ahhhh thanks so much! <3 I absolutely adore your style, too! Do you have a Y!G or DA account? I'd love to see more of your stuff.

hnngghh brb i'll be in my bunk



Worth sat at his desk, feet propped up and chair leaning as far back as it could go before it would topple over. The top drawer of the desk was open to his left, occupied with a large tray heaping
with cigarette ash. Really, an ash tray stopped being useful LONG ago, even before his chain-smoking days. Now an entire drawer did just fine. Besides, he wanted to see if he could fill it (he was
halfway there).

This was his setting, his perfect habitat. A Worth-ecosystem of grime and soot and smoke and blood. Ah yes, blood. The doctor wasn't merely sitting after all. Bent cigarette perched in his mouth,
he rested his forearm on his lap and watched the blood dribble uselessly down onto his slacks. It was soothing for him in a way he couldn't describe. It felt /good/. Almost like fucking.

"heh." He huffed bemusedly to himself, the ash from his cigarette falling from the bounce of his lips and settling into the bloody gash on his arm. Soot and red mingled before being swept away in
the (ever slowing) flow.

Off in the distance he could hear footsteps making their way down the alley. Alone time was done, for the moment. The emaciated blonde expertly wound a pressure bandage around his arm and pulled
the rumpled fabric of his coat back down.

Seconds later there was a tentative knock at the door. Worth merely stared. If whoever wanted in badly enough, they could let themselves in. Nobody he was interested in would merely knock a few
times and give up. Well, unless they were like that poor, mislead man with the bible determined to sell Worth on the merits of godliness. That, needless to say, was a night of entertainment he
wouldn't soon forget.

"Hello?" a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. "Is anyone inside?"

" 's unlocked!" Worth snapped, sliding his feet from his desktop back onto the ground. "damn idiots 'd die bleedin' and knockin'..." He muttered, watching the doorknob turn and the door push

"Pardon me." A tall man in incongruously nice clothes stepped inside his office, carefully closing the creaking door behind him. "Are you Doctor Worth?"

"Yeh. What'd you want, fancy-nancy?" Worth stubbed his cigarette into his butt-drawer and slid it shut as he stood.
s'pose you're looking for something, otherwise you'd be on the other side'a town." God, he hated small talk. At least his addict-clientele had the decency to get to the point.

"A-ah." Ples paused, an awkward silence filling the space between them. Although Hanna had warned him about Doc Worth, he was unaware that such a combination of personality traits could truly be
mixed into one man. "My name is Ples Tiebenoch. I was referred here by Hanna Cross." Ples explained, wringing his hands behind his back. "I'm in need of assistance from a Doctor a little more open
than the standard..."

The gash on Worth's arm stung and throbbed from the pressure bandage. Although nice, it served only to annoy him at the present. It made Worth feel more impatient (he was always impatient, after
all). "Yeah." Worth said, more of a punctuation than a reply. The thin doctor stood, turned heel, and began to walk into the "examination room," assuming the awkward Mr. Tiebenoch would follow.

"What seems t'be the issue." Worth muttered, gesturing to a plastic lawn chair that was assumedly where his patients would sit.

Ples gingerly crossed the room and sat, folding his hands nervously in his lap. "I need some...medication." He said hesitatingly, embarrassed. After the entire incident leading up to him meeting
Hanna Cross and his interesting comrades, it was insisted upon that Ples try to find a way to qualm his inner demons. Apparently, his efforts alone were not enough. If anything, he owed it to the
poor boy named Vesser who he was now responsible for.

Worth cleared his voice impatiently. Apparently this British guy was a complete space case, drifting off in the middle of an explanation to nervously stare at the cracked tiles on the floor. “ah


"M-my apologies." Ples jumped, eyes nervously shifting to the wall instead. "Perhaps a sedative, or...risperidone..." His voice faded away quietly, shame apparent. He did not want to be seen as
anything but sane and put-together.

"Really? Is that SO?" Doc took a few long strides until he was uncomfortably close to the seated man. "An' why might you need THOSE kinda meds?" Worth grinned cruelly, smile looking like a strained
slash across his face.

"D-does it matter?" Ples pleaded with his eyes, only able to hold contact for a moment with the crazed looking man before him. "I will pay you well."

"Now now, bein' a Doctor 'n all, it's import'nt to prescribe you the RIGHT stuff." Worth leaned forward, nearly nose to nose with the nervous man. He could see the poor brit squirming in his seat,
as well as hear a strange ticking noise coming from him.

"P-please now, Doctor." Ples could feel those eyes boring a hole into the middle of his forehead.

"Please what?" Worth asked, roughly dropping one of his hands onto a boney shoulder of the increasingly uncomfortable patient. Perhaps this visit would be more interesting that he thought...

Ples swallowed, one hand drawing up but stopping inches short of brushing the intruding hand off. "P-p-please d-don't..."

Worth cackled and dropped his other hand onto the remaining shoulder. "Don't what?"

"To calm my nerves!" Ples sputtered out the first lie he could think of. "T-that is why I need those medications."

"C'mon now." Worth's words seeped into the dirty room as if they belonged to the grime and dust in the first place. "you 'n I both know risperidone ain't for no nerves." The cruel doctor was
leaning his weight through his hands and onto Ples' shoulders. Pressing him still. "mebbe you just need t' learn t' lie better, too."

Ples felt dizzy, heart thumping erratically. Why did he do this? in hindsight, it was a terrible idea. Perhaps he could just go home and drink some scotch, go to bed, and sleep this away.
"I...apologize, Doctor, but I really need to be going n-now..."

Suddenly Ples felt the pressure on his shoulders increase. The man was no longer merely leaning on him, but was actually forcing him down.

"Nuh uh, no can do." Doc purred, cruel eyes fixing Ples with a stare. "'cause it sounds to me like I caught me a crazy." Doc cackled, actually able to /feel/ the fear coming off of the gentlemen
before him. Oh, this was fun. It was totally worth the interruption he suffered from earlier. Give the poor guy some trouble, make him squirm, then give him his shit and send him on his way. It
was a simple yet delicious plan. Worth could feel the counter-pressure of Ples trying to stand up and he shoved forward, pushing the chair into the wall and effectively pinning Ples. "no-no." Worth
taunted. "You hav'ta stay here."

"I-I D-Do believe y-you are mistaken, D-doctor..." Ples said, feeling as if the top of his head and his fingers had gone entirely numb. He watched his fingers curl and uncurl, reaching up to grab
hold of the Doctor's dingy lab-coat.

"C'mon. I got a room for ya." Worth mocked, letting off the gentleman's shoulders to turn for the closet. He kept a straight-jacket inside of it for special occasions. He took a step towards the
storage area and continued with "' don't try to run, I locked the door." Worth opened the closet and reached for the moth-eaten clothing hung there, turning to face his playtoy and continue.


A solid fist connected with his jaw, and Worth watched stars dance as he distantly felt himself crumple to the floor. "MMmmmmngh." He moaned, partly from shock and partly from pressure. The man now
over him grabbed him by the coat and pulled him up.

Did that guy always have such icy eyes? "Ohh love, again." Worth slurred, glorious throbbing and swelling setting in on his face.

Worth felt himself being thrown into a wall, neck snapping back and skull connecting with cinderblock. His head fell forward and rolled for a moment, and worth tasted blood from his bitten tounge.
This was even better than he had planned! The pansy actually did have some fight in him.

"I believe I said you were mistaken." The now-assailant coldly stated, using his left hand to gently lift Worth's chin as his right hold the slightly-shorter man up. He looked into Worth's eyes,
inspecting the beaten face. "Unlock the door."

"No." Worth grunted, blissfully squeezing his eyes shut as he felt that bony fist connect underneath his ribs. His breath exploded out of him, and the doctor was left speechless and he wheezed and
coughed for air. It took a minute for Worth to get his voice back. "make me."

His patient pulled him from the wall and merely dropped him onto the ground. Worth would have stood himself back up if he wasn't taken off guard by the stranger catching his hand and pulling
forward, leg kicking out and connecting directly with Worth's ankle.

Worth barely recognized his own scream of agony as he felt the bones snap. He fell backwards onto his ass and stared down, foot at an unnatural angle from the rest of his leg. It wasn't a severe
break, but it was still pretty damn bad. "...ah..." Worth gasped, floating on the border between pain and pleasure. When was the last time he hurt like this? His eyes sluggishly moved up along the
long line of Mr. Tiebenoch's body, meeting a calm and cold stare. "d'nt know it was in ya..." Worth wheezed, smiling and looking dazed.

"Mm." Mr. Tiebenoch huffed, looking unamused. "Perhaps you would prefer persuasion of a different kind..."

Although Worth heard the words his patient was saying, he was only listening to the undertone. The guy was really enjoying this. Was this really the same person that was knocking on his door

Worth felt himself being pulled up, tucking his now-lame leg behind him. Every shift felt like needles going down his foot and up his leg. He was being pulled to the rickety hospital cot, merely a
metal frame with a cheap twin mattress thrown on top. Between the adrenaline and the endorphins surging through his blood, Worth felt as if he was somewhere far away and watching, not actually

-That was, until he felt cold air hit his arms and neck as his coat was roughly pulled off. "Ungh?" Worth slurred, trying to figure out what was going on. He felt his shirt come up over his head
and a hand rest against his bare chest.

"My." The stranger remarked, fingers ghosting along the numerous scars on his torso and arms. Some deep, some shallow, some fresh. "This would explain your previous reactions." Mr. Tiebenoch sat
down at the edge of the mattress, unbuckling Worth's worn leather belt. "I doubt you can run away with such a nasty injury to your ankle." The words felt soft, as if the person undressing him was
his caring mother, not some guy that had just snapped his ankle in two. Worth jerked nervously as he felt his pants being unzipped. Did he want this? He wasn't sure. "Hnn..." Worth groaned,
protesting weakly.

Doc Worth felt the mattress spring back up as his assailant stood back up, casually walking to the foot of the bed. "I'd imagine at this point I could let myself out. But..."

Quickly and silently the cold man grabbed Worth's shoes and yanked them off, eliciting an animal's shriek of pain from the dazed doctor.

"My apologies, Doctor Worth. But you see, it is difficult to continue without first removing your shoes." The gentleman explained, unzipping and tugging down the rest of Worth's attire.

"Hnng..." was all Worth could manage at the moment, tongue still bleeding and jaw aching. It /all/ felt good, but there was so much pain it was difficult to really focus. He tried to focus on the
sound of his ears ringing. The ringing sounded like a long, high-pitched belltone that was going straight through his skull, and if he could just focus and follow it...

"whut the.." Worth groaned, feeling the cold air of his office settle over himself. "Hey..." He tried to sound stern, but it was difficult to do so in the position he was in. "Hey! lay off faggot!"
Worth tried to move backwards and away as he felt two calm hands raking down his sides and towards his bony hips. /damn/ he hurt so good.

"I don't believe you have any room to talk, doctor." The other man retorted, watching as Worth's flacidity began to twitch to life.

Worth felt himself getting rolled onto his stomach, a groan creaking out of him that sounded like the hinges of his front door. He never really was good at knowing when enough was enough. It was
always a matter of "more." More blood, more drugs, more isolation. But was there a "too much?"

-Then again, the excruciating pain and uncertainty of his outlook served only to make him harder. Laying on his erection was uncomfortable, but that was merely a momentary distraction in comparison
to the feeling of Mr. Tiebenoch pulling Worth's hips up and pressing against his entrance without any warning or preparation. "FUCK" Worth cursed, trying to pull himself away. "Fucking....If yer'
gonna do that, at least get some goddamn LUBE." Worth screeched, pointing angerly at the cupboards on the opposite side of the room. His head was pounding from the wacks it had gotten earlier, and
although he wasn't exactly UNHAPPY at the moment, he wasn't HAPPY either. He just wished he could decide if he liked this or not so that he could act accordingly.

"Hm." The attacker huffed in amusement, eyes half lidded as he smiled. "Well, I suppose you won't be running very far anyway." Mr. Tiebenoch re-zipped his pants, gracefully walking to the other
side of the room and pulling open all the the storage areas. A few moments later the man returned, a bottle of salve in hand. "Vaseline will have to do."

Worth gurgled before swallowing down the last bits of blood left over in his mouth from his bitten tongue. "I s'pose you aren't too interested in foreplay." He grinned leeringly at the man above

craning his neck to see. Unfortunately for Worth, it didn't seem to stir a rebellious spirit in the other like he had hoped. Rather the man just pressed on, smearing a bare minimum of lubrication
onto Worth and then (after pushing his pants to his knees) himself.

Worth gritted his teeth and groaned as Ples pushed in without warning, and he could actually /feel/ himself tear. "FUCK." He exclaimed, hands gripping and ungripping the sheets spasmodically.

"You're....tight." The man above him cooed, interrupted by his own breathy pleasure. He began to work his hips back and forth, slowly at first and then quickening.

It was an odd time indeed for Worth to notice, but he could still hear that unexplainable ticking coming from behind him. He languidly listened, biting his lip and trying his best not to make any
noise. He succeeded with his silence for only a few moments though, before the length of the other inside him pressed against him in such a way that an embarrassingly desperate moan escaped his

"Hnn..." He kept whimpering, being pounded into again and again without mercy. He felt raw all over, and the rocking of the mattress was causing stabs of pain to fly up his leg from the broken
joint. Yet with all the chemicals (natural or not) coursing though him, the pain somehow detoured to his groin and became some of the most intense pleasure he had ever felt. "ah, ah...hng.." He
moaned, arm pulling back and underneath him to grab his throbbing erection, pumping in time with the man above him.


After few minutes of (mostly) silent fucking, the quiet was finally broken. " you keep...the key." Ples questioned between thrusts, hands gripping the boney hips in front of him to keep
Worth steady.

"Hnnghh..." Worth replied, hand moving frantically. Every thrust of the other sent shivers down his spine.

Ples grabbed the Doctor's hair and yanked his head back. "Keys." He reiterated, all the while continuing to fuck the man below him.

Worth gasped and was barely able to whimper out "Coat..." Before he came, hard. It nearly knocked the breath out of him as his vision seemed to blur from the intensity of the orgasm. The only thing
holding him up was Ples. Fortunately for Doc, the clenching from his orgasm began to set off Ples, and within a few thrusts he too had come.

They both lay panting for a moment, Mr. Tiebenoch propped up by his hands and still inside of Worth. "Hmm, mm..." He hummed, satisfied, chuckling pleasantly to himself as he pulled out.

Worth gasped at the feeling, and soon felt air where the other had been moments before.

Mr. Tiebenoch zipped his pants and stooped down to rifle through Worth's coat pockets. cigarettes, a lighter, a flask....keys. "Thank you for your consultation, Doctor." Tiebenoch said, polite
statement dripping with a cruel edge.

"an' what 'bout yer meds..." Worth slurred, aching and dizzy (yet somehow satisfied).

"Ah. I assure you, I won't be needing them." Ples smiled, turning the key in the lock and listening to it click open. "Good evening." he called over his shoulder as he walked out, grabbing a bottle
of whisky resting on a shelf as he made his way to the front door.

Worth continued to lie still on the soiled mattress, aching and throbbing. Moving hurt in both good and bad ways, and his ankle felt as if a 100 pound weight was strapped to it. He looked longingly
at his coat thrown carelessly on the floor, cigarette pack next to it. The least the guy could have done was toss it to him...

"Lamont better come around soon." Worth muttered to himself before squeezing his eyes shut and blacking out.

>>46831>>46832 Not bad.



I also have a Evil!Ples/Normal!Ples selfcest fic. But. Never finished it. I don't have time for fics anymore baw baw. I also have a Zombie/Hanna. They've been unfinished for weeks.

>>46769 Ooooh my God, I'm the anon that wrote that evil!ples /veser fic and hhhng this is so magnificent I'll be n my bunk for hours.

Thank you battle, you so wonderful~

O.o must

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So... some late night young!ConWorth? I should have been asleep over an hour ago and I got stuck reading that Armistice thing linked just up above and ended up finishing this instead. Gah. This fandom is bad for my sleeping patterns.

Constructive criticism's always welcome. Reasons why I shouldn't write when sleep-deprived, etc.


Conrad had been getting braver recently. He would sneak an hour after school to go to a café and get a mocha or an iced coffee or a hot chocolate or some other thing that his mother deemed too unhealthy for him to have at home.

He wasn’t actually brave enough to tell her that he was doing this, and he carefully disposed of all receipts afterwards so she wouldn’t know, but it was a little stand for independence. It was some time that was his, just his, and didn’t belong to school or his mother or a therapist.

He slipped into the chair that was rapidly becoming ‘his’ chair at the little café, pored over the extensive menu of caffeine and sugar, and ordered some new forbidden thing from a disinterested waitress. He savoured it with a happy little sigh, scribbling still-life portraits of empty chairs and abandoned coffee-cups. He knew he couldn’t really keep them in case his mother found them and asked about why his school was getting him to draw this instead of whatever she currently deemed ‘real’ art. He wasn’t good enough with excuses to justify things just yet.

Someone was blocking his light. He waited for them to go away, but they continued to stand directly behind him, and it was sort of starting to encroach on his personal space.

“At least it’s not fuckin’ flowers or whatever gay shit y’ normally like t’ sketch.”

The voice was Australian, lazy and sarcastic. Conrad clutched his sketchbook protectively close to his chest, too late to avoid it being seen as Worth took the chair opposite his.

“W-what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Me? Can’t a guy wonder where his li’l friend’s been wanderin’ off ta? Haven’ seen ya at that bus stop in a while, Connie.” Worth grinned. “You been avoidin’ me?”

“No, I just… haven’t been going home at the same time.” He played with his coffee. He didn’t want to deal with this. He liked coming to the café as his little bit of time all to himself, and he didn’t want to share it with anyone else. Especially not the abrasive, aggressive, sarcastic and pushy Worth.

“Avoidin’ yer mum, then?” Conrad nearly jumped, looking up sharply. “Ya don’ need t’ look at me like that. ‘S hardly difficult ta work it out. What’s th’ old hag done now?”

“Don’t call my mother a hag!” The defence was automatic, and not entirely heartfelt.

“A harpy’s a harpy an’ a hag’s a hag. An’ yer mum is both.”

“You don’t have to /say/ it,” Conrad mumbled, looking back into his coffee. “She hasn’t done anything, anyway. I just wanted some coffee. And time to myself.”

Worth stared for a moment, then started snickering.

“Finally growin’ a pair, are ya? Getting’ all rebellious?” Augh, that horrible mocking way he said it! Sure, getting a coffee after school wasn’t the biggest challenge to his mother’s authority but it was better than nothing and this was meant to be his time all to himself and he didn’t want to deal with this right now.

“You don’t have to say it like that! Why do you even care anyway? Why are you still here?” Conrad realised it was a mistake to react the moment the words were out of his mouth. It only gave Worth more to play with.

“Oh dear oh dear, I see this lone rebel lifestyle is not suited t’ yer delicate artistic temperament. Per’aps, as a good citizen, I should make sure yer lookin’ up t’ some kinda role model.” He leered. “I reckon I nominate myself. Studyin’ the illustrious medical practice an’ all that.”


“ooh, sounds t’ me like a cry fer some kinda attention.” He leaned in too, too close. “I can cert’nly offer ya all kinds of attention, Connie.” And ohgod he was between Conrad’s seat and the door and getting up would involve trying to get past him.

“My name’s not Connie. It’s Conrad.” The sketchbook was more and more a shield, and he felt sort of stupid for hiding behind it, but it was better than facing up against Worth.

All the same, he didn’t resist maybe as much as he should have when Worth plucked it from his grasp. And he could have maybe made a dash for the door if he’d just got up a bit sooner. And and and maybe he should have freaked out a bit more when he found Worth’s hand creeping up his leg. Or- or done something, at least.

But he didn’t want to make a fuss. Everything in his upbringing had been about not making a fuss in case his mother thought it was some new disorder he’d somehow developed, and the habit was really hard to break. And even if he didn’t want to admit it, he sort of maybe didn’t totally object to the lanky med student being quite this close.

“Since yer busy bein’ a rebel… wanna stay out late?” His voice was sandpapery-rough and quiet enough not to carry to anyone but god, Conrad felt himself blushing so badly anyway. “Heh. C’mon, puppy. Live a bit.”

He should have objected, he knew he should, when Worth grabbed his wrist and led him out, dropping a tattered five dollar bill for a tip that cost as much as the coffee had. But all he could seem to think of were questions, and he knew he couldn’t ask most of them, so he settled for a safe option.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re goin’ ta have some fun.”

I second this


its in the previous thread, towards the bottom

File: 127768704743.png-(66.69KB, 800x900, IN_MY_OFFICE_NOW_by_nonsenser.png)



File: 127768916490.jpg-(41.16KB, 700x700, EATASAMMICH.jpg)
Eat a goddamn sandwich Worth. EAT IT WITH YOUR FACE.


Wow wow wow, you are amazing and I will bear your children.

Finish thisssss.

-sage for no content, but some will come soon-

Hee, young!Conrad's such a lovely bundle of neuroses and awkward rebellion. I love the way you write the two of them.

File: 127769387696.jpg-(85.50KB, 700x700, damnit worth.jpg)
"Damn it, Worth."

You DO realize I have more deliveries than just YOU.

I did some more young!ConWorth for you.

Conrad had just been at the coffee shop for an hour. Figures, Luce didn’t show up. Conrad shifted his books to his other arm and kept walking towards his house. The way he saw it, Luce could be off screwing around with god knows who. Probably off trysting with a bubble-headed co-ed, fucking bastard; or off seducing more under-aged kids with his fucking apathetic anti-hero ways. Fucking jerk.

Conrad turned down his street and slowed down a bit. He had been hoping to kill some time with Luce, but no, the ass was a no-show. Now he had to wait a full hour before his mom left for work and the house would be empty. He heaved a sigh and stopped at his driveway, pleading to himself for his mother to leave early or something. Fumbling one-handed for his keys, he headed for the door and clicked it unlocked.

The minute the door opened, he regretted not just waiting out the extra hour at the shop. He could smell what he feared was hamburger helper and all the lights were off. He debated, briefly, running up to his room as quietly as possible, but that thought was dashed to bits as he noticed his mother sitting on the couch. She was watching soaps, Bloody Mary in one hand and Cosmopolitan in the other, a very sour look on her face as she stared at him.

“I‘m home,” he said tentatively, trying to continue walking to the stairs, “I have some homework to do… So, I‘ll just head up stairs and-”

“And not eat the dinner I made,” She interrupted, setting her magazine and drink on the coffee table. She continued in a curious voice, that held no real malice, “What are you doing home so early anyways?”

“Uh… My friends had to leave early so… There was no real point in staying.” He shrugged, “So, I just came home.”

“Hmm,” his mother hummed, “Very well.” She stood and walked towards the kitchen. “You can go do your homework or whatever after you eat some of this. You‘re stick thin,” she teased him without smiling, or rather, without smirking, which Conrad had become annoyingly accustomed to. He sat himself down at the table and didn’t cringe when she set the bowl of greasy, undercooked meat covered in tomato sauce with hard bits of pasta in it.

He stuck his fork into the bowl and tried a bite. Disgusting. He then proceeded to push the food around with his fork while he considered all the things that could have prevented Luce from showing up. His mother ate in silence across the table.

Conrad apparently managed to shove the crap around enough that when his mom got up from the table, she took his bowl with her. He stood up, thinking today was actually a pretty okay day for his mom, and started for the kitchen to help with dishes or something.

“You can go do your homework,” his mom said, already started on the dishes, “I‘ve got the dishes.”

Conrad turned around and headed to the stairs, grabbing his pile of books as he went. He hurried up the stairs to his room, threw his books on his bed, and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. He pulled out his phone and stared at it.

Last time he was with Luce was a few days ago. He had met Luce at the coffee shop, they sat there for a while and talked, then walked to Luce‘s house; but the whole time they were talking, Luce had been playing with Conrad’s phone. Conrad figured he had just been going through contacts over whatever, but maybe, just maybe, he had put his number in there.

He flipped open his phone and started going through the contacts, looking for anything he hadn’t put in there; but there was nothing. He tossed the phone over to his bed and let himself remember what they did at Luce’s house.

They had walked in and Luce had pushed him against a wall, deviously grinning, and went straight for Conrad’s neck, biting and forcing whimpers out of him. Conrad had never seemed to be able to remain composed when Luce was biting him or licking him or touching him. He had just let his fingers go to Luce’s buttons, fumbling to undo them. Surprisingly, Luce had let him open his jeans, push them down; but Luce, always knowing best, had took over from there, tugging Conrad’s jeans open and down. Luce had spit into his hand and slid it down between them, grabbing both of their dicks in a tight grip.

Conrad had moaned and writhed between Luce and the wall, leaning his head forward to muffle his gasps by biting Luce’s shoulder. Luce had returned with a similar gesture, sucking at the sweet spot on Conrad’s neck and grazing it with his teeth.

After minutes that had felt like hours of agonizing teasing, Luce pulling and squeezing at them, Conrad had come, tightening his jaw and jerking into Luce. Luce had squeezed even tighter, almost painfully so, and come a few moments after Conrad.

Remembering this particularly fun visit made him even more angry that Luce didn’t show up. He was now sitting at his desk with a raging hard-on. He stood up and walked to the door, locking it quietly. He turned back and flopped down on his bed, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down to his thighs. He spit in his hand and started to work on his dick. He slowly slid his hand up and down the shaft, rubbing the tip like Luce did.

“Ah… shit…” he mumbled, squeezing tighter and picking up his pace. He closed his eyes, thinking about the times he had been with Luce, what he had done to him.

“Hngh…” Conrad’s hand went faster, pumping his dick the way he remembered Luce doing. He wished he could have the sucking and nibbling and, oh god, the half-hearted insults even; and the more he thought about all the things Luce did to him, the harder it was to keep quiet. He felt his climax building, same as when he was with Luce, and with that thought he arched up off his bed, his hand palming his tip, as he hit his orgasm.

He fell back onto the bed, trying to catch his breath, and reached over to a box of tissues, to try and clean himself up. He nearly pissed the bed when his phone rang. He grabbed it with his clean hand and looked at the front.

A restricted number. He flipped open the phone and cautiously asked, “Hello?”

“Hello, princess.” He nearly pissed himself again; it was Luce.

“Wh-…” he sighed, “Where were you, you bastard? I waited for, like, an hour. I thought you said you‘d meet me at the coffee shop today.”

He heard a soft chuckle, “Why? Yeh miss me, yeh little fag?”

Conrad scowled, “No.”

“Of course you don‘t,” Luce mocked, “Well, fer yer information, I was… Detained.”

“You got arrested?!” He heard laughter in the background, a bit of yelling then, “No, dumbass. I was busy. Anyway, I‘ll catch yeh ‘round, love. Stay gay.” Conrad heard some more laughter and chatting before the phone disconnected.

“What an asshole,” he said to no in particular.

>>46914 I love you and your young!ConWorth forever Talc♥

B'aww. Thanks. C:
You guys are so good at asspats.

File: 127770391594.jpg-(172.17KB, 700x466, love9.jpg)
Anon 1: It never gets old, does it?
Anon 2: Well, no, we've had, like 34 threads and it's still just as fucking fantastic and sexy.
Anon 1: It kinda makes you want to...
Anon 2: ...Fap at the speed of light?
Anon 1: Yeah, but also sing.
Anon 2: Yep.

I love the ConWorth
I love the drawfag guys
I love the pchat
I love the sexface!eyes

I love the whole board
And all of its anons
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da

I love real dirty fics
I'm fine with spoiler wank
And strangely well-drawn dicks

I love the whole board
And all its craziness
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da

I love the AUs
I love the artists' styles
I love the Ves/Ples
And latent pedophiles

I love the whole board
it's such a brilliant place
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da
boom de ya-da

Anon I love you all.

Song from:

>>46863 >>46914
you guys oh my god stop it, my boner can't take thissss ilu both bawww
(also psst talc you asked what they should do next
my suggestion is ALCOHOL and/or Conrad being dominant [LIKE ACTUALLY DOMINANT]

blah blah blah

Unf unf
I don't post anything on a gallery, sorry! What's yours?
I second this. I'm not really into AU's but dayum I think you guys may be turning me with this one

It just might take a while...

T-technically, since young!Con has reached puberty and is a good few years into it, it's ephebophilia rather than paedophilia...?

This has been your educational moment for the day.

This is true...
But he's a minor.
So, the gov't considers it pedophilia.

hahaa, I love it! It's cute and yet, still hawt :3

Thank you!

actually they probably consider it statutory... and even then, maybe not. depending on where you're at. laws vary depending on country, state, the ages of the people involved, the number of years between them, hell, even gender. there's still plenty of places that consider sodomy of any kind, regardless of the participants' ages, to be illegal. average age of consent for male/male sex in the states is 16 or 17, though.

FFF. Okay. You win.
Please no wank.

haha, sorry, i wasn't aiming for wank! just educating! pedophilia would imply child molestation, and young!conrad is a minor but not a child. so it'd be tried differently, if legality ever got brought into things at all.

though worth doesn't strike me as the type to give a fuck about legal or not anyway.

Let's just NOT look a gift porn in the mouth?
Porn's porn, k? And this isn't like some creepy-as-fuck loli-fest...

File: 127771054811.png-(83.96KB, 573x646, gnee.png)
Have some quick ZxH fluff!

May color later.

I totally thought Worth was gonna pop out of a window or something XD

File: 127771196316.png-(64.35KB, 300x528, hannabndg.png)
I'm sorry I can't draw and it's so sketchy/shitty, but I always feel badly that I tear greedily through threads of content without contributing anything. I-I'll learn anatomy for you guys one day, really.

File: 127771196892.jpg-(258.69KB, 523x700, hey connie.jpg)
PERSONALLY, I prefer to use the term pedophile/pedo/whatever because of the recognition of it. I know the real term and all, but it's just... easier to be understood by saying pedophilia? A lot of people understand it as having sex with someone underage and not specifically before they go through puberty, it seems, anyway. Also, more lulsy.



Er, didn't mean to Spoiler that. There's no spoilers there. Derp. I finally delurk and I'm failing all over the place.



Also, I call it pedo because, why not? It's kind of humorous.


I think this is very ok <3

Oh lawd, this was great. Anon is ever demanding, but you wouldn't be willing to drawfag that as well?? Any Worth getting owned is always good.


Aww, how come you don't have a gallery? Do you have a website or any other kind of place where you keep your art? I'm Grimmet on Y!G and Omnom on DA.

:'D <3 I fucking sang it

Also, I for one am totally okay with Young!ConWorth, legal terms and semantics be damned. It's amazing.

Sage and relurking.

File: 127773540115.png-(364.98KB, 1117x1228, hurrhurr.png)
ehhh.. umm here.. I haven't posted anything in a while.. lots of nice stuff getting posted though.. love your pics Darky <3



You INVENTED Young!Conworth.

Also... Omg. Want more of dat Lamont/Femrad. Or hell. Even Lamont/Conrad. Especially with the whole vampire catnip thing.
Just replace all the cats with vampires, catnip with bloodthorn.

If I get any freetime I might fic this myself. I am surprised I haven't seen it yet. At least with Lamont/Conrad. Did I miss something, coq?

ITT Evil Ples wants to make himself a woman suit.

Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.

I'd fuck me hard.

Galleries give me all kinds of neurosis!
eee fluff<3

Second everything besides the writing myself.

For anyone I was talking to in IRC. My internet is having a great time shitting the bed. It will apparently let me go here though.

Sorry bros. I guess I'll be on later.

I just got my poster in the mail and put it up on my ceiling. I had a serious spaz fit and my parents are wondering why.

they have no one to blame but themselves for buying it for me

Wtf happened to the IRC?


Still working for me, man. No global kicks or anything. Same crowd as when you left.

drawfag taking a request after taking dog to the vet.

lol wut? Closing Link: talc[] (User has been banned from RelicNET (Session limit exceeded))


Threesome? Evil!ples/Ples /Veser?

but like with Evil ples having his own body? please?


I'm getting that as well now. I can only assume that the host doesn't like it when you spend your entire working day then a hefty chunk of your evening lurking irc

Ignore that last post.
Why can't I spend more than 24 hours on IRC?


It's probably for the best I'm off it. It's late, I should try and get the six hours' sleep I failed to get last night.

Hopefully IRC will stop hating us tomorrow.

Lets move the irc once again, then ! ! Also, working on setting up the hanna only paintchat at the moment.

You're my saviour.


omg hanna only pchat? I can't WAIT

File: 127777069064.jpg-(184.75KB, 752x606, Confag_first drawing.jpg)
First time drawfag as per Talc's request. Bad anatomy is HHHNNNNGGGGH.

Hey Hanna fags, I'm bored - what should I draw (no Veser because I suck at drawing his stupid face and don't want to fight with it right now)?

>>47034 Hanna being caught watching porn. With delicious embarrassment.

This fer shur

>>47035 OMG srsly, he lives in like a one bedroom and ... never sleeps...Its almost Canon


Well, he IS a (mostly) healthy young man, isn't he? HA!

File: 127777265627.jpg-(252.31KB, 822x844, lolwhat.jpg)

I am the queen of misinterpretation.


Dear god I love you. LOL


>>47040 ...Oh

I lold!

This forever.

oh. oh wow. I would like more of this, please. Maybe I'll try my hand at tiedup!Hanna. The cum..the cum is the best thing ever. I'm disappointed there's none on his face. (oh god I'm the worst person)

File: 127777609339.jpg-(85.28KB, 320x626, sexhappensfiststoo.jpg)

:C When I feel empty I draw rape.
No seriously this was a request. Everybody's on those whores or something
nsfw for implied fisting idk if everyone's into that kinda thing
posting again, spoiler tag didn't work.

File: 127777647856.jpg-(58.79KB, 472x390, suck my what like a leech.jpg)
Sweet lovin' 8D
>>47040 Loving this forever xD <3 "...oh."




Even worse: Hanna masturbating to a zombie flick.


and then I loled

I never found the idea fisting hot until this very moment.

File: 127778087812.png-(8.53KB, 126x233, zombie.png)

First born is yours, drawfag. How 'bout some "conworth, insomniac worth". [& the requested pickle for you!]

File: 127778116821.png-(72.44KB, 432x620, breakfastzombie.png)


is this referencing a fic? or do you mean just a pic of conrad x worth who DOESNT SLEEP (isnt the the usual worth..hurrr )

File: 127778689286.jpg-(258.08KB, 400x586, marathon.jpg)

DAWWWW hey hey I missed you and your art that always makes me spit out whatever I'm drinking. <3

ALSO YOU, and your art that makes me hnnngg. Any chance of more amaaaazing animations from you?

Have I ever told you how much I adore how you colour Zombie's skin? I love how you worked red into it!

File: 127779200675.jpg-(466.06KB, 1059x730, i'macreeep.jpg)
longtime lurker finally getting off their ass and contributing...
have some young!conworth
i'll leave whatever filth worth is verbally molesting poor connie with to your imaginations ;)

yess. I like the placement of his tie.


Cute! Love the expressions. :D

Er, have I seen you in the Kaiji/Fukumoto fandom? yeah you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but your style is so familiar.

Love it.

Agreed, and the same goes for Worth in >>46859

So, it turns out that Drunk!Dom!Young!Connie is actually sort of tricky to write.

so much young!ConWorth from a range of sources lately, it must be infectious or something.


No fic reference (though i'll totally write one for you hurhur). just a pic similar to the worth alone one, i guess, but less "alone" and more "he's about to keel over and die."

File: 127783133461.png-(54.16KB, 288x522, hannabndg.png)
Cleaned up a bit, now with 100% more facial spoogery for >>47049 (it's okay, we can go to hell together.)

Okay kids, art request time again. T-TIME FOR A WARMUP SKETCH.

Ples/Schtein from String Theory (bonus points for Ples being awkward as hell)

Alternatively Ples/Worth with the same bonus.

File: 127783740145.jpg-(247.21KB, 560x739, Idonteven.jpg)

File: 127784087031.png-(421.90KB, 600x833, 06-29-2010 03;46;23PM.png)
Something I drew on the way to the state fair.

No, I will never post anything actually porny.

"Dicks! Dicks everywhere!"

Alright this will be my last request until I actually contribute.

Ples hides Veser's jacket. Veser refuses to leave until he gets it back.

I mean come on. Them selkies and their coats.

In the last thread, I think there were some requests for Evil!Ples/Ples self-cest, and ah, the Pink Floyd song One of My Turns told me to crank this out for you guys. So, here's my first ever straight-up porn fic; ENJOY?


I can feel one of my turns coming on.

I try to repress it as best I can with the alcohol I’d bought only the night before, but it’s not going to be enough. Not this time.

I can feel him sliding out from under my control, wrapping his shadowy not-there hands around my brain and slowly taking charge like some horrible, monstrous snake suffocating its prey. It’s an absolutely dreadful feeling, like a cool sludge filling your body, drowning your senses until you’ve been pushed into the background and out of control. I am helpless, defenseless against it.

He hums as he stretches out my body, tugging at the sleeves of my long dress shirt appraisingly. He’s tsking, as he comes to stand before the mirror, looking skeptically over my form with a half-grin.

“Oh, Ples.” He croons in my voice, and I shiver, though I have no body with which to shiver in. It’s an odd sensation that’s difficult to explain. It’s as though my being, not in a body, skips; jumps. It’s unpleasant, I hate it, and he knows this, and chuckles. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

To respond would encourage him and whatever he has planned, so I remain silent, but that devious glint in his, my, eye is unnerving. I feel my essence skip again. I can’t fathom what he has in store, and that look is not reassuring in the slightest. I can see and feel everything he does as he strolls about our, my, room, untucking my shirt carelessly and shrugging out of my vest.

“What are you up to?”

I did not ask. He tapped into my mind and drew it out, as he often does when I remain silent. He laughs, and I hate how my voice sounds under his control. I’m sure if he could, he’d be leering at me, and I can feel how smug my face feels as he works its muscles.

“Ples, you really must learn to trust me more. Am I not trustworthy to you?”

He knows the answer without having to coax it from me, yet he does all the same.

“Absolutely not.”

He chuckles, deep and dark; positively unnerving.

“What shall we do, Ples? Would you like to watch tv, or get something to eat? You’re on the rather thin side, Ples, that’s not attractive at all you know.” He says with a grin, prodding at my side. “Nothing but skin and bones, are you?”

He admires my form briefly before he begins gliding around my room, using my body to do those perfected ballroom waltzes I had spent years learning, humming again as he dictated my arms out to hold a non-existent figure.

“How long has it been since you had a dancing partner, Ples?” He’s silent, briefly contemplating before speaking again. “Then again, how long as it been since you’ve had a partner in…anything?”

If it were possible, I would have paled. I knew what direction he was quickly taking this, and tried briefly to regain control, only to have him tut me a second time and reassert his control by dropping an uncomfortable pressure on my being. I recoiled.

“Now now, Ples; I only have your best interest in mind. Why can’t you trust me on this?”

He is feral; he is mad. I can feel his insanity encroaching my mind and I fear that I too may be going mad with him dripping his illness into my body the way he is. But there is nothing I can do, and so I resign myself to my fate as he pulls yet another response from me.

“You’re out of your mind.”

He’s chuckling again, twirling about the room, dipping a form only he can see in a low slant, staring lovingly at the image of nothing at all. Perhaps he’s imagining it’s me there, in his arms, or it may be the image of that young boy he’s become attracted to as of late. It’s impossible to tell.

“We’re all mad here, said the cat.” He responded quietly as he lifted the figure again, spinning it out and away from him before reeling it back. Like a yo-yo on a string, it’s how he has me trapped. I cannot escape him no matter how hard I try; a fly caught in his web.

I wish desperately that he’d stop. I wish that the alcohol I had ingested had done it’s job properly, and it’s a mistake to feel these thoughts of dread, because it’s what he feeds off of; my despair. That lecherous grin is back as he brings his dance to a halt before the mirror, giving me a good once-over to appraise the disheveled mess he’s turned me into.

I hate mirrors; I never want to see my face as his again.

“Ples,” he creens, unbuttoning the rest of my shirt to reveal the ugly, ticking mess that makes up my torso. “See what happens when you don’t trust me? You resort to such foolery as this-"

Here he rakes one of my fingers along a large, whirling gear, and it causes the both of us to shiver and gasp, the feeling so tantalizing and cool.

“Why don’t you let me take care of you, Ples? You know I’ll do for you the things you only wished you could. I can get us out of here, out of that cubicle, into the world-“

“No, no, no…”

Another finger runs around tracing swirling patterns on that large bronze bit of machinery, and he’s got us gasping again, my essence skipping and jolting erratically. I refuse to admit that it feels good, because something so grotesque should never have this kind of profound affect on someone, but it’s obvious he feels otherwise.

Our, my, body is warming ever so slightly as he caresses the gears that make up my stomach, his dark and malevolent grin ever present as he stares into me through that mirror on the wall. When he touches those gears the way he does, it’s like a thousand strings are being pulled within me, tugging at my nerves and sending electric ribbons of the purest pleasure I have ever known spasming through my body.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says, running a his hand feather light across the expanse of clockwork, barely tickling the bits and making us gasp yet again, and that’s when I realize what he’s doing. Our reactions have thus far been in unison, and like a fool I understand now that he’s letting my responses to his touches shine through. It is not us or even his breathing that’s picked up, but rather mine. He has control over my body, but the reactions are my own. How sick.

I wish he’d turn away from the mirror so that I’m not forced to watch as my breathing becomes heavier, as his mind in my body commands the movements of my hands, making my fingers dip in the divets and ridges of the gears, eliciting such shameful noises from deep within my throat. How on earth so much feeling can come from these bits of metal is beyond me, but as he strokes the sensitive cogs I find that the sensations are so overwhelming, that questioning thought is driven away.

“Mm, looks like some good came from your- ah, oh- tomfoolery after all.”

Having him force me to watch my own expressions as he performs this shameful deed on me is degrading. I’ll be avoiding mirrors for weeks at this rate, as I watch and see my face contort, a glimmer of pleasure creasing my aging features. I try to will my arousal away, those exhilarating touches cascading my senses and sending me on a whirligig of self-induced lust. I am no stranger to such feelings, but when some mad bugger whom rarely sees the light of day forces them upon you, then, well, you can’t help but hate the feeling.

“You think too much.” He breathes out, running my hands this time up and over my chest, tweaking the nipples as he finds them and causing my breathing to hitch as that familiar jolting rush courses through me. “I’m doing you a-a-ohh, a favor here, Ples.”

My hands acting on his will travel back down my torso and come to rest at my hips, teasing my fingers along the waistline of my trousers. No matter what I do now, whether it be encouragement or denial; nothing would deter him from this task at hand.

Our, my, breathing hitches as he commands my fingers to dip below the fabric of my pants, and even below that of my underwear, to tease at the coarse hairs of my nether regions. The sensation is odd, ticklish, and coerces a light groan from me and I can feel my erection starting to ache. My fingers retreat, pulling out to undo the buttons of my clothing and have them fall around my knees, shoving my undergarments down to join my discarded pants.

He casts my gaze lower, forcing me to watch as he threads my hands along my lower abdomen, grazing my fingers along the base of my hardened cock in a slow, meandering way.

I’m groaning again, I realize, as my voice reverberates around the room. He’s grinning, proud that he’s reduced me to making such primal noises in response to pleasantries I refuse to take part in, but I no longer care. The cool air surrounding me has me mentally begging him to touch me in ways that would bring warmth to my throbbing flesh, but he refuses.

“I thought you didn’t want this.” He reminds me, my voice taking on a sing-song-y tone as he uses my hands to slip in and around my thighs, touching anywhere but where it matters. “I’m loony, remember? You don’t want a madman touching you.”

Teasing me, he’s teasing me! He has me in the palm of his hand, and he knows I’m too far gone to care about dignity. Not when he’s got me watching myself pant and huff in the mirrors reflection, hands dancing between my legs elegantly and slow.

“…we’re all mad here, I-I thought.” I respond, replying with what he’d said to me earlier. He pauses with what he’s doing, staring at me incredulously through the mirror before he throws back my head and laughs, finding this a rich joke.

“Yes, yes indeed. We are quite mad, aren't we?”

He casts aside any restraint now and runs my palm along the underside of my length, causing me to let out a soft sigh and a slight shake. The fabric of my arm spats adds a nice sort of friction as he wraps my hand full on around my cock, flicking my wrist elegantly as he travels from base to head with practiced ease.

He’s humming something, but on top of my slightly panty breaths, I can’t tell what it is. The tune keeps breaking with each gasp or light moan I let out, but it doesn’t curb his enthusiasm any. He lets my fingers play with the tip, squeezing it gently before trapping it between my thumb and forefinger, stroking along sensitive skin roughly.

It makes me groan and I wish not for the first time that evening that I was still in control. I wanted to stroke myself languidly, to take great care in getting the best possible pleasure from the situation that I could. Then again, if I had been in control in the first place, this wouldn’t be happening and I wouldn’t be having such perverse thoughts.

“Freude, schöner Götterfunken...“ he sang, tightening his hold and quickening the pace. I would have laughed, had I been able, but instead I only managed a weak chuckle that morphed into a low moan.

Beethoven. He was singing Beethoven. Was there no end to my torment?


“Tochter aus Elysium…”

He ignored my pleading and continued on, singing Ode to Joy lowly as he pumped at my dick, jerking it along roughly now as I tried to keep in control. I was having trouble though, and gasped and groaned with every thrusting motion he made. I could feel myself winding up, that familiar tight spring coiling in the pit of my stomach as my orgasm came near.

“Wir-ah, betreten- feuertrunken; H-Himmlische…”

I wanted to buck my hips into his hand, anything to get more of that sweet friction he’d been giving me. His voice broke as I cried out, desperate for this aching tension to be broken, but he merely laughed.

“E-eager now, are we, Ples?”

“Please, please.”

There wasn’t much more I could take, but again, I wouldn’t have any say in the matter; it was all up to him whether or not he wanted to give me immediate satisfaction.

“Mmmm. Dein Heiligtummmm~”

The deep vibrations from his hum cascaded through my throat as he pulled hard, making me cry out sharply as that spring finally snapped, allowing me to come hard into my outstretched palm as he laughed mirthlessly, rubbing my secretions on the side of my leg as my, not his, vision began to wane.

“I do hope that relaxed you, Ples. Maybe you’ll come to trust me a little more.” I could feel him adjust my spectacles before my mind went black. “But if you don’t mind, I have work to do now. Have a good rest.”


WAS THAT OK? Too talky? Was there enough stimulation? /neverwrittenpornbeforeangst

Goodness gracious, hnnnnng. Yes, yes yes that was definitely 'OK'. <3 I love your writing. Sophisticated porn turns me on so hard.

Draw some Lamont/Worth, since there is seriously almost none of this and it confuses the hell out of me.

Ooh or maybe something involving bloodthorn. Because yeah. Except that might work better in written form.

Wow, I am honestly shocked you actually filled my request. I thought it was super derpy. Thanks a ton!

Why the hell has nobody requested Ples/Ples yet? God, you guys.

>>47158 I demand moar.


oh silly anon, use spoilers

They already have, like five times. Where ya been?

I'm probably late to the party, but has anyone seen this before? I found it pretty hilarious.

I meant from THIS drawfag.

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nnngh, that was seriously hot. I hope you post it somewhere more permanent <3

Ehehe, thank you <3

Moar cowbell?

I wouldn't know where to stick it, though; I've been banned from Y!gal and I'm not sure this is entirely dA appropriate hahaha.


This makes me want to see Zombie and Hanna dressed as greasers. Maybe I should draw it...

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So Beatfu and I used to draw a lot of filth for this fandom and ages and ages ago I promised her dirty fic to go along with this piece, and am you know. Finally, uh, delivering or whatever.


PART 1/1


Finas had once been the kind of man who attended church, the kind of man who occasionally prayed for things when he wasn’t sure where he was going or how to get where he needed to be. He had felt up a young woman in a narrow armchair, the French that she spoke catching in her throat and on his lips, and afterward he had felt guilty enough to sit in confession. When he had been younger, it was the kind of thing he could imagine caring about. That had been a long time ago.

The air is acrid with the taste of cigarette smoke and drinking and the lurid heat of sweating bodies and skin and the tang of laughter and music. Beside him, Casimiro breathes in the sweet taste of it - he adjusts the mask on his face and says, “Christ, look at them,“ through the gaps of his fingers. He’s grinning, one eye already sunk closed from some anticipated pleasure.

Finas leans out over the rail of the café’s balcony to peer down into the lush swarm of mardi gras revelers. New Orleans is new for them - easy and rolling like the smooth curve of a neck and shoulder on an average day, but here it is hot and pulsing and needy - the whole god damned city arching to the thrust of jazz band quick time and sweating bayou humidity.

Finas licks his lips absently and beside him Casimiro leans closer like they’re confidants, leaning in to share some secret but instead Casimiro chuckles low in his throat like a back road snake oil salesman. They are the only things in the city whose skin isn’t flush, breathing a little taut. Finas doesn’t make any noise at all when Casimiro bumps his knuckles vaguely against the side of his jaw and asks, more friendly than maybe it should be: “Are you still hungry?”

“I could eat.”

They leave the drinks they ordered on the café table; Finas has no taste for bourbon from the glass anymore.

The anonymous faces on the street open up for them and it’s like snakes sliding into an unguarded chicken coop. It’s easy and no one really notices, but in the surge of people and the laughter and the bright colors, it’s easy to lose Casimiro from sight if not smell. Finas can feel the tug of him at the back of his brain, some predatory instinct of like blood (or lack of). It’s easy for him to keep tabs on it, the narrowing thread that runs between them and weaves along the street. Finas does his best to ignore it, instead lets himself sink into the throb of the celebration.

Some faceless woman catches him by the neck of his waist coat and she kisses him on the mouth, panting alcohol. Her beaded headdress clicks loudly and he manages to duck away before she can start trading strings of beads or any of that complete idiocy, hell bent on finding Casimiro. Christ, look at them.

He finds the other vampire in a narrow back ally with his hand down the front of a man’s pants. He’s older, the cheap mask he’s wearing pushed up over the bridge of his nose so that when Casimiro goes to his knees, the stranger can see it from under the bottom of the gold painted muslin cloth.

Finas lurches and for a few seconds he doesn’t really know what to do. After a beat he retreats lamely to the mouth of the alley and stands like some awkward but attentive guard, except he’s not really watching the street and instead is waiting to catch Casimiro’s eye, which he does as the vampire takes the man’s cock out and scuffs his lips over the underside, not actually using his mouth. Casimiro looks straight at him from behind the mask before he lets his eyes slide half closed and Finas can see the man’s knees shake and can feel the drum of his pulse. Casimiro’s tongue, Finas knows, is a little dry - like a cat’s - but that doesn’t stop the stranger from groaning when he uses it, fingers coiling into the Italian’s (if that counts for anything now) chestnut hair.

To his credit, Casimiro lets the man finish before he bobs his head up and spits come onto the street. He works his jaw like it aches and Finas takes it to mean something, so he moves from the mouth of the alley and heads toward them.

“Oh Christ--” says the man and he goes to clutch at his belt, but Casimiro steadies him and growls something against his hip which keeps him still until Finas reaches him. Casimiro is looking up at him from the corner of his eye, just barely visible in the shadow of the mask. Finas sways forward and for a second his fingers hesitate.

He smashes the man’s throat with his palm at the same time Casimiro bites into the meaty flesh of the man’s thigh, tearing into the skin until he bleeds and bleeds. Finas opens up his neck once the man stops fighting with his hands and lapses into a slow scrape of fingertips on the wall behind him. It tastes sweet: liquor and smoke the tang of adrenaline from sex and shock. Casimiro groans against the skin.

When they’re finished, they leave the body. Finas wipes his mouth and licks it off the back of his hand, but Casimiro doesn’t bother.

“You look like an insane person.”

“Well, you know.” There is blood smeared across the half of his face not concealed by a ridiculous beaded and feathered mask, streaked down the line of his neck and rubbed into the collar of his shirt and tie. It’s a long stripe of gore and Finas is still craving something he doesn’t really know the name of.

Casimiro takes all the beads from off the body. “I wouldn’t mind an early night,” he says. “I’d bet we can see the fireworks better from the window of the apartment anyway.”

The room is small and musty. Finas opens the window above the bed to let the air in; the smell and the noise comes with it, and he’s only partially disgusted but it’s enough that he lays down instead of leaning out the window. He takes off the mask and toes off his shoes. Casimiro does neither, though he does lay partially down on his side with an elbow hooked on the window sill so he can look out. No fireworks yet.

Finas shifts and the mattress squeaks faintly and he shouldn’t be irritated by it, but he is. He’s sharply aware of the fact that he should be satisfied - he can still taste the blood at the back of his mouth, but instead of enjoying it, he works his tongue over the iron taste until it isn’t there anymore. Purges himself.

There is a crackle. A bang. “Oh, there,” says Casimiro. “That wasn’t very exciting.”

“Wait for it,” Finas growls. “I’m sure there’s more on the way.”

Casimiro turns to look at him, face unreadable under the mask. “Well, someone’s not enjoying carnival season like they should. What do you need, peacock? Here, I’ll make you some delicious sweet cookies so you can get fat and enjoy it like you should.” He pats Finas on the stomach and that’s the most aggravating -- Finas slaps his hand away and frowns.

“It’s cruel - pushing them around like that.”

Somehow, and Finas doesn’t really want to think about how, Casimiro doesn’t need any elaboration. He knows already and just shrugs it off. He flicks his wrist and hums something low and dismissing, shifting his attention back to the open window. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s the spirit of the holiday - fattening up on sin so you can get through the hell on Earth that is Lent. He knew what he was getting into.” Casimiro pauses, then amends. “Well, I mean. Mostly.”

And Finas can’t see much of his face, but he can see the way that he smiles slowly until it covers his whole face. When he laughs, it startles him by how loud it is - a sharp bark. It disintegrates quickly, but leaves Finas a little on edge. He can feel the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Next time, don’t just stand there,” Casimiro says after a while and Finas, if he breathed, probably would have choked a little on that although he isn’t really sure why. He’s spent god knows how long with Casimiro - has stopped counting. The apartment only has one bed and they both know it, but for some reason sharing in Casimiro’s spoils isn’t really -- the blood is fine, everything seems like a fence to be climbed instead of just a line to be crossed.

When he doesn’t answer, Casimiro looks at him. His eyes are dark, the moonlight glinting in his right eye. After a few seconds, his hand snakes down to catch Finas’ waistcoat at the same point where earlier the woman grabbed at him in the street. It’s significantly less desperate. “Lent is for people with sin,” is what Casimiro says. “Do you know much about that?” He looks at him, and Finas knows that he’s perfectly aware of how he’s parted his lips a little and tipped his face.

Once, when he was very young, Finas was scared that he might be going to Hell. It was good motivation to shy away from lines of all sorts. Here though, in the early 20th century with the humidity oozing in heavy through the window and Casimiro’s fingers pressed against his collarbone (no warmth in the touch, but he doesn’t really notice) and blood still all over his face, Hell is significantly less of a threat.

“No, not really,” and Casimiro kisses him. The angle is slightly awkward until Finas tips his head to meet him, prompts Casimiro to groan into his mouth like a slut as Finas licks the blood off the front of his teeth.

Casimiro is undoing all the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt with one hand, gets halfway done and then just scuffs his fingers down to the front of Finas’ slacks. He squeezes and grins against his mouth, feathers from that god damn mask tickling at Finas’ forehead. “I didn’t really think you did,” and opens his pants, reaches down into them to stroke Finas’ dick.

It takes him a few seconds to orient himself, for Finas to filter out the prickle of sensation from Casimiro’s fingers long enough to turn his head away slightly to wear the mask isn’t threatening to poke out an eye, so he can bring a hand up and clumsily push at Casimiro’s shoulder. “Wait. Wait, just -- easy. Fuck, get off me for a second.”

He sways up sharply but doesn’t remove his hands from Finas’ pants. Goddamned typical. He waits, expectant, and Finas imagines his eyebrows are raised. “Really?”

Finas is undoing the rest of his shirt buttons, trying to ignore the palm on his cock and only managing to be halfway successful. He knows he’s getting hard from the pulse of Casimiro’s subtle presses of his fingers and he wishes he wouldn’t do that when he’s trying to be-- Finas shook his vest and shirt off and let himself settle into the mattress, Casimiro’s hand loyally in place over his crotch.

“Well?” A verbal foot tap of impatience.

“Well,” Finas bit back. “Just don’t use your mouth. I’ve seen where it’s been.” It’s biting and he knows it, but Casimiro just laughs again and finally takes his hand out of his slacks long enough to shuck his clothes. He leaves the mask on though, the mardi gras beads glinting against his dark skin in the moonlight from the window. When he’s naked, all long limbs and sharp hips, he clambers over top of Finas and settles briefly.

He doesn’t agree so much as he just kisses Finas on the neck, the smell of the blood on him like a pinch. It isn’t until Casimiro rocks himself down against the front of his slacks that Finas catches him by the hips and makes a low appreciative noise. He can feel the grin against the side of his neck before Casimiro nips, sucks hard at the sting. Keeps up that slow, pleasant roll of his hips like he wants to fuck himself on Finas. Which if good - goddamn inspired, and makes him hard and twitching in his pants, but there’s something about the way Finas can feel his stomach drop when Casimiro shifts to start taking off the last layers between them, that makes him squirm a little against the slide of his trousers from his hips.

“Jesus Christ, what now?” Casimiro shoves the mask up off his face and on to the top of his hard, mouth sloping sharply into a frown. He glares at Finas, tugs at his pants impatiently and it’s the first time Finas has seen his face in hours, and it makes his cock throb.

He swallows hard, scuffs his knuckles down Casimiro’s naked chest, lower to his abdomen and then catches his erection, squeezes. “You should fuck me,” he grates out, throat raw and the angle of Casimiro’s shoulders drop like he’s startled and there’s the ghost of that scowl on his face that quickly slides from the corner of his mouth. After a few seconds of arrested motion, Casimiro tears his pants off and grins as he tangles their legs up with the very specific kind of excitement Finas has learned to attribute to Casimiro and fucking, one way or the other.

It isn’t impatient and it isn’t sudden - Casimiro gets his legs up near his waist and then leans forward, humming into Finas’ throat like a substitute for trading breath they don’t actually need or have anymore. He puts his fingers in Finas’ mouth, thrusts them lazily between his lips until he’s satisfied, until Finas can feel his skin prickle. Likes the skate of those wet fingers down his side and between then, the low brush and the tension and Casimiro presses two in. It’s dry and stings and some part of him likes the ache of Casimiro’s fingers lurching inside him. Finas clutches at his shoulder and makes a pitched noise in the darkness.

Fingers are enough of a sting though, and Casimiro digs up the oil, makes a stupid crack, “Better than cookies,” as he slathers his dick with it.

“I’m going to punch you.” Finas means to growl it, but mostly its flat and the way he can feel himself go all sharp angled when Casimiro presses the head of his cock against him makes it the least hollow threat in the entire city, possibly the continent. Casimiro latches his arms under his, fingers lacing behind Finas’ neck. He grins at him, the edge of the mask trending toward his eyebrows.

“I doubt it,” and then pushes into him slowly and Finas can feel himself falling slowly apart until there’s nothing left but the press of Casimiro in him and the man’s fingers curled against his neck and the slow arching grin.

“F-fuck,” he stammers, clutches at Casimiro’s bicep as they settle together. There are beads on Casimiro’s neck and thy dangle low, cold on Finas’ bare chest as the vampire hums some kind of affirmation before straightening out just slightly.

It’s just enough to catch Finas’ eye and look at him as he pulls back, nearly out. Snaps his hips and thrusts down into him with enough force to make Finas’ back arch, fingers scrabble on skin, but not enough to break eye contact and Finas stares back at him at Casimiro establishes some kind of rhythm that makes every inch of him crackle and burn. He grunts and Casimiro bows over him and growls, “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” while looking at him with hungry eyes.

And Finas clutches at him, would be panting in some other lifetime, and says “Cas, Casimiro” like it is some kind of religion.

WHOA HELlo~ thanks v kind anon <3

Aww, I remember that hotness. <3 Lovely fic, and it's good to see you around these parts again.

oh, HOT.


That's one of my favorite CasFin smut pictures, and the fic is HNNG. You're a beautiful person.

I especially love that last line.

Filling a thing on the kinkmeme-. "Doc Worth/Hanna, medical fetish. An S&M theme would be a plus, but do with it what you will. :)"

... though only slightly filling it, because it's Hanna and his medical fetish, without much Worth and with no S&M.


Hanna would never admit it to anyone, because even by his standards it was kind of weird, but he really sort of enjoyed his trips to Worth's. Not for the basic human contact that being sworn at constituted, but for the medical attention. He... he liked the feeling of bandages on his skin, wrapping tight, a little bit constricting. The cold steel of the surgical table was kind of thrilling. He wasn't the least bit scared of needles, either.

Of course, he desperately hid this from Worth. Even if the Doctor was pretty liberal about everything, what if he didn't like the idea of his patient getting kicks from it? Well, yeah, the guy did like to put all kinds of strange shit into his own body, but that didn't mean he'd be all that understanding if someone else wanted even stranger things.

So he'd get beaten up, not on purpose but, well, he was pretty accident prone, and maybe he was less careful than he really should have been. And he'd drag himself to that dingy clinic and there'd be that cold table and there'd be bandages and maybe stitches or maybe, sometimes, rarely, something more interesting. And he'd sit there and laugh nervously and pretend like nothing was wrong, and hope Worth was too busy treating his injuries and snarling at him for being careless to realise that yeah, Hanna was sort of getting off on the cold steel and the tight bandages and the glaring lights of the little surgical room.

Sometimes Worth wouldn't let him go home. He'd make sure Hanna stayed overnight till the medicine had kicked in or the torn skin had a chance to start knitting back together. That was always torture. Even with pillows and a blanket, it was still that steel table he'd be sleeping on, in that room full of strange and enticing gleaming instruments. He never dared touch himself while he was still there in case he got caught. He didn't think he could evade giving an explanation for that the way he could for more mundane stuff like his scars. He'd flee home first thing in the morning and harshly, hungrily jerk himself off, remembering the cold swipe of antiseptic on skin and feeling the tautness of his wrappings, and he'd come quickly and guiltily thinking of cold, bony hands applying stinging, fizzing peroxide to clear off whatever was on his skin.

And the next week he'd back in that little clinic, some new injury claiming the Doc's attention while Hanna prayed and prayed he wouldn't notice the rest of his condition.

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have some CasVes?

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That was amazing, I love the dynamic so much.
Here, have this thing I probably won't ever finish.




You glorious motherfucker, I love this so much. Continue! Please! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!

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Fic from Spooks, sketch from me (like you guys couldn't tell, derp).


Somehow- probably by means of a bit of covert wallet-snooping- Hanna had managed to find out his birth date. It seems kind of moot now (it's not like he's getting any older) but of course that doesn't stop Hanna from demanding that they celebrate in some way.

Still, it's not so bad. Apparently Hanna's managed to wrangle free concert tickets; some tiny, probably shitty local band playing in a bar, he's sure, but it's a nice thought, anyway. Hanna might be occasionally obnoxious and really terrible at his job but he's a pretty good friend.

They're all meeting up outside the Rabbit Hole before heading to wherever this show is, and apparently, everyone else is late. Or maybe it's just that Conrad's really early, that is definitely possible. But either way, he's stuck waiting, huddled in the jacket he doesn't really need and trying not to look too conspicuously awkward standing around outside a bar. He's pretty sure he's failing.

Worth sneaks up out of nowhere; Conrad doesn't even smell him or hear his heartbeat (or footsteps) before he's suddenly being smacked- really fucking hard- on the shoulder, accompanied by a mock-cheerful "Well if it ain't the birthday boy."

Ugh, he is taking back every thought he'd had about Hanna being a good friend. "The birthday boy is revoking your invitation," he says, and Worth snickers, and slouches against the wall beside him. Conrad shoots him a sideways glare, and finds himself having to double-take in order to get a better look at what Worth's wearing.

The jacket he's seen before, but he's certain he's never seen that shirt. He would very definitely remember it. It almost doesn't look like something Worth should own; it's greyish-blue and looks expensive and soft as hell and it really, really suits him. It's distracting enough that it takes him a minute to notice the way Worth's smirking at him, smug and amused, one hand up to rest on- on the scarf around his neck. And then he's stuck gaping, torn between being stunned and furious. Because that's his scarf.

"What-" the fuck, he intends to say, except Worth cuts him off, ducking close to kiss him- a shoving him up against the wall, knee between his thighs, brain-melting and thought-stealing sort of kiss. Jesus christ. He's going to yank himself away to finish swearing, seriously, he is, any minute now, it's just... Fuck, why is Worth so good at this?

He ends up with his fingers tangled in the stupid scarf, holding Worth close probably unnecessarily since it's not like he seems inclined to go anywhere. But he's kind of fascinated by the thing, can't help thinking of the last time he remembers seeing it and the use it got put to and, fuck, the sight of Worth straddling him-

Worth's so fucking warm, not smelling like blood for once but still smelling good, tongue sliding against his and one hand sneaking into his coat to curl at his hip, yanking him even closer. He moans, kind of loudly, all thoughts that they are in public and waiting on their friends completely gone from his head for the moment. Fuck. Best birthday present ever.

The faint sound of shock doesn't really register at first. The exaggeratedly loud throat-clearing, on the other hand, does. Worth grunts in irritation, free hand waving vaguely in Hanna's direction as he breaks away long enough to say "Fuck off, we're busy," before focusing his attention on Conrad's neck.

"Um!" Conrad says, except it comes out kind of squeaky because Worth just licked over his bite scar and fuck fuck fuck. "Get the hell off," he tells him, stupidly flustered and not quite under his breath as he shoves at Worth's shoulders.

He's pretty sure that mutter was an "I'm tryin' to" but that's too crass to deserve acknowledging so he decides to ignore it, choosing instead to yank at the scarf until Worth backs off enough for him to be able to look at Hanna without cringing (much).

Hanna looks some weird mix of amused and grossed out, though not surprised. "So I guess you guys started the party without us," he says, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

"Yeah," Worth snaps, free hand shooing him away, "an' now you ain't invited. Go the fuck away, Hanna."

Dead Guy glares a little (yikes) but Hanna just rolls his eyes. "You are such a grouch. It's not your birthday, y'know maybe Connie still wanted to go to the show instead of-" "Hanna," Worth growls, warningly, and Hanna snickers. "Yeah yeah fine jeez I'm going! You've got no sense of humor sometimes, Doc."

At a nudge from Hanna, Dead Guy produces an envelope from his pocket and holds it out. "Well anyway," Hanna continues, "there's your gift, Connie, and we can reschedule the party for another night I guess! I'll call everyone so there's no more, uh, interruptions. Oh," he grins as Conrad pockets his card, even goes so far as to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, jeez. "And there's actually a doorway down there that's pretty well-hidden, if you didn't want to, like, jump each other in the middle of the street. Just sayin'."

Hanna waves as he turns to go; Conrad makes a half-hearted effort to wave back, but Worth's already dragging him down the narrow alleyway beside the bar and he's not exactly fighting it.

They're kissing again before his back hits the brick. Worth's hand ends up under his shirt, palm so fucking hot where it's pressed against his ribs; his own hands find their way back to the scarf, curling his fingers tight in the knit as Worth sucks and bites at his lip, leg pressing up against him to shove him harder against the wall. "Fuck," he moans, and Worth makes a noise of agreement, nails digging into his skin as his other hand starts to tug at his belt.

Christ, he can already tell they're going to be loud, and just thinking that makes him groan, the sound getting sharper when Worth chooses that moment to focus on his neck again, licking and nipping until Conrad squirms and shifts one hand from the scarf to his hair, curling tight in the short strands. Seriously it's a good thing they're out of the street, or they'd probably end up arrested which is really not how he wants to spend his birthday. And, okay, he thinks hazily, maybe Hanna is a pretty decent friend after all.

There's not really a whole lot of thinking involved after that. Except:


Best birthday present ever.

HNNN This. This. I love it so much- it caters to my biggest fetish ever. And added Hanna to it!
THIS IS ALSO AMAZING. Just- awesome. Spook, Caco, you both deserve many, many pats of the ass. <33


... give you Worth tying him to the operating table with bandages if you'll give me art of it?

Also, yes, aren't Spook and Caco amazingly beautiful people? So envious.

You two are the best team ever. EVER. Hnng that jacket makes Worth look so hot, and the fic was delicious, and what is it with this fandom and scarves? Not that I'm complaining. At all.
Also there is some seriously awesome content being posted and it makes me so, so happy. I LOVE YOU ALL EVEN IF I HAVEN'T THANKED YOU INDIVIDUALLY.

>best birthday present ever
...FOR ME! (it's actually my birthday tomorrow but I will take this early). <3 Seriously though this made my day. For some reason the "Dead Guy" bit cracked me up. And ohohoho that scarf, I didn't think it had survived. I love this fandom's obsession with scarves.

for us greedy hannafags, there's a hinabn 'x-mas in july' exchange on lj. i'm pretty sure an account is not required to join. let's hope for massive amount of gay and goodness out of this.

Ohmygosh happy tears. Seriously, tears of happy by the end of fic! Caco/Spook/Conworth makes me ridiculous levels of pleased and grinning and because SCARF <3 <3 AHHH YAY


Dear god. I will give you anything, DRAW YOU ANYTHING if you write a sequel to this ldkjflksjdsf


I do have a sequel of sorts in the works, SO I'LL HOLD YOU TO THIS, ANON.


File: 127792811156.png-(157.76KB, 567x576, SillyVes.png)
Veser/Conrad's humidifier, as per request.

File: 127792823582.png-(236.27KB, 800x600, corsettiem.png)
No explanation needed.

There are a couple of other bits that I'm going to post...later, hopefully today. Comments and concrit appreciated!


When they first met, Finas was very young and very unsure of himself. He’d been a devout man in life and wasn't sure what to make of this unholy limbo he know found himself suspended in, neither alive nor wholly dead. A close friend had turned him, but Finas didn't want to speak to the man; he'd been betrayed and just thinking about it made him ache. It would be years before that particular wound healed.

He'd gone into a tavern hoping to drown his senses in alcohol--futile hope, as it turned out. After a mug he passed right over being drunk and into stomach-roiling sick--and his eye settled on a group of men playing dice at a table in the corner. One of them seemed to be winning, judging by the accusations of cheating every other player was throwing at him.

It was the eyes Finas noticed first, wide and round and red like no human's could ever be, bordering on pink like the light going through a ruby. There was something cold and hungry in them that belied his cheerful conman's patter, and they drew Finas in. The next thing he noticed was the man's skin, no doubt a dusky brown in life, now strangely grey, and he couldn't help but wonder how the man managed to not get chased out with torches. He was practically flaunting his inhumanity.

Finas drained his mug, decided to ignore the vaguely ill feeling he had, and ordered another one. By the time he rose from his seat to stagger outside and vomit on the corner of the building, the second one was only half empty. His vomit was thin and liquid and reeked of alcohol. Although he tried not to notice, it had a distinctly reddish cast that was all kinds of unsettling.

When he looked up, the other vampire was standing there, smile a white slash across the darkness of his face. "How old are you? A few months?" His voice was smooth and easy-natured, with a definite accent wrapped around each word.

If Finas could have flushed, he would have. How absolutely mortifying, to be caught in such a state by this man. The stranger's casual demeanor somehow made it worse, because while a politer man might have been offended, Finas knew this man wouldn't hesitate to poke fun at him.

When he replied, his tone was frostily polite, and he enunciated every syllable precisely. "I am thirty-two, sir."

"Heh, you know that's not what I meant. How long have you been in this state?"

"Two months." It was a personal question, and Finas had no idea why he was answering, except that he had spent those months scared and alone in a way he hadn't been since his wife's death, and this man could, perhaps, understand.

His name was Casimiro and, really, he was everything Finas hated. He was low-class, crude and casually rude in a way that grated on Finas' proper English manners; he cheated at dice and cards, picked fights with glee, and spoke lazily, contracting everything, accent rounding all the edges of his speech. But he was another vampire, had been one for several decades more than Finas had been alive, and he knew how to survive. More importantly, he knew what it was like to be a damned soul wandering God's earth. Finas could tell within the hour that every single thing about Casimiro irritated him, but they ended up leaving town together anyway.

The first time they actually settled down anywhere for any length of time was sometime early in the 1700s, in Oxford. Casimiro had a knack for making money, mostly by cheating at games of chance, and they had enough to buy a three-room house. It was a far cry from the grand accommodations of Finas’ life, but enough for the two of them and, more importantly, something permanent and solid.

It was in Oxford that Finas learned the art of taking enough to keep the edge off his hunger while leaving his victim alive. He’d tried before, but once that first warm mouthful slid down his throat all thoughts of mercy and kindness disappeared; it also had perhaps a little to do with his terror of discovery, and leaving prey alive would certainly mean he’d be discovered. Casimiro showed him all the inconspicuous places you could bite a drunk student, but neglected to tell him—honestly, he should’ve known from the look on the man’s face that something was up, except that Casimiro smirked like that all the time—that they could get drunk off the alcohol in a human’s blood.

He was, if not actually angry, then definitely irritated. Damn it all, Casimiro should have told him. It had been so long, he’d forgotten what being drunk was like; it felt like losing control, like the world canting dizzily beneath his feet—honestly, how much had the man had to drink, anyway?—and he had nothing to hold onto. When they finally got back to the house, he stumbled to bed and made up his mind to murder Casimiro the next day. Or maybe just punch him a few times, because he did have his uses.

With a rustling of the covers, Casimiro slid in next to him, one arm draped casually over his waist.

“Finas.” Dry lips brushed over his ear.

“What do you want?” Finas groaned, turning to push him away. He had a good idea; he’d seen the looks Casimiro gave him sometimes, long and thoughtful and half-lidded, and he knew his companion had a taste for what he would, in polite company, call unnatural acts. Sodomy was what it was, pure and simple. Finas turned a blind eye to it normally, but he wasn’t going to take part, that was for sure.

“You.” Just like that, as easy and casual as breathing, with his cool hand slipping under the waist of Finas’ breeches like he had a right to, like there wasn’t even a possibility the other man would resist.

Finas grabbed his wrist and jerked it away, lips curling away from his teeth. “Do not touch me. Get out of my bed.”

Casimiro just laughed. “I’ll bet you would like it. You’ve got that look.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get angry. You do.” The older vampire slipped easily out of his grip and the arm went right back around his waist. “What can it hurt? Who’s going to know or care?”

“It’s disgusting, Casimiro. It’s a sin.”

That wiped the smirk off Casimiro’s face. He just looked at Finas for a moment, oddly serious, then stood up. “To bed me would be a sin? Is it that God would begrudge us that small pleasure, or is it that you think it’s unnatural? We’re already unnatural. What’s one more sin?”

“Perhaps you’ve given up on being human,” Finas snapped, “but I have not. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life wallowing in sin.”

“You’re not human! Look at me! I can outrun a horse and then wrestle it to the ground. I can see in the darkness like it’s noon. Them, out there—“ He stabbed one long finger at the wall, towards the streets—“I can smell them. I know what they’ve eaten, and who’s been drinking, and who’s been for a tumble, and who’s sick. And there is nothing in the world, no fine old wine or banquet meal or anything that tastes half as good to me as blood from an old, diseased whore!” He was pacing, eyes and teeth flashing in the dimness of the room. “Neither of us is anything like human anymore.”

Finas sat up on the edge of the bed, watching Cas as he stalked back and forth. The man looked like a hunter in a way he never did normally, all lean muscle and smooth motion, and it was unsettling. “You can find your own partners, I’m sure. Leave me out of it. It is unnatural.”

“Unnatural?” Casimiro laughed. “Would it be more natural for you to have a woman? Would God smile on that union? Would he want you to go find some pleasing young maid and tumble her, spill your dead seed into her? Maybe she would quicken, too, and grow fat with your child. Would that be more natural? Picture it, Finas: the young girl hastily marrying a suitor, becoming rounder as the months go by, wondering what the baby is going to look like, if it’s going to resemble that fine man she remembers. And then she has it, and maybe it will be fine, a completely normal little baby, or maybe it will bite when she puts it to her breast to give suck. Maybe it will be born dead, or twisted and inhuman, or maybe it will die inside her and rot, spreading its poison through her blood, until she too dies and no one knows why. Maybe it will eat its way out of her. Would that be more natural?”

The man spun a fine story, his low voice calling up too-vivid pictures in Finas’ mind. His gorge rose, and he rose to his feet, reaching out to grab Casimiro’s shoulders and make him stop pacing, stop talking.

“Stop it, Casimiro.” Finas was shorter, but more heavily muscled, and it was easy enough to grab and shake the other man. “Are you hearing yourself? What you’re saying is [i]obscene[/i.]” Obscene, and disgusting, and bordering on the blasphemous.

“God has turned His face from us,” the older vampire whispered, ignoring Finas’ words. “He cares no more for us than He does for a worm. Perhaps He cares less. Even a worm is His creation, after all, and we most certainly are not.”

His words struck a chord with Finas, somewhere deep inside his soul. He knew with all the finality of death that it was true, and that terrified him. What was the point of anything, of all his faith in life, if he was so unholy?

Finas raised his hand to hit Casimiro, but somehow found himself cupping the older vampire’s face, drawing him in and kissing him desperately. For his part, Casimiro didn’t laugh or make any snide remarks; he simply pulled Finas close to him.

It seemed only seconds before they were on the bed and nude, hands roaming every inch of each other, bodies pressed flush against each other and moving in a rhythm as old as time. They made quite a contrast, dark against light, but as their bodies joined they became one shadowy being in the darkness of night, one sinful creature as far from God’s grace as anything on Earth could be. Finas held onto Casimiro like a drowning man to even the faintest hope of survival, the most tenuous and fragile flotsam.

As he shuddered through his orgasm, Finas knew that he was damned.

Thank you.

This is awesome and I can't wait for more!

wheres GiantCock!Hanna?!

>>47402 >>47403
This is amazing. I can't think of any concrit other than that I want more sex plain ol' more please.

File: 127793805230.png-(734.33KB, 900x615, TASTE_IT_by_thekyrianne.png)


Holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck. Men in corsets are like my biggest fetish. Hnghhhh.

daaang sooon i'm lovin' this C8 thanks v much!

File: 127794117535.png-(123.12KB, 800x600, asdluhgasdl.png)
<3 here, have this, then.


DEAL. I'm "Untimelyargyle" on the LJ comm (if you go there) so you can hold it to me by name!


Someone else who shares my strange fetish for this? INTERNET BROS.


I never like my smut, so I don't want to write too much of it, but maybe! There's definitely more, though. I'm just lazy and have a huge chunk in between this last part and the next part that I have to write.

>>47407 Thank you. I'm glad you like it.

You guys whenever I see a Caco-ish pic accompanied by a block of text I get like so so excited, it's pretty Pavlovian let me tell you. AND I WAS NOT DISAPPOINTED, SEXY OUTMAKING YES

Also Jesus Christ these threads, they have been coming hard and fast if you know what I mean


Gneee~ You're awesome.


Fuck yeah, -brofist-

File: 127794907956.jpg-(16.58KB, 143x381, ttttttt[2].jpg)

We’ve been lacking some key players in our faggory, so we need:
All other characters are present, if you’ve got the faggory, we’ve got the time! >D

Email/MSN to join.

File: 127794995056.png-(414.32KB, 861x871, 15318d1.jpg.png)

Adelaide / Worth / Finas need for RP, must be sexy, faggot, deep and cracky all at once.


Oh. Well, I guess that means I'm out as Finas?
Sorry I don't get on like, ever. But ahh. I guesss that means I can change my name then~


Same here, pretty much, yes.

spook, caco, never stop you guys are so fantastic seriously <3

SSSSSHHH- Sorry there FINEASS. We just never catch ya on!
It is, splattered with sexy goodness of faggory and hot sweaty love. Ves has some on her DA:


Nono, it's ok; if you want a more active Finas, by all means, you deserve one haha. I'd just appreciate letting me know <3

File: 127795362888.jpg-(381.48KB, 1000x652, hannazombie.jpg)
Heyyy guys. I drewfag this a few days ago, posted it on 4chan.
Thought I'd share.

>>47358 >>47358
YES Yes yes! A million times yes! /late

Are any write/drawfags still doing requests?

Because Abner needs moar love.

File: 127796549867.png-(37.13KB, 900x900, 5l5cp2.jpg.png)
/coq/, I have a present for you. I didn't make it.


I concur. I RP as him, and I'm of the opinion that there's not <i>nearly</i> enough fic or art of him about.

File: 127796699542.png-(33.74KB, 900x900, 6hly5e.jpg.png)
Same person.


File: 127796757580.png-(39.75KB, 900x900, fuw5z7.jpg (1).png)

I'm scared, hold me.

Again, not by me.

File: 127796844719.png-(37.36KB, 900x900, 2easd45.jpg.png)
Zombie has a tie as a nipple tassel

And Conrad has a Hitler moustache.

Hanna you sick fuck.



Is it bad that I saw the last one and thought, "Oh jeez no, not another Human Centipede drawing! I JUST got over that movie."

File: 127797021481.jpg-(270.76KB, 1764x377, slkhumancentipede.jpg)

Did someone say HUMAN CENTIPEDE?



anonnnnnn *shakes fist*


I think we've been trolled. I could be wrong.

I don't think so. If we did then it totally failed. 'Cuz that shit's funny.


Wellllll IDK, as long as someone believed it, it was a successful troll.

So either a troll, or someone who really needs to actually read the comic.


Bottom Zombie! Haven't seen that in a while.

File: 127799913679.jpg-(100.99KB, 700x585, Kyrianne - TASTE IT.jpg)

Motherfuckin' Jesus, that's mine. :O

.....Have the uncensored version! :D


GOOD WORK! Is all I have to say.

FFFFF I would love to be worth?
(sageing self for no content)

What is there to believe? "Believe it"? What are you supposed to be believing?

Not a troll, just someone making ridiculous images. Plus, isn't the person posting this a fanfic writer?

>>47358 >>47528
I finished this. Except I forgot the "operating table" part of the prompt and I drew a hospital bed instead. Eeep


LOL! Why are you so up at arms about this, did YOU draw them?


>> New rule: no wank. Just porn.



Screw it, close enough. For all we know, that miserable little cot that Worth keeps somewhere around the place may be a re-purposed hospital bed. Almost certainly easier to tie someone to. I'll get on that fic now I'm finally home with my own computer again.

No, just confused and apparently repeating myself. I'm kinda drunk.

You should wank -more- then. Drunk wank is the best wank.

File: 127800818342.png-(1.09MB, 700x1052, 1277600172155.png)
ITT time for wank over whether or not there's wank.

Seriously though just make more of those pictures because they're amazing.



Also you are now seeing ples as a the Doctor. Better yet, as the Master.

Ples is the Master using a chameleon arch, except it fucked up and the Master's real personality is evil!Ples.

Also Jesus God you guys how do you wank over silly pictures? Stop it. They're a joke.


I would pay to see this happen, being a fangirl of both The Master and Ples.

I think we have a back-up of like two people for Worth. You want to be Finas or Adelaide? Fire off an email to the one up there.

I feel like a massive douche for posting here repeatedly (sorry guys) but we might actually need a Zombie instead of a Worth.

I'll stop posting now.


Whoever makes the next thread needs to update the links. Just sayin'





“I don’t – I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Worth looked incredulous at Conrad’s objection.

“Y’ don’t think *this* is a good idea? Yer fine with mackin’ and goin’ home with strange older men, and y’ don’t think a drink is a good idea? Christ, puppy, yer a confused li’l sod.”

“I just… I’ve never had a drink before and I don’t think it’s a good idea to just sit down and get drunk.” Conrad frowned, totally not a pout at all, avoiding looking at the glass of … whatever that was that Worth had poured for him. They were in Worth’s flat, on his dingy sofa, and Worth was into his third glass of whatever that golden coloured stuff was. Conrad had not even touched a sip.

“’S not only a good idea, it’s a fuckin’ great idea. Stop wastin’ yer fuckin’ scotch an’ have a drink.” Worth pushed Conrad’s glass into his hand.

“I don’t want to!”

Worth glared at him, downed the rest of his third glass, and plunked the glass heavily onto the table. He picked up the bottle and waved it, and Connie flinched back away from the heavy sloshing.

“This, y’ prissy little pansy, is a bloody good single malt, and yer bloody lucky I am feelin’ generous enough to share it. Now drink yer scotch.”

Conrad wrinkled his nose at the powerful smell of it, but sipped it anyway. He exploded in a coughing fit, and Worth exploded into cruel laughter. Conrad glared as he tried to regain his composure.

“I told you I’d never had this before! I’m not even allowed to drink for like four years anyway.” He sipped again, though, if a bit more cautiously. It burned his throat, but settled into a curious warmth in his stomach, and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“There y’ go,” grinned Worth, filling his own glass for a fourth time and taking a hefty gulp almost straight away. Surely it couldn’t be too easy to get drunk, because Worth was onto his fourth and he certainly didn’t seem any different to his usual self. So Conrad continued to sip the scotch, and found his glass miraculously refilling itself. And that lovely warmth in his stomach spread around his body, like he was glowing, and okay so maybe alcohol wasn’t too bad.

And, uh, wow Worth was sitting sort of close. Had he been that close all evening? He was just idly sipping at his scotch now, slowing his pace a bit, and toying with one of his constant cigarettes. God, he hated to admit it, but the man looked kind of good with those things, all scrawny-elegant and smoke casually drifting from his lips

Conrad blushed, and Worth noticed.

“Lookin’ fer somethin’ in particular, Connie?”

“Mmmaybe?” Oh shit was that forward? That was too forward.

“Heheh. ‘M sure I c’n find somethin’ ta entertain ya, y’ drunkard.” Worth slid closer and Conrad blushed all the more.

“I- I’m not drunk! It’s just… it’s just really warm in here.”

"Migh' not be so warm if y' weren't wearin' that massive great hoodie. Y' need a hand takin' it off?" Worth leered, plucking at the thick fabric of Conrad's cosy jacket. "Y' know how helpful I c'n be..."

"No, no, I got it." Conrad peeled himself out of the garment, struggling a bit with sleeves that he was sure hadn't been so complicated before now, and nearly pulling his t-shirt off as well when he pulled it up over his head. Worth took the opportunity to poke the pale flesh of his belly when it was exposed.

"Givin' me a stripshow now, are ya?"

"N-No!" Conrad hastily fixed his shirt, covering himself up again.

"Didn't say I minded, did I?" One of Worth's hands crept under Conrad's shirt. "An' ya do seem t' be a bit... warm. Can't have y' overheatin' on me."

Oh god that hand was so thin and sort of a bit cooler, and it felt kind of nice, and yeah maybe he was still a bit warm even without the hoodie. And it wasn't like it meant anything, he was only going to take his shirt off because he was... warm. Right.

"Well... maybe..." He pulled his shirt off far more slowly than the hoodie. Not because he wanted to strip, or anything. Completely not that, though maybe it was sort of a hot idea?

"Yer good at that, puppy. Should do it more often." What? "Y' gonna keep goin', or y' wanna give me a lapdance instead?" And when he smiled lazily like that, eyes half-lidded, it sort of sounded like a good idea.

"Well what if I did?" Where had those words come from? He had been thinking them, a tiny little bit, but he didn't mean to actually say them. The lazy smirk twitched a little wider over Worth's face.

"Can't say I'd have many objections, puppy." He patted his leg. "Climb on up."

Conrad bit his lip and swung a leg over Worth's lap, straddling him. He leaned forward, as much to avoid eye contact as to try and nip Worth's neck because this was really sort of awkward. The simple act of leaning forward brought him accidentally rubbing against the older man, and Worth grabbed his hips to keep him moving.

"Yer a natural," Worth said, sharp fingers digging into his hips, and Conrad could just feel that sleazy grin even if he couldn't see it, and it wasn't fair. Worth was always taking the lead and Conrad never really argued, and that wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault he was younger and didn't really get to do much. He wanted his turn, and that warmth that maybe was the scotch seemed to agree that Conrad shouldn't just let Worth lead all the time.

He grabbed Worth's hands, pulling them off his hips and continuing to grind of his own volition. Worth made a noise of surprise at the unexpectedly aggressive behaviour. He bit his neck properly, really with teeth instead of little nips, and heard a slight gasp.

"Gettin' all forward, are ya?"

"Stop it. You always get to do everything. I want my turn." Worth's laughter at this statement of defiance was cut off by another sharp bite at his neck. Conrad pinned his hands against the sofa and writhed up against him, biting and nipping. God, this was actually kind of fun, he should have done this sooner, no wonder Worth was always doing whatever the hell he wanted to, this was good.

Worth shifted underneath him, muttering something encouraging about teeth. This was... wow, this was so different, the way he could feel Worth's jeans getting too-tight and knowing it wasn't just the med student's creepy lechery, knowing it was something he'd been able to cause by himself. Just the biting and grinding had been enough to get Worth hard, and he was starting to move impatiently, pressing back up against Conrad.

"Christ, Connie, stop fuckin' teasin' me," he growled, and Conrad could hardly suppress a grin. Hah, see how Worth felt about being teased. He bit further down on the neck, heading for the collarbone, but Worth, unlike Conrad, still had his shirt on. When Conrad let go of his wrists he was quick enough to take it off, nudging Conrad down toward his angular collarbones to bite some more. "What are y' waiting for? Fuckin' bite me already."

Worth hissed as Conrad drew his nails sharply down his ribs, even groaning slightly when nails, teeth and a lap full of wriggling teen all pressed against him at the same time. Conrad bit harder, scratched harder. It was... it was actually enjoyable, doing this, and yeah that suspicion had been right, this was really kind of hot, and if this was what being drunk was like then he didn't see why people said it was so bad. Braver now, he threaded his fingers into Worth's hair and pulled, dragging his head back and going back to bite the throat. From the sound Worth made, the hair-pulling thing was a good idea.

Slightly fuzzily he realised that Worth was unzipping their jeans, moving by feel since his head was still pulled back. A bony hand reached into his briefs, dragging his cock out, gripping tightly even as Conrad continued to roll his hips, and god, when had he gotten that hard? He made a muffled sound through his teeth as Worth took both of them in the same hand and started to stroke, too slowly.

"Faster," he muttered, tugging Worth's hair again.

"Psh, impatient l'il pup." Worth's hand stopped. Conrad used the most appropriate threat he could think of.

"I'll stop biting you." And yes, okay, maybe that sounded kind of childish. But it worked incredibly well all the same. He held to his part of the deal, biting on Worth's neck incredibly hard.

"Ahn. Jesus H..." Worth muttered to himself with a moan, incouraging Conrad to try that again.

Conrad hazily realized Worth's other hand had disappeared when it magically reappeared on his ass. He pulled back from Worth's neck.

"What are you- Ah!" Worth cut him off, pressing one finger into him and grinning that self-satisfied grin. Conrad glowered down at him, grinding down on his fingers while adding his own hand to the mix. He put his hand over Worth's, adding a little pressure and forcing him a bit faster.

He felt Worth crook his finger, searching for his sweet spot. He found it surprisingly quick, pressing into it hard. Conrad muffled a groan by pulling Worth back by his hair and biting on his shoulder again.

Worth titled his hips upwards, pressing further into Conrad, who figured it would be a great time to grind downwards. Conrad heard a quiet string of curses being muttered into his ear.

Conrad tilted his head lower, biting Worth's collarbone and relishing in the cracking in his voice.

"Fuckin'... Bite harder... You bloody fairy." Conrad opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't really find the words. His head was spinning, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the hands on his dick or the fingers pressing over and over right on his prostate; but right now, he couldn't think.

And then Worth was breathlessly growling in his ear, words he couldn't grasp, something about whatever and oh my fucking god and jesus fucking christ. Conrad rocked between the tight grip on his cock and the two gloriously slender, talented fingers in his ass. He could taste blood in his mouth, which was oddly exciting, and tongued the wound he had created, then biting it again. He felt Worth's hands rocketing faster and his climax building in his abdomen.

Conrad pulled Worth's head back by his hair, biting down as he shuddered in orgasm. He felt Worth arching up against him, heard him hissing in his ear as he came.

Conrad lifted his head, which had begun to feel rather heavy, and stared at Worth, who had his signature smirk in place. Worth reached forward and used his thumb to wipe his blood off Conrad's face.

"I guess yer not all bark, eh pup?" Worth said as he licked the blood off his thumb. Conrad groaned and rolled off of Worth over to the couch, flopping down and covering his eyes.

"I guess you're not all bastard." Worth chuckled and grabbed a shirt off the floor and cleaned himself off before throwing it at Conrad. Conrad wiped himself down and dropped it back on the floor, not really caring where it fell.

"Shove over." Worth pushed Conrad over a bit and laid down beside him. Conrad grumbled and made himself comfortable again.

"This is the... Best couch." Conrad said with a yawn. Worth hummed a vague agreement, lighting a cigarette.

Conrad started drifting off to sleep, Worth's voice going in and out of clarity, his vision fading to darkness and back. He wanted to stay awake and rib Worth like Worth always did to him, but the best he could manage was some incoherent muttering.

He finally fell asleep, ignorant of the nausea that would wake him in several hours and the headache he would have all the next day, but quite self-satisfied with the whole turn of events.

Tomorrow, Worth may call him a 'princess', 'fairy', or 'pup', but Conrad would still know how to make Worth moan. And that was all that really mattered.



File: 127802456957.jpg-(424.51KB, 950x624, r1nbc7.jpg)
So all the cool kids in this RP I'm part of were dicking around with the robotic voices in Voxli.

And they all sounded so freaking deadpan. So when someone was trying to be French, we pictured {...} as a stereotypical Frenchman and then this happened.

Hanna n'est pas le nom d'un garçon.


ilu guys

(once again, saging self for no content)

File: 127802636982.png-(738.74KB, 950x618, 67tirp.jpg.png)
Et la deuxieme page

File: 127802645142.jpg-(320.24KB, 826x476, 264tgf4.jpg)
Here have a Plesiosaur

File: 127802650942.jpg-(319.53KB, 500x672, 14m82ue.jpg)
And a Veslociraptor

File: 12780265411.jpg-(361.58KB, 650x712, 29p7vnp.jpg)
And a Tyhannasaurus Rex

File: 127802691458.png-(598.39KB, 950x571, k050qx.jpg.png)

I laughed so fucking hard I actually cried. This thread just went from wank to win in no time.

MORE, PLEASE. oh my fucking god I love you

French Zombie maybe me laugh so hard, I thought I hemorrhaged.

So since me and talc swapping bits of fic seems to work, have some more!


Luce enjoyed the finer things in life: a cigarette after a test, passing out after drinking all night, and teasing a kid about his obvious faggotry. Yes, he was truly a man of refined tastes. But one of his tastes more refined than the others was the art of masturbation. It was an art he was fairly well versed in, from his apprenticeship as a horny teenager to the downright craftsmanship he'd reached now.

He'd start off by flopping down on his bed, or maybe the couch, or public toilet or whatever, and push his pants down to his knees. Next, he'd get himself nice and wet with a handful of spit, no need for fancy bottled spit by himself: he saved that for his princess. Then he'd fumble, one-handed, in his bag for a scalpel.

A cut here, a nick there, just deep enough to hurt beautifully. He'd let the blood drip down his arms, pool on his stomach, and trickle down his chest, getting it all over the place as he moved to make more scars all over his body.

He'd arch into his hand, pulling on his dick as hard as he could, tightening his fist as much as he could stand. He'd rub the slit with his thumb, spreading the pre-come around. But balance was important, and he'd developed a very specialised ambidexterity just for this. Scalpel in one hand, cock in the other, working both with dexterity- hands of a surgeon, after all, even if they were under the management of a pervert's mind.

At some point the scalpel would be discarded, he'd have enough raw scratches to work with. He'd dig a thumb into one of the little wounds, hiss at the pain, pump harder and faster. Another bleeding mark might get worked at with his nails, torn wider and made ragged, and he'd groan as his body kicked up the endorphins to counter the wounding.

He never needed thoughts of anything but the knife to get going and keep going, but a flashing thought of his pup could add a nice twist to proceedings, the way the little fag looked all flushed and panting and learning to really bite. It was important not to get distracted, though, so memories would always be matched with fresh irritation of his cuts, a thought of teeth being used where they mattered most, and he'd get vicious with himself, gripping too tight and twisting enough to add an extra little threat of pain.

Getting that perfect balance of pleasure-pain and pleasure-pleasure was always worth working up to, and he'd do so with practised skill. When the peak of it hit him, snarling discomfort translating into euphoria before his brain even registered it, he'd be sent over the top. Swearing and gasping, he'd shudder through his orgasm and float on afterwards for a few moments on the leftover endorphin high. Cleanup would be minimal- a wadded tissue, a bit of laundry or whatever was to hand. Cleanup wasn't important- like any artist, he was all about the process, not the aftermath.

Luce finished his revision of his artistic merits and lit a cigarette, zipping up his jeans and glancing at the clock. If the time on it was right, which was possible, he had somewhere to be. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

Maybe he’d get something without chocolate this time, just to see if the little fag noticed.

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This is a better AU than punk!Hanna and the swap!AU combined.

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Yes. Even the moths have mustaches where Le Zombie comes from.

>respectfully disagrees
Punk!AU rules. But this is amusing.

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omg those fics are amazing guysss. And the dinosaurs!!!!!!!

Hi /coq!/ Drawfag here again, was gone cause my boyfriends appendix burst and I was in the hospital with him for quite a while. Right now I'm taking a rest at home for a bit, so send a request or two my way!


There's painfully little Abner/Hanna around. Might I be able to coax you into drawfagging some? :3

>>47658 >>47684
Jesus christ you guys totally delivered on that prompt fffff
also the second IS JUST SO UNF YES

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God, this gave me all sorts of problems. Sorry, I tried! unfortunately I couldn't fix much x_X

We are autosaging and also off of the front page. D:

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