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Fanfiction Horrors
- Thread starter Dilbertmann
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Complete Global Lactation is better than this.
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I've been reading this fic, waiting to see how it pans out, and the dialogue for the male characters irks me something terrible. I'm going to post a few snippets of it just so you can see what I mean. This is the fic.
This was also the one I mentioned in the SJW art thread that had the emaciated enby throw around Ornstein - who is very tall, athletic and fit - like he was nothing. This is that fight scene:
It is popular to write fight scenes where someone 'catches' a fist. But you don't catch it when it's fully extended - your face does. You try to grab the arm/block it before it is fully extended. Watching boxing videos/MMA fights shows them all blocking punches with their arms and preventing the full force of the punch hitting them.
You can lunge for someone's knees, but 'Letho' the enby is around half of Ornstein's height. I can just imagine this thing holding onto his legs and him stomping his face in (if this was the actual Ornstein). You can dislocate someone's shoulder with minimal force, that is true, but flipping a larger person over your shoulder isn't a smart move unless you're doing judo (which I assume that was the move used here). You're supposed to use the motion of your hips for that.
Now, for the dialogue.
Like, you know? Like??? We're talking like Zoomer hipsters???
Oh, but it gets fucking worse.
'Gwynneg' is just a fan name for the Nameless King, if you were wondering. He's 33 years old in this.
They're talking like a bunch of teenage girls. I cannot be overly paranoid about this.
This was also the one I mentioned in the SJW art thread that had the emaciated enby throw around Ornstein - who is very tall, athletic and fit - like he was nothing. This is that fight scene:
Ornstein. Back again, and evidentially he’d pissed the kid off. And… Letho, too. Alright. That should be good. Smough waited to be called out — he was, he figured, the only one who had a chance of actually physically removing Orn. Laurence not calling on him wasn’t really surprising — the kid had got it in his head that Smough needed to be checked on, which was almost funny but mostly just made his neck itch. But Letho wouldn’t even pop his head up from behind the bar to deal with fights and Orn was a good head taller than him. Once Orn dug his heels in, Letho would call Smough to deal with it.
Yeah. Smough went on thinking that up til Ornstein said, “You’re welcome to make me.”
And Letho sighed, snorted with laughter, and slugged him in the stomach hard enough that Orn stumbled.
After that it turned into a proper brawl fast. Smough didn’t leave the kitchen. He kept watching through the window.
Orn had almost a foot of height on the bartender, and probably fifty pounds besides. He looked about as startled as Smough felt when Letho caught the punch he threw back, shifted it aside, and flung him onto a table with the momentum. Ornstein got over and up to his feet before Letho could pin him, lashed out with an elbow and nearly got the poor fuck in his face — Letho swung up his forearm and caught it a scarce second beforehand. He cursed and swung.
Orn caught that one and turned it aside with a little feral grin, the one Smough recognised. It usually preceded a trip to the urgent care room.
“Come on,” Letho hissed, “Just fuck off already, ye know I cannae fuckin’ ban ye—”
Ornstein ducked another hit and dropped low to kick at his ankles. Letho went down swearing, but instead of toppling on the floor proper he tumbled over backwards, popped up on the balls of his feet, and lunged for Orn’s knees.
Laurence whistled from the bar top. A few of the regulars were watching, Smough realised, when he could drag his eyes up from the fight. Of those, only a few looked surprised.
There was a crash that jerked his gaze back. Letho had got Orn on his knees with an arm behind him, and while Smough watched Letho leaned in close and hissed something against Ornstein’s ear. Couldn’t make it out, but it looked like a threat, from the snarl on the bartender’s face and the way Orn held himself, and the white knuckle grip Letho had on his arm. At that angle Letho could drop his weight easy and dislocate the shoulder, tear a muscle or worse. Ornstein’s eyes were wide, bright with something that was probably pain, and Smough could see the arm creeping further back every moment Letho spent growling. Ornstein kept his mouth stubbornly shut, least til he couldn’t — a moan of pain forced its way out.
It was like a string got cut. Letho let go and backed off in a hurry, which was good — Smough had grabbed the meat hammer without thinking about what he meant to do with it. Had stepped towards the door for the bar, too. When had he moved? He hadn’t meant to. He made himself put the mallet down and go back to the order window. By then Orn was up and favouring his side, with his left arm dangling limp. His eyes were bright with pain. Well — probably pain.
Letho stood to the side panting, hands up. Not a threat telegraphed clearly, though Smough wasn’t sure who it was for. Letho’s eye flickered toward the kitchen a moment, then back to Orn. “Alrigh’, alrigh’. It dislocated?”
Yeah. Smough went on thinking that up til Ornstein said, “You’re welcome to make me.”
And Letho sighed, snorted with laughter, and slugged him in the stomach hard enough that Orn stumbled.
After that it turned into a proper brawl fast. Smough didn’t leave the kitchen. He kept watching through the window.
Orn had almost a foot of height on the bartender, and probably fifty pounds besides. He looked about as startled as Smough felt when Letho caught the punch he threw back, shifted it aside, and flung him onto a table with the momentum. Ornstein got over and up to his feet before Letho could pin him, lashed out with an elbow and nearly got the poor fuck in his face — Letho swung up his forearm and caught it a scarce second beforehand. He cursed and swung.
Orn caught that one and turned it aside with a little feral grin, the one Smough recognised. It usually preceded a trip to the urgent care room.
“Come on,” Letho hissed, “Just fuck off already, ye know I cannae fuckin’ ban ye—”
Ornstein ducked another hit and dropped low to kick at his ankles. Letho went down swearing, but instead of toppling on the floor proper he tumbled over backwards, popped up on the balls of his feet, and lunged for Orn’s knees.
Laurence whistled from the bar top. A few of the regulars were watching, Smough realised, when he could drag his eyes up from the fight. Of those, only a few looked surprised.
There was a crash that jerked his gaze back. Letho had got Orn on his knees with an arm behind him, and while Smough watched Letho leaned in close and hissed something against Ornstein’s ear. Couldn’t make it out, but it looked like a threat, from the snarl on the bartender’s face and the way Orn held himself, and the white knuckle grip Letho had on his arm. At that angle Letho could drop his weight easy and dislocate the shoulder, tear a muscle or worse. Ornstein’s eyes were wide, bright with something that was probably pain, and Smough could see the arm creeping further back every moment Letho spent growling. Ornstein kept his mouth stubbornly shut, least til he couldn’t — a moan of pain forced its way out.
It was like a string got cut. Letho let go and backed off in a hurry, which was good — Smough had grabbed the meat hammer without thinking about what he meant to do with it. Had stepped towards the door for the bar, too. When had he moved? He hadn’t meant to. He made himself put the mallet down and go back to the order window. By then Orn was up and favouring his side, with his left arm dangling limp. His eyes were bright with pain. Well — probably pain.
Letho stood to the side panting, hands up. Not a threat telegraphed clearly, though Smough wasn’t sure who it was for. Letho’s eye flickered toward the kitchen a moment, then back to Orn. “Alrigh’, alrigh’. It dislocated?”
You can lunge for someone's knees, but 'Letho' the enby is around half of Ornstein's height. I can just imagine this thing holding onto his legs and him stomping his face in (if this was the actual Ornstein). You can dislocate someone's shoulder with minimal force, that is true, but flipping a larger person over your shoulder isn't a smart move unless you're doing judo (which I assume that was the move used here). You're supposed to use the motion of your hips for that.
Now, for the dialogue.
Gwyn sat back and stirred his drink. “Yeah? Wait — you said you were named after the Executioner…”
Smough looked out the window again. Wasn’t touching that. “Your dad pick up his ideas about dragons the same way he picked up his ideas about people?”
At the corner of his eye he watched Gwyn shift. “Not sure.” He sounded less manic. Almost uneasy. “About the dragons—”
Smough shouldn’t have tensed. It had nothing to do with him. (Born wrong, a wish in a name, and if you were named after something terrible what did that make you?) But he did. “What about ‘em.”
Gwyn sighed and rubbed his temples. “He’s full of shit. I mean, it’s not—he doesn’t… if he liked one, fine, he’d make exceptions. You get it?”
Unfortunately, Smough did. “Sure. Ain’t it always so.” He hadn’t liked Smough, so he hadn’t hesitated to toss him out. Didn’t matter how good his work was. None of that mattered.
Gwyn nodded, and when Smough looked back the guy wasn’t watching him at all, had his eyes focused on the floor a few paces past their table. “Yeah. It’s like, you know, he’s got this whole thing about, gods, fags and unnatural and whatever he’s spinning it as, and he hates dragons, but he left my mother for—” Gwyn snorted with laughter, though he didn’t really seem happy. “I mean. He’s with a dragonkin now. You understand?”
Smough didn’t, actually. “Yer kiddin’.”
Gwyn shook his head. “I’m not.” He looked—that was it. Morbidly amused. Laugh or cry, that sort of deal. “No. It kind of came out, I mean — it was hard to hide when Seath brought my brother to the office.”
Smough looked out the window again. Wasn’t touching that. “Your dad pick up his ideas about dragons the same way he picked up his ideas about people?”
At the corner of his eye he watched Gwyn shift. “Not sure.” He sounded less manic. Almost uneasy. “About the dragons—”
Smough shouldn’t have tensed. It had nothing to do with him. (Born wrong, a wish in a name, and if you were named after something terrible what did that make you?) But he did. “What about ‘em.”
Gwyn sighed and rubbed his temples. “He’s full of shit. I mean, it’s not—he doesn’t… if he liked one, fine, he’d make exceptions. You get it?”
Unfortunately, Smough did. “Sure. Ain’t it always so.” He hadn’t liked Smough, so he hadn’t hesitated to toss him out. Didn’t matter how good his work was. None of that mattered.
Gwyn nodded, and when Smough looked back the guy wasn’t watching him at all, had his eyes focused on the floor a few paces past their table. “Yeah. It’s like, you know, he’s got this whole thing about, gods, fags and unnatural and whatever he’s spinning it as, and he hates dragons, but he left my mother for—” Gwyn snorted with laughter, though he didn’t really seem happy. “I mean. He’s with a dragonkin now. You understand?”
Smough didn’t, actually. “Yer kiddin’.”
Gwyn shook his head. “I’m not.” He looked—that was it. Morbidly amused. Laugh or cry, that sort of deal. “No. It kind of came out, I mean — it was hard to hide when Seath brought my brother to the office.”
Like, you know? Like??? We're talking like Zoomer hipsters???
Oh, but it gets fucking worse.
Gwynneg had spent most of the afternoon trying not to think about lunch. He’d gone back to the rescue, shovelled out the kennel mess to compost, sat with Dormarth a while, checked the books. Drove himself a little mad, the usual. He couldn’t talk to Ornstein about any of it, so it was almost a relief when Ornstein texted him to say he had to stay late and deal with a troublesome client.
Almost. Because he still wanted to talk to someone.
He ended up calling Gwynevere. He could dump it in her lap. “Seath slept with a guy younger than me.”
He could feel her staring at him. She didn’t even live in the country, but that was no matter. “… okay. Isn’t it midnight there?”
“Give or take.” He dropped on his back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. “It’s a guy I was interested in.”
Now she sounded shocked. “Seath slept with Ornstein?”
“No! Ornstein’s ex.”
“… does… Ornstein know you’re interested in his ex?”
“Probably? I feel like you’re focusing on the wrong point, Vera.” Gwyn stared at their ceiling. “Which is that Seath just. You know. Bedded a twenty something. God, he was an intern at the time, that’s such a power imbalance. That can’t be legal.”
“I’m reasonably sure it is so long as he wasn’t a direct superior.” She shifted and murmured something to one of his nephews. They were still toddlers. He wasn’t too worried about them overhearing, but if she was with the kids he made a note not to curse.
“He was one of dad’s interns.”
“Wait. Is this the one Father walked in on?”
“You knew about this?” Gwynneg sat up.
“Gwyndolin mentioned.”
Why did Gwyndolin know about it? “He was in school when that happened.”
“It comes up whenever father is cross, apparently. You know neither of them moderate what they say in front of him.”
Gwynneg made a mental note for his ‘father of the year’ file. It was a pretty big and acidic folder by then. “… well, yes, it’s that one.” Thinking about Gwyndolin’s troubles did distract from his own. “Do you think he’d throw it out if I sent him some tea?” Maybe he’d get lucky and Gwyndolin would come to the sanctuary in person to throw it at his head. They hadn’t really been talking since Gwynneg left law, and he did miss his brother.
“He might appreciate it.” Gwynevere sighed. “He called me the other night. I don’t think he’s sleeping much.”
“Does dad have him taking over…”
“Well. I married out and you left, so…”
They lapsed into silence. Gwynneg found that dwelling on it rather depressed him. So much for that distraction. “I’ll… see about the tea. Unless there’s something else I can do, I’m going back to bemoaning my life.” It was ridiculous, and far safer than considering whatever their little brother was doing for parental approval.
Gwynevere murmured something else to one of the boys. She’d named them after their father; Gwynneg wasn’t sure if it was a dig at their father or not, but he’d taken it in stride and sent his grandsons cards they couldn’t read and gifts they wouldn’t care about for a few years yet. Of course, Gwynevere was the perfect one who could do no wrong. Probably because she’d kept her mouth shut at home and married out to someone dad approved of the moment it was legal. Girls didn’t have to worry about succession in their house. “Right. You were talking about cheating on your boyfriend with his ex.”
“Not cheating.” Gwynneg paused. “Okay, so I haven’t talked to him about it. Is that cheating?”
“If Oceiros brought home my ex, I would throttle him.”
“You don’t like your exes .” Gwynneg rolled over onto his belly. “Orn’s pretty attached to this one. I could probably sell him on it, if he’s not already thinking about it.”
“… are you justifying this by arguing that Ornstein wants to cheat on you with his ex?”
Almost. Because he still wanted to talk to someone.
He ended up calling Gwynevere. He could dump it in her lap. “Seath slept with a guy younger than me.”
He could feel her staring at him. She didn’t even live in the country, but that was no matter. “… okay. Isn’t it midnight there?”
“Give or take.” He dropped on his back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. “It’s a guy I was interested in.”
Now she sounded shocked. “Seath slept with Ornstein?”
“No! Ornstein’s ex.”
“… does… Ornstein know you’re interested in his ex?”
“Probably? I feel like you’re focusing on the wrong point, Vera.” Gwyn stared at their ceiling. “Which is that Seath just. You know. Bedded a twenty something. God, he was an intern at the time, that’s such a power imbalance. That can’t be legal.”
“I’m reasonably sure it is so long as he wasn’t a direct superior.” She shifted and murmured something to one of his nephews. They were still toddlers. He wasn’t too worried about them overhearing, but if she was with the kids he made a note not to curse.
“He was one of dad’s interns.”
“Wait. Is this the one Father walked in on?”
“You knew about this?” Gwynneg sat up.
“Gwyndolin mentioned.”
Why did Gwyndolin know about it? “He was in school when that happened.”
“It comes up whenever father is cross, apparently. You know neither of them moderate what they say in front of him.”
Gwynneg made a mental note for his ‘father of the year’ file. It was a pretty big and acidic folder by then. “… well, yes, it’s that one.” Thinking about Gwyndolin’s troubles did distract from his own. “Do you think he’d throw it out if I sent him some tea?” Maybe he’d get lucky and Gwyndolin would come to the sanctuary in person to throw it at his head. They hadn’t really been talking since Gwynneg left law, and he did miss his brother.
“He might appreciate it.” Gwynevere sighed. “He called me the other night. I don’t think he’s sleeping much.”
“Does dad have him taking over…”
“Well. I married out and you left, so…”
They lapsed into silence. Gwynneg found that dwelling on it rather depressed him. So much for that distraction. “I’ll… see about the tea. Unless there’s something else I can do, I’m going back to bemoaning my life.” It was ridiculous, and far safer than considering whatever their little brother was doing for parental approval.
Gwynevere murmured something else to one of the boys. She’d named them after their father; Gwynneg wasn’t sure if it was a dig at their father or not, but he’d taken it in stride and sent his grandsons cards they couldn’t read and gifts they wouldn’t care about for a few years yet. Of course, Gwynevere was the perfect one who could do no wrong. Probably because she’d kept her mouth shut at home and married out to someone dad approved of the moment it was legal. Girls didn’t have to worry about succession in their house. “Right. You were talking about cheating on your boyfriend with his ex.”
“Not cheating.” Gwynneg paused. “Okay, so I haven’t talked to him about it. Is that cheating?”
“If Oceiros brought home my ex, I would throttle him.”
“You don’t like your exes .” Gwynneg rolled over onto his belly. “Orn’s pretty attached to this one. I could probably sell him on it, if he’s not already thinking about it.”
“… are you justifying this by arguing that Ornstein wants to cheat on you with his ex?”
'Gwynneg' is just a fan name for the Nameless King, if you were wondering. He's 33 years old in this.
Gwnneg sniffed the pillowcase and tried to decide if it was an acceptable amount of used or if he should start laundry before he left tomorrow. It was getting close to when he’d sleep, and Ornstein was still out — he took a moment to put the call on speaker and shoot Orn a text. “You know, you’re not being very supportive, and you’re making my relationship sound really dysfunctional and bad.” He mumbled while he typed.
“I just think maybe you should check in with your boyfriend, in general, before trying to kiss his ex, and especially in this case, when the boyfriend is Ornstein and he takes after his mother so strongly.”
Gwynneg puzzled that over. “I guess. But Sm—the ex slept with Seath. I mean, that’s weird. And what if he compares?”
“I think if he had the bad taste to sleep with Seath he might actually condescend to kiss you, which seems like it should be a plus, in this scenario.”
Gwynneg made a face at the phone. “You are hurtful and unsupportive.”
Gwynevere laughed like bells. He heard a toddler babbling, and “Hullo!” In the background.
He paused and made sure to greet his nephew in a chipper voice. “Okay, but what if he compares?”
“… well, if he does that aloud, which he shouldn’t, then he’s tasteless and you should lose his number and perhaps give him a slap.” Gwynevere mused, “And if he doesn’t do it aloud, at least you’ll never know about it.”
Gwynneg didn’t like that, but he could see the sense of it. He sighed.
“I just think maybe you should check in with your boyfriend, in general, before trying to kiss his ex, and especially in this case, when the boyfriend is Ornstein and he takes after his mother so strongly.”
Gwynneg puzzled that over. “I guess. But Sm—the ex slept with Seath. I mean, that’s weird. And what if he compares?”
“I think if he had the bad taste to sleep with Seath he might actually condescend to kiss you, which seems like it should be a plus, in this scenario.”
Gwynneg made a face at the phone. “You are hurtful and unsupportive.”
Gwynevere laughed like bells. He heard a toddler babbling, and “Hullo!” In the background.
He paused and made sure to greet his nephew in a chipper voice. “Okay, but what if he compares?”
“… well, if he does that aloud, which he shouldn’t, then he’s tasteless and you should lose his number and perhaps give him a slap.” Gwynevere mused, “And if he doesn’t do it aloud, at least you’ll never know about it.”
Gwynneg didn’t like that, but he could see the sense of it. He sighed.
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The self-awareness is a little charming
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These fics seem to have a endless amount of shit content in them:
And are people that dense, that story descriptions need to have content/trigger warnings in them, despite the stories being tagged for such content? It seems redundant to do that.
And are people that dense, that story descriptions need to have content/trigger warnings in them, despite the stories being tagged for such content? It seems redundant to do that.
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Gobbling Girl Cock
kiwifarms.net
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Love Makes the World Go 'Round - GazelleMoon - Powerpuff Girls [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
archiveofourown.org
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I still remember this one years later. Some background: this one is an anthropologist, specifically one who specializes in the life of peoples living in the Arctic. She spent years sitting with elders (who surprisingly didn't retain any sexist notions of letting a woman share their tent), and wrote a lengthy incest fic between father and son without ever answering the main plot hole: how a Mohawk woman managed to walk over 3000 miles to get from her native lands to Alaska.
The author.
Archive of the work.
This author has a bizarre fetish of pairing Connor Kenway from AC3 with his father, Haytham. All of her work has this theme. While her prose may be pretty, her storytelling is actually really dumb. Her titular work was supposed to have a plot involving Russian poachers in Alaska, but promptly forgot about them for her sex scenes. In any given scene, she will use the word cock more than forty times.
Example.
I think I'd call it quits if I used it more than ten times, just saying.
This was her reaction to a comment received on her magnum opus, Voyage to the Moon. Archive.
Despite the degree, she never actually answered the main plot points of her story, mainly that of the Russians being antagonistic and the reason why Haytham went there. It would have made more sense had it taken place on the east coast vs the west, as there were more trade routes and exploration up there. Haytham was meant to go up there to stop their expansion, yet the author never went off of that. She mentioned it and then promptly stopped.
Again, she never answers how a Mohawk woman managed to get all the way to Alaska, with nearly all of that area held by other tribes hostile to her own. Little mention is actually made of the genocides up there, and not just those committed by the Russians (the dominant Yu'pik tribe is there because they killed all the others, who were reported in decline by whalers and explorers in the area).
As expected, she moderated comments once this one was posted. There's nothing stopping an Arctic Anthropologist from reading other books and going outside her field. But she didn't. So enjoy the mythological incest, I guess.
I've mentioned a few CoD fics, a fandom that has exploded in popularity since the release of the new game in November. It's gone from a quiet 3000 fics to over 11,000. Soap/Ghost is the dominant pairing, and this has not stopped Pooners from making either Ghost or Soap trans. It's rather funny to read their spicy straight pairings without realizing it. Here is a sample. Link / Archive
Heckin valid orgasm, dood! Very manly. The author is a they/them, how could you tell?
The author.
Archive of the work.
This author has a bizarre fetish of pairing Connor Kenway from AC3 with his father, Haytham. All of her work has this theme. While her prose may be pretty, her storytelling is actually really dumb. Her titular work was supposed to have a plot involving Russian poachers in Alaska, but promptly forgot about them for her sex scenes. In any given scene, she will use the word cock more than forty times.
Example.
With his heart galloping in his chest, Connor pulled down his father’s boxers and allowed the other’s straining cock to spring free. Licking his lips, the young man took in the sight; both delighted and intimidated at once. With appreciation, he trailed his fingers along the hot flesh; enjoying how it felt like beneath his fingertips; and how aroused Haytham was from watching the young man make out with Haytham’s other self. Leaning in closer, Connor brushed his lips along the other’s length; glancing up again to meet his father’s gaze and assure that there was no sign of discomfort or unwillingness; that he was doing what Haytham had agreed to.
The Grand Master’s expression was striking as always, but for entirely different reasons than usual. Connor believed to see desire in those bright eyes; as well as a hint of confusion or irritation still. With a shudder, Connor moved closer; his gaze briefly dropping down to run over the other’s exposed erection again - enjoying how it looked like against his fingers, and how his saliva glistened on it as he slowly trailed his tongue along it. It all felt surreal but in a pleasant, dream-like way; as if he had indeed dreamed of this before, and now it was finally coming true, even if in other ways than he could have ever imagined.
Meeting his father’s dark glance, Connor pressed sloppy kisses against the other’s cock; enjoying the slightest shivers he could provoke along with the deep breaths he could hear his father take in through his nose whenever the younger Assassin seemed to tease a particularly pleasant spot. The Templar held his son’s gaze, and Connor shuddered; all too aware how illicitly intense this was. Opening his mouth, he closed his lips around the head of Haytham’s cock and took him in slowly as far as he could without gagging. Bobbing his head, Connor enjoyed the feeling of the other filling him out like this; a thought in his head appearing about how nice this might feel elsewhere - how delightfully huge and thick -
A surprised shudder ran through him when the other Haytham’s hands brushed along his frame - Connor had almost forgotten that the other was right behind him. Breath waved warmly over his bare back, and the young man anticipated the first gentle kisses pressed to his shoulders and along his spine; nibbling and sucking - doubtlessly leaving little marks and reddish hickeys as he went along.
Connor couldn’t help the low little noises that reverberated through his throat and that his father had to feel against his sensitive cock. Being touched and kissed by Haytham behind him while he was pleasuring his father before him was a wonderfully surreal experience, and Connor allowed himself to drown in the blissful experience. His hesitations and doubts were slowly melting away as he could feel the knowing, tender touches his Assassin father bestowed upon him, and the pleasured, wanton shivers and breaths he could provoke from his father.
“Hey, love -”, Haytham whispered into his ear. He was pressing close from behind, and Connor could feel his cock press against his ass; causing a hot little shiver to spike through him - fully well knowing where all this was heading, and somehow all too eager to embrace it. “Mind if I prepare you…?”
The Grand Master’s expression was striking as always, but for entirely different reasons than usual. Connor believed to see desire in those bright eyes; as well as a hint of confusion or irritation still. With a shudder, Connor moved closer; his gaze briefly dropping down to run over the other’s exposed erection again - enjoying how it looked like against his fingers, and how his saliva glistened on it as he slowly trailed his tongue along it. It all felt surreal but in a pleasant, dream-like way; as if he had indeed dreamed of this before, and now it was finally coming true, even if in other ways than he could have ever imagined.
Meeting his father’s dark glance, Connor pressed sloppy kisses against the other’s cock; enjoying the slightest shivers he could provoke along with the deep breaths he could hear his father take in through his nose whenever the younger Assassin seemed to tease a particularly pleasant spot. The Templar held his son’s gaze, and Connor shuddered; all too aware how illicitly intense this was. Opening his mouth, he closed his lips around the head of Haytham’s cock and took him in slowly as far as he could without gagging. Bobbing his head, Connor enjoyed the feeling of the other filling him out like this; a thought in his head appearing about how nice this might feel elsewhere - how delightfully huge and thick -
A surprised shudder ran through him when the other Haytham’s hands brushed along his frame - Connor had almost forgotten that the other was right behind him. Breath waved warmly over his bare back, and the young man anticipated the first gentle kisses pressed to his shoulders and along his spine; nibbling and sucking - doubtlessly leaving little marks and reddish hickeys as he went along.
Connor couldn’t help the low little noises that reverberated through his throat and that his father had to feel against his sensitive cock. Being touched and kissed by Haytham behind him while he was pleasuring his father before him was a wonderfully surreal experience, and Connor allowed himself to drown in the blissful experience. His hesitations and doubts were slowly melting away as he could feel the knowing, tender touches his Assassin father bestowed upon him, and the pleasured, wanton shivers and breaths he could provoke from his father.
“Hey, love -”, Haytham whispered into his ear. He was pressing close from behind, and Connor could feel his cock press against his ass; causing a hot little shiver to spike through him - fully well knowing where all this was heading, and somehow all too eager to embrace it. “Mind if I prepare you…?”
Connor’s thoughts were scattered as his cock was bared and instantaneously enveloped by the older Assassin’s skilled fingers. He leaned back against the other; holding his father’s gaze as some helpless gasps escaped his flushed lips. He enjoyed the warm embrace from the man behind him, and the lustful gaze that was bestowed upon him by his father, who was unable to participate just yet. Connor trusted his Assassin father to know when it was beyond a point where the Templar might try to go against his other self, and thus safe to cut him loose.
The older Assassin’s hand left his cock, and Connor allowed the other to pull down his jeans and his boxers further. The young man leaned forwards again; presenting his ass to the other while his lips returned to press kisses to his father’s spit-slicked cock. He could feel the older Assassin’s fingers pressing against his entrance; spreading lube and slowly easing inside of him, one finger at a time.
It had been a while since Connor had indulged in anything like this - the past few weeks and months had been stressful and lonely with more and more responsibility piled onto him within the Creed, as well as the mounting pressure to go against his father more openly, now that the truce was broken. But perhaps owed to the delicious distraction of Haytham’s cock before him, Connor managed to relax enough for the older Assassin to prepare him without any discomfort; all too soon stretching him with three fingers - thrusting inside of him in ways that made Connor’s body jerk with stimulation. Once more he had to remind himself that there was a reason the other knew how to pleasure him oh so well - it seemed as if his other self’s body reacted much the same.
Connor had taken in his father’s cock again; bobbing his head and daring to let the other’s thick member slide down his throat just a little more - careful not to overdo it lest the gag reflex kicked in, but eager to try and see how much he could take. A small part of him was surprised by how much it turned him on to pleasure Haytham with his mouth; to feel the weight and girth of the other’s cock, and the way it rubbed against the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. The young Assassin was moaning lowly around Haytham’s cock; both turned on by the sensation of the blowjob, and the feeling of his Assassin father fucking him with his fingers.
The older Assassin’s hand left his cock, and Connor allowed the other to pull down his jeans and his boxers further. The young man leaned forwards again; presenting his ass to the other while his lips returned to press kisses to his father’s spit-slicked cock. He could feel the older Assassin’s fingers pressing against his entrance; spreading lube and slowly easing inside of him, one finger at a time.
It had been a while since Connor had indulged in anything like this - the past few weeks and months had been stressful and lonely with more and more responsibility piled onto him within the Creed, as well as the mounting pressure to go against his father more openly, now that the truce was broken. But perhaps owed to the delicious distraction of Haytham’s cock before him, Connor managed to relax enough for the older Assassin to prepare him without any discomfort; all too soon stretching him with three fingers - thrusting inside of him in ways that made Connor’s body jerk with stimulation. Once more he had to remind himself that there was a reason the other knew how to pleasure him oh so well - it seemed as if his other self’s body reacted much the same.
Connor had taken in his father’s cock again; bobbing his head and daring to let the other’s thick member slide down his throat just a little more - careful not to overdo it lest the gag reflex kicked in, but eager to try and see how much he could take. A small part of him was surprised by how much it turned him on to pleasure Haytham with his mouth; to feel the weight and girth of the other’s cock, and the way it rubbed against the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. The young Assassin was moaning lowly around Haytham’s cock; both turned on by the sensation of the blowjob, and the feeling of his Assassin father fucking him with his fingers.
I think I'd call it quits if I used it more than ten times, just saying.
This was her reaction to a comment received on her magnum opus, Voyage to the Moon. Archive.
Despite the degree, she never actually answered the main plot points of her story, mainly that of the Russians being antagonistic and the reason why Haytham went there. It would have made more sense had it taken place on the east coast vs the west, as there were more trade routes and exploration up there. Haytham was meant to go up there to stop their expansion, yet the author never went off of that. She mentioned it and then promptly stopped.
Again, she never answers how a Mohawk woman managed to get all the way to Alaska, with nearly all of that area held by other tribes hostile to her own. Little mention is actually made of the genocides up there, and not just those committed by the Russians (the dominant Yu'pik tribe is there because they killed all the others, who were reported in decline by whalers and explorers in the area).
As expected, she moderated comments once this one was posted. There's nothing stopping an Arctic Anthropologist from reading other books and going outside her field. But she didn't. So enjoy the mythological incest, I guess.
I've mentioned a few CoD fics, a fandom that has exploded in popularity since the release of the new game in November. It's gone from a quiet 3000 fics to over 11,000. Soap/Ghost is the dominant pairing, and this has not stopped Pooners from making either Ghost or Soap trans. It's rather funny to read their spicy straight pairings without realizing it. Here is a sample. Link / Archive
“Think you can come more than once for me, baby?” Simon grunts. It’s not rare for Johnny to come twice, hell, maybe even more, in a night.
It takes a moment for Johnny’s fried brain to collect his wits and muster a coherent response, “Y-yes.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not finished.”
Two fingers that latch onto Johnny’s clit attack the sensitive little bundle of nerves mercilessly, and he nearly screams. Johnny claws at Simon’s back, who’s still pounding into him with unflagging intensity, and soon enough his thighs shake and quiver tenfold and the coiling feeling in his gut unclenches–
“ Simon! ”
Hell’s fucking bells.
The lingering ripples of Johnny’s orgasm still surge through his worn nerves even well after it finished, and Simon’s chasing his own release now.
“Fuck, sorry, sweetheart, lemme jus’–” The big hands on Johnny’s bruising hips resposition to a more secure cinch, granting Johnny a brief moment of relief from the creeping overstimulation licking up his spine. Johnny helps too, hooking his arms around his knees and holding them up and open so Simon has easier access.
And soon Simon’s thrusting back into and out of Johnny’s fluttering, soaked pussy like a rabid animal. Might be growling like one too, Johnny thinks, unsure whether or not the deep, humming noise ringing in his ears is his imagination or boyfriend.
Johnny feels like he’s floating. Reality slips from his fingers and everything looks blurry and the bed that cradles him feels like a cloud if anything. His sex-addled mind struggles to form coherent thoughts that aren’t any variation of Simon’s name or mindless pleas for more stimulation.
Maybe he’s dying – morbid thought, but sure – because there’s an angel overtop him glowing with the brightest aura he’s ever seen who’s showing him personally what heaven must feel like. He wades through the shallows of overstimulation, and can’t decide whether or not to squirm away or chase the sinful feeling.
At this point, he’s babbling unintelligible words that slur together like melted butter, and Simon can’t seem to dissect what in the hell Johnny is saying. He shushes him and coos softly into his ear, promising he’s almost finished.
“Oh, fuck, honey,” he groans as Johnny clenches around him, “Just like that, yeah, I’m there, right there, fuck yeah– ”
It takes a moment for Johnny’s fried brain to collect his wits and muster a coherent response, “Y-yes.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not finished.”
Two fingers that latch onto Johnny’s clit attack the sensitive little bundle of nerves mercilessly, and he nearly screams. Johnny claws at Simon’s back, who’s still pounding into him with unflagging intensity, and soon enough his thighs shake and quiver tenfold and the coiling feeling in his gut unclenches–
“ Simon! ”
Hell’s fucking bells.
The lingering ripples of Johnny’s orgasm still surge through his worn nerves even well after it finished, and Simon’s chasing his own release now.
“Fuck, sorry, sweetheart, lemme jus’–” The big hands on Johnny’s bruising hips resposition to a more secure cinch, granting Johnny a brief moment of relief from the creeping overstimulation licking up his spine. Johnny helps too, hooking his arms around his knees and holding them up and open so Simon has easier access.
And soon Simon’s thrusting back into and out of Johnny’s fluttering, soaked pussy like a rabid animal. Might be growling like one too, Johnny thinks, unsure whether or not the deep, humming noise ringing in his ears is his imagination or boyfriend.
Johnny feels like he’s floating. Reality slips from his fingers and everything looks blurry and the bed that cradles him feels like a cloud if anything. His sex-addled mind struggles to form coherent thoughts that aren’t any variation of Simon’s name or mindless pleas for more stimulation.
Maybe he’s dying – morbid thought, but sure – because there’s an angel overtop him glowing with the brightest aura he’s ever seen who’s showing him personally what heaven must feel like. He wades through the shallows of overstimulation, and can’t decide whether or not to squirm away or chase the sinful feeling.
At this point, he’s babbling unintelligible words that slur together like melted butter, and Simon can’t seem to dissect what in the hell Johnny is saying. He shushes him and coos softly into his ear, promising he’s almost finished.
“Oh, fuck, honey,” he groans as Johnny clenches around him, “Just like that, yeah, I’m there, right there, fuck yeah– ”
Heckin valid orgasm, dood! Very manly. The author is a they/them, how could you tell?
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2018
If this one has been posted, I apologize and accept the Late badge, but it's popped up a couple of times on other searches for me, and I figured it deserved a spot here if it isn't already:
It's hardly the worst offender, it's just sort of amusing how blatantly stupid it is in the description. I half wonder if it's a parody, but I refuse to read it to find out.
It's hardly the worst offender, it's just sort of amusing how blatantly stupid it is in the description. I half wonder if it's a parody, but I refuse to read it to find out.
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
DareToBeStupid!
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Mar 25, 2023
These two are just straight up pedophilia
Beginning on the Balcony - yastaghr - Undertale (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
archiveofourown.org
Hastening - yastaghr - Undertale (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
archiveofourown.org
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2021
I almost didn't want to do this one, but seeing this final message and them subsequently deleting all comments made me want to do it out of spite. Link.
Wait until you read the sex. From chapter 2.
What is it with these people thinking making noises like you're choking is sexy?
Of course, this is how they respond to information different from their own.
> I find multitudes of well funded sources
> Thinks a god that is male and resents being seen as female non binary
Right.
Wait until you read the sex. From chapter 2.
Not for the first time that evening, Gwndolin found a mouth at one of his small breasts, almost sucking half of it into his mouth with ease. It was hard to recognize the high whine as his own, fingers digging into the sheets. Smirking lips pulled away to lap at the thin layer of sweat on his sternum.
"Do I taste good?"
"Delicious," he growled mid descent, giving a lick just above his navel as though to emphasize.
"Truthfully?"
"I know more than a little about the taste of flesh," a nip to his hip. "And blood." Nails bit into his thighs. "And bone." Gwyndolin let out a sharp gasp at just how roughly his thighs were forced wide.
"Do you intend to eat me?" Was it fear that trembled his voice at the firm reminder he was on his back presented to a cannibal?
"Not in the way that you're thinking." His broad tongue kitten licked the underside of his cock. Thighs jerked against iron fingers, a groan deep in his chest. "Though, maybe in the way that you're thinking." Teeth sunk in an inch below where thigh met groin.
"Ngn!" Porcelain digits dug into staw locks, not yet pulling him closer or pushing him away.
"But, only if you ask nicely."
"Do I taste good?"
"Delicious," he growled mid descent, giving a lick just above his navel as though to emphasize.
"Truthfully?"
"I know more than a little about the taste of flesh," a nip to his hip. "And blood." Nails bit into his thighs. "And bone." Gwyndolin let out a sharp gasp at just how roughly his thighs were forced wide.
"Do you intend to eat me?" Was it fear that trembled his voice at the firm reminder he was on his back presented to a cannibal?
"Not in the way that you're thinking." His broad tongue kitten licked the underside of his cock. Thighs jerked against iron fingers, a groan deep in his chest. "Though, maybe in the way that you're thinking." Teeth sunk in an inch below where thigh met groin.
"Ngn!" Porcelain digits dug into staw locks, not yet pulling him closer or pushing him away.
"But, only if you ask nicely."
What is it with these people thinking making noises like you're choking is sexy?
He opened his mouth before realizing his tongue was just tacky enough not to cooperate and his throat giving a stark warning about the consequences of speech. With no better option, he replied with a simple nod, watching those tense shoulders sag low in relief.
"Thank fuck."
It was strange having a savage dote over you. Right after fucking you til you passed out, no less. He fetched however much drinking water was needed. Hands gently wiped away sweat and other fluids with a warm, wet cloth. He combed the short mess of hair back into place and other rather unneccessary, although appreciated, things. He even filed down the few nails accidentally broken from gripping the sheets too hard. Not exactly broken enough to amount to anything but still out of place next to their smoother edged simblings.
Smough gently blew the fine dust from dainty fingertips and Gwyndolin couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it. Here was Anor Londo's ruthless executioner, filing his nails after giving him a sponge bath and making him drink an adequate amount of water.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like-" he set the file on his bedside table. Actually, why did he even have that to begin with (was it even intended for fingernails)? "I don't know." It took effort not to giggle. "That! Like that!"
"Smough!" The door swung open without so much as a knock. "You oversized lout! I've told you a thousand times not to get into my stuuuuuuuuuu..."
"Thank fuck."
It was strange having a savage dote over you. Right after fucking you til you passed out, no less. He fetched however much drinking water was needed. Hands gently wiped away sweat and other fluids with a warm, wet cloth. He combed the short mess of hair back into place and other rather unneccessary, although appreciated, things. He even filed down the few nails accidentally broken from gripping the sheets too hard. Not exactly broken enough to amount to anything but still out of place next to their smoother edged simblings.
Smough gently blew the fine dust from dainty fingertips and Gwyndolin couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it. Here was Anor Londo's ruthless executioner, filing his nails after giving him a sponge bath and making him drink an adequate amount of water.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like-" he set the file on his bedside table. Actually, why did he even have that to begin with (was it even intended for fingernails)? "I don't know." It took effort not to giggle. "That! Like that!"
"Smough!" The door swung open without so much as a knock. "You oversized lout! I've told you a thousand times not to get into my stuuuuuuuuuu..."
Of course, this is how they respond to information different from their own.
> I find multitudes of well funded sources
> Thinks a god that is male and resents being seen as female non binary
Right.
Attachments
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2018
Man the new Boondocks reboot is cracked out.
- Joined
- Sep 13, 2018
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2021
They were discussing how their headcanon of "intersex enby" applied to this character, even when it was a misrepresentation of what DSDs are. Initially they were receptive before recommended the Paradox Institute, hence the response you see there.
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2021
Since the website was down, I managed to find more nightmare fuel. This one takes place in Bloodborne, where nightmare fuel is indeed common - but how about male vagina nightmare fuel? Link / Archive
Micolash is male in the game. He is made a full pooner in this fic. The author is known for some weird porn, but this was pretty fucking funny to read.
This author has quite a few weird ass fics, but these are the ones that stood out the most.
Micolash is male in the game. He is made a full pooner in this fic. The author is known for some weird porn, but this was pretty fucking funny to read.
This author has quite a few weird ass fics, but these are the ones that stood out the most.
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2021
There is so much FtM trans Krauser all of a sudden, sometimes not even tagged, just wham! Vulva on a beefy dude. I think it's a specific Asian pooner on Twitter and her clique who started/are spreading it, but genderspecial fandom ladies change their names so much and Twitter is awful.
- Joined
- Feb 8, 2022
I think Queen pooner started it with the drawings, and all the other pooners — in true female-brained fashion — are playing follow-the-leader.
Thankfully Poonser has been kept restricted to the Remake!Krauser and not the original. This I can abide.
P.S: pretty sure it's also implied in this pooniverse that Jake Müller is the son of Jack and Wesker. It only works if you banish from your mind any notion of a timeline, or logic.
But of course...
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2020
There's apparently an ongoing shitstorm about OTW/AO3 and how they dealt with the aftermath of a CSAM attack.
The message from OTW in question:
In a long call-out post, the co-founder of Dreamwidth claims that Rebecca Tushnet (a member of the Legal committee) tried to pressure them to remove the Twitter thread about arranging anti-SWATTing procedures with the police
Around a day after the post was published, a response was made on the OTW site to which there was immediate backlash in the comments.
azarias (or comments where they're likely to be her) also made some other statements about the site
There's a Tumblr thread with a timeline of events
The message from OTW in question:
In a long call-out post, the co-founder of Dreamwidth claims that Rebecca Tushnet (a member of the Legal committee) tried to pressure them to remove the Twitter thread about arranging anti-SWATTing procedures with the police
Around a day after the post was published, a response was made on the OTW site to which there was immediate backlash in the comments.
azarias (or comments where they're likely to be her) also made some other statements about the site