Heh, I finally got around to writing something for last week’s writing prompt on erotic_fic (just before I post the new one tomorrow) and the ficlet took off on me and grew into a proper fic. Hope everyone likes it!
Story Title: Crack of Doom
Author Name: me_ya_ri
Warning / Themes: AU (our current world but with slavery and open BDSM), whipping, sex clubs, no overt sex on screen.
Word Count: Approx 1530 words
Summary: When Mistress Betsy, a little round African-American Mistress from out of town, shows up at his favorite club, Chadrick can’t resist the opportunity to play with her for a night. A whipping at her expert hand is something that he’s dreamed about for ages.
Feedback: Yes please! :D
Find the story over here.
And yay, I actually managed to wrestle Kennet into submission so that I got my plot point into place. :D He now (finally!) has hopes for the future and maybe even will allow some sexy thoughts about Didymos to occur. \o/
…though I won’t claim that it’s certain until I write the next chapter. The man has proven me wrong before.
Either way, have a snippet of the story.
(And hey, if anyone has any ideas for a name for a female warrior-slave who’s especially good with knives—throwing, thrusting, slashing, all sorts of knives—who’s not teenage Lian no matter how much she tries to be, do let me know. I’m not all that fond of ‘Lotus’ as her name but nothings striking me.)
June is off to a good start. I just finished writing 3900 words of Artifacts of Awareness, which puts the word count for the story at 10K, half of what I’d need for the Original Big Bang (always presuming it actually goes forward—still no news on it).
Kennet earns his Big Damn Bastard Award in this one, he really does. When Prince Didymos tries ever so gently to hit on him after six more assassination attempts that leave him literally shaking, Kennet sort of kicks him while he’s down. For his own good, of course. See?
Tim’s name in the life just before he became Timothy Drake is officially Kamala (pronounced KAH-ma-lah). It means ‘Born of the lotus’ which seems utterly appropriate for a being that’s reborn constantly. No, that’s not the name his birth parents in that life gave him. It’s the one that he chose after being reunited with Ra’s. Have another ficlet, this time of Bruce’s time in training with Ra’s and the League. (469 words)
“He is rather…”
“Short sighted?” Ra’s completed for his Beloved who grinned and wrinkled his nose the way that Melisande used to when she was amused by something Ra’s had done.
“Close,” Kamala said, nodding towards where Bruce fought against a half dozen ninja. “I was going to say rigid in his morals.”
“You are not?” Ra’s asked.
His hand settled on the small of Kamala’s back. It remained odd to be physically younger than his Beloved. Of course, it was equally odd when Kamala was reborn into a child’s body. It would not be long now. Kamala’s joints had been an issue since his twenties and the damage to his lungs from repeated bouts of pneumonia had not helped.
“I think I know where it will be,” Kamala observed with a gentle smile over his shoulder. His eyes were far too tired though he smiled warmly enough that Ra’s did not immediately insist that he return to bed.
“Your next life?” Ra’s asked though there was little else that it could be.
“Mmm-hmm,” Kamala said. “Jun’s wife bears a child soon. That… I feel some draw towards it.”
“Spend more time with them,” Ra’s ordered because having his Beloved born back into Ra’s’ immediate circle was worth more than all the gold in the world. “I would not have you away from me for any length of time, Beloved.”
Kamala laughed only to start coughing. The coughs did not stop until Ra’s bodily hauled him away from the railing over the training area and back to the couch by the fire with its many blankets and pillows. By the time Kamala’s breathing had stabilized Bruce was there, watching with a worried expression in his eyes.
“Is there any possibility that modern medicine could help?” Bruce asked. He sat at the foot of Kamala’s couch, arranging the blankets over his feet.
“No,” Kamala whispered, a fond smile stretching his lips. He looked so much older than his actual years that he could have been Ra’s father. “I am old, Bruce. What happens, happens. I am ready for my death when it comes. I shall be reborn so there is no reason to mourn.”
From the frown that creased Bruce’s face, he found that cold comfort indeed. Ra’s could not blame him even though he understood exactly what Kamala meant. Bruce clearly did not believe that Kamala was speaking literally when he said that he would be reborn. Even among the League few did. Ra’s made a mental note to ensure that Jun’s wife spent as much time tending to Kamala as possible over the next few weeks, though she would likely have to compete with young Bruce Wayne to do it. Anything that he could do to keep his Beloved close when he was reborn was well worth it.
And yes, Bruce totally did screw up that rebirth. *grin* Because Kamala died shortly after this in Ra’s’ arms with Bruce by their sides, and was reborn in Gotham as a certain Timothy Drake.
And now I gotta go do bathtime and laundry so night all! :D
I’ve been away from my keyboard all day today. And I’ll be away again tomorrow. Which sucks but what can you do? I’m going to be answering comments in a minute but I decided that I wanted a little bit of the Reincarnated Tim ‘verse so have a little ficlet for it (581 words total):
Damian stared at the coded message from his mother. It did not make sense. Certainly the words themselves made sense once he decoded it but the intent behind it was incomprehensible. There was no reason for this message, no logic or honor to it.
“Be nicer to Timothy.”
There was no explanation attached to the message, just the bare four words. Damian frowned, nearly crumpling the piece of paper. He growled and left his room, seeking out Drake. It took several hours to isolate Drake from Dick and Cass, who appeared to know that he had something to say to him. She distracted Dick and dragged him off to train with her. When Drake stood, Damian blocked his way and thrust out the slip of paper.
“Ah, yes?” Drake asked, blinking at it.
“I demand to know why Mother would direct such a thing,” Damian said. He allowed himself a bit of a huff. It was justified by this absurdity.
To his surprise, Drake’s expression became tender and loving at the mention of Talia. He stroked one finger over the slip of paper before schooling his expression back to something that was appropriately distant and uninterested. Damian frowned.
“I have no idea,” Drake said as he passed the slip of paper back. “Perhaps she feels that your rudeness is inappropriate from an al Ghul.”
The way he said it reminded Damian so strongly of Mother and Grandfather that his breath caught. Drake slipped around Damian, moving with too much grace. Certain of his micro-gestures, the tiny little flutters of fingers and arms that revealed so much of a person’s intentions, reminded him unbearably of Mother when she wanted to hug but did not feel that she had leave to do so.
“Grandmother?” Damian whispered.
Drake froze. He ceased breathing, stopped dead in his tracks for a long moment. When he turned to look at Damian there was a strange mixture of intense pride and fearful worry in his eyes. Damian stared up at Drake, Timothy, at the ancient being that had been by his Grandfather’s side for centuries. It was true. Timothy Drake was the reincarnation of his grandmother Melisande.
Timothy opened his mouth though nothing came out. Instead, he held out a hand to Damian. That was all the invitation that Damian needed. He hurled himself into Timothy’s arms, hugging him desperately. To his surprise, Timothy was shaking.
“You are,” Damian whispered.
“Yes,” Timothy whispered back, his lips brushing against Damian’s hair. “So proud that you figured it out. I had to tell my Beloved and your mother. Neither of them realized it at first.”
Damian laughed, letting Timothy pick him up and carry him over to the couch. Timothy seemed quite reluctant to let Damian go, which he found rather odd until he compared his mother’s descriptions of Melisande’s fondness for physical contact and Timothy Drake’s apparent reluctance to be touched.
“You have changed,” Damian observed as he wrapped his arms around Timothy’s neck for what Dick would probably call a proper snuggle-fest.
“If you mean the hugging, well, this has been a very difficult life,” Timothy replied.
He rubbed Damian’s back fondly, humming a lullaby that Talia had occasionally sung for Damian when he was hurt during training. Damian smiled as he decided that he would follow his mother’s directions. Timothy clearly needed a great deal more physical affection than he had gotten and Damian would have to make sure that he got it from now on.
Here, have some random Clark/Tim, Ava. There really isn’t enough in the world, is there?
Prompt: 039. Hear the Thunder Roar and the Lightning Flash.
Tim struggled to hang onto the ledge with the strength remaining in his left hand. No one was close enough to save him. The riots that had broken out in Gotham were so severe that they were all spread thin, even Jason setting aside his animosity to help restore the peace.
If he could have, Tim would have used his right arm but it was dislocated, useless. Besides, his grapple had been knocked out of his hand when he was pushed over the edge. Overhead the thug laughed, pointing a gun down at Tim’s head.
“Say your last words, Red Robin,” the thug said with an evil grin.
“Clark,” Tim said as lightning struck three blocks away and the thunder roared around them. “Help.”
Tim let go, trusting that he would be caught. Three seconds later the thug was tied up and Tim was safe in Clark’s arms.
“Sorry I took so long,” Clark murmured, pressing a kiss against Tim’s lips.
“Not a problem,” Tim sighed as he let his head settle against Clark’s broad shoulder.
From the upcoming Collar ‘Verse that I’m trying really, really, really hard not to turn into a multi-chapter WIP. Really hard. Seriously. *struggles with the bunny*
“You’re mine,” Jason growled. “You’re never going anywhere.”
Tim relaxed, moaning in the ways he was only allowed when the mask was open. He jerked and shuddered as Jason marked Tim’s pelvis with hickies and then moved up to mark his neck and shoulders with a handful more.
“Where do you belong?” Jason demanded as he gnawed on Tim’s left nipple.
“Here!” Tim answered instantly.
“What am I?” Jason asked.
“Master, my Master!” Tim replied in a moan because his shorts had been pushed down and Jason’s cock was pressing against his still lubed ass.
“What do you want?” Jason asked, somewhat more seriously than normal.
He looked at Tim with eyes that were strangely conflicted for a moment. Tim clutched Jason’s wrists, tugging to try and pull him closer.
“You!” Tim shouted even though it would distract their driver. “I want you!”
The abrupt thrust made Tim wail and moan needily. Yes, he was Jason’s. This was his place. The rest of the world had always expected too much of Tim while giving him too little. Jason was his Master, his lover, his owner, his home. He was never leaving his home, ever again.
ETA: I think there are going to be 12 more scenes to write. Twelve. *headdesk* Darn it, I don’t need another ‘verse!"
Yet more Kitty fic! Because Bat-kitties are addictive. ;) (357 words)
Jason grumbled as he stalked away from the room where everyone else had congregated. He could smell Steph down the hallway with Alfred. He had to wonder if the way she smelled (good, interesting, kind of fun) was actually a sign that she might be on the verge of fertile. That was a terrifying enough thought that Jason headed upstairs, away from her scent. No way was he going there, just no way, no how.
It didn’t surprise him to catch Tim’s scent when he passed the library. Jason poked his head in the door, snorting when he realized that Tim had curled up on top of one of the arm chairs. He’d done that back downstairs, taking the highest convenient point as if he wanted to keep a watch for trouble.
Tim’s eyes shimmered in the dark as Jason stalked in. Neither of them said anything, not that they could actually say anything at the moment. The armchair was leaning against the wall so Jason jumped up onto the cushion and then up onto the back with Tim. There wasn’t a heck of a lot of room but Jason didn’t mind. Tim was a lot nicer to hang with than Dick or Damian. At least Tim didn’t try and groom Jason or claw his face off.
When Jason put his head on Tim’s back and draped one paw over him, Tim sighed and shifted enough that they could be comfortable perched together. They’d have to get down when it got closer to time to shift back but for now it worked.
After a minute Tim raised his head and looked at Jason with his customary way to fucking serious expression. His tongue darted out, licking Jay’s cheek once. Jay puffed out in surprise, blinking at Tim and thrashing his tail because he had no idea what brought that on. Tim’s whiskers quivered with what had to be Cat-Tim’s version of laughter. He settled back down and fell asleep.
Jay stared at him for a while before mentally shrugging and going to sleep too. Maybe he’d ask what brought that on once they had vocal cords again.
More random kitten fic, this time for Jcolney on Tumblr who bribed me with promises of porn. Sometimes I’m very easy to bribe. *laughs ruefully*
Alfred looks up as the Batmobile returns well in advance of schedule. It appears to be running on automatic, which usually means that someone has been injured or that Master Bruce has sent Master Damian home early. Given that he hadn’t heard over the comms of any injuries Alfred assumed that he would have to prepare Master Damian’s favorite after-patrol treats to calm his injured pride.
The Batmobile came to a stop and then sat idling. Alfred raised an eyebrow and went over, blinking when he realized that there was no one inside. He was about to open the door when he heard several cats meowing balefully inside.
“Oh dear,” Alfred sighed.
When he opened the door a kitten that had to be Master Damian and a lean tom that must be Master Timothy tumbled out. Both righted themselves with indignant looks over their shoulders at the interior of the car. A bouncy long-haired cat with blue-black fur pounced on Alfred’s arm when he reached in to turn off the Batmobile.
“Master Richard,” Alfred huffed. “Please do wait until the vehicle is off before insisting on petting.”
“Mooooow!” Master Dick complained though he was kind enough to let go of Alfred’s arm long enough for him to complete the task.
Alfred scooped Master Dick up, petting him soothingly while inwardly sighing about the amount of cat hair he’d have to clean up in the morning. Master Dick was rather egregiously fluffy. He stepped aside and Master Jason jumped out. He was a burly big tom with very short dark fur that appeared almost brown other than a white strip over his eyes and a tiny tuft of white at the tip of his tail. The growls he produced were as close to profanity as a cat’s vocal cords could get.
“Master Bruce?” Alfred asked when the last two cats hesitated.
Of course, Master Bruce was an American short hair tom, elegant in his tuxedo-like coloration. He huffed at Alfred, jumping down and stalking towards the computers as if he was going to be able to do his normal reporting.
“Do come along, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred said. “I believe everything will be back to normal in the morning.”
She grumbled at him, glared at Master Dick who was purring in Alfred’s arms and then reluctantly exited the Batmobile with a thrashing tail and ears that were plastered against her head. Her lighter coloring had translated quite wonderfully into pale gold and light brown tiger stripes.
Alfred sighed and began the laborious task of herding his temporarily feline charges upstairs. While most of his work with the family could quite fairly be described as herding cats, Alfred rather thought that this was making it a bit too literal.
Random ficlet because Neme was talking about Kitty!Damian and I took it very literally indeed.
The little black and brown striped kitten hissed and snarled, puffing up to twice its size as Dick knelt down to stare at it. His eyes were startlingly blue. Titus hovered in the background, occasionally lifting a foot as if he wanted to step closer to the kitten and then putting it back down again as if afraid that he’d be eviscerated if he did so.
“Damian?” Dick asked.
The kitten growled at him with an expression that so matched Damian’s ‘tt’ face that he had to grin.
“He got hit by that small-time magician with the fetish for cats,” Tim said as he worked on the computers. “We got him but he’ll require stitches.”
“Uh…” Dick stared at Tim who shrugged.
When Dick looked back at Kitten!Damian he had a smug expression though his little tail was thrashing.
“Hugging’s a bad idea, I take it?” Dick said, fingers twitching.
“Depends on how many stitches you want,” Tim observed. “Alfred’s working on Bruce and Jason right now.”
Dick blinked, looked at Titus who backed off a couple of paces, and then looked down at Damian. His expression and body language screamed ‘try it and I’ll show you just how many ways I know to eviscerate you’.
“I think I’ll go help Alfred,” Dick said, a little lightheaded from the effort not to pet Damian.
“Good idea,” Tim said entirely calmly. “He got through Bruce’s armor.”
The world definitely wobbled as Dick contemplated how Damian could have done that with kitten claws and teeth. After a moment he decided that he really didn’t want to know. Dick hurried away, pretending he didn’t hear Damian starting to purr.
Hopefully the spell on Damian was the normal 24 hour one. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold off petting Damian. Once Dick was gone Tim smirked and patted his lap. Damian growled but after a moment spent grooming his shoulder jumped up into Tim’s lap.
“Thank you,” Tim said. “That should work well. Hopefully they’ll actually remember your skills from now on.”
He started petting Damian who sighed and all but melted into Tim’s lap as he purred. Tim smiled. After his last transformation into a cat of course he had to help save Damian from the indignity of hugs and baby talk from everyone in the family.
So I saw this prompt and the plot bunny leaped up and bit me. Fortunately I was able to keep this fairly short even though it was fun figuring out certain aspects of the society. Either way, I hope everyone enjoys this one!
Story: Social Graces
Rating: PG-13 at most
Configurations: F/f and M/m
Warning / Themes: Slavery, gossip, political plotting behind the scenes, execution orders, some reference to sexual activities between master and slave but nothing explicit.
Word Count: Approx 2890 words
Summary: Written for a prompt by deathjunke on the orig_slavefic comm’s Prompt Fest: “Two slaves of different masters see each other often. They are not supposed to socialize with each other but they do anyway. Sharing all the juicy scandals and gossip of the households between each other. Their information exchange manages to help their respective masters in one way or another.”
Feedback: Comments (even if it’s just that you read) are much loved and concrit is much appreciated!
So I tried to write my WIP, six different ones (from the S/B fanzine, to Alliance, to Dragon ‘Verse, to Daddy ‘verse, to the Robot ‘verse, and on to the Robin!Lex ‘verse) but none of them clicked today. No surprise given my boss moping around everyone freaking out about layoffs at work. This is what happened instead. Do mind the warnings, especially the betrayal one. The poor main character got his heart broken in a very serious way. Hope everyone enjoys the story! (And hopefully now I can get back to writing other things.)
Rating: R at most
Warning / Themes: Slavefic, unjust punishment, blood, betrayal, not everything is as it seems.
Word Count: Approx 1160 words
Summary: A pleasure slave is punished for something he didn’t do but not everything is as it seems on first glance.
Feedback: Comments (even if it’s just that you read) are much loved and concrit is much appreciated!
I don’t think I can do another day like today. Showed up at work at ten with no one in the department and a stock room full of new stock to put out, customers to call for their merchandise that came in, and customers in the store to help and I’m the only one there till noon. And I was busy today,…
Christmas shopping sucks. Though I think that being on the store side has to be way worse than being on the shopper side. *all the hugs*
Have some random Roy/Tim ficlet fun, sweetie!
Roy sighed as he trudged from the showers towards Tim’s office. He really should check to make sure that Lian made it back from her patrol. Even with all the training that she’d gotten from the Bats and the best equipment that Roy (and Tim) could provide, he still worried about his baby girl.
Of course if she heard him call her ‘baby girl’ he might be on the receiving end of some of those new trick arrows that Damian was making her.
“Hey,” Roy said, leaning against the door frame to study Tim’s entirely too tense shoulders, “you get any sleep?”
“I slept,” Tim snapped.
“When?” Roy drawled. That snap told him that it had to be the day before yesterday. Or at most an hour this afternoon, passed out on his keyboard and drooling.
Tim’s silence made Roy sigh. He entered the office which was agressively neat again, leaning on the back of Tim’s chair. The shift of his chair made Tim’s shoulders tighten and rise even more. When Roy started rubbing his thumbs at the nape of Tim’s neck it was like rubbing steel bands covered in skin.
Tim moaned. His fingers faltered on the keyboard.
“Any updates on Lian?” Roy asked because telling Tim to come to bed wasn’t going work.
“Damian and Lian reported in half an hour ago,” Tim said. When Roy extended the rubbing down his neck to the solid steel that was Tim’s shoulder Tim’s spine slumped just a little bit. “No problems other than an encounter with a skunk.”
“A skunk?” Roy asked. He was surprised but not surprised enough to stop massaging Tim’s shoulder. “A real one?”
“Yes,” Tim chuckled. “Alfred’s working on de-odorizing them.”
“Poor kids,” Roy laughed.
Tim’s head started swaying in time with Roy’s massage. His hands fell away from the keyboard. In the monitors, Roy could see that Tim’s eyes had drooped shut. Roy smiled as he bent to brush a kiss against the side of Tim’s neck.
“I’m tired,” Roy whispered into Tim’s ear.
“So get some sleep,” Tim muttered.
“Nah, bed’s lonely without you,” Roy replied. He smiled against Tim’s cheek, slowly and gently turning the chair so that he faced Roy instead of his system.
“Roy,” Tim whined. His eyes were blurry when he finally opened them. “I have work to do.”
“Please, baby?” Roy asked, blatantly using the pout that only worked when Tim was really exhausted. “I’ll sleep better if you’re there. Just a couple of hours and then you can come back and work some more.”
“Like that’ll work,” Tim complained while rubbing his eyes and sighing. He reached and saved what he’d been working on before putting his system to sleep. “You’re an octopus in bed.”
“Your octopus, baby,” Roy chuckled.
He had to help Tim up and then guide him towards the bedroom but that was okay. Tim would be out like a light and Roy would get to cuddle his boy until hopefully eight or so hours from now. Once they were in bed Tim wrapped himself around Roy as if he was the octopus.
“Love you,” Tim mumbled. He immediately started snoring against Roy’s neck.
“Love you too, Tim,” Roy whispered. A gentle kiss to Tim’s forehead and tugging the blankets up were all that he had time for before Roy fell asleep too.
I got bitten by a plot bunny from a prompt over on DW’s Fic Promptly. The prompt was DCU, Bruce Wayne & Tim Drake, Bruce learns early on that Tim is his son and takes custody.
Now how could anyone resist a prompt like that? :D
(And no, I am NOT going to expand this into an epic. No. Not happening! I have other bunnies who are waiting their turns like the lifebond ‘verse, and Neme’s Red Hood comic, and the Phantom of the Opera/DCU crossover, and finishing up some of my other previously started epics and and and… *glares at plot bunny’s begging eyes* Nope. No more from me!)
Tim stared up at Bruce with a profoundly surprised expression as Alfred parked the car outside the circus’s fence. Their relationship was still new enough that Bruce felt more than slightly adrift taking care of his so-small son.
The custody battle with Janet and Jack Drake had been brief and relatively quiet given their respective fortunes. Janet had in the end been perfectly satisfied to pass Tim over to his biological father with only the requirement that she be allowed to visit him occasionally when in the country. It was yet another reason why Bruce was grateful that he’d discovered that his dalliance with Janet had resulted in Tim’s conception. Bruce hated the thought that Tim could have grown up in that cold and lonely house with no one to care for him.
“Certainly,” Bruce said, smiling down at Tim who shyly smiled back. “I always enjoyed the circus as a boy and I thought you might enjoy it too. The Flying Grayson’s are the star attraction. Would you like to see if we can get a picture with them?”
Tim blushed when Bruce picked him up and carried him, still unused to physical displays of affection, but he nodded eagerly enough that Bruce smiled at him. Alfred trailed along behind them since Tim had requested that Alfred join them for his special treat. The Grayson’s were warm and wonderful people. Their son Dick seemed to love Tim who stared up at him with awe. When the picture was taken Tim was sitting on Dick’s knee, eyes like saucers over his face-splitting grin.
“He’s nice,” Tim murmured once they were in their seats for the show.
“Dick?” Bruce asked. He offered some of his popcorn to Tim, chuckling and nodding when Tim looked up to ask for permission before taking any.
“Yeah,” Tim said around the single kernel he put in his mouth. He ate them one by one rather than in clumps.
The show started before Bruce could say anything further. Tim leaned against Bruce’s side when the clowns came out, as always highly aware of Bruce’s moods. Bruce had intended to keep his activities as Batman a secret but Tim had been too perceptive for it to work, even though he was still barely more than a toddler.
When the Grayson’s came out Tim lit up with delight. Their show was everything that Bruce could have wanted for Tim’s first visit to the circus up until the moment when everything went wrong. Bruce pulled Tim into his arms and covered his eyes as soon as he saw that the Grayson’s were going to fall. His shouted warning wasn’t enough to stop the tragedy. All he could think as it happened and he shielded Tim from seeing it all was ‘not again!’ As the crowd ran from the tent screaming Tim tugged at Bruce’s shirt.
“Help him,” Tim said, shaking and pale as he pointed to Dick who was still up on his perch. “Please?”
Bruce pressed a kiss against Tim’s forehead before passing him to Alfred who held Tim as if he’d battle the devil himself to keep Tim safe.
“I will. Take Tim to the car, Alfred. I’ll catch up later.”
“Very good sir.”
“Be careful, Daddy,” Tim said.
He looked proud as Bruce hurried away, giving Bruce the strength he needed to catch the Grayson’s murderers. There was another little boy who needed to be saved as well. One way or the other, Bruce intended to bring the murderers to justice and to save Dick.