1 - 20 of 50 Works found in Crowbar (Homestuck)
Listing Works
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An assortment of ficlets set in the Troll's universe, most about the carapaces.
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Sawbuck and Crowbar have dinner together and end the night with snuggles.
(Warning: contains chubby!Crowbar. If that isn't ~your thing~ you might not want to read ahead. :P )
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It’s been four days since Droog called. His message had been short and simple, just a time and a location to meet him at later that evening. Die hadn’t gone. He’d spent most of the night in another timeline where Droog was dead and the city’s fashion had gone in a different direction. Die figured he would pay the price for it, but the way he saw it, he paid that price even if he did do what Droog said.
He should have realized that Droog would know that.
Series
- Part 3 of Trip
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Pernicious Innovator is confused about people, life, and relationships.
Series
- Part 16 of Mobsterswitch
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Prompt:CLICHES
intermission high school AU. purple prose slashfic. mpreg (trollpreg?). pick a fandom cliche and write it. if you do a great job, you'll make me happy. if you do a terrible job you'll make badfic!lover anon happy. you can't fail! -
PS: Investigate Accidental Death by lucky_spike
Problem Sleuth (Webcomic), Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
27 Feb 2012
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Another hysterical dame has come to Midnight City's renowned Problem Sleuth for help, and he's already in over his head. But with some luck and the cooperation of the Midnight Crew he might just be able to get to the bottom of it.
Of course, the latter might prove a smudge difficult.
((stabdads/sleuthdads AU, like you should expect anything else out of me))
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- Part 13 of Stabdads
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“Feeling more cooperative? There's a fifty percent chance you're not lucky today. Do you like those odds?”
“No. I... I just. Give me a minute! Let me think, please...” Could he tell Droog about the plans? The man would expect him to tell everything, he'd made that clear in the beginning as he'd stripped Die and tied him up. There would be no room for messing up and no room for a lie. Droog would know it if he even tried; Die was no good at lying!
“No time. Six...Five... Four... Three... Two... One...”
Click.
- Words:
- 3,509
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 10
- Hits:
- 165
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Die feels a bit like dying right now, or maybe crawling into a hole and never coming out. This had seemed like exactly the sort of fantasy he wanted to act out, right up until this very moment when it was actually going to happen. It was one thing to think about being restrained and fucked, and something completely different to actually stand in front of all of his co-workers, naked, and terrified.
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“Your plans never work on their own. I always have to fix things you mess up, Slick!” He could feel his forehead heating up. There was no way this would end well for anyone. That didn't bother him as much as maybe it should have. He had some steam to work off too.
“Guys, Deuce isn't back here.” Boxcars was quiet, still likely suffering from the gunshots, but there was a subdued sort of panic in his voice. A strain that Droog didn't like.
If the way Slick went slack meant anything, their leader didn't like the tone or the news either.
Within a few seconds they started up again, took a sharp U-turn on the street, and headed back to The Felt's hideout.
Slick, for once, was silent. It wouldn't last, but it was a welcome relief from the incessant words he'd been spewing.
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Droog/Slick, written to fill the following Midnight Crew meme kink:
Slick gets drugged somehow, and we’re talking extremely intoxicated. No balance, difficulty speaking and thinking coherently, and maybe some hallucinations for fun
Whoever drugged him is about to/in the middle of/has already beat the shit out of him and/or taken advantage of him when Droog or Sleuth find him.
Basically just want a lot of eerily vulnerable Slick and DD or PS fixing him up and helping him get through the night.Only this will probably stretch a bit longer than a single night. BECAUSE I CAN, BETCHES.
I titled it Heat because aside possible temperature shifts implications (hurrr) I was listening to http://homestuck.bandcamp.com/track/heat on a loop while writing. Excellent for atmosphere.
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It's Solstice Eve, and it's snowing. And Problem Sleuth is almost 100% certain that if you lick a metal lamppost, your tongue won't stick to it.
One of these things is about to bring on a bad night.
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- Part 14 of Stabdads
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Every Wednesday, I open my tumblr ask box up to crackfic prompts. I take 7, and I write them, regardless of what they are.
These are those stories.
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There’s a wrongness to Lord English that turns the entire air around him foul, that distorts the world and twists and perverts it. Snowman takes a breath, doing her best to stand it. The taste lingers in the back of her nose and throat though, reminding her of a truth she can never forget: he is Wrong and not part of anything natural or good.
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The fact of the matter was that the Felt was running out of time before the last bottle of aspirin in the whole fucking city was ingested by the whining green suits.
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One of these days, Crowbar's going to figure out a way to say no to Die often insane requests. Today is not that day, and that's why he's butt-naked except for the paint smeared over his stomach, about to participate in what can be kindly described as some sex cult ritual.
Some days, he really wishes he'd asked Doc Scratch to be more specific in his job offer.
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What would happen if a broken pin was used on the voodoo doll? What does it take to ruin a timeline? Do the Felt members keep their powers after death? And, most important and most asked around the gang, who would last the longest in an undead onslaught?
Die doesn't know, Die doesn't want to know, but like it or not, he's going to find out.
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There is a mole in the department. You are certain of it. A mobsterswitch Felt fic.
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Crowbar probably shouldn't find her nearly as attractive as he does. They're not even the same species when you get right down to it. She's got some sort of shell where her skin should be, not to mention she always looks like she's been dipped in molasses. His mother would be throwing a fit if she knew he was lusting after a woman that was genetically closer to a lobster than to him. But as far as his mother knows, Crowbar's dead, so what's one more disappointment right?
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Slick doesn't pull his punches, especially not the ones he's aiming at her. His right fist catches her jaw and sends her reeling back. Snowman keeps her feet under her, and when he tries to follow it up with a left to her stomach, she just steps to the side and backhands him as hard as she can. Slick falls to the ground, and the back of her hand stings like a bitch.