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...Cause I found a few:

Screwed (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11572955/1/Screwed)
Summary: The war is over but Harry is treacherously killed. He gets to meet his Mum but not to "rest" as the Powers that Be don't like how things turned out. Both Harry and Lily are sent back to change the world and right the many wrongs done by certain people. Voldie is not totally evil but others definitely are.

Lady Blackrose (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5560230/1/Lady-Blackrose)
Summary: it has been six years sense harry potter disappeared, many things have changed most of all the laws againts creatures. who is Lady Blackrose and what does she have to do with Harry. Au sirius is alive

...yeah. I'm not sure if either is open for sporking, but I wouldn't be opposed seeing them sporked either.

Have at it!

So, a few days back, GMA found some Clint Barton/Harry Potter ABO, which he's been going through in the Discord. Among other issues (and the usual ABO weirdness), it's got a major case of "that's not how trauma recovery works".

Anyhow, here's Damaged Bodies, Growing Lives, Building Families.

Summary: Harry’s painstakingly rebuilt world is destroyed once again; then he meets Clint Barton, the sharp eyed archer from the renowned Avengers team. Left broken and pregnant, can he be put back together again? Does he even want to be fixed after everything he’s been subjected to? Or will his love for his baby and the support of the Avengers pull him through the very lowest point of his life?

Disclaimer: I own Chelsea and Lemon and NOTHING ELSE!!!!
__
Chapter 1:
It was a dreadfully boring day. Lemon the rat, in her cleaning witch outfit, was sweeping the floor, dusting the crevices, and cleaning the bathtub. As she swept the floor, her broom bumped into a pink, big-eyed squid.

“Chelsea,” asked the rat in a warning tone. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” replied the squid.

Expecting an answer, Lemon said nothing, but neither did Chelsea. Finally, she asked, “Being an obstacle?”

“I’m lying on the ground!” Chelsea then rapidly shifted between her squid form and humanoid form, making blopblopblopblopblop sounds from doing so.

The rat facepalmed. “Why, though?”

The squid finally stopped rapidly shifting and stayed in her squid form. “Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because because.”

Oh, we are so not doing this now. “Chelsea, get up before I sweep you out.”

The squid, still lying on the floor, somehow spun like a spinning bottle on the floor. “Make meeeeeeeeeeee!”

The rat then proceeded to chase the squid, somehow without success. The squid slithered around the floor faster than the rat’s broom could touch her.

Then, with a whistle, the rat’s shadow clones, one holding a duster, the other holder a towel, stopped their chores to assist her.

As the rat and her clones chased the slippery squid, the squid laughed.

“I’m not ranked XX for nothing!!!!!” proclaimed the squid, finding a good moment to rapidly shift between the forms.

The rat and her clones, after politely waiting for the blopping to end, surrounded the squid, but before they could grab her, the squid puffed up and flew into the air like a bottle rocket, over the rats, over the ceiling, before landing just before the door.

“Byesy!” the squid cheerfully greeted before slithering out the door into the hallways.

“Humph,” Lemon humphed. “Fine. At least you’re out of the—” The rat suddenly sniffed the air. Ink.

Much like that of a bottle rocket, Chelsea had left a trail of pink ink, which landed on the floor with a line leading to the door.

“HUMPH,” Lemon humphed again. She snapped her fingers to summon her shadow clones, both of which went poof, then reappeared slightly closer to her. “FINE.”

Then the rats proceeded to clean the dread (p)ink stain with loaves of bread.

To be continued…?

Or do you perhaps refer to the heteronormative virginity worship of the patriarchy which is brought about in large part by the collective fragility of the masculine ego when faced with the prospect of Their Woman choosing to be with someone who Is Not Them? Is that what you consider purity to be, Sammy? Is that your goodness? The chattel slavery of women? Being barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen, that's your goodness and your goal?

Die mad about it, fartgargler, you're a waste of a good stork's wingbeats.

So i'n sorry thais chapter is so shrot but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting too long for an updated, here it is, I hope you like it!


Kat stood int eh open doorway, is wide with shock. “What the hell are you redoing “she asked gingerly.

Edward and Mira heartily puled away tromp each other rand pretend to be absorbed int heir books but Kat could she what they’ [d been up to. “Has vet u keen kissing?” she said.

“No,” Edward replied, “why would I do that, I barely know her.”

Mira looked resentful at this, but she could see Edward was lying because he didn’t want his sitter to see that she was actually capable of being nice and having feelings.

“God,” said Kat, “I hope not.”

“Why to all ymbrynes have to be so Victorian? “Asked Edward. “This is the twenty-first century; I can ski a girl of I want toll. Not the cat I did, of course.”

“Relay,” said Kat sarcasticly (A/N did I spell that write)

“Yes!” said Edward. “Really!”


Plesae revad and review!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111111111!!!!!!!!!

I'm glad you had fun with this mission. Despite how terrible the fic itself was, it was a lot of fun writing it, too.

AN: Oh yes. It's back. Here's the start of the Chronicles, for your many and doubtless latexy sins.

Disclaimer goes here, dat claimer goes somewhere else: I do not own any of the intellectual property represented herein. Since last I updated this fic, I have come to own actual property instead. A pee-soaked cardboard box in a back alley in Minsk counts, right?

Content Warning: This fic is rated Mature, or 18 in civilised countries. If you're younger than that, don't read it. There's plenty more out there for you. Christ knows there's a paucity of stuff on this hellsite that could ever be called Mature with a straight face...

===

Ve vould like to be tellink you zat it vas beink ein good mornink for zer famous und notorious Doktor Trollenfisch; zer kind of morning zat vould lead, after zer rain had gone, into beink ein bright, bright, bright, sunshiney day. Alas, zat ist not beink somezink zat zer Doktor und his Interlockenpolyculen vas beink in ein position to ascertain. Zis vas beink, in point of fact, just about zer only remainink position of vhich zey had no knowledge. It had been ein lonk time in zer Responsezentrum.

Zis vas of no great concern, however, to zer indefatigable spirit und eqwally indefatigable stamina of zer good Doktor und zer ever-expandink circle of boingtacular-chested HQties zat formed his Interlockenpolyculen. At present, zeir ranks vere comprised of zer Aviator, Luxury, Ix, Charlotte, und Nurse Robinson, und zey vere marked as beink such by zer pink leatherette collars zey all wore zat vere decorated vizz zer Doktor's own pointy qwills. Zer collars vere, generally speakink, all zat zey could be relied upon to be wearink at any given moment (vizz zer possible exception of zer shiny latex catsuits vizz conveniently placed holes).

Zer group vas loungink artfully in zer communal paddling pool full of orange jelly, as vas zeir collective wont for reasons zey vere not qwite understandink until zey read zer script for zis garbage, vhen zere vas ein loud crash outside zer door! Zis loud crashink und smashink roused Doktor Trollenfisch from his slumber, und he flopped over zer prone, gooey, latex-clad bodies of his inexplicably large number of partners in intercourse and took a look outside into zer hallvay.

"Liebe Arceus!" Zer Doktor cried, startling und vaking zer rest of zer Interlockenpolyculen. "Vhat is happenink out here? It ist lookink like ein varzone, only vizz less blood und more splishy-sploshy gelatinous foodstuffs!" He thought for ein moment. "Actually, about zer same amount of splishy-sploshy gelatinous foodstuffs. It's been ein bit of an odd veek."

"Veek?" said zer person outside holding ein complicated-looking rifle of zome design or other. "Vhat are you talking about? Zis RC has been under permanent lockdown for two years! Ve haven't been able to get in! Nobody has! How are none of you not dead from starvation or exhaustion or jiggular asphyxiation? Und vhy am I speakink in zis preposterous accent?"

"Ja, er, I find it best not to be qwestionink zat last bit, it is only causink zer upset und strife. Anyvay," zer Doktor continued at speed, "vhat ist beink your name, meine kleine Futuristichbüchsemädchen?"

Zer woman - und vhat a vomanly voman she vas beink! - stood to rigid attention in vays zat caused Doktor Trollenfisch's eye to be drawn vizz eqwal military precision to her tonking great turbo-twinset. "I am beink Sqwadron Leader Agamemnon Vymbourne of zer Protectors of zer Pneumatic Continuum! Ve fight for zer right of all sentient beings in zer Vord Vorlds to life, liberty, und zer pursuit of ein set of truly vast funbags to crowbar into ein qwite insufficient amount of latex corsetry. Or somezink like zat anyvay."

"Agamemnon?" asked Luxury, zer first to get to her feet (Ix und Charlotte might vell have beaten her to it, but zey slipped on a soapy item of unlikely insertability und landed on each other). "I am not vishink to be rude or closed-minded, but zat ist ein male name, ja?"

"Ja, vell, I prefer Aggie, but zer other girls here are beink such sticklers for formality. Plus it's just how zis place vorks. Get hit on zer head, vake up here, check mirror, find out you are beink ein girl vizz zer most fulsome und sumptuous enormobazoongas. All part of zer service, ja?" Aggie favoured Luxury vizz ein vink zat promised zer kind of in-depth bedroom activity zat vas still beink illegal in Albania despite zer ongoink appeals vizz zer nation's Supreme Conjugal Veirdness Court.

"So, vait ein minute," piped up Jenni from zer paddling pool, "zis place appeared spontaneously after ein serious head injury?"

"Alvays vizz zer tone of surprise," mumbled Doktor Trollenfisch. "But alas," he continued, directink his attention to Aggie, "I must be bearink zer bad news, meine kleine Griechenheldenmädchen. Ve are beink members of zer Protectors of zer Plot Continuum, und ve are not beink natives of zis noble universe. Indeed, I am not knowink how zis came to pass at all!"

"Ah," said ein very sheepish-soundink Aviator. "I am thinkink zat zis might be beink eeeeever zo slightly mein fault." She stood up, a motion vhich meant her delectable melon harvest drew Aggie's gaze for several minutes. "Mein Doktor, are you rememberink vhen ve vere doink zer Vibblyvobblycanoodlywoodlymachen? Vizz zer trombone full of helium und zer techniques zat reqwire zer comprehensive knowledge of Renaissance architecture?"

"Ah, meine kleine FlugzeugundTARDISmädchen, like it vas only yesterday! Oh, zose halcyon days of long ago!"

"Ja, vell, it vaz only yesterday. I am thinkink anyvay. It vas only about nine hours ago. Mein vorkink hypothesis ist beink as follows: one of zer greasy frogs got stuck in zer helmic regulator of mein TARDIS. Again."

"Ah!" Aggie cried, to zer amazement of zer Interlockenpolyculen. "Zer presence of zer oleaginous amphibian vill be causink zer multiversal bleedthrough! Mein former partner und I vere havink ein broadly similar problem vizz her TARDIS. Zat must be vhat vas bringink you all here! I can fix zat!"

"Vell zhen, jawohl!" said zer Doktor. "Please be comink into zer Responsezentrum und fixink zer TARDIS, meine kleine Griechenheldenmädchen! Glory und sqweaky rubber und rubber-adjacent substances avaits!"

Aggie trotted inside und made for zer TARDIS, chest heavink und latex Bristols-harness creakink vizz zer superhuman effort of containink her chesticular magnificence. However, zer Aviator stopped Aggie from enterink vizz ein outstretched hand, vhich managed to land gracefully atop Aggie's thundermelons qwite by coincidence.

"Now just you be vaitink ein minute, Aggie! Zis ist ein TARDIS! Mein TARDIS! She ist ein living und feelink thing, to zer point vhere she might end up joinink in zis ridiculousness at some point if zer Doktor ist wishink reeeeeeally hard. If you und I are goink to be performink zer repairs, you must be doink everythink I say."

"Of course, mein Time Lady."

"No matter how strange it might initially be seemink."

"Of course, mein Time Lady."

"Or how many improbably-lodged Rice Krispie cakes it might entail."

"Of course, mein Time Lady."

"Echt klasse! I've alvays vanted to do one of zose," zer Aviator replied. "Everyone, please be gettink in zer TARDIS! Let's get down to business!"

Und get down to business zey did! Indeed, zer Hundefeatendowntobusinessgetten vas zeir first point of call upon ein journey of discovery und peculiar multiversal transit methods! Next vas zer Wombenbroomencobwebchecken, for vhat else could be zer follow-up to such ein strenuous and ketchup-intensive activity? But zey saved zeir energy und skill at universal translocation for zer grand finale, zer Pokenstokenhottenbeefinjectenmachen, vhich vas made all zer easier und sweeter due to zer plethora of spark plugs from zer motors of 1954 Morris Travellers vhich zer good Doktor had been collectink for zis very purpose.

It vas vizz ein enormous bang (vhich vent on for about four days) zat zer Responsezentrum und attendant time machine reappeared in its home universe. Zere vas much rejoicink amongst zer Interlockenpolyculen, vhich now included Aggie as spending zer duration of ein temporal anomaly experiencink all zat life vizz zer Doktor had to offer vas conducive to ein positive bondink experience. Zer Doktor opened zer front door vizz ein well-aimed qwill und breathed in zer familiar corridor air of home.

Vhat can ein good und noble Trollenfisch say vhen he ist arrivink in his own universe again? Vhen he knows vhere to hang his hat und hunt his slipper? Vhat else?

"Echt klasse!"

TO BE BEINK CONTINUDE!

That was a lot of fun to read. I like the character dynamic, the creative metaphors that they use, and the epilogue was quite wholesome.

Zeb 3rd person POV

Zeb felt his breath catch and he stood up in the seats as Jacques approached hands pressed over his mouth.

"That... was....... amAZING!" He gasped and gripped Jacques' arms when he got closer. "How long have you been siging?"

"Since I was a child" Jacques said. "I think anyone can sing though if they try."

Zeb opened his mouth and perfectly copied everything he'd seen on the stage, his voice like soft bells spreading over buttered toast. Jacques watched him sing entranced and finally shook himself out of it all when Zeb finally closed his mouth

"Wow," Jacques said breathlessly. "You're good enough to be on brodway you know."

Zeb's eyes went widened. "Really??"

"Really," Jacques said in earnest. "You have a gorgeous voice. To match your gorgeous face" he added winking and Zeb blushed.

"Not as great as you" Zeb said and Jacques laughed.

"I think you're good enough to coach *me*" he said putting a hand on Zeb's shoulder. "What do you think you could come back to my place and give me a private lesson tonight"

Zeb blushed furiously at the gentle touch on his shoulder and he nodded tying to ignore how his stomach flipflopped at Jacques' touch. "I would love to!"

I can't believe I'm still having to say this to y'all Discord-goers, but we absolutely do not attack the authors when sporking badfic, ever.

Sometimes I wonder what is wrong with some writers...

It's nice to see the poor ocs rescued, at least.

I hear Mr. Iron is very good with his hands.

Fonts I love them!!! So many different fonts!!! The only thing I like better is when every single character has dialogue in a different font!!! I'm totally going to use all those fonts!!! I wish I could use those fonts in these posts!!!

Not sure why the song was in there though

\there weill definitely be ltos of kissing and cuyddling but the next aupate might be a while becsuse I have wtiters block and cant think twhat shoud,l happen enext :(

(So apparently I'm good at making typos when I type quickly enough.)

It was actually gonna be three mini-Balrogs in a trench coat, but then I remembered that mini-Balrogs can’t talk.

Or any Master of the Bazaar really

Or all of them

Maybe throw Hastur in there for fun or something

- Tomash

NSFW LINK: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1IduiW9y-KRkPaklzYPQmVww7GAUkfFop5mA1p0P8IwI/edit?usp=sharing

Please read and review! Flames will be used to keep my tea warm~ laso I wrote this at night so cut me a little slack please~

Thissss is slanderous, precious, and entirely false tricksiness. And I'm going to need you to tell us everything you know. now.

/All The Phony People plays in the background.

NSFW LINK: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vfPeIIoASS18UktVXMO9VrjiFoPuRAD3PgQspD9Q9V4/edit?usp=sharing

((((Author's notes will be indicated by 4 parenthesis))))

Let's see... I'll switch Ollie's casual lack of regular training with Marie's casual lack of ways to de-escalate potential conflicts.

Ollie: Will probably commit murder if he gets involved in any fight. It's partially based on his backround of CONSTANT WAR GAMES, but the kid's value for life isn't where it should be. He's empathetic over injuries, but not so much over death. He's also a direct sort of fellow so... yeah. Death comes to those who live in conflict.

Marie: Would become increasingly apathetic the longer time wears on. She'd drink a LOT of Firewhiskey (side note: does anyone know how to italicize on the Board? I don't want to over-do capital letters) and lounge around the RC, which doesn't seem so bad, but the amount of raw energy she's not using will probably make her explode. Maybe.

Author's note: I blame daQU33Noffemslash. Also, this isn't the admin who sends out the announcements, but the one who gets rid of troll posts and spambots. Just thought I should clear that up right away.

---
In a small office somewhere in Headquarters, a trenchcoat-wearing figure sat bathed in the blue glow of three widescreen computer monitors. The center monitor displayed a list of all the verified Posting Board users, color-coded by status (active, inactive, retired, banned, minis). The left-hand monitor had the source code for the Board itself, a string containing at least three programming languages and an absurd amount of angle brackets.

The right-hand monitor had search results for "how to archive a message board," because even administrators need a reminder once in a while.

The Nameless Admin sighed wearily, covering their face with a white-gloved hand. "Bram again? Some people just don't know when to quit." They blocked the offending IP, flagged the post for deletion, and double-checked the user list to confirm that Bram's entry included her most common aliases, which it did.

"Nassssty, stubborn user, oh yes," hissed a voice from somewhere in the Admin's midsection. "Mafoy will teach them pain. Tie them up and roast them like fishies and--YEOW!"

"You know we can't hurt users in real life," the Admin hissed back. A single hairy spider leg poked out from under the trenchcoat's collar, turned it down slightly, and poked back in again. "Not unless they comes to HFA first."

A more pained hiss came from the Admin's legs. "Wants a break. Mafoy and Parfait heavy. Can't hold them up forever, no precious."

It was just as well; the Admin's eyes were starting to hurt from the low lighting and computer glare. "Very well. Eggses break!"

The trenchcoat opened and fell backwards onto the swivel chair. Mafoy, Parfait, and Lopin wriggled their legs in relief. It was surprisingly hard work, pretending to be a human when all you had for company was...well, yourself.