#i can feel the art block creeping in so i have started to try and beat it off with a stick

[grimbothefool]

say hi to him

[grandline-fics]

Ohhhh i really really really like your writing, it’s so very good!! Could i request some fluff with zoro? I was thinking about the reader being an artist, and he finds her sketchbook and is impressed by her art, and then he finds drawings of the crew and him. Or something like that, you can definitely change the idea. Thank you very much, i hope you have a good day/night!

DESCRIPTION: You’re an artist and he asks to see your sketchbook

WARNINGS:  none

CHARACTERS: Zoro

WORDS: 680

A/N: Thank you for the request! I've been feeling a bit of writer's block creeping up but hopefully you like what I came up with.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

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“You’re going to hurt your back if you keep hunching over like that.” Zoro told you as he looked over his shoulder to fix you with a meaningful look, amused to see you snap out of your trance to look up in surprise. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded you to sit up properly, you still ended up in this kind of position when you were intensely set on drawing in the sketchbook that was rarely far from your reach. He didn’t miss how your hand instinctively curled over the pages currently being worked on, protecting them from view but also using practiced care to avoid smudging the drawings. 

Zoro couldn’t help but note you were more protective of your sketchbook around him than you would be with the rest of the crew. Yes, you still would shield it initially from view but if asked you would reveal what you were currently working on. With him? You never showed it unless it was finished products on a canvas. Silently he wondered why he was different. Though he supposed he wasn’t one to ask outright compared to the likes of Luffy who was impulsive and excitable, Sanji, who gushed over the slightest thing, and even Robin who was naturally curious about art and anything intellectual. Compared to them, Zoro never felt the need to ask even when he did want to see your talent. “Can I see?” he asked.

You tensed in surprise and quickly let your gaze flicker to the sketchbook and back to his face. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to see, it was just you weren’t sure how he would react. Hesitantly you pulled your hand away and let the pages be revealed to him. Zoro stepped closer and lifted the book into his hands, he’d seen how you held it enough times to know the proper way to treat it without ruining any of your hard work. Slowly he started at the beginning, taking in scenes you’d drawn from previous adventures on different islands. 

Some pages held detailed studies of plants and landscapes, each bringing out a memory for him, whether it of a vague feeling of relaxation or a stronger emotion as he recalled the hard won fights they’d engaged on. Most of the pages however he knew had been taken from some place on the Sunny, the focus being some, if not all of the crew. It didn’t take him long to notice that he seemed to feature more heavily than the others. He would be lying if he didn’t feel some sort of satisfaction at that. 

For the first time since you’d let him look at the very thing you were most precious about he lifted his gaze to see you were purposely looking away from him. “It’s not like you to be insecure, you’re talented. Why are you so nervous?” He asked, pretending to be oblivious. Part of him hoped you’d give him an answer he’d been hoping on. Zoro watched you lightly chew on your bottom lip as you tried to form an answer. Finally you cleared your throat.

“I’m not insecure about my skill…” You began simply, slowly building the nerve to look at the swordsman while also trying to stop the growing blush on your face. “It’s just I don’t want you to think I’m stalking you or anything, I know I’ve drawn you a lot.”

“You have?” Zoro couldn’t help the teasing tone creeping into his voice as he looked down at one page in particular that was a study of him training with his swords. “Hadn’t noticed.”

”Oh shut up!” You grumbled lightly, taking the sketchbook back into your hold. “It’s not my fault I can only draw things that interest me. It’s just how I am.” Quickly you clamped your mouth shut, the blush burning on your skin stronger now as Zoro grinned down at you, looking even more pleased with himself. He only wished he’d asked to see your sketchbook sooner had he known this was what he was going to get.

[kissofthemis]

Hello, hello! May i ask a headcanon someone tries to flirt/harrass the nxx boys and the reader comes to save them! We love a badass reader ᕙ⁠(⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠)⁠ᕗ

Reader to the rescue! (*≧∇≦)ﾉ

"Wow, you're a doctor?"

Immediately you felt your stomach sink as you heard the tone in which this stranger cooed at Vyn. While out and about, neither of you had expected to run into one of Vyn's patients, who politely had referred to him as "Doctor Richter."

Sometimes you forgot how shameless other people could be, until presented with situations like this one.

"Indeed," Vyn replied curtly but politely. "But I'm afraid I'm not taking new patients."

That should have been the end of the conversation. Vyn, in his eerily calm but always courteous manner, had made his point clear.

Sometimes you forgot how shameless other people could be when they refused to take a hint.

"Oh, but doctor...!" The overly exaggerated whine grated against your ears. "I've got this odd spot, you see, and I'm worried," she whimpered, following after him. "Could you take a peek... down there... for m--"

You stepped up to block her path, arms stretched wide to make sure she wouldn't sneak past you. "My supervisor is busy," you told her flatly, barely able to swallow the venom in your tone. "If it's that concerning, surely I could take a look?"

She didn't reply, just stormed off with a huff and muttering choice words under her breath. With a sigh, you turned around to follow after Vyn, only to find that he had snuck back to your side when you were distracted.

"Supervisor?" he murmured, with a small smirk creeping onto his lips. Leaning over to whisper directly in your ear, he breathed, "Don't tell me, you want to be my assistant?"

"..." You swallowed hard as you fought to regain your breath, flustered at his proximity and his teasing. "Please don't hire me unless you want us to be sued for medical malpractice."

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"Too much of a big shot to say hello? Didn't know Mr. CEO would turn out to be such a stuck-up prick."

Your eyes flickered nervously between Marius and the young man who was heckling him. His finely combed hair and well-tailored clothing revealed his wealthy status, but the harsh words coming from his mouth were hardly better than what one might hear in a middle school locker room.

"Marius, do you know him?" you whispered, trying to keep up with the CEO's long strides as he walked away wordlessly.

"Not really," he mumbled with a shrug. "Might have gone to high school with him, or something. He looks like a brat that would come out of that school, anyway."

A tug pulled at your heartstrings. You knew Marius was trying to act nonchalant so as not to feed the beast behind him, but you also knew that his teen years were a sensitive subject. He'd gone abroad for his studies, claiming it was solely to help further his career in art, but...

You knew he had been painfully lonely his first year of high school, in an overly sterile environment of rich heirs and dirty money that refused to befriend the youngest von Hagen.

"Awfully cocky for a guy who was second choice for his position," the former classmate continued. "I feel sorry for that brother of yours. Of course, assuming you didn't--"

Marius stiffened at your side.

Nobody brought Giann into their taunts.

Nobody.

Before Marius could say a word in his or his brother's defense, however, you stormed up to the rich brat with a fire in your eyes. "Excuse me, but if you want to keep flapping your jaw, you'd better start saying something intelligent," you snapped. "Mr. von Hagen is a very busy man, and he has a tight schedule. Time is money, and his time is very expensive." You lifted your chin and squared your shoulders, trying to make yourself look larger and more professional. "Do you know what his hourly rate is?"

The number made the young man's face drain of color.

"Now then, if you--or rather, if your daddy's wallet--can afford to schedule an hour with Mr. von Hagen, give us a call. If not, perhaps read a book or two. What a shame that you have such a big head, only full of hot air."

With that, you spun on your heel and stalked off after Marius, who had paused up ahead to wait for you.

"I'm so sorry!" you whispered as soon as the heckler was out of earshot. "I couldn't stand by and let him be such a jerk!"

"Don't apologize," Marius insisted. "Actually, it was a bit..." His voice trailed off, and instead of finishing his sentence, he checked his watch with a cough. "We're late."

"Marius, is your nose bleeding?"

"Now's not the time, Y/N!"

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"Don't you look all stiff? C'mon, let's have a bit of fun."

In hindsight, you should have told Artem that the dress code for "dinner and a movie" was casual. Laid-back. Just two friends having a relaxing evening.

In your defense, however, most people wouldn't interpret "dinner and a movie" to mean "arrive in a suit and tie."

Even after coaxing Artem to take the suit jacket off, he still looked out of place in his dress shirt and slacks. The restaurant was nice enough where you weren't too concerned, and nobody could see the two of you in the dark theater, but as you walked along the city streets to find a bite of dessert....

Well, you'd attracted some unwanted attention.

"I have plans." Artem's reply was curt.

"Aww, this cutie here? C'mon, of course you're invited!" You instinctively covered your face as the reek of some sort of alcohol assaulted your senses. Wine? Vodka? Tequila? You didn't know or care. It was overpowering.

"We are not interested." Artem's tone was harsher, more insistent this time. He couldn't have been any clearer that he wanted nothing to do with this situation. "Let's hurry, now. Before the shops close."

"Aww, isn't that collar of yours so tight and hot? I can loosen you up real good, and my hours go all night lo-"

"Can't you catch a hint?" You smacked away the hand that was reaching for Artem's bicep. "He's being polite because he's considerate of your feelings, but I'm not! Go find someone else before I hook you up with Chief Darius for the night!"

That seemed to be enough to finally give you and Artem space to leave. Still fuming, you gritted your teeth as you walked a step behind Artem, eyes flicking wildly around the streets.

"I think you can relax now," Artem told you after a couple minutes. "Just one drunkard. It's still too early for most people to be in that bad of shape."

You sighed and unclenched your jaw. "I'm sorry. It's my fault for suggesting a place so close to North Stellis."

"No need to be sorry," Artem assured you, and the warmth in his voice helped you relax. "I rather like it out here. You can see the stars more clearly than you can downtown."

You turned your eyes up to the night sky, and a soft gasp left your lips as you took in the spectacle of stars and moonlight above you. "You really can! It's beautiful!"

"Yes," Artem murmured in agreement. While looking at the sky, you couldn't quite see his deep blue eyes gazing in your direction. "A captivating sight indeed."

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

"Are you some kind of con artist? You're the worst!"

The shrill shriek from the lobby startled you so much that you almost dropped the box of bits and pieces you were carrying.

"You can take it to an appraiser for a second opinion, but I--"

"No way! Pay to have some buddy of yours lie to me, too? You're scum!"

Luke had mentioned that he'd been swarmed with customers lately, both those looking for repairs and those browsing for antiques to purchase. You had offered to lend a hand to take some of that burden off. At first, he had hesitated, but when you mentioned you wanted to hang out with him more...

His mood turned 180 degrees, and he invited you to help him organize materials and keep him company this weekend.

Initially you had thought Luke was just too proud to admit he needed help. But now, you couldn't help but wonder, "How many visitors throw fits like this woman?"

"Is everything okay over here?" you asked at last, setting the box down next to Luke's desk.

The brunet cast you a look that screamed at you to step back. But if someone was causing a ruckus, you didn't want to leave Luke to handle it alone. You had offered to help out, and you were going to stay true to your word!

"Do you work here?" The woman whipped her head around to glare at you, a harsh look full of malice and frustration. However, you sensed something else in there too: anxiety. "Are you here to call my boyfriend a liar, too?"

"I didn't say he was a liar," Luke clarified, interjecting before you could respond. "I just said--"

"You said this was a fake!" she snarled, turning her anger back onto Luke. "My boyfriend said he searched high and low to find me an authentic, vintage music box! You're spitting in the face of our love! Who do you think you are?!"

"I've been collecting and repairing antiques for quite some time--"

"As if!" she scoffed. "You're like what, 25 at most? 'Quite some time' my ass!"

Clearly, she did not want to listen to a word Luke had to say. She had already decided he was a scammer and an anti-romantic. Judging from Luke's expression, his patience was also wearing thin.

"Excuse me, miss? May I say something?"

She stomped her foot as she spun to face you, and for a moment you thought she was going to bite your head off to make a point to Luke. Luckily, your head was still on your shoulders for now, so you figured you would try to get as far as you could before one of those two snapped. "This man here is also a professional detective. He has a great eye for detail. I'm sure he has a reason for saying this box is not authentic." You saw her nose twitch, and you braced yourself for her to start spewing flames again. "Luke, why don't you point out which specific details are not 100% accurate to an authentic antique? Here, I'll bring over an extra magnifying glass."

Slowly but surely, Luke was able to point out a couple of minute differences that were hard to discern for an untrained eye. "While it's a beautiful replica, it's not a true, authentic piece," he declared finally. "Replacement parts will be easier to find for this model, as it's more modern, but... I think your boyfriend just got unlucky."

"So the seller... was the liar...." Her demeanor had changed entirely from when you first found her. She seemed dejected and remorseful, but also a little... relieved. "I thought it was off, you know. The coloring... Anyway, I kind of hoped you'd tell me I was wrong. I'm glad you were honest." She chuckled and shook her head. "I'll talk to him about it. We'll figure something out. Thank you, Mr. Luke, and sorry I called you a scumbag."

Once the door closed behind her, Luke drummed his fingers against his desk and called your name. "You didn't have to do that. I could have handled it."

"You looked like you were about to hit her."

"I would never hit a woman."

"Sorry. You looked like you were about to dislocate her arm."

He sighed. "I'm annoyed... but I'm grateful." He cast you a beaming grin, his sharp canines glinting in the half-light of the sunset. "Now help me clean off one more shelf, and then it's pizza on me!"

[timdrakesmissingnotebook]

Coffee Shop

summary: tim drake's favorite coffee shop has a new barista.

pairing: tim drake x reader

notes: this is the first time i write something since my art block started, please be nice 🙏🙏🙏

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There's just something about you.

Tim thinks it was the destiny for you two to meet. You were the new barista on his favorite coffee shop and he was your first client. Tim remembers shooting you a look of sympathy as you fumbled with the coffee machine, forgetting which buttons to press as you grew more and more nervous.

"I'm sorry about the long wait, it's my first day here." You explained with grimace, trying to figure out the right commandent.

"It's okay, don't worry about that." He smiles and leans towards the balcony, pointing at the machine that was giving you headache, "I think you should press the red one."

"Oh, yeah!" You nodded, doing as he told you. Meeting his blue eyes, you find yourself letting a soft laugh fall from your lips, "You are very kind. Thank you, Mr...?"

"Drake. Tim Drake. Nice to meet you." He smiles again and you feel your own growing wider.

"(y/n) (y/l). It's nice to meet you too."

Tim never had felt this way before. Sure, he has had his fair share of partners on the past, though a lot of them worked better as friends. Tim did love them but, damn, nobody ever made him feel this way.

Maybe it was the way you'd always get his orders right. Or maybe it was how you always had that beautiful smile on your face. It could even be that you were kind to everyone you meet as you went by your way. He didn't know what made him gravitate towards you, but honestly, he didn't really mind.

Tim never thought he'd say it, but he started to look forward to going to work. Going to work meant that he was going to visit the coffee shop, and going to the coffee shop meant he was going to see you. And honestly,

He was head over heels for you.

"Mr. Drake? Are you okay?" You ask on a random tuesday morning, curiously watching him from behind your lashes.

"Uh, yeah, yeah." He blinks and smiles at you kindly, "Also, I told you to call me Tim, (y/n)."

"Mr. Allis will kill me if he hears me call you by your first name." You laugh, and shake your head, "Anyways, black coffee with a hint of vanilla, right?"

"Right." Tim nods and leans towards the balcony to stare down longingly as you moved.

You look up at the boy and raises one of your eyebrows, a small smirk creeping on your lips, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tim lets a sigh out. Honestly, go to hell with his self control. He opens his mouth before he can think better of it, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Uh?" You stop your motions to look at him, "I- I don't. Why do you ask?"

"Look I-" The man starts, but closes his mouth. Breathing deeply, Tim ignores his flushing face and opens his mouth again, "I know a place. If you- I was wondering if you'd like to, I don't know, maybe hang out with me."

You stare at him for a few moments then asks quietly, "Are you asking me out, Mr. Drake?"

Tim flushes and coughs awkwardly on his hand, "M-Maybe? I mean, you don't have to if you feel uncomfortable. Damn, I made you uncomfortable, didn't I? I'm so sorry, I just really like you-"

"Tim." You call out, stopping his rambling and stealing his attention. Smiling down at him, you tilt your head, "I really like you too."

"You do?" He asks hopefully.

"I do." You nod, confirming, "And I'd love to go on a date with you."

"Cool! Sweet! Amazing!" Tim shoots you a bright beam, "You won't regret it, I promise you."

"I know I won't." You utter as a red blush creeps onto your face, "I'm gonna give you my number. That way we can actually work it out."

The man nods excitedly and watches you grab a pen and a piece of paper.

Tim leaves the cafeteria, 30 minutes late for his meeting, with a cup of coffee on one hand and a special phone number on the other.

He still has a smile on his face when he arrives on his office to a frowing Bruce Wayne.

[wiltkingart]

Do you have any advice on how 2 not overwork a drawing? Over-detailing my art (to the detriment of the final result) is a big weakness of mine, and ive been working on it lately, but simplifying my art is way harder than I thought itd be. I keep getting stuck in a mentality that less detail = less effort, even though all my struggling should prove that isnt true lol. & I almost always like my simpler drawings better, even though that makes me feel kinda lazy…as long as it’s fun tho, right? [1/2]

I’m asking here bc one of the things I adore about your work is how confident and striking your paintings feel. I really admire the way colors and shape language interact in your art…I always want to keep looking to see what I can find hidden in the details, but they don’t take away from the main focus of the image. How do you manage to strike that balance? [2/2] (sorry for the long question lol)

honestly this is still something i struggle with at times! but some things that have helped me are:

- identifying which parts i tend to overwork the most. for me thats faces so i have made it a conscious habit to render faces last. that way i can match my level of face rendering to the rest of the piece.

- working on all parts of the painting at once. some artists are able to work on a painting from section to section. this is not me, regardless of detail level. jumping around all over the place keeps me from focusing too hard on one section above others. i even take this one step further by working on 2+ paintings simultaneously but there is something wrong with me for this one i'll admit.

- staying zoomed out for as long i can. this goes in hand with the previous point but when you're zoomed out its easier to lay down the biggest/primary color blocks without the temptation to detail. once the main color blocks are nicely balanced its easier to pick out a few points of interest to add spots of detail to, and restrain myself to them. (easier said than done! but i try!)

- getting comfortable with backtracking / deleting overworked sections and layers. this might seem scary but this has saved my ass more times than you might think. i always save a version of my drawings before i merge everything / start rending so i can always copy over earlier sections if needed.

- cold turkey removing details from the equation for a while. i did this more from necessity than choice, because i was struggling with my health a few years back and had zero energy to sink into art for long hours. but looking on the bright side it helped me realize what details are/aren't necessary and how to build my features from big -> small. this progression of my patho art shows pretty well how i introduced details back into my work over time.

but yeah! sometimes i do still find myself creeping a little too close to overwork territory for comfort, even with all these safeguards in place. in that case i have to accept that not every piece i put out will be my 'best' and that perfection has no place in art. that's not the point of it!

simplifying forms isn't easy, the same way abstract art isn't lazy. but with all things it can be learned with enough practice. and if you decide at the end of it all that you still like drawing a lot details, it might be a matter of readjusting how / where you implement them. best of luck <3

[seeminglydark]

Idk if this means anything to you but I'm a comic artist who's had a hard time doing art for a few years. The first four was because of life hardship and lack of time/chronic pain, but now lately I've had time but a mental block. I'm creeping up on 30 and felt bad about myself for "missing out" on my opportunity to be a comic artist. It was really validating to see you post about being 41 (correct me if I'm wrong) especially since you have such wonderful comics that I've been following for a while now. It makes me feel less like I'm wasting my time putting my things in order when I "should" be drawing.

Hopefully this doesn't come across as offensive or anything. It was just comforting and validating. Anyway, big fan! Love your characters a whole lot and hope you have a good day!

Dear Anon

I am 41 years old. I have wanted to make comics my entire life. before my dad got sick, and my childhood kinda fell apart, all i did was draw. after that, i used the stories in my head to cope. life moved on. i was convinced not to accept a partial scholarship to an art school in California. life got hard. i worked at a hotel, and after i escaped an abusive relationship at 22 i hitchhiked/bused far far away to start over. i tried to make comics again, but i had to survive, and so i got another job doing the only thing i knew how to do, hotels. and i worked. and worked. and life got harder and times got heavier and i didn't get time to draw and i worked double hours, 15 to 17 hours a day. and i went four years without drawing a single thing.

i kept working myself into the ground. i was 29 now. i picked up a pen again and drew a red haired boy. he had a hard life and no love and no friends. his problems were on the outside, for everyone to see. he ran away but his problems went with him.

i was 32. surely i was too old now. my time to be an artist was gone. i had no school. no hope. i was so far behind the younger gen i saw online. i cried. all the time. i wrote stories in my email drafts while i worked shifts. i stayed up late trying to learn how to draw again. i cried some more. the boy grew. i called him Fiach. worthy. a raven. later i renamed him Avery. he was like a bird, he had wings, he was my hope. i started writing some friends for him. the people i wished i had around me.

i started finding time and space. i got a new job, something where i was lucky enough to set my own hours. for the first time i had a partner who believed in me. things were hard. but i was drawing now. and that helped.

i went on a road trip and i started drawing pages of an unnamed story on 6 by 8 paper in a sketchbook. i drew 20 of them. 'what could i call this?' i thought. Nothing Seems as Dark...no says my partner. Seemingly Dark. he made me a logo. i was 35. i bought an ipad, i cant do this on paper, its too much story i have too much to say. so i learned how to draw digitally by tracing my own trad art pages.

I spoke to my dad for the last time on June 17th, fathers day that year. he said 'you're good. i'm proud. and you're gonna do amazing things. none of this is your fault. and we will speak again soon.' i didn't know id never hear his voice again. he died a week later.

i turned 36. i kept trying. i'm old, i don't understand the internet. how can i share this?

i stumbled across Lore Olympus. i was introduced to webcomics. id read comics online before but the thought never occurred to me. i opened an account on Tapas. and then i stared at it. what if no one likes it. what if its bad. my art isn't good. i should wait til i'm better. but will i ever really be better? or will i always believe that tomorrow is better? do it now. if even one person gets something out of this story, this story about a boy who is you, a boy who looking for hope, a boy who might make it, then that is enough isn't it.

June 17th 2018 i launched Seemingly Dark.

SD's five year anniversary is in a week. 0ver 700 pages. leaps and bounds in progress with my skills. a printed comic under my belt as of monday. i was always a storyteller. but i was always an artist too.

I am 41 years old, dear anon. I did not truly embark on this journey til i was 35. life got in the way. even now, chronic illness gets in the way. but its worth it. its never ever too late. i believe in you the way my dad believed in me. i reset my life again and again. but I was always an artist. and if thats who you are, and who you want to be, even if things dont go the way you wished they could, you're an artist too.

im 41 years old. i speak about my age, even though i often feel too old to belong in spaces, cuz really, in this case age is just a number. take care of yourself. do what you need to do. and little by little, when your able, carve out your space until it becomes more of a habit. sometimes i think about all the years i lost not drawing or creating. but there's a lot of factors that make me believe had i made my story then, it wouldn't be the story it is now, i needed to live a bit. i needed to find myself. i know this was long, but i just wanted you to see i also had to put my life in order, and getting notes like this reminds me it wasnt at all a waste. im glad i could offer you some comfort. thats honestly the best compliment i could ever receive.

TL;dR I was 35 when i sat down and seriously started making comics, because life always got in the way and so did my confidence. i always feared being too old. im 41 now, still going strong.

[underhousearrestblog]

forced to marry Aegon Targaryen

(summary) after becoming king, Aegon gives an order for you, Aemond’s fiancée, to marry him instead

(warnings) forced marriage... plus Aegon... so all that cute stuff... things that are cute on paper (or Google doc) but definitely toxic in real life...

(pairings) Aegon Targaryen x reader, Aemond Targaryen x reader (arranged, briefly)

(genre) dark romance so... fluff?

(reminder) Y/N – your name

(word count) 3657

(also) Stark!reader, she/ her pronouns used

(also) this is written as if the Greens always planned to take the throne

(also) I’m writing about a made-up Aegon – one who doesn’t force himself on women and is not a creep; let’s assume, for the sake of this imagine, that this Aegon is an innocent little virgin...

(also) flashbacks are in Italics

(also) for this particular imagine, I listened to Lana del Rey’s ‘Art Deco’ while writing – in case you want to listen to something while reading :)

(aaaand also...) English is not my first language so allow yourself to ignore any and all mistakes...

HAPPY READING!

Aegon wouldn’t feel bad at all for lusting after his brother’s fiancée. Why would he? Aemond and your marriage was arranged and after the announcement his brother had left you here, in King’s Landing, all alone and lonely. His excuse was that he had to start preparing for his duties as the future Prince Regent.

Aegon had to see you at his family’s breakfast table every morning. He, either lacking manners or downright ignoring them, stared at you openly and with no shame. Everyone else either ignored him or didn’t notice.

But people weren’t blind. They noticed Aegon’s lingering gazes. How he always brought you something back from his travels. How he danced with you at every ball. Hiding behind the excuse of ‘entertaining my future sister-in-law’. It wasn’t long before he had placed multiple knights to guard you 24/7 because ‘his brother apparently doesn’t care for your safety’. How he would get you a direwolf, even though he didn’t like dragons, let alone some overgrown creatures from the North. How every man had learned to never ask you to accompany them or dance with them, because the prince’s eyes would always follow you, making sure you’re not interacting with anyone else.

Aemond, your arranged fiancé, of course, even though partially blind, wasn’t stupid. He saw his brother looking like a half drunk, half kicked puppy every time Alicent brought up his and your marriage. How Aegon would quickly excuse himself and reach for the nearest bottle. In one of their training sessions, one of the rare times Aegon was forced to be stone cold sober, Aemond had brought it up.

- I can see how you look at my wife, - he said, putting his sword aside.

Aegon looked disgusted at the title.

- She’s not your wife, - he grunted.

Aemond looked at his brother smugly, trying to get out a reaction.

- Yet.

Aegon picked up his sword and lunged at Aemond who, being a better swordsman, blocked his attack laughing. He kicked his brother’s sword out of his hand and pointed his own weapon against his neck.

- Don’t worry, we can share her.

Just as expected, that made things worse. If looks could kill, Aemond would be dead were he stood.

- You won’t fucking touch her, - Aegon declared.

- Really, - Aemond pointed his sword at the ground and now was full-on laughing. – How are we supposed to produce heirs then?

Aegon hated being laughed at, especially by his brother. He couldn’t help his anger, though.

He gathered all he could of his breathing pace and forced himself to calm down.

- What if we make a deal? – he said, as soon as Aemond had turned his back to him.

Aemond turned back, looking amused.

- What can you offer me that’s better than lady Stark’s hand in marriage?

Aegon might not have studied politics or philosophy but he knew his brother. There was one idol he desperately tried to copy and there was one way to achieve that.

- I’ll give you Dragonstone.

Aemond looked almost surprised at his brother’s words.

- What?

- I know you want to be a copy of our dear uncle so, – he shrugged, - when I become king, I’ll make you the Lord of Dragonstone.

For a second, Aegon thought his brother might refuse. It was no secret that there were not romantic feelings between you two but he still highly respected you and took his time getting to know you. From your point of view, him breaking your engagement might come across as betrayal and he valued you as much as to-

- Deal, - Aemond said, a bit irritated that his brother actually knew him that well.

Aegon smirked. In no time you would be right where you’re supposed to be. With his ring on your finger, right by his side.

- A piece of advice, brother, - Aemond said, picking up his things to leave. – Don’t announce this before your coronation.

Aegon’s brows furrowed. He wanted to announce these news to you as soon as possible. He wanted to publicly announce that you are to be his wife.

- Why?

- She’s gonna run, - Aemond laughed as if it was obvious. – If she finds out she’s marrying you, Y/N’s gonna run.

***

Something had changed in your fiancé’s behavior. He no longer came to accompany you to events and dances, he no longer came to visit your after his returns from travels. You sometimes would see him at dinner with the rest of his family but that would only result in a polite nod and respectful ‘I hope you have a nice evening, lady Stark’.

Something had changed about your brother-in-law too. You seemed to run into him everywhere. Your chair at the dinner table was placed right next to his – at the head of it. His mother had stopped talking about your engagement all together – which you found weird but not as weird as the pitying looks she gave you. Nobody referred to you as Aemond Targaryen’s fiancée anymore.

After the night when king Viserys’ had passed, you found out about the Greens’ plan to usurp the throne. Not that you had any power to object but you had always assumed that crown would go to Rhaenyra.

As you stood at the stage of the throne, you once again were weirded out by the strange placement. Aegon stood in the middle with his mother on his right and you on his left, while your fiancé and your sister-in-law stood further away. You were in a trance by all the sudden change that you never noticed Aegon’s bright, happy smiles every time he looked at you right beside him.

It didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else though.

- I have a surprise for you, - Aegon leaned down to whisper in your ear, as everyone else called his name.

Aegon had always scared you. Not necessarily because you thought he was going to assault you or attack you but because he seemed way more intense than your own fiancé. You slowly moved your eyes to meet his. Seeing his pupils blown and noticing his heavy breathing, you gulped.

- I better go find my fiancé.

You had also noticed that every time you mentioned Aemond, it turned Aegon either angry or drunk. But this time smile appeared on his face.

- Of course, - he nodded, still smiling. – We can’t have your fiancé getting lonely. He wouldn’t like that.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you turned to look for Aemond. You noticed him a bit further with Haelena and something about them seemed weird too. Before you could get to them, you were stopped by queen herself with her hand around your bicep.

- Let us not disturb the married couple just yet, - her words didn’t register at first. – They got married just last night, you can congratulate them later.

Even though her words sounded all weird, arrogant and not making any sense, the look she gave you was one of pity and insecurity.

- Huh? – you looked back and forth between your fiancé and the queen. She seemed genuine and... sorry.

- Don’t they look beautiful together? – a deep voice whispered in your ear from behind.

You startled, yet before you could turn around, Aegon’s arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. You felt him press his mouth to the back of your head and inhale a shaky breath, inhale the scent of your hair.

A shuddered exhale made made you shiver. Even though your dress was made of thick fabrics, Aegon’s arm seemed to burn itself, brand itself around your waist. After he seemed to get enough of taking in your scent, he wrapped the other arm around your waist too and put his chin on the top of your head, trapping you against him.

You heard a satisfied and relieved sigh coming from deep within his chest, as if he had gotten his hands on a prize he’s longed for his entire life.

In a desperate attempt for help, your eyes searched for the queen’s, but she looked straight ahead. Only the nervous breathing gave away the fact that she even awknowledged you and her son.

- Mother? – Aegon’s voice, soft and careful just a minute before, turned cold and careless once again. – I kept my word. Now it’s your turn.

Queen Alicent seemed to brace and prepare herself. Just a second later any hesitation was gone and she turned around to face the cheering crowd with a joyful smile that could fool almost anyone.

Aegon turned both of you around to face the people of King’s Landing, still keeping his hold on you.

You felt your heart beating in your throat, as you caught Aemond’s gaze, as he stepped to stand next to his mother. Just for a moment both of your eyes collided and one second was enough to read emotions in his eyes.

Betrayal.

He quickly averted his gaze to the ground.

- The coronation of your beloved king is not the only joyful event of today, - the queen started, her voice shaky but the tone loud and meant to empower.

Unconsciously, your fingers tried to untangle Aegon’s grip on you - all efforts useless, his hold on you made of stone.

- We are celebrating the union of my children, Aemond and Heleana, - she proclaimed and paused for a moment.

A sudden realization unfroze your body, as you doubled your effort in breaking free. One of Aegon’s hands dropped from your waist, just to wrap around the front of your throat.

- Be calm, my beautiful bride, - he whispered in your ear.

You could feel the smile on his lips, as he pressed a hot kiss on the back of your neck, just below the hairline.

- ... and the union of king Aegon and Y/N  Stark! – queen Alicent finished.

Crowd erupted in cheers, as your blood turned cold in your veins.

- No, - your whisper was barely comprehensible even to you. – No!

Suddenly you were turned around to face the king. You opened your mouth to... You weren’t sure... Plead? Beg? Curse?

Before you could manage anything of sorts, Aegon’s lips pressed against yours, as both of his hands engulfed your face almost completely. The kiss was demanding. It was a brand. A claim. On you.

Both of your palms pressed against his chest, trying to push him away but with no awail. His tongue tangled with yours, as if you had practiced this dance a thousand times before.

That wasn’t really true.

However, the energy did give you a deja vu kind of a feeling.

You took in everything around you. You had been brought up with a certain fit-for-a-princess luxury around you, however this – all of this – was completely new to you. Your lady-in-waiting went ahead of you into the castle. You had stayed a bit behind to wait for your fiancé, prince Aemond.

- Is it too soon to ask for you to reserve a dance for me? – a deep voice said from behind you, teasing. – I do believe I’ll have to fight off some competition tho...

You turned around to see the teasing smile of a young man with blond, half-long hair. His towered over your frame but you didn’t feel threatened. You had been educated on the Targaryen family enough to know he was a Targaryen, but was this the one you were promised to?

- Prince Aemond? – you asked in an unsure tone.

The young man’s smile fell for a short moment but then it came back in the same teasing manner.

- I am told I’m much prettier than him... – he grinned.

- So... – your heart skipped a beat, - Aegon?

His lids lowered as his name passed your lips. A shiver went through your body, as the energy changed to something darker. The previous teasing smile was gone and was replaced by a vague smirk. He stepped closer to you, but before you could step back and tell him that an unmarried lady being alone with a man of his status is not a good idea, he spoke again.

- Would you agree to be my first dance tonight? – his pupils had dilated and his gaze shifted to your lips before returning to your eyes.

- I-I’m not sure...

Your first dance was supposed to be with your fiancé... right?

- I am a prince and you are in my family’s kingdom... – his voice husky and low, barely comprehendable to you. – I could just demand your company...

He had stepped close enough to look directly down on you.

- After you prepare the Stark princess for her engagement announcement with my brother, you could come to me... I’m sure she won’t mind...

Was prince Aegon really trying to seduce you or was this just a j-

Wait.

What?

The Stark prin...

You felt showered in ice cold water.

Taking a large step back, you averted your gaze and found Aemond quickly approaching from the castle’s entrance.

- I think you misunderstood, my prince, - you tried to fix everything before the damage was done. – I’m the-

- My lady, - prince Aemond bowed before you and took your hand to kiss it. – I’m sorry for making you wait. I hope my brother wasn’t too bad of a company.

All color drained from your face. You waited for prince Aegon to accuse you of seducing him or trying to bewitch him. As Aemond offered you his arm to lead you to your quarters, Aegon’s ice cold gaze froze on his brother.

- So... This is, - his voice broke off and picked up again; he pointed in your direction with his head, - this is lady Stark?

Aemond smiled at you politely and, in a deeply innocent, joking manner, said:

- Soon to be lady Targaryen!

Aegon’s gaze turned lethal. He stared daggers at his brother, his hands intervened behind his back. Aemond, either clueless or unbothered, turned to you.

- Let’s get you inside, shall we?

He turned to lead the way. Your eyes quickly shifted to Aegon who still stood still just one step away from you.

- It was, - you regretted the sentence, as soon as you started. – It was pleasure to meet you, prince Aegon.

His previously hard eyes turned just the tiniest shade softer. But there was something dark and malicious about his look.

- As it was for me, - his eyes, once again, dropped to your lips, - soon-to-be lady Targaryen.

You weren’t sure about lots of things when it came to him but you knew these words of his held a dangerous promise...

He suddenly let you go and you got good few steps away from him. His eyes dark and pupils dilated, lips red from the punishing kiss, hands – just seconds ago on your face – now laid motionlessly by his sides.

Your eyes were wide and heart wild, as you brushed the back of your palm over your lips, which was a mistake ‘cause his gaze immediately went back lower.

- You can’t do this! – you weren’t sure whether you were accusing or begging. – If my betrothal to Aemond were to become void, I’m to return North!

Aegon had the audacity to laugh. He looked actually amused. As if he knew a trick – or a loophole – you had no idea about.

- A Targaryen, - he grinned, looking so genuinely happy you felt deeply helpless. – Your father demanded that if your betrothal to a Targaryen was to be void, you are to return home... But, thankfully, that promise is about to be fulfilled.

All you could do was to helplessly shake your head. It was for a moment only though, as your temper came roaring right back.

People around you were cheering and your blood, cold just a minute ago, started to boil.

- You son of a bitch! – you took the remaining steps to get right into Aegon’s face. – You did this! You had no right to bend rules like that! That Targaryen was always meant to be Aemond!

You regretted your words, as soon as they left your mouth. Not for being untrue but because you made the mistake of assuming that Aegon had stopped seeing his brother as competition for your hand.

His face became a void mask. Smile fell and, with a simple gesture of his right hand, he invited a man from your guard closer.

- Please make sure the princess is safely escorted back to our quarters, - he asked, while not taking his eyes off you. – I will join you in a minute, dear.

Then, to add assault to injury, he bend down, picked up your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it, as if you were actual lovers. You ripped your hand away and turned around to be “escorted” to your room. The last thing you heard, before all that was left were the cheering of the townsfolk, was Aegon’s laughter.

Despite your relentless yet very futile attempts to turn the corner and be escorted to your own quarters, the guard strictly led you towards Aegon’s. That’s where you spend the next ten very short minutes, searching for any escape that could lead you outside the castle.

After abandoning that thought and deeming it not helpful, you sat down on Aegon’s bed and looked around his room. It was cleaner and more organized than you imagined. Which probably only meant he had planned all of this for much longer than you suspected. Which, however, only added to your discomofort.

Your hand subconsciously reached for one of the knives, left on his nightstand by the bed. It shook in your grip. More from anger than fear.

When the door burst open and Aegon entered, clearly in self-satisfied mood, you wasted no time pushing him against the door with all your strength and holding the blade against his throat, right below the Adam’s apple. Due to height difference, you had to reach up to get to his neck but you did your best.

He drank in your frame, pressed against him with no self-consciousness or distress. Exactly how he liked it. His eyes lazily travelled all over your face, hands coming up to your waist, instead of trying to break free or pull away the knife.

He gulped. More from lust than fear.

- You will let me go. I will leave and we’ll never ever see each other again, - you demanded, your voice suddenly hoarse and husky. – It’s for the best, Aegon.

Shouldn’t have said his name, you realized, once again, far too late.

He had always found your voice effortlessly erotic, however now – standing here and demanding things he’ll clearly never give you – he found you bewitching in a whole new way. His hands gripped your waist tightly, as he closed his eyes for a breaf moment to regain self-control.

- Aegon, - you tried a different strategy, forcing your eyes to water. – Please. Please, let’s make a deal.

He smiled and for just a moment you thought you saw compassion in his beautiful eyes. Then his smile turned wrong.

- That’s it, baby, beg,- he whispered. – Beg me to let you go and know that I never will.

Knife in your grip shook and you were afraid you were gonna cut him by accident. This time you felt tears gather in your eyes for real.

- Put down the knife, - he quietly demanded, looking into your glassy eyes.

You pressed it harder against his skin with new determination.

- No! – you tried to push him against the wall again but he was much stronger than you and, holding you by your waist, started guiding both of you towards the centre of the room with the knife still pressed against his neck. – I’m not kidding! I will kill you if I have to, Aegon!

- You better, baby, - he didn’t seem afraid at all. – The only way for you out of this room is if I’m laying in a puddle of blood by the time you’re out the door.

You stared dumbfounded and the knife in your grasp had slipped lower, no longer firmly pressed against his jugular.

- You think I wanted to be king? That that’s some big accomplishment for me? – he shook his head, amused. – The only reason I agreed was if I got to choose my queen.

One of his hands left your waist to gently take the knife from your fingers. You didn’t resist as he let it drop to the floor.

You knew you couldn’t kill him. You wouldn’t get away alive anyway.

- And I did. I chose you, - he pressed his forehead against yours, as you drew in a shaky breath. – Welcome to your new life.

[solitude4chiron]

I.Visiting a friend

Hobie brown x Black reader

A/n: No smut in this fic but there will be multiple parts later 🤫

———————————————————————— The summer is the best time to be outside in New York. Water balloon fights, pool party’s, blocks playing music that filled the city, crop tops and bikinis. It was like this since you were little, and undeniably there’s no place like home

Tonight you and your friends were cramped in a small hot bathroom doing makeup, hair & all of the above for a party. One girl doing lashes, one girl doing her lip liner, one girl doing her nails & another taking pictures and controlling the playlist

“Y’all my nigga just texted me to come on so let’s start heading out” one of your other girlfriends shouted from in the living room, and after a few minutes everyone was in the car taking videos and lip syncing music  for tonight’s ig story

By the time you walked in you were already unamused. Hood niggas standing in the corner on their phones, other dudes trying to get behind girls and failing miserably, groups of people who looked half awake still trying to dance. So you fell behind and sat at the bar listening to other people’s conversations when a different boy caught your eye 

A tall 6,5 darkskin was sitting on the complete opposite side of the bar on his phone, his wicks were slightly short, and laid down his head that made them shaped almost like an Afro. His jewelry and piercings caught your attention, silver jewelry lining his eyebrows and fingers. Plus the way he dressed was so attractive, different from almost everyone else in the room

While admiring his beauty a airdrop came through your phone with the name “unknowns iPhone” curiously you accepted it 

“Y’kno it’s rude to stare right?”

And while trying to figure out who the person was you felt a shadow towering over you before he sat down

“You like whatcha seeing yeah?”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself lil nigga who is you?” 

“C’mon y’kno who I am, your eyes were burning holes in my jacket. Plus nothing ‘bout me is little and I know you can tell” he replied smirking resting his head on his hand to look at your features more closely 

Immediately you could tell he wasn’t from New York at all by his voice, and though you had made fun of some British accents before. Something about his skin and voice in the dark lighting made him so attractive to you

“Sooo you from?” You said feeling your cheeks getting hot, the aggressiveness in your voice vanished

“New York love, why?”

“Boy your not from New York don’t play wit me right now” you said rolling your eyes

“Yea, I’m from London. Visiting a friend out here right now. Want a drink?”

You both ordered drinks and he said his name was Hobie. You each talked for a minute on each others interests, allowing you both to have a flourishing conversation because surprisingly you both had a lot in common. He had piercings, you did too. You both loved music, spray painting your art and opinions on every wall in your city, and you both also shared love for different types accessories and clothing 

After about an hour he asked if you wanted to go to another spot, just you and him. Your heart slightly froze in anxiety but there was some type of safety in his eyes. So you texted the group chat 

“Hey y’all, met this boy at the bar and he wants to take me to another spot. Keep y’all ringers on”

“Okay girllll !!! Is he fine 🌚”

“Leaving us to get some dick is crazyyyy 😒”

You hopped into his car and listened to the music while hanging your head out the window. You felt a hand on your thigh and you looked at him kind of surprised. You brushed it off when you realized you didn’t mind it at all in the first place 

“Problem luv?” He side eyed you while biting the side of his lip down, focused on the road 

“Nahhh you chillin” you felt his large hand start creeping higher and higher up your thigh while he kept his other hand on the wheel speeding up every time you looked at him. By the time you felt like saying something bold, you were at the spot that wasn’t really a spot. You were at the Brooklyn bridge

“Boy this is not no spot we are on a bridge wtf”

“You trust me?” And before you could say anything he was carrying you in one hand wedding style using his other hand to shoot webs, bringing you to the top of the bridge 

After the rush of literally flying through the air went away. You asked him a few questions 

“What was that?!!”

“Why is there white stuff coming out your arms?”

And before you could ask him your last question he made a stupid joke

“I can make white stuff come out of somewhere else y’kno” he smirked

After smacking him on the back of the head you asked him your last question 

“What made you want to tell me you have super powers? Especially like that..”

After seeing you shivering in your mini tee and skirt, he wrapped his large, heavy pin decorated vest around you and pulled you into his chest with his arm as you both watched the city. Light was escaping from every street. You also realized you probably wouldn’t have experienced seeing this in a lifetime if you didn’t meet him

“Don’t know, there’s something about you I kno’ I can love and take care of. So I’m not sweatin the spider man role right now” he said shrugging then resting his head on yours and playing in the curly ends of your locs 

“You lucky you fine, I would have never even left the bar with any other boy” you said drawing along his stomach and chest feeling how chiseled he was under his shirt 

“Just so you kno we date now” he said

“Boy your stupid it’s only been a few hours” you responded laughing and swinging your feet over the edge of the bridge

“I’m stupid? Yet your running your hands all over my body, yeah right”

Not realizing what you were doing you moved your hands immediately away from him a little shocked at what you were doing 

“I didn’t tell you to stop now did I?”

[renecdote]

the tide comes (and goes and goes)

yes this is my third fic in two days. no I am not okay.

@nymika-arts this one is for you 💛

It’s almost funny that Eddie brought him to the beach today. To the ocean. He doesn’t know—can’t know, Buck hasn’t told anyone—but Buck feels unbearably seen by it anyway. He almost wishes Bobby was here too, so he could let his captain wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “See? It didn’t take either of us.”

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck, Eddie, the beach, and conversations about okay.

For BTHB: hyperventilating

[Read on AO3]

The water is calm. Too calm for surfing, Buck thinks, not that he’d be allowed to do that anyway. He’s pretty sure surfing comes under the no strenuous activity rule. Swimming, too, so he’s not really sure why Eddie dragged him out to the beach this morning when all he can do is sit in the sand and watch the water creep closer.

“Relax,” Eddie tells him, reaching up to poke at his shoulder. He’s lying on his back, eyes closed behind his sunglasses, and Buck has been trying and failing not to look at the way his tank top has ridden up slightly over his stomach, or the glow of morning sunlight across his skin, or the way his swim trunks stretch over his thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination.

So no. He can’t just relax.

He’s telling himself that the Eddie of it all is the only reason why.

“Why are we here?” Buck asks, dragging a finger through the sand. He draws a heart, then another, then another, then sweeps them all away with a flick of his hand.

“It’s a nice day.” Eddie doesn’t shrug, but Buck hears it in his voice anyway. “Why not?”

Buck frowns down at the sand between his fingers. He wonders whether he’ll ever be able to say, “you know, I’m pretty sure you jinxed me that day when you said you hoped the lightning wouldn’t strike twice,” without the joke falling flat.

“Why didn’t we bring Chris?” he asks.

An eyebrow raised over Eddie’s sunglasses. “It’s a school day.”

“Yeah, but…”

This is starting to feel like an ambush. Buck glances over his shoulder, half expecting Bobby to come walking down the beach towards them. Maybe Maddie and Hen and Chimney as well. He’s barely had a moment alone in the ten days since he was released from the hospital, someone always at the loft, someone else always calling or texting to check in. It’s unnerving that his phone is so silent now. So unnerving that Buck has to pull it out of his pocket just to check that it’s still on (that it’s still real).

Out over of the water, a seagull swoops down to the surface and arcs back up with a fish gleaming in its beak.

“Relax,” Eddie says again, quieter, and his hand is flat against Buck’s back this time, the kind of steady pressure that makes him take an automatic breath and lean into the touch. Eddie smiles. “There we go. Will you lie down now? You’re blocking my sun.”

Buck huffs. “Well if I’m blocking you sun…”

He lies back on the towel, legs stretched out in the warm sand, so close that he can feel the heat of Eddie’s body next to his own. His turns his head, watching his best friend’s chest rise and fall as he breathes, imagining how easy it would be to reach out and feel it.

I didn’t dream about you, he thinks about saying. I dreamed about everyone else but I think I was too scared to dream about you.

He takes a slow breath and holds it, holds it, holds it. Lets it out in a gust. He hasn’t told anyone that he wakes up in the night sometimes, the memory of feeling like he couldn’t breathe so visceral he thinks his lungs have stopped working again. Maybe he should, that seems like the kind of thing Maddie would tell him a doctor needs to know, but if he talks about it, then he has to talk about all the other shit going on in his head as well.

It’s almost funny that Eddie brought him to the beach today. To the ocean. He doesn’t know—can’t know, Buck hasn’t told anyone—but Buck feels unbearably seen by it anyway. He almost wishes Bobby was here too, so he could let his captain wrap an arm around his shoulders and say, “See? It didn’t take either of us.”

(That’s not true though, is it? It took them, it just didn’t keep them.)

Buck props himself up on his elbows, watching the waves race up the sand, then just as quickly retreat back to sea. He doesn’t know what time high tide is, but it’s pretty high now, surely it can’t get much higher. He glances down the beach, both directions, a crooked line of seaweed and driftwood dark against the sand.

(“It’s called a wrack zone,” Monica told him long ago, Virginia Beach bathed in golden sunset around them. “It marks the high tide line, where all the seaweed and other crap from the ocean has been washed up.”

“Why is it called wrack?” Buck asked, tracing a finger down her spine, drawing shell patterns on her suntanned back.

She laughed, a surprised kind of sound, like she couldn’t figure out why he would ask. “I don’t know, Evan. It just is. Why is anything called anything?”

He went to the library the next day, looked it up in a book and came back with the answer, and he told himself it didn’t sting when Monica didn’t care.)

“You’re thinking.” Eddie’s voice cuts through his eddying thoughts, his eyes still closed. “Stop it.”

Buck flicks sand at him. “I’m not allowed to think?”

“No.” Eddie opens one eye to look up at him. “I know what you’re like.”

Buck isn’t sure why that makes his heart stutter the way it does. He almost presses a hand against his chest, just to check that it’s still working right, but stops himself at the last second.

“Did you know that seagulls mate for life?” he asks, the first thing that comes to him, because he’s pretty sure Eddie is going to ask him if he wants to talk about what’s bothering him if he doesn’t say something, and Buck really, really doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him.

“Yes,” Eddie answers, surprising him. “You shared all your seagull facts after that call with the hang glider a while ago. They also have excellent memory.”

Buck barely remembers that call, it must have been… two years ago? Three? He can’t believe Eddie remembers it so well.

“What else?” he asks, curious.

“They’re omnivores,” Eddie recounts. “They fly in erratic patterns to avoid predators. They drink both salt and fresh water. And they’re symbols of healing and tranquility.”

Buck rolls his eyes, slumping back down on the sand. “Yeah, okay, I get it. Healing and tranquility.”

Eddie’s teeth poke out of the corner of his smile. “You’re the one who asked.”

He did. And he kind of wants to ask Eddie to keep talking forever, his voice drowning out the sound of the waves, but Buck bites his tongue and holds the words inside. Asking Eddie to talk to him now feels too much like the start of a slope, steep and slippery, ending in a rocky why didn’t you talk to me while I was in the coma?

The sand under his back is lumpy, something hard under his right shoulder than might be a shell, or an ocean-smooth rock, or just the nub of stick buried in the sand. Buck shifts to get away from it and ends up closer to Eddie.

“Sorry,” he mutters, starting to move away, but Eddie’s fingers brushing against the back of his hand stops him.

“’S’okay,” he says, and when Buck settles back down, he doesn’t move away. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

Getting there.

Buck closes his eyes, and doesn’t reach out to hold Eddie’s hand properly, no matter how easy it would be to do.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

Wakes with a start to Eddie shifting beside him, his heart suddenly pounding, his breath sticking in his chest.

“Sorry,” Eddie is saying, his shadow cast across Buck’s face. “Sorry, I was just—Buck?”

Buck swallows, and tries to breathe, and finds that he can’t do both those things at once. Should he be able to? He can’t remember. He can’t remember how his body is supposed to work. He shoves himself up to sitting and tries to suck in more air, but his lungs burn like they’re full of smoke, suffocating him from the inside out. There’s a part of him that always thought he’d die in a fire. That he’d die doing something reckless to save someone. It wasn’t supposed to be lightning. Wasn’t supposed to be a freak fucking accident.

“Hey,” softer, closer, Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, “you’re okay. We’re at the beach, remember? Can you breathe with me?”

He takes Buck’s hand and holds it against his own chest, skin and cotton both warmed from the sun, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Inhale, hold for one, for two, for three, and exhale. Inhale, and hold, and exhale, and hold.

They’ve done this before. It was Eddie, then, wild-eyed and gasping after a nightmare, his back pressed so far back against the wall that Buck had to crawl onto the bed, practically on top of him, to pull his hand away from clawing at his chest and press it against Buck’s own instead. He’d been terrified, then. Is something close to terrified now. But this time it’s not Eddie he’s afraid of losing, it’s himself.

He makes himself take a breath. And another. And another. He focuses on the movement of Eddie’s chest, the beat of his heart under Buck’s fingertips, the warmth of his fingers around Buck’s wrist.

“That’s it,” Eddie murmurs, and his voice is low and steady, but when Buck meets his eyes, there’s a wild edge to them that he wasn’t expecting. A blurriness that he thinks is his own tears for a moment, until he blinks and they run down his cheeks, and he finds the blurriness still there.

Buck takes another breath and it trembles, rippling through his chest, his legs, down his arms. A gull caws and he flinches. The sun flashes bright on the water. A lightning flash. Half a memory. Sea mist like rain on his face. Eddie squeezes his wrist, pulling him back before he can get lost in it.

His other hand is tight around his phone, Buck realises, three numbers typed out on the screen ready to hit call: 9-1-1.

He takes a deep breath.

Another.

“I’m okay,” he makes himself say. “Sorry, I’m—I’m okay.”

He has a sudden surge of memory:

What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?

Because he wouldn’t let me, so I called you.

And he’d thought then—must have thought, because Chimney said—

Maybe he’s just having a panic attack.

“How do you feel?” Eddie asks, and Buck knows he doesn’t mean emotionally, although they’ll probably get to that later. He means it the same way he means it on calls: what are your symptoms? where is the pain? what do we need to treat?

Irritation licks up Buck’s spine. He’s so sick of being a patient. Sick of resting, sick of everyone being worried all the time, sick of not being fine. He tugs his hand free of Eddie’s grasp to scrub roughly at his face.

“My lungs are fine,” he says, and it comes out more shaky than sharp. “My heart is fine, my—my hands, and my knee, and everything else is all fine. You can stop looking at me like that now.”

“Like what?” Calm. Even. Always so in control.

“Like I’m going to fucking break,” Buck snaps, and the rush of anger steals his breath again, makes him cough, one hand pressed against his chest, the other held up to hold Eddie back.

It doesn’t matter. Eddie doesn’t reach for him this time. He doesn’t let go of his phone either, though, 911 one finger tap away.

“Fuck,” Buck manages, when he has caught his breath again. He squeezes his eyes shut, curls over his knees and grips his hair, like maybe he can hold himself together. Maybe all he needs to do is hold, and hold, and hold. He wishes desperately that Eddie would touch him and is absurdly grateful that he doesn’t.

Somewhere down the beach, a child shrieks. Another laughs. A parent calls for them to come out of the water and Buck feels a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. It’s so sudden and visceral he thinks he’s going to be sick, the world tilting on it’s edge, reality spiralling away from him. He has to put a hand down in the sand, warm and almost-smooth and real real real against his skin, to try and steady himself. Fuck. Why the hell did he let Eddie bring him to a beach?

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Eddie says eventually. “I promised your sister I’d have you back for lunch.”

Lunch is still hours away, but Buck only thinks about fighting it for a second.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and he’s suddenly too tired to care how tired he sounds. “Okay.”

They’re silent as they pick up their towels, shaking the sand out before throwing them over their shoulders, the cooler bag Eddie brought hanging from one arm, beach umbrella tucked under the other, flip flops carried to the grassy edge of the beach before they put them on. Buck’s skin feels itchy, gritty from more than just sand, and the water from the makeshift shower at the edge of the carpark does little to rinse the feeling off.

“Your hands are shaking,” he realises when they’re sitting in Eddie’s truck, the engine on but the car still in park. He reaches out, but Eddie pulls his hands away, wraps his arms around his chest and tucks them under his armpits, out of reach.

Time stretches, the engine ticking, cold air blowing through the vents. Buck shivers, then shivers again, and when gritting his teeth doesn’t work, he gives in and reaches under his seat for the hoodie he abandoned here earlier. 

“I’m okay,” he tries again, fiddling with his cuffs, watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Eddie opens his mouth, probably the start of an automatic denial, then closes it again, his jaw tight.

“You don’t have to apologise,” is what he finally says, and Buck hears you’re right, you did scare me. It leaves a strange, almost salty aftertaste in his mouth.

“Do you want me to drive?” he offers.

It gets Eddie to look at him. Whatever he sees makes him frown and he reaches for the fan dial to adjust the AC. Then he sighs, looking back at Buck while he slowly stops shivering, and the last thing Buck expects him to say is, “Maddie is going to kill me.”

“Maddie likes you,” he protests, even though he’s not sure what he’s really protesting. “Why would she kill you?”

Eddie gestures, up and down and then up again, as if to say look at you, you’re a mess. Buck glares, and hugs himself a little, and tells himself it’s not sulking.

“I knew you were conspiring,” he mutters, because this whole trip was definitely an ambush.

“We weren’t—” Eddie starts, and then he bites off with another sigh, frustrated this time. “How long have you been having panic attacks?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, taking his own turn looking out the window to avoid his best friend’s gaze.

“What happened to ‘you need to talk to me’?” Eddie pushes. “I’m pretty sure that goes both ways, Buck.”

“Because you’re so good at talking,” Buck shoots back, and he hates himself a little for the way that Eddie flinches.

He used to argue with Bobby like this too. Used to push them right to the edge, right to the cliff top of regret, and wait to see if Bobby would throw them both over it.

He waits now, braced against the free fall, adrenaline sharp at the back of his tongue.

“You died,” Eddie says abruptly, and it’s not the push Buck was expecting but it almost sends him into free fall anyway, the ground taken out from under him. “You were dead, Buck, for seven fucking minutes before we got your heartbeat back, and it almost killed me too. Is that what you want to hear?”

No.  The recoil presses Buck back into his seat. He’s got a hand against his chest before he realises it hurts, pain sharp and sudden, his heart screaming and his lungs seizing. There’s wind whistling in his ears. Everything has narrowed to dead and seven fucking minutes and the smell of ozone in his nose.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, and then he’s unclipping his seatbelt and throwing open the car door.

Wait— Buck wants to say, another surge of panic sweeping through him, but then Eddie is circling the front of the truck and pulling open his door as well.

“You’re fine,” he says, stumbling through the words like he’s trying to reassure both of them. “Deep breaths, Buck, come on.”

Fingers around his wrist again, hand on Eddie’s chest. It turns Buck towards him, sitting sideways in the seat with one leg almost on the ground, Eddie pressed in close while he coaches him to breathe. Inhale, hold for one, for two, for three, and exhale. Easier this time, but that might just be because Buck’s lungs are too tired to keep up the panic. He feels greyed out and rubbery by the time his breathing is evening out, exhaustion rushing in where the panic drains away. He sags, forward instead of back, and Eddie catches him in a hug before he can slide right out of the car.

“I’ve got you,” he says, almost a whisper, the words muffled against Buck’s hair.

Buck lifts his arms just enough to wrap them around Eddie’s back and return the hug, and then he’s just—done. Can’t fight it anymore. Doesn’t even know what it is he’s supposed to be fighting. All he can do is hold on and hope that Eddie doesn’t let go. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Eddie is pushing him gently back and wiping the tears away.

“I’m gonna take you home,” he says. And when Buck makes a half-formed sound of protest, he adds, “My place. I’ll tell Maddie you’re not up for lunch.”

“No,” Buck tries, and god, is that his voice?

“Sorry,” Eddie apologises, and Buck knows it means you can’t get out of telling your sister about this. Probably also I’ll be calling Bobby too.

He wants to fight it. Wants to insist that he’s fine—that he will be fine—but.

But.

Buck gives in. Lets himself be driven home—to Eddie’s house—and shuffled from front door to shower to couch. He’s starting to hurt, even though he doesn’t feel like he’s done anything that should make him hurt, but that’s pretty much situation normal these days. He doesn’t say anything about it, but Eddie knows him well so he doesn’t really have to.

“Here,” he offers, holding out Tylenol, then water. “Do you want tea?”

“I want coffee,” Buck grumbles, swallowing the painkillers. A headache is setting in and it shows no sign of letting go easily.

Eddie shakes his head, more fond than exasperated. “When the doctor clears you for coffee, I’ll be the first to buy you a cup. Is that no to tea?”

Buck shrugs, hunching down in his corner of the couch. “Tea is fine.”

He closes his eyes, then opens them again a moment later because Eddie hasn’t moved. He’s still perched on the coffee table, worrying at his lip while he watches Buck.

“What?” Buck asks, rubbing self-consciously at his birthmark

A slight head shake: nothing. Eddie stands up, takes half a step towards the kitchen, then turns back.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he says, and Buck feels the words in his chest, lodging somewhere around his heart. An affirmation. A promise. A fuck you to the universe and whatever it wants to throw at them next.

“Yeah,” he agrees, offering Eddie a smile. “‘We’re gonna be okay.”

And when he’s alone—when he’s lying back on the couch with the muted sound of the boiling kettle like a shell held up to his ear, the ocean rushing through him—Buck takes a deep breath—and another and another—and finds that he believes it. Not today, not tomorrow, but one day—whenever one day comes—they’re gonna be okay.

[olderthannetfic]

I'm in a fandom with a lot of virulent antis (surprise surprise, it's heavily dark source material and I don't know why they're here at all) and a lot of the pairings that aren't the main badwrong ship on ao3 now have DNI tags on them for shippers of the badwrong ship. I guess not enough to break the TOS (no direct threats?), but still full of stuff like "x shippers DNI", "get help you freaks", "You're disgusting" etc etc.

Its just... so frustrating. Like that's a pretty red flag for me that a fic probably is going to be in an immature writing style so I probably won't read it anyway, but every time I see it I just.... heave a big sigh. Why these people are in this fandom or on Ao3 at all I'll never know. Its not even helpful - the tags are there to help describe the fic, if I didn't want to see that kind of content I could just... avoid content that's tagged that way. Why even add that to a fic that's not even about those characters at all?

Honestly, my real question is.... Olderthannetfic, how do you do it?

I feel like I do it "right", in fandom, or at least I try. I always just block and move on. I don't follow the discourse where I can help it and block a lot of the relevant tags. I keep to a small circle of folks that have the same fun brainrot I do and have fun, generally. But this kind of stuff still slips through the cracks in a way that's unavoidable if you're ever online at all. To be honest, it still hurts a lot to see each time, and be reminded that some people seem to literally want me dead over reading a story. And I can't help the doubt and the self-flagellation that creeps in. Despite my best efforts, and all my research, and living to the ripe rip van winkle tumblr fandom spinster age of 27... I sometimes have a moment where I think, maybe I really am a freak or a degenerate, or an evil predator waiting to bloom.

Do you ever experience this? Does this feeling ever go away, or at least dull to a more bearable exasperated eye roll? Do you ever see these anti idiots grow up or grow out of this mindset? Is it just a matter of time, age or experience? Is there a point at which you felt like it affected you less, or perhaps it didn't affect you like that at all? Is there a secret to navigating it calmly and with confidence? Do you have any advice to give in the, er, art of not giving a fuck?

--

Why would I quail at a stupid child on the internet after coming out as queer when I was 14 in the 90s?

I grew up with very open-minded, supportive family aside from my mother's conviction that BDSM was something people were into because they'd been abused. Even then, I remember privately snickering because I was super kinky, and wouldn't that upset her given this silly world view?

I had it easy compared to most in the 90s, but I still saw a lot of nonsense, like good old Mom on the topic of kink or murders in the media. But I also spent a lot of time reading educational sexuality books that debunked myths about fantasies and kinkiness.

Maybe a firmer grounding in sexuality stuff would help you? Nancy Friday's work on women's fantasies is a common starting point. I'm partial to The Topping Book, which is full of "it's great to be a top, actually" and not "you only do it for the sub".

Getting older does usually help though. Most 20-somethings are insecure in their sense of self. Middle age is when people's fucks generally run out, and that only continues to grow. Watch a stupid child go after some 60-something zine writer lady. She's going to laugh in their faces. Some people remain insecure forever, I suppose, but not anybody who had to woman up to be in fandom in the first place.

It's not just that these little idiots are wrong about us being predators: it's that they are the morally degenerate ones for spreading the psychological equivalent of "vaccines cause autism" or "Jews want to steal your Christian babies".

This idea that The Bad People are infiltrating our minds with their propaganda overlaps heavily with anti-semitic conspiracy theory right wing fundie nutjob ideas, and yet these young fools claim to be pro-queer and pro-civil rights. They're an embarrassment to any progressive movement and it disgusts me.

When someone goes "You're not a Christian, so you're going to hell", do you have a moment when you wonder?

Because that's the level of absurdity here.

Even if they don't bully, even if they don't include threats in their DNIs, the fact that they're spreading myths about sexuality that have been thoroughly debunked many times means they're doing something unethical, anti-intellectual, and anti-science.

I'm not afraid or guilty. I'm embarrassed for them.

--

Do antis grow out of it? Yes, frequently.

They are—either literally or functionally—victims of right wing Christian cults. They have the same trajectory of realizing they've been had and slowly trying to work through the raging guilt and religious trauma.

I have limited patience but some sympathy. Like other victims who were indoctrinated to hurt people, escaping the cult is hard. It means not only giving up your false sense of safety and all of your friends but facing what you've done.

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

Introduction post!!

Kia Ora!!!!! My name is Eric! My main account is @wisecrackingeric-2 where I am most active and post art!!!!!

This is a side account dedicated to all things Luis Serra Navarro- I’ll be posting my own analysis, theories, character explorations and other general goofy posts!! I’ll also be reblogging posts about Luis I find informative or insightful, and some art as well!!!

This blog is meant to be a space to share theories, headcannons, and general positivity around Luis Serra Navarro, but also serves as a bit of a place to house any popular analysis/headcannon posts!!! So if you’re looking for something in particular, you’ll probably find it here!! Otherwise if you have a post you really enjoy but haven’t seen here, please please please feel free to send it to me!!!! I’ll also be posting about the ship serennedy quite often, and I’ll post about trans-related stuff every now and then!!

I most likely won’t be responding to anything on here, so if you URGENTLY need me for something, go to my main account!!!!! I also do NOT give permission for my posts to be screenshotted and reposted on other sites such as twitter or TikTok!!!!!

Please don’t interact with my account if you are a t3rf/here to try and “disprove” headcannons or erase important information, super hardcore pr0sh!p/fandom discourse blog/ship discourse blog/anti queer/race discourse, if you consistently whitewash Luis in any way shape or form and/or ignore POC voices, call Luis a ‘predator’ or a creep, or if you’re just going to be racist/transphobic/bigoted in general or if you’re only here to try and ‘prove me wrong’ or start and argument!!! And most obviously, if you come here and try to spout negativity about Luis, I will simply block you!!! This isn’t a discourse/meta analysis blog, this is just for fun!!

Also very important to keep in mind, I am a minor! So please don’t follow me if you’re an 18+ blog!! I’m not comfortable with sexual jokes!

Tl;dr: I love Luis a lot and he is always on my mind, so I made a blog dedicated to posting silly stuff about him!!!! Please don’t take my stuff TOOOOOOO seriously!!!

Hashtags I use for navigation under cut!!

#othersposts: other peoples posts!

#luisposting: my own posts/text posts!

#sillyposting: posts that are lighthearted or aren’t meant to be taken seriously!

#ericsart: Art reblogged from my main account!

#othersart: Art from other people!

#reblog: exactly what it says on the tin!

#serennedy: all things Serennedy-related!

#trans: for trans related stuff specifically!

#asks: for posts answering asks!

#important: important posts!

#to do: stuff I plan on responding to!

#Don Quixote 1957: for things about the 1957 Soviet Russian film Don Quixote by Orson Wells!!

#otherstags: for tags other people have added!

And finally, if you’re looking for a good end-all analysis video on Luis, I can’t reccomended HeroFatBrett’s video ‘Luis Serra — How RE4Remake Transformed Him Into The Series’ Most Tragic Hero’, And The Sphere Hunter’s ‘Resident Evil 4 Story Analysis’ enough!!! Unfortunately it won’t let me add links but you can find it on both of their YouTube channels!!!!!

[eternalglitch]

Hello! I wanted to say that your fic is one of the first that inspired me to try and commit to my own art. I've been actively trying to do more art and writing and it's been fairly enjoyable! Thank you ^-^ I wanted to ask, though: how do you avoid becoming burnt out? There seems to always be so much happening at any point in time that even when I want to create, I can't. /genq -🍏

You are welcome!! I hope you find endless enjoyment in creating things.

Honestly, I think burn out is somewhat inevitable. Everyone will have periods where, no matter what you do, words and art just will not seem to want to flow.

You really just have to learn exactly what the signs of burn out are so you can catch it early on as well as how to manage it for you specifically, because everyone has different patterns. Some of my friends tend to be able to create a TON of art super quickly in huge quantities and then have to take a long break as burn out hits hard and fast. I tend to be a more slow and steady type, and I have to rest in small increments along the way to get rid of burn out as it starts to creep up before it's a big problem for me.

There's pros and cons to both types of people; I do think a lot of neurodivergency can incline people to have that first type with the aid of hyperfocusing, but it's not exclusive to that. You can also try and make yourself a more slow and steady type for a more consistent output by forcing yourself to work a little bit every day regardless on if you are inspired or not, which will help train your brain to work through any kind of blocks (but do note that I am neurotypical so if that's not your case and trying that is frustrating, I would seek advice from other creators! I'm sure they have better tips about that than I would.)

If you try working through burn out, just be careful not to push too far; sometimes burn out is burn out and if you ignore it too much it will get bad enough that it cannot be ignored. You can often tell the difference on if you're just frustrated about the quality of your output or if it genuinely feels soul draining to even try making anything.

Just like breathing, after exhaling you have to inhale. If there's truly nothing to be done when burn out appears, I set creating to the side and go consume art and and read books myself, or explore minecraft with friends. Burn out will eventually pass, so just take it as a sign of a much needed break and enjoy it!

[drchenquill]

A snippet of the first chapter of "Him and Me - Bound by Fate"

Today is my first day and I got up too early. Maybe it's the excitement, but I couldn't sleep a wink. It could also be that I've recently started sleeping in a new bed and I'm still getting used to it. I pick up my cell phone, which I put on my nightstand the previous day, and look at the time. I'm supposed to be at school at seven o'clock and the number five is currently glowing on my display. Groaning, I sit down.

My bedroom has a large window that looks out onto the street. Normally, I would draw the curtains, which didn't happen this time. That's why I can see the first shy rays of sunlight creeping into the day. The apartment I'm currently renting consists of four rooms.

The bedroom with a king size bed that takes up way too much space, also because of the closet that will crash down on me with only a small earthquake, a bathroom that barely has room for a bathtub, a living room furnished with a beige couch that I doubt was the original color, a small TV that I'm afraid to turn on and last but not least, the small kitchen where I recently tried to make a coffee with shaky hands and the flame from the stove almost burned my face.

In the bathroom, I see the circles under my dark eyes and sigh. My honey-blonde hair is the only thing that looks about right. I climb slowly into the shower and waste half an hour waiting for the hot water to come on. Breakfast consists of a carefully prepared egg, which I quickly throw away because the fridge I got it from is broken and the egg has probably been rotting for some time. Empty stomach, up too early and with no plan of what to do with this extra time, I pull out my drawing block, sit down on the bed and start sketching the beautiful sunrise. Drawing has always been like a sanctuary for me. I have always drawn my own world, in which I delve deeper with every line, with every brushstroke. Nothing could happen to me in my drawings. I heard no more screaming, nobody blamed me anymore, it was just me. The only problem is that I forget the world around me and almost have a heart attack when my cell phone rings. I take it out of my pocket, curse slightly when I see that it's six fifty and then start praying when I see the name of the principal of the school on my screen. I take a deep breath and answer: “Hello?” “Good morning, Mr. Martens. I hope I didn't wake you.” Her voice sounds so friendly that I exhale with relief. It looks like I won't be fired for being late after all. “No, don't worry about it. I was already on my feet.” She laughs. “Excitement is the bane of every man's existence, isn't it? I didn't even go to bed on my first day.” Now I can't help but laugh. I stand up slowly as I ask her an uncertain question, “I hope you're not calling about me being late. I was just leaving, really.” I try to apologize. I don't hear a reply. I feel a knot forming in my stomach and my hands start to shake. I hastily grab my pen and start scribbling furiously on the piece of paper. “Are you joking? Mr. Martens, you're not late! In fact, you'd be too early if you came now. And what's more, I'll turn a blind eye on the first day. I'm not a witch.” Then she laughs again. My hands are still shaking, but the knot has loosened again. “I'm actually calling because I want to tell you that I'm going to send someone to pick you up. This is your first time here, so I don't want my art teacher to get lost.” My eyes widen as I quickly gather everything I need. “That's really not necessary, I don't want to be a burden.” “Don't worry about it, Mr. Martens. You'll be in good hands.” She says lovingly. She's trying to be nice, but she's making me panic. I'm not used to this and I don't want to get used to it. I don't need this, I feel like she's just given me a babysitter. “I know where the school is, it really doesn't have to be.”

“It has to be.”

She interrupts me gruffly. The knot in my stomach is back. A car honk can be heard outside and I flinch. “She seems to have arrived. When you get to school, I'll explain everything to you. Goodbye.” She hangs up with a click. I count my things. My bag, my cell phone, a jacket in case it gets cold, put my textbooks in my bag and pray.

[thdramas2]

732569349240553472

Kokokerome was caught previously sending himself anon hate and using slurs with proof provided to prove it was him on burner accounts in a different thread on TH so I’d be really wary about believing he’s being harassed genuinely. He clearly thrives on attention and at this point he’s doing what he knows people will hate to keep himself relevant and getting the attention even if it’s negative. Some people really believe any publicity and attention is good even if it makes them look like an insufferable asshole.

As for being jealous that he can’t draw as well as Miorjah, he admitted on his own that he once idolized and looked up to Miorjah and was “inspired” by them IN HIS OWN DOCUMENT. There is a real possibility that he could feel jealous, though possibly more of the attention that the art style, which is why he’s resorting to copying not just from them at this point but others too.

He’s also grossly obsessed with the Princessfur community yet every OC he makes based on someone else’s character from that community is the same ugly ass femboy with an ass the size of a barn that looks horrendously out of proportion to the rest of the design. They literally all look the same because Kokokerome has one body type they can draw and nothing else. Don’t even get me started on those swollen lips he draws on every character either. It’s disgustingly fetishy that every most of his female named and looking characters are hiding giant schlongs under their outfits too.

It’s also unnerving that he’s still copying from Miorjah’s visual style and layouts while they have him blocked too. Dude has no respect for anyone’s boundaries or property as long as he’s interested in it, and now we know he’ll take what he wants even if someone else bought it before he could. Absolutely disgusting behavior from someone trying to make art their income, but more disgusting are the people defending and enabling him.

Miorjah has a complex they need to get over because their OC is a boring ass unicorn and they don’t own the concept of white unicorns, but there are way too many similarities between Koko’s OCs and Miorjah’s and other artists that it’s crossing into the problematic territory. And at this point Koko knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s intentional. His actions are coming back to bite him based on the outfit theft issue, so sooner or later his actions will catch up to him and he’ll either have to change, or he’ll have to try and rebrand but that would involve drawing something other than barn assed femboys with swollen BJ lips so I can’t see that happening since it’s literally all he draws and all he seems to know how to draw even while stealing from others.

Dude gives me the creeps for real.

huh

you learn smthin new everyday

[gracewritesfics]

You post thirst traps on social media hiding your face, and sext strangers, and he views it all from his anonymous account. But what you both didn't know was you were in the same college. Suddenly, he realises it as he notices details about you. And he recognises you and is totally shocked.

Y/n's pov;

I've been single for a long time now. Dating is so complicated. The last time I dated a guy was three years ago. It was a year long relationship that ended in nothing but a heartache and tears. I was done with dating. I didn't want another complicated relationship. I had developed commitment issues because of my past relationships. So, I decided on not dating anyone.

Anyway, I still wanted attention. I will not lie. I felt the need. So I created an account on instagram. It had a weird username so none of my in real life people recognise me. I posted a picture without my face, wearing a sexy top, that hugged me tight, showing off my curves. A few people followed me, mostly creepy guys. You know how it is. They go crazy. And start dming you all at once.

I saw my message requests as they were bombarded with texts with just a few pictures that I had posted. I replied to ones I found a little appropriate, not creepy. But then they asked for more, they asked to meet me and my information like my contact number. So I blocked them or ghosted them.

I did not want to have sex, not with some random guy from my social media. I did all of it for attention. I was loving it. I posted a picture with my red lace bra and my dms were flooded. I talked a little to a few guys. I had this pattern, I ghosted them as soon as they began to sound like a creep.

No one knows about this. This side of me. Not my besties. None of my friends. The day they get to know about it, it's over for me. Because in reality, I'm a really shy girl. Introvert. I had this image. But the pictures I had posted on that account, were questionable for someone like me. I was shameless there. Like for public entertainment. But I got what I wanted. Attention. And I got to show off my body. It was too sexy to keep it disguised. At least some guys could see and jerk off and sleep peacefully at night because of me. Right? I was just doing social work.

One night, it was insufferable. I needed someone to talk. But most guys in my dms were creeps. I didn't want to talk to them. I went a little too far as I tried to click a perfect semi nude. I wore panties that barely covered my ass. And I slid off the straps of my bra, it showed the most of my cleavage. And I clicked pictures, showing off my ass and then my cleavage. I pressed my boobs from the side of my arms to make them look more perfect and show off the cleavage more. And then I posted it on my story.

I was hopeless. There were only creeps. I checked every other dm, disappointed. Then, there was this anonymous account, it said, "Your body is beautiful." I looked at it and smiled. "Don't flatter me. There's no need." I replied. "I'm not flattering you, it's the truth. I think women's bodies are a piece of art crafted by god and yours is one of the perfect ones." The text read.

"Woah, woah. What do you want? Nudes? Sex?" I asked. "No. I don't want any of that, unless of course, you are comfortable." He texted. "Are you for real? Are you a guy?" "Yep, I'm a real person, a guy."

"Can you please... help me. I need someone." I said finally out of desperation. "Tell me." He said. "Send me your video, while masturbating" "Are you sure?" He asked. "Yes" I replied. I took off my bra and clicked a picture of my boobs while holding them with one arm and sent it to him after contemplating. "Damn, they're gorgeous." He texted.

His choice of words swooned me. Even if it was a facade. Maybe he's trying to impress me so he can fuck me in real. But it made me feel things. I was fucking wet already and then he sent me a video. His veiny hands, holding his dick, jerking it then going faster. I imagined it inside of me with every thrust he made by his own hand. His dick was leaking precum. And I was so wet. I shoved my finger inside me and paced it back and forth to get some satisfaction.

I felt a wave of tremble and my fingers were sticky with all the release. "Did it help?" He asked. "It did" I said but I needed him so badly. I needed that dick inside me. "Then sleep well, beautiful <3." He texted. My eyes were widened. It was sweet but, why would he text me like I'm his girlfriend. I was just a random stranger.

I logged off my account and decided I'd not open it. But a couple nights later again, I felt irritated with all the tension. I wanted a release. So I logged in. I tried not to text that guy. But everyone else was stupid, creep, asshole. "Hey" I texted. After a few minutes, he texted back, "Hi! How are you?" I told him I'm fine. "Can I help you with something?" "You already know." I replied. And then he understood.

Sexting with him was, so satisfying. He knew exactly what to say. It made me turn on even more. "I'll trail kisses from your neck to your shoulders. I'll paint you like a canvas with my tongue." He sexted in poetry, I was amazed.

Jimin's pov;

As I was pacing through the campus to reach the hallway, I bumped into a girl. All her pages fell down and got scattered on the ground. "I'm sorry." "It's okay," she said and began to pick it up. I bent on my knees to help her too. She was really polite, someone else would be arguing with me that I was running around..

For a brief moment my hand touched with hers... And I viewed it closely. I felt like I had seen those hands somewhere. I looked at her face, but I didn't know her. She looked into my eyes and then said, "Thank you."

"What for?" I asked. "For helping me, in picking all this mess up." "Oh, no worries, it was my fault anyway." I said. "It's okay." She said again and then went on her way. I looked at her from behind. Shoulder length hair. She wore a top and a skin fit jeans. She walked away and I went my way.

..

"Hey" she had texted. The girl from that account. "Can I help you with something?" I asked. "You already know."

I had controlled myself for a long time. Once, when I was in high school, I dated a lot of girls. They'd also get into bed with me and have sex. But as soon as they got a guy better than me, they'd leave. I don't usually say this for women, but some of my exes were bitches. Especially the last one, she took me to bed herself and later blamed me that I manipulated her into sex. She did so when I caught her cheating with someone else.

I had this anonymous account because I wanted to have zero social media presence. I did not want to add some stupid people to see what's going on in my life. When I came across this account of a girl, she posted her thirst traps. I was really intrigued. Although she intentionally posted pictures where she showed her curves and her cleavage but I couldn't help but notice every detail. The little moles she had. One on her collarbone. It was beautiful. She had a scar, on her left thigh, did she hurt herself?! I did not ask, it would be too personal.

I had texted her earlier complimenting her body because I couldn't hold back. Sure, I was jerking off every other night seeing her pictures. I was curious, how beautiful would she be in real. How her face would look like? If her body was so beautiful. I wanted to hear her moans. How would it be to fuck her?

...

I was climbing the stairs of college one day as a girl was descending and suddenly on the last step she lost balance and she fell down. If I had stood close enough I would have held her. But she fell and her skirt slid up her thighs. I'm not the one to peep like a shameless creepy guy. But what caught my attention was the scar on her thighs. I shook my head to come to my senses and held out a hand to her.

Her hand felt so soft, like a touch of a blanket in winter. She got up and straightened her skirt. "Thank you.. I.." she hesitated feeling embarrassed. "It's okay, it happens, don't be so worried. No one else saw!" I assured her. Then she smiled hesitatingly and went away. I looked at her as she walked away. Was she..? No, she is so shy and quiet. She can't be her. Its paradoxical.

...

"I want to ride you. Fucked by you from behind. I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." She was wilding. Our sexting had reached another level. Whenever she felt the need, she texted me and I was there for her. We imagined the filthiest scenarios and our imaginations were wild. We sometimes even got close. I asked her when she sent the picture of her ass, she told me she had those scars from harming herself. She told me her ex used her to get nudes and sex and then left her. I shared with her my story. We practically knew each other's worse secrets. But we did not know each other.

...

One day, as everyone was preparing for the college fest, students were gathered. It was a compulsion to take part in one thing or the other. So, I took part in a dance. It was supposed to be a pair dance with 5 pairs. There were other girls too, so we were told to choose a partner from participants. There was this girl I knew. We had bumped into each other twice. I chose her as my dance partner. We began to practice as the dance instructor told us to do.

I held her waist for a step and she rested her hand on my shoulder. She wore a top and it revealed a little bit of her collarbone. I saw a ... mole. What the fuck?! "What's your name?" I asked casually, smiling. "y/n, and you.." "Jimin Park." I told. I shouldn't do this. But I peeked through the gap on the neck of her top, and noticed another freckle on her cleavage, at the exact same spot. I moved away my gaze instantly. She. Is. Her.

The girl I've been sexting with. It's her. I noticed her face. More beautiful than I ever imagined. Her voice sweet like honey. I imagined her completely. From the pictures she had sent me. I imagined her under me, moaning in that sweet voice of hers. I controlled myself. As I still danced with her.

"Can you say my name?" I asked. "What?" "I want to see if you pronounce it correctly." I said. "Umm.. Jimin, right? Jimin!" She said. I wanted her to scream it louder. "Right!" I said.

...

I held myself back too much, knowing it was her, everyday we practiced dance and every night she'd say filthy things to me in the chat. She wanted to be fucked so badly yet in real she hid behind that mask of innocence. I'm not saying she wasn't innocent. But I knew her behind that shy girl demeanor. She was wild.

The fest happened. The dance practice sessions were over. We did not meet much in college after the fest. Not like we used to while practicing dance. When I placed my hands on her waist and imagined her naked in front of me like in her pictures. I knew every detail of her body. Her freckles, her marks, her curves, everything.

One night, after a couple days, as she was busy with exams, she texted. "I'm sorry I was MIA for a while." She texted at midnight. "That's alright, you must be busy." I said. "Yes." She said. "Exams over?" I asked, unconsciously. "How do you know about my exams?" She asked back. Fuck. "Who are you??" She asked. "Do you know me?" A series of texts.

"I know you pretty well, you've shared a lot about yourself." I said. "No, I did not tell you about my exams. Who are you?" She texts. "I'm someone, who knows you. In real and virtual. From your shy personality to your wildest dreams."

She freaked out. She stopped texting. And a few moments later, I was blocked. What the fuck? We had talked so much, and sexted so many times, now that I tell her I exist in reality, she blocked me. I had her pictures saved. I saw them for a while. Then in frustration I threw my phone on the side of bed.

...

I paced my steps, looking for her all around the campus. I searched so many places but she wasn't there. Finally I saw her in a classroom. Putting her head down. I went inside the class and sat near her. "y/n?" I asked. She jerked up. Her eyes widened and she was terrified. But as she saw me her expressions calmed. "Oh, Jimin. You." She said.

"Yes, me." I said. "I thought it was someone else." She said. "Who could it be?" "Um.. no one." "Then why are you so scared and terrified?"

"I-" She was going to say something when I placed my finger on her lips. "Do you not recognise me?" I asked. "What?" She looked confused. I showed her my other hand, flexing it. "This hand, do you recognise it?" I asked. Her eyes widened with each breath as she noticed my veiny hands.

"You dream of it every night, these fingers, you dream of them inside of you..." She heaved, her heartbeats heavy. She couldn't breathe. She got up and hurried out of the class. I followed her. Calling out her name in the hallways. She dashed across the campus. I ran up to her and held her wrists and pinned her against the wall of the auditorium. Our voices faintly echoed as we spoke because of the huge space.

"Why are you running away from me? Didn't you say that you want me?" I asked. "I..I.. never imagined, you were.. really."

"You have driven me crazy with your fantasies. And I want to fulfill each one of them, darling." I said. "Wh.. I ... Jimin."

"Stop the act. I know who you are. I have seen you behind this facade." I said.

"Jimin, I'm not the kind of girl... that's not me." She mumbled.

"Babygirl, don't be ashamed of your desires. It's not a bad thing. I know you. I know about your scars, your freckles, each line of your body. And I know you want this. Just tell me once. I'll give you everything you want. In every way you like it. Don't hold yourself back anymore." I said, cupping her face as she looked into my eyes.

"I.. want you to-" she was about to say when I crashed my lips with hers and began kissing her, biting her lips, shoving my tongue in her mouth. "Wa-..wait.. is this the right place?" She asked.

"How about, I take you to my mansion? There's no one else there, my mom dad have gone for a trip." I said. "your mansion?" Confusion etched on her face in indecisiveness. "Do you trust me?" I asked "Y..Yes. I trust you." She said. I grabbed her hand and dragged her to my car.

...

As she sat in the passenger seat I drove off the campus and I drove in speed. "Slow down, baby." She said. "I thought you liked it fast" I joked. She hit me playfully. As I parked my car outside my mansion. I looked at her finally, biting my lower lip in anticipation. Weeks and months of just imagining and dreaming.

Her gaze met mine and then dipped to my lips. I instantly grabbed her face and pulled her in for a kiss. Devouring her, like her lips were my favourite ice cream. I licked her, sucked her lips. She gasped as she tried to kiss me the same way. She moved her velvety lips against mine and I melted.

"Are we gonna do it in the car?"she asked.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hold myself back!" I said and she chuckled lightly which made my heart tickle. I got out of the car and pulled her out of the seat and into my arms. Slamming the door with my feet as I kicked it. I held her up in my arms. And rushed to my bedroom which was luckily downstairs. I rushed across the hall into my bedroom, I dropped her on the fluffy mattress of my bed and locked the door. No one was home, but just in case.

I want back to her after locking the door. She looked straight at me, laying down as I had placed her, hands on the sides. She put her legs close together joining them.

She wore a skirt, black stockings, and a shirt on top. It was sexy. But it needed to go. I held both her knees as she had her legs joined, and did them apart. Spreading her legs open. I yanked up her skirt, and put my hand over the thin fabric of her panties. I laid on top of her, kissing her, mixing her saliva with mine. My tongue practically fucked her mouth.

She fought for dominance but I kissed her hard. Then I moved down to her neck. Unbuttoning her shirt all the way down, I removed it from her taking off it's sleeves. She wore her red lace bra. "This is my favourite." I said as I kissed over her cleavage. Biting her nipples from over the fabric of her bra. While I made circular motion with my fingers on her clit and she was dripping wet already. She moaned and gasped as I moved my fingers slowly and then I slid down her panties and shoved my fingers in her pretty little cunt. I stroked her with my fingers as she moaned.

I paced them back and forth inside of her until they were soaking in her juices. I licked my fingers to taste her. And then put them in her mouth. "you're delicious, I can have you for breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert." I said. And went down on her as I put my thumb in her mouth. And undoing her bra from the other hand in a second. She gasped. "Are you impressed with my skills, love?" "Hmphh!" She said with my thumb inside her mouth.

I licked her pussy moving my tongue and trying to devour her, putting it in as long as it can go, I tasted her. Her reactions drove me crazy as she moaned and breathed heavily. She shrieked when I put her clit between my teeth gently.

I went back up and kissed her hard. "Taste yourself, you filthy little girl." She chuckled. "How do you want it?" I asked. "Do I have to tell you?" She arched an eyebrow.

I scoffed. I knew her wildest fantasies. I knew how she liked it. I undid my jeans and she gazed at my dick shamelessly. I took her hand and placed it on my dick. "Feel it. How you said you wanted to hold it and do the things to me as I sent you the video?" I teased. She moved her hand and lashed it against my dick. I moved her hand and laid on top of her grazing her thighs with my dick. "Just... fuck me!" She said.

And I put it inside her. Slowly moving it at first and then increase the pace. I held her wrists to the sides. I watched her face, burning red, so flushed like a cherry. She was a smoking mess that I had created. I stroked back and forth faster, each time earning a moan from her.

"Say my name, love!" I said.

"Jimin! Jimin..Jim- Ahh!" I chuckled.. I couldn't help. It was so hot as she said, my name sounded like a melody.

"Do you want to ride?" I asked. She nodded with half lidded eyes. Sweating all over her neck and forehead. I laid down, and held her so she could get on top of me. I had wrecked her so bad. She got on top of me, I held her waist and she put her hands back on my thighs as I lifted them a little for her. She rode my dick, moving up and down as it pierced the insides of her. She moaned loudly. If I had neighbours, they'd surely enjoy.

"Jimin.." She mumbled and she brought her face down over mine. "I... I have fallen. In love. With you. I want you."

"I love you. Y/n. I want you all to myself. You are mine. You don't have to ask, I'll fulfill all your wildest fantasies. And no other man, could touch you like I do. They'll not see you like this. You're mine to fuck, mine to ruin and mine to love. All your scars, all your freckles, all your curves, mine to kiss and to touch."

"I love you baby. I promise. I'm all yours. Every inch of me. I belong to you. Take me as you want. I'm shameless. I'll be on my knees for you. I'll scream your name while you take me. Take me, completely."

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Hi, can you maybe do one where whumper is an art collecter and has taken an interest in whumpee and then turns whumpee into a statue?

I can certainly give it a try, Anon! Thanks for requesting this, here you go! (P.S., let me know if you want a continuation of this one, I have more ideas that I wasn't able to squeeze in for this part)

Whumpee opened their eyes to bright light overhead. They squinted at the brightness as they tried to remember where they were. The last thing Whumpee remembered was bumping into a stranger in the street, then they felt a sharp pain in their neck, and then… nothing. Whumpee couldn’t remember anything. They tried to sit up, but found that their limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Don’t move, little one, I’m not done sketching you yet.”

Whumpee turned their head, albeit with great difficulty, to the source of the voice. Whumpee recognized the person in front of them as the stranger from before. Whumpee’s eyes widened in fear. The stranger was sitting in a chair with a pencil and sketchpad, just watching Whumpee.

“Oh, little one, you moved. Now how am I supposed to finish?” the stranger sighed.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Whumpee tried to say these things, but all that came out was a slur of gibberish.

The stranger just smiled and set their pencil and sketchpad down. They strode over to where Whumpee was laying and crouched down. They ever so gently turned Whumpee’s face back to where it was when they woke up; Whumpee couldn’t suppress the shudder that rippled through them.

“There there,” the stranger soothed, “my name is Whumper, and you, little one, are my muse. I knew it from the moment you bumped into me on the street. You are the perfect creation, a thing of beauty, and I intend to capture that beauty in every way I know how.”

Whumper tapped a finger to Whumpee’s nose.

“Now don’t move again, understand?” They said cheerfully, “I need you to stay still if I’m going to finish my sketch.”

Whumper sat back down in their chair and picked up their sketchpad and pencil. They hummed a little tune as the sounds of pencil on paper echoed throughout the dingy basement. After what felt like hours, feeling started to creep back into Whumpee’s body. Whumpee turned their head to see Whumper set their pencil down and walk over to the basement steps. Whumpee heard the sound of a door open and close, and the sound of Whumper’s footsteps fading. If they were going to escape, it had to be now.

Whumpee forced themselves to sit up, then to stand. Their legs were shaking as they walked, but at least they could move again. They clambered up the basement steps and into the house. They looked around for an exit. When they spotted the front door, Whumpee made a beeline for it. They had just closed their hand around the knob when there was a sharp pinch in their neck.

“Tsk tsk, little one,” Whumper sighed, “I thought I told you not to move again. I still have to paint you, you know.”

Whumpee’s world tilted on its axis. They fell backwards, right into Whumper’s waiting arms. Whumper lifted them in a bridal carry and took them back down to the basement. As Whumper carried them, Whumpee’s body began to feel heavy again. Their eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. The last thing they felt was Whumper setting them down gently on the ground before they drifted off into a forced sleep.

That was how it was for days. Whumpee would wake up to Whumper sketching them, and as soon as the drugs in their system would begin to wear off, they were hit with another dose. Some days, Whumpee would wake up to Whumper painting them, or sculpting their likeness into a block of clay. But things really began to take a turn when Whumpee woke up to the feeling of something dripping on their body.

“Oh, little one, you’re awake again.” Whumper’s smiling face came into view, “I’ve decided to do something different with you today. It’s not enough to try and imitate your likeness, I now know that I need to preserve your beauty for as long as I can. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit.”

Whumpee looked down at their lower half. It was completely covered in dried plaster. Whumpee’s eyes widened and their breathing grew shallow.

“Shh, little one, don’t fret so,” Whumper said, “I promise it won’t be forever, just long enough to admire you properly.”

Whumpee felt hot tears begin to stream down their face as more plaster was poured over their upper half. When it got to their neck, Whumpee cried out.

“Wait!”

Whumper paused in their work with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yes, little one?”

“Please don’t do this,” Whumpee pleaded, “you’ll kill me!”

Whumper laughed softly.

“Oh, little one, I’m not going to kill you, wherever did you get such an idea? I would never hurt you.” Whumper reached down to tuck a strand of hair behind Whumpee’s ear, “I’ll leave you plenty of openings to breathe, don’t worry.”

With that, Whumper stood up and picked up their bucket to begin pouring again.

“No!”

It was too late. Whumpee screwed their eyes shut as the plaster was poured over their face. As promised, Whumper made small holes for their nose and mouth. Whumpee tried to move, but there were still strong drugs coursing through their system. By the time they wore off, the plaster had set. Whumpee was trapped in their own likeness.

part 2