#Free from the clutches of art block

[noka-exe]

breaking news… local bird comes back to life and is NOT happy…

[littlemissmasokitten]

Welcome To The After Show Part 1

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (Minors DNI), Exclusive Situationship, Light Conflict w/ Healthy Communication

Synopsis: Christian Yu, or better known as the workaholic DPR IAN, and you are in a situationship only prevented from being more due to his heavy workload, otherwise, you two absolutely adore each other. Now with the first portion of his tour handled, he's more than ready to give you the attention you've both been needing.

Content Warning: Smut, pet names (Darling, Princess, Baby), LOTS of preface, L-bomb (More on the sweet side, curse my Asexuality), light fingering, nibbling, marking, nipples (lightly mentioned), open-ended.

Ngl, was supposed to have more smut but I got writer's block bad and I just want to throw this out into the world already. BE FREE!

Networks: @othersideoutlawsnetwork Part 2 Continued: Here

It had been a short while since the last time Christian had toured, and yet, so much has changed since then. Even though you hadn’t the chance to be by his side back then, you were proud to be here for him now.

Your relationship had been kept a secret and held a bit ambiguous for some time but everyone on the team knew something was going on between you two. All the times you left his recording studio looking more disheveled than the last, but the rumors still held true. The only thing Christian loved more than your body under his was the art he was creating day in and day out.

Even while you’d wished for your relationship to become something more, you continued to sit back, silently admiring his sleepless nights. You lived for the odd hours he’d wake you with a gentle caress of your face, happily presenting the 4-5 samples he’d created over the last hour you’d been asleep. Being woken by him was always a treat in itself though his diligence not only shone in his work but in the way he’d treated you as well. He was always certain to reward you for your patience and that was more than enough for you. 

The coming days of the Seoul concert were busier than ever. You’d honestly expected he’d disappear off into his own world so you were surprised when he brought over matching luggage cases and invited you along to South Korea with him. Even though you’d only be able to stay in his Seoul apartment while he worked, it was a refreshing change of scenery and felt like a good use of your vacation time. You cozied up in his bed with a book or two and a bit of tea, staying up a little late into the nights just to see him back safe and sound. 

Everyone knew the first day of the concert would be hectic and you stayed behind then as well. Despite the way he returned, stumbling into the apartment worn and exhausted, his eyes lit up telling you every little detail, and how much it warmed his heart getting to see "the lovely Dreamers" once again. In a moment, he clutched your hands in his and he begged you ever-so sweetly to tag along for his second performance the following day. Despite your initial hesitance toward the potential of being spotted, you agreed under the condition of staying in a secluded backstage waiting room.

Now here you are, as you promised you would be. A silent room with a few snacks and beverages, a couch, a chair, and the greyest walls imaginable. It was moments like this that made you wonder if it was really okay to continue living this way. You opened your phone for the Nth time, only to see fancam after fancam of his performances taking over your social feeds. A lighthearted sigh leaves your lips when you see him tying a bow on his head. “He’s so precious, of course this was all worth it”.

As the words leave your lips, you hear a light knock on the door. You eagerly sit up, a twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah?~” The door creaks open with Christian peeking in before sneaking in and closing the door shut behind him. You make your way up and both run into each other's arms once again. “Darling, it must get tiring to always be waiting on me like this but I can promise you…” he leans in, tucking your hair behind your ear to softly whisper against it “I’ve been waiting to get to you just as much as you’ve waited on me”. As each word gently falls upon you, your senses become enveloped by him. 

The softness of his words tickling your ears.

The way his body fits perfectly against yours.

The scent of his sweat infused with the woody cologne he’d put on before the performance.

The sight of his stage makeup drying after running down his face.

By all means, he should be exhausted like any other day but the twinkle in his eyes as he looks down at you says everything you’d needed to hear.

In a moment, your lips are on his, your fingertips tracing up his shoulders to the dampened back of his neck. He gently caresses the small of your back as you exchange feelings for each other with actions alone. Between the heavenly plush of his lips, the delicateness of your tongues just barely swiping between desperate kisses, and warmth of your breaths colliding, what was meant to be a moment of understanding was rapidly spiraling into a deep, familiar desire. 

A breathy moan escapes your lips and he takes it as an opportunity to graze your tongue with his. As quickly as you get a taste, his mouth leave yours and relocates to the base of your neck, one hand reaching up, tangling into your hair as he ever so softly marks you. “You taste delicious, Darling. I'm so lucky to have all this right here, waiting just for me". He guides you back against the arm of the couch and mumbles against your skin "Now, let me show you proper just how I appreciate you".

With a small whine of acceptance leaving your lips, he guides you to lean back, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze, thumb rubbing at the soft plush. He presses kisses down your chest, only stopping to mouth over the peak of your nipple clearly protruding beneath your thin t-shirt.

You loved the way it felt how he touched you, the butterflies in your stomach when he'd give in and spoil you with endless affection. But as his hand crept up your thigh, so had the worries deep in the pit of your stomach. "Christian..." you held his hand in place, causing him to look up to you once again. "What is it, Darling? Is something wrong?"

You swallowed hard and stayed quiet a moment before responding, averting his gaze. "I don't love the way things are ambiguous between us. Sometimes... I wish..." your words trail off.

"I love you, y/n. No doubt about that in my heart" he softly caresses your face. "You've stayed beside me through my best and worst days, you've held on through my busiest months and have been the anchor and breath of fresh air I needed in the times between. If 'official' is what you want, I'm more than ready to give it to you."

Your eyes widened, "Do... do you really mean it?" you say in a near to hushed whisper. He kisses you softly, slowly deepening the kiss, one arm snaking around you before leaning back to whisper against your lips. "More than anything, Princess. If it helps..." his free hand rides the rest of the way up your thigh, rubbing your heat through your leggings, a finger slipping between your folds "you can be as loud as you'd like now and we'll explain it all later."

Your breath hikes in a damn near squeak, only needing to see you eagerly nodding before he returns to ravaging your mouth once again. A second finger slipping between and you'd swear on your life the next day if asked that his fingers had never felt thicker. He nibbles your lip as his finger teases your entrance through the leggings. You give a small yelp, to which he kisses your lip all better.

"Don't get shy on me now, Baby. Lets lay you down this couch and I'll give you good reason to be loud."

The lingering time between then and the couch is spent up in a blind tango, your lips endlessly caressing each other's. Even as he sits you down and leans you back, his body only casts over yours the whole while. You pull him down closer by the loose hanging fabric of his shirt, yearning for him more desperately.

"Is my pretty girl already so needy? Well Darling, I'm more than happy to oblige." He props himself up on one arm, looking deep into your impatient doe eyes. His free hand brushes between your thighs, taking in the sight of you trembling with your breathy, half-lidded gaze. His fingers brush past your clothed core before snaking their way down your waistband and teasing your dampened folds. Your hips buck up for more but he raises his fingers away, kissing you deeply as he settles your hips back down.

"ah ah~, no moving for you, Darling..." he leans and whispers deeply "I've got you."

Part 2 Continued: Here

[campingwiththecharmings]

Some Like it Hot (2)

AN: HIIIII. Right. So. Part one is here. This...diverted quite a bit from what I had originally intended but, I can't say that I'm too mad about it. 🤭 This has very little to no plot, negl.

(Un-beta’d)

Poe is your muse and you can't help but see the beauty in everything he does.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,481 Pairing: Firefighter!Poe Dameron x Photographer!F!Reader Warnings: PWP, smuffy af, p in v, idiots in love, morning sex, please let me know if i missed anything. AO3

——————

You wake gently, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, filling the room with its glow. You smile, eyes fluttering as you stretch, allowing yourself to sink into the mattress a little. The sheets rustle beside you as Poe shifts, drawing your gaze. You take a moment to study him, splayed on his belly, your eyes tracing the soft curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, smooth brow, and stubbled cheeks. He’s a work of art, really. Just…stunning. Every inch of him is perfect, as if he’d been chiseled from a block of marble by the gods themselves. And if that wasn’t enough, he also had a heart of gold. Never in your life have you met someone so kind and caring, so ready and willing to help others. 

You’d started dating almost immediately after your encounter at your studio (quite literally that same evening), and now here you are, months later waking up with him in your bed. Maybe it’s strange but you love watching him sleep, love to watch the light from the windows play over his bare skin, love to study the way his short curls fall across his forehead. The artist in you longs to capture this moment, and you can’t help but give in. Silently, you reach over to the bedside table and grab your phone, quickly swiping the camera app open and pointing it at him. You take a few moments to get the angle just right, then click the shutter button. 

He knows, of course, knows your gallery is full of photos of him (and occasionally, him and you). That’s not to say that he really gets it though, how inspired you are by him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just a regular guy. He’s supportive though, indulging your fascination.

Unable to help yourself, you roll toward him, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. He stirs almost immediately, his full lashes fluttering as he opens his warm, brown eyes. You smile at him, pushing your fingers through his mussed curls.

“Morning,” you greet, your voice soft as you rouse him from sleep.

He returns your smile, eyelids heavy as he shifts and rolls onto his side to face you.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. 

His eyes drop to the phone still in your hand and his lips quirk in amusement. “Taking creeper shots of me again?”

You chuckle at his teasing, your cheeks warming. “Guilty.”

He grunts, reaching over and plucking the device from your grasp. “My turn.”

“No, stop,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t even washed my face yet, come on.”

He tsks, grabbing your hands and playfully pushing them away. “You got me, only fair that I get you.”

You groan theatrically, pouting at him as he sits up and quickly your phone into position. “Yeah but, I’m not you.”

He snorts, the click of your shutter reaching your ears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, you lunge, kicking the blankets away to free your legs and arms. He chuckles, moving the phone out of your reach. 

“Not all of us are as photogenic as you, Poe, just—give it back.”

He rolls onto his back laughing, your phone still clutched in his hand. “A photographer who doesn’t like getting their picture taken. Aren’t you a cliche?”

You growl, crawling over and up his torso, arm outstretched as you reach again for your phone.  “Shut up.”

His laughter becomes muffled as your chest presses against his face, the vibration sending a tiny shiver down your spine. You rise up slightly on your knees, the hand not reaching for your phone braced on his muscled shoulder. His free hand comes to rest on your lower back, steadying you as you reach. 

When you finally manage to take your phone back, he doesn't put up much of a fight, instead taking the opportunity to pull you even closer with his other hand. He nuzzles your breasts through your t-shirt, your breath hitching when his nose bumps against your nipple.

“You had ulterior motives, I see,” you breathe, the fingers of your free hand tangling in his hair as his hands slip down and underneath your shirt.

He chuckles, moving his face back from your chest as he pulls your shirt up and over your head. His hands slide up to your shoulders once you’re bared to him, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to take your nipple in his mouth. Your lips part in a gasp, your fingers tightening in his curls, and he groans at the slight sting of his scalp. The vibration makes your hips jolt against him, your body instinctively seeking friction as desire quickly wells inside you.

You sigh his name as he releases your nipple, mouthing his way over to your other breast to lavish the same attention. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbles, flicking the tip of his tongue against the pebbled flesh before sucking it into the molten heat of his mouth.

Your head falls back with a moan, your phone slipping from between your fingers and landing on the plush comforter of your bed. Poe’s hands slide down to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he encourages you to keep grinding against him. You can feel the hardness of his cock even through the thick fabric of his pajama pants, your need for him growing. He groans as you move, pulling back from your chest, the absence of his mouth dragging your gaze back to his. You swallow hard, the combination of lust and awe in his eyes making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He pulls your mouth back to his then, licking into it languidly, as if he has all the time in the world. You melt into him, your bare chests pressing together as you wind your arms around his neck. You let yourself get lost in his kiss, in the soft, wet slide of his lips as they brush against yours. It feels like you’re drowning, drowning in a sea of bliss, a sea where Poe is your only lifeline.

Poe slips his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, his thumb briefly circling your clit as he slips the others lower. He works you open gently, your cries of pleasure muffled by his lips and tongue. He brings you to your peak quickly, drawing out your pleasure with each pump and flick of his fingers.

You share a moan when you finally sink down onto his length, your slick heat welcoming him, engulfing him. He pulls your mouth back to his as you begin to ride him, your body rising and falling shallowly at first. His hand on your hip helps to steady you as you gradually increase your pace, your hands braced on his shoulders. 

“Poe,” you whine, throwing your head back as you chase the pleasure racing through you. “Feels so good—fuck, so good.”

He groans as he watches you, his eyes almost black with desire. “You feel like a dream, sweetheart. So beautiful like this.”

A shiver races through you at his words, at his attention. He’s always like this, so present, making you feel so desired, like there’s no one else he’s ever wanted so badly as you. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as you race toward your release, groaning as you move and clench around him. You moan when his thumb finds your clit, his touch bringing you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes, pushing his hips up from the bed every time you sink down onto him again. “Take what you need.”

A few more thrusts and you’re there, body going taught, mouth slack, as you sail over the edge. His moan is broken as you fall apart around him, your body squeezing him, trying to take him with you. He spills himself deep inside you with a groan moments later, his hips stuttering with the force of his release. 

You stay like that for a while, just wrapped around each other, his softening cock still sheathed inside you.  It’s comforting, having him this close, feeling this connected to him. Poe strokes your back soothingly, leaning in to press a soft kiss against the corner of your mouth. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he melts into you.

“You working today?” you ask, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He makes a noise, then shakes his head. “Nope. I’m all yours today, baby.”

You chuckle, eyelashes fluttering as he presses a hot kiss against the side of your neck. “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[crowpickingss]

Seashells

morgie x gn! reader with water powers

summary: morgie catches you by the beach and asks you for a favour

warnings: fluff

a/n: sorry for the hiatus, writers block been hitting me hard

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Ever since Hook introduced Morgie to the beach it instantly became his favourite place. He had a small draw in his closet filled with of seashells and other things he had found while strolling by the shores. After class if he wasn’t scheming with the VK’s or practicing his animal sounds he was at the beach.

The beach was your secret getaway from your stressful life as council president at Merlin academy. The endless ocean was also a place you could practise your water magic. It started as just making waves but soon turned into an art form and relaxation for you.

One day late at night you were lying on a beach towel relaxing on the sand and listening to the ocean. That was until you heard the faint sound of a twig snap. You swivelled your body around quickly trying to locate the noise.

Just then the sound of footsteps rang through your ears. You grabbed your beach towel and started backing towards the water. You could now see the shadowy figure growing closer to the beach.

You used your free hand to form a water ball. You waited for the perfect time and threw the ball. You were greeted with the familiar voice of Morgie. He stepped through the tree, his outfit drenched in water “Did you do this” He looked you straight in the eye which startled you “I- uh- yes…” He stared for a few seconds before jumping in the air “That’s so cool, you can control water I’m so jealous” His reaction threw you completely off guard.

He started walking closer, shaking his body to get rid of the water “stand still, I’ll get it out” He followed your order and stood still and within a matter of seconds all the water on him disappeared “Woah” He walked a little faster until he reached where you were standing

“Can I ask you a question” You weren’t in the mood for questions but his eagerness and very clear joy overthrew that mood “Sure” He smiled “I love seashells and there are some in the water there, but I don’t like getting wet so…do you think you could part the water for me”

You smiled at his cute but childish question “Out of all the VK’S you fascinate me the most, but sure I’ll part the water” You dropped the beach town and focused your energy on parting the water long enough for Morgie to collect his shells. He ran forward and started picking them all up one by one.

After a couple seconds he stepped back which you took as a cue to let go. Taking a couple quick breathes you returned to look at Morgie “Thank you, These are going to be perfect for my collection” He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek “Bye” And with that he walked off leaving you dumbfounded and clutching your cheek.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

[pompinipump]

I AM FREE FROM THE CLUTCHES OF ART BLOCK. well, for now anyway

anyway

silly me

[random-chaos-and-stuff]

Here’s another wof oc I made! His name is Drumlin, and he is a Mudwing Icewing hybrid.

His name was suggested to me by a friend, so thank you to them for helping! Also, he is supposed to have a Northern Water Snake pattern (because snake that lives in cold swampy climates).

Backstory, lore, no background version and outline is under the cut, alongside the generation method sheet I used to help get the inspiration for him!

Drumlin is a Mudwing Icewing hybrid who currently resides in Possibility. He is notably clumsy, but always playful and optimistic. He was born of a Mudwing mother and an Icewing father, who had not expected any eggs to be laid from the brief pairing. His father had left before the eggs were laid, and though his egg was part of a clutch, it was the only one to hatch. He doesn’t have any special abilities, as the Mudwing fire and the Icewing frostbreath canceled one another out, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest. He is a noticeably obvious hybrid, both in features and scale colors, with the Icewing scales highlighting the snake pattern of his scales, with these kinds of patterns usually being extremely subtle in Mudwings. He loves the swamps, often visiting them to spend time there, but finds camouflage harder than most due to his colors. He often dreams of a better future, and believes that one is possible. He also has found himself a love of gardening, mostly growing potatoes and other such things for stews, which he shares with any dragon who wants some. 

He isn’t as fleshed out as my other Wings of Fire oc, Lotis, but I don’t think he needs to be. I had trouble with his name for a while, until my friend offered Drumlin, which is a weird thing that happens with glaciers and dirt, which works well for him.

As I said, here is the no background version and the outline for him

Once more, it was hard to decide the colors, but I’m pretty satisfied with the results! I think he is a pretty good blend of Mudwing and Icewing, and that the pattern ended up looking good.

And finally, the generator sheet. I didn’t create this sheet, and credit to HoneyBeest who did! It’s really helpful and fun when making oc’s or getting past art block.

Also, for use of this character, please don’t repost without credit! Reblogs are appreciated though. And with this one, you are free to use him! Draw him or use him in stories, whatever you want! Just please credit me as his creator.

[champagneand-strawberries]

He loved me too (D.M)

Sequel to ‘Thank you for loving him’

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Every memory of him was tainted with betrayal. So why did her heart still stop at the sight of him. And why did she still want to save him?

Warnings: Swear words. Mentions of suicide, death and violence

Words: 2.3k

A/N: The pacing of this is so weird im v sorry. This was so hard to write though, I didn’t know whether to include the battle or time skip idk. She is very description heavy bc I hate writing dialogue but I really wanted to write a reunion so here you go. 

Everything had changed.

She supposed everything had changed that night, as she was staring at the body of Dumbledore struck dead at the foot of the astronomy tower. She supposed it was then that the world started to crumble around them, with their only protector dead and Harry Potter missing it appeared there was nothing left to do but stay alive.

The letter had stayed tucked away in her trunk, far from the prying eyes of anyone who might rifle through her things looking for a reason to crucio her. For once being a Slytherin had its perks; even if the rest of the school still despised the colour green it was the one thing that offered her an ounce of protection against the cruelty of Hogwarts’ new dark professors.

With Snape as Headmaster and the Carrows running free it was a wonder anyone was still choosing to be alive. She awoke every morning, dreading the day to come. The castle was no longer filled with laughter and joy, instead it was filled with pain and anguish. It became an unspoken rule to not mention the tortured cries of the younger students coming from classrooms or staff offices, instead everything went ignored for fear of receiving the same punishment.

Defence against the Dark Arts was the worst. Having since been renamed to Dark Arts, the use of dark magic spells had become almost a daily occurrence and Amycus Carrow believed that they were best practiced on other ‘disobedient’ students in order to teach them a lesson. Eventually the screams of students as they twitched and contorted on the dusty floor faded into background noise and with every unforgivable curse that left her lips and the tip of her wand, she reminded herself of what it would mean if she refused.

Maybe everyone else has it easier.

If a Gryffindor refuses, it’s expected. If a Ravenclaw refuses, who cares. If a Hufflepuff refuses, they are weak anyway. If a Slytherin refuses… They are a traitor. If a Slytherin refuses, they are to be made an example of. If a Slytherin refuses, they should hope death is kind to them for the Death Eaters will not be.

…

“Harry Potter… is dead.” His voice echoed around the broken courtyard, only overpowered by Ginny’s scream as she was held back by her father. In that moment she knew they had lost. He was their last hope, the only one who could have done what so many others had failed to do. Voldemort’s voice faded into white noise and her vision blurred as she staggered slightly, her legs failing her as she collapsed to the ground.

She could feel her chest heaving as she clutched onto her clothes, the fragments of rock around her; anything to ground herself as she felt herself slip further and further away from reality. Then suddenly, a pressure on her shoulder before something black blocked her view and a hand tilted her face upwards.

Draco.

She could see his lips moving, muttering words to her but everything was still ringing in her ear until she felt his lips pressed to hers for a split second before the warmth of him left as quickly as it had appeared.

She watched as he slowly walked across the graveyard of the Hogwarts she once knew, her chest heaving from the battle that had since ceased. Her eyes barely focusing as Voldemort wrapped his arms awkwardly around the boy she once loved.

The boy she still loved…

Their words still rung in her ears, the memory of that night reliving itself over and over again as she watched his mother pull him into her arms, Lucius Malfoy cowering slightly by their side. Her throat burned as tears filled her eyes, blocking her vision once more as she tried to regain any semblance of a reality that wasn’t this one.

The screams and shouts from the students surrounding her, however, were the thing that managed to bring her back to reality. Forcing herself up onto her feet, she looked across the courtyard searching for the head of platinum blond hair she was so desperate to see. But instead, she saw something infinitely better.

Hope.

Hope in the form of Harry Potter darting across the courtyard behind the archways lining the halls, throwing hexes blindly behind him to block the barrage of spells coming from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. She fought against the rush of students heading inside towards the great hall for cover, away from the rage of the battle on the grounds outside. Her eyes finally caught a glimpse of long white hair in the carnage and knowing that Lucius wouldn’t be far away from his son in the midst of the battle, she ran.

Death eaters had begun to disappear the moment Harry rolled out of Harry’s arms, only those closest to and most devoted to Voldemort had stayed by his side, the rest had run far from his perilous clutches to save themselves from him.

Unfortunately, the most devoted were also some of the most experienced and with every step she took there were twice as many curses that the few death eaters left hurled at her with as much venom and power as possible.

Hexes and forbidden spells flung from wands on every side, the threat of death looming closer and more threatening than anything the ministry could conjure up. She ducked and stumbled her way across the courtyard, eyes dancing frantically across the rubble for a glimpse of the platinum hair she had run for before. Only now she had no sight of it. No sight of the Malfoy family. Not Narcissa’s ducked head as she led her only child away from the battleground. Not Lucius’ pitying frame as he stumbled after his wife and son. Not the boy she loved under his mother’s arms as they took themselves away from everything their trust in the mighty Lord Voldemort had led to. 

Suddenly she was flung to the ground, sharp rocks and pieces of debris tearing through her shirt and into her skin as her body tumbled over itself and rolled through the remains of the castle. Then, white hot pain like never before surged through her body. The screams echoed throughout the edge of the courtyard as she twitched and shook on the floor, driving dust and stone further into the gashes on her skin. 

She vaguely saw clashes of green and red light from behind the mound of dirt she lay behind before it suddenly stopped. 

Everything stopped. 

The light. 

The pain.

She thought she was dead. For a split second, she hoped she was dead. That relief would have been easier than coming back into the world she resided in. In the corner of her eye she saw a flash of black as a death eater apparated away; then came the pain again. 

Her body ached as every muscle twitched and relaxed over and over again and her throat felt as though it had been ripped to shreds from the screams. Her jaw and neck covered in spit and bile from dry heaving the moment the gods granted her mercy enough to breath. 

If this is karma, I deserve it tenfold. 

To think, this was the curse she inflicted on children. Innocent children whos only crime was to want something better. To want to live better. To want to live without fear. And yet, she had given them plenty to be scared of. 

Suddenly, the same light as before lit up the remains of the walls of the courtyard above her. Green and red battling before her very eyes. She watched as the green faded into the red and, as before, it disappeared once more. A faint whimper the only indication of anyone behind her. 

“Harry.” Her voice hoarse and quiet.

Rolling over she pulled herself across the floor and between the rocks, enough to peer around to see the victor. Eyes welling up at the sight of Harry Potter, the boy who lived, stood before the body of Voldemort, covered in black cloth, in the centre of the courtyard.

“We won.” She whispered, pushing herself onto her knees, still weak from the effects of the cruciatus curse inflicted on her before. 

“Draco!”

... 

There he was. Finally, after what felt like hours, she had finally found him. Nestled between his parents in the remains of the great hall, the three of them tucked away in the corner away from the harsh glares from those who weren’t tending to the wounded or crying over the loss of loved ones.

She stood, staring at him. Allowing herself to mull over every single thought rushing through her head: angry, then sad, then happy; all before the cycle repeated itself over and over again. Losing herself in her thoughts her eyes closed, flashes of him appearing as memories flooded her thoughts so strongly, she swore she could smell him from across the room. Forcing her eyes open she was fronted with black. Specs of dirt covered the fabric of the suit she lay her eyes upon, the marks smeared into the stitching where someone had tried to dust it off. Travelling upwards she saw the chain of the necklace he always wore peaking underneath the collar and then there he was.

He looked much the same. The sharpness of his jaw, sloping up to his ears. Then the slight roundness of his cheeks, covered in dirt and scratches. The curve of his nose, leading to his piercing eyes. Only now they seemed softer, rougher, and sadder all at the same time. Her hand reached up to trace his hairline, up to his forehead where a hex had caught him, leaving a scratch, following the bloodstains down to his chin where she rubbed her thumb across his faint patch of facial hair. Her eyes never met his, and yet his didn’t leave her, watching her every move and willing her to stay despite his betrayal.

They stood there, ignoring everything. His parents. Her friends. The staring. The silent whispering. Then suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the Great Hall.

People ducked and fell to the floor, unsure whether it was death eaters back for a final round as revenge for killing their Dark Lord. Those who didn’t opened their eyes to see Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of her, clutching his cheek as she stared where his face was in front of her. His father was up in an instant, beginning to storm over to where she stood before Narcissa grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked down at her confused, as she shook her head and gestured over to Draco still on the floor. She ran her hand down his arm, grasping his hand in hers as they watched their son climb to his feet, not even bothering to dust off his trousers as he looked at her.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words were the only ones he could think of to even try and redeem himself from the mess he had put himself in, and they seemed to capture her attention perfectly.

“I’m sorry that I left you. Th-that I didn’t tell you, but it was only to keep you safe. All of it was- everything I did was to keep you safe.” He stuttered over words, pausing mid-sentence to catch his breath before stumbling over his words all over again. She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, watching as he flinched slightly in anticipation and closed his eyes.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me because I can’t even find enough words to say I’m sorry but please… please just know I never- had you have stayed in the bloody bed maybe it wouldn’t be like this and for god’s sake will you say something!” His eyes snapped open at her silence. Mouth open ready to counter whatever she was going to throw at him, instead he saw her. The corners of her lips tugged upwards into a small smile; her eyes filled with tears as she reached up her other hand to rest it on his other cheek.

“I don’t know if I could ever forgive you Draco. But I do know that I never stopped loving you.” Draco’s hands reached up to grab her own, brushing his thumbs across the back of her hands down to her wrists as he traced the skin he had not touched in so long.

“That’s all I can ask of you.” He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and pushing his face into the crook of her neck as he surrounded himself in her, his nose buried in her hair as he clutched onto the fabric of her clothing.

Not enough time had passed before they were interrupted. Draco opened his eyes to the shadow of his mother stood beside them, her eyes moving between the two of them.

“May I speak with you?” Her gaze looking to the girl stood in Draco’s arms, hands folded in front of her as she waited patiently for a response.

“I- Yes of course.” She began to uncurl herself from Draco’s hold, who seemed reluctant to let her go. “I’ll be back soon my love.”

She followed Narcissa out to the bridge overlooking the valley and Black lake where they stood against what little remaining wall there was left, listening to the wind whistling and pushing small stones across the paving beneath their feet. 

“My family has been through hell these last months. I don’t doubt you have been through something of a similar nature, but I want you to understand that I will do anything for my family. Particularly my son.”

She looked over at Narcissa almost cowered under her intense gaze.

“The love you gave him before... I suspect he will need it now more than ever. But I need to trust that you are willing to give him that.”

She looked back at the scene in front of them, eyes following a bird as it launched from a treetop and flew over the valley.

“You thanked me once, for loving him. But he loved me too. And for me, that is enough.”

[anjelicawrites]

The winner takes it all

Series masterlist

Chapter VIII

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: inspired by the Æthelflæd and Erik's storyline in The Last Kingdom. Might be spoilerish if you haven't seen it (go watch it!!!), even though I've just stolen the inspiration and went on with the story my way.

Warnings: Canon compliant violence, Aemond’s brothel experience, talk of rape..

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns are used (they are called “lady” and “daughter of the North”). The only descriptor is that they have long hair.

A/N 1: this is an AU. Look at me taking the canon story of Westeros and yell “Parkhour!” as I jump out of the window clutching it in my hands.

Understanding what started this war makes accepting it still difficult. You understand political intrigues, the wanting of a crown, of power that makes people make the worst decisions and actions. You have seen it all your life, the schemings big Houses like yours had run for years to become the one true ruling House of the North, the marriages and betrayals, you remember and you know, but it still hurts to see how the defenses of the North are crumbling against the Valyrian invasion. It’s taking more time than the southerner planned, but it’s happening and you have realized that a free North will be no more than a dream. It destroys you to know that it’s the only outcome where you will survive, where the other Lords will not come for your head. If only the late King Viserys hadn’t remarried, but your heart cannot take the idea of a world where you didn’t have the chance to meet Aemond, as complicated as it had been.

You two share a bed but he hasn’t touched you and you hadn’t initiated anything, your heart still at war towards him. He has taken on sparring with you using fake swords, going slow to help you get back into the complicate dance that is a fight and you can’t help yourself but admire him and his perfect form, the way he has total control on every muscle of his body, even his hair seem to move in tandem with the different position he finds himself into while blocking your attacks, as if he has control over it as well. He truly is a work of art, dangerous and fascinating, pulling you towards him, like a sailor lost at sea. You pour all your complicated feelings into this training, charging every blow with your sadness and anger, trying to keep your head clear and not let the turmoil win. It takes you a little while to go back where you once were before getting married, your muscles stiff and slow in following what your mind commands, but you are getting there and you realize it the day Aemond’s demeanor shifts and stops pulling his punches when you enter his defense and almost disarm him. For a second he stares at you incredulously and then proceeds to counterattack. The fight ends with him victorious and you breathless.

“You should be proud of yourself - he tells you while he is escorting you to your shared quarters - not many people can say they have almost managed to win over me”

“Maybe next time I will”

“You might as well have already done it” he says so low that you can’t hear him over the ruckus that’s the stomping of your guards.

You can’t help yourself but worry for him when he leaves for battle, hoping he will come back unscathed, while losing against the army of the North. The bed feels big and cold without him, you can’t fall asleep easily without hearing his breathing and random snoring; during those long nights you wish you still had the pendant with your parents’ portraits. You didn’t wear it during the kidnapping and you wonder if your husband had destroyed it, along with all your belongings the moment he came back from the failed negotiation. Sometimes you wonder if this has been his plan all along, in order to get rid of you without murdering you, which would have probably caused an uproar in the Houses loyal to yours; you marrying Aemond had been a curveball, he probably expected you to be killed, but branding you a traitor will wash his hands the moment he’ll try to kill you. You know he will try, given the chance, which will happen, sooner or later; Aemond is not stupid enough to bring you along when in battle, but one day you’ll be face to face with you husband and he will try to pull something, you know how his mind works and you are positive he will try to make you pay for disrespecting him during your last encounter.

Those thoughts surface at random in your head, you being swamped with work and having to practice sword fighting even when Aemond is not around. To top that, you can feel unrest in the men, but without knowledge of High Valyrian, you have no idea of what they are talking about, why they all look so sullen, despite the many victories. Again, it’s the woman you consider your handmaiden that sheds light, explaining that Aemond has forbidden the soldiers from raping the civilians; they can kill and loiter but, if he gets wind of someone not following his orders, there will be consequences. Prompted, she can’t explain the reason behind Aemond’s actions, just that from the moment you were attacked and the man punished, Aemond had instituted this weird rule. You are in equal parts grateful and curious: why would he care about the wellbeing of his enemies? Protecting the bounty you can understand, what about all the common folk no one truly cares about? With a sigh you realize you know next to nothing of the man you married; you know every crevice of his body, know the sounds he makes when he’s close to orgasm, but have no idea of the inner workings of his mind, of what truly lies behind his lonely lilac eye. The flash of the sapphire appears in your mind, how he scrambled to hide it, but why would that have anything to do with him banning his men from raping your people? It feels like you’re missing a detail, something you’ve seen or heard and it’s now escaping you.

“This is frustrating”

“What is frustrating, dōna ābrazȳrys?”.

You, literally, jump out of your skin with a shrill scream

“Aemond!” it’s all you can manage over the furious beating of your heart

“I apologize dōna ābrazȳrys, I didn’t want to scare you”.

No ill feeling on your side still, you want to throw something at him out of sheer frustration and you almost do, your hand tight around an inkwell. Aemond observes you, he is positive you will not hit him, even though your eyes are blazing and you are still trying to catch your breath; you are so dear to his heart, every day he spends next to you, every time he spars with you, he realizes that the pull he feels towards you has a name he dares not pronounce, because the Kinslayer can’t hope to have his feelings reciprocated. He’d be happy to live his life by your side, without asking anything from you other than the warmth of your presence and even that he doesn’t deserve. He had been a fool to believe you would have him in your arms after everything he’s put you through, even sleeping next to you feels like an undeserved miracle; for a moment he wishes he was Aegon, he wishes to be able to drown all his sorrows and regrets in wine and whores. If he were his brother, though, he would have never been able to appreciate you, he would have never felt the spark that binds him to you and as much as it hurts to be physically distant from you, he’d rather be himself and cherish existing with you, than feeling nothing at all.

“I suppose I have to thank you - your voice stops his unruly thoughts - for sparing my people the shame of rape. I don’t understand why drawing the line there, but thank you”

“Rape is an unforgivable crime” he says, hoping this will be enough of an explanation

“I still don’t understand why a man would care about that. We are no more than another battlefield in the end”

“Deaths are bound to happen in war, it has always and will always be this way. Other things don’t”.

He can see the way your eyes are zeroing on him, not unlike when you are sparring and looking for a way to enter his guard and he has to physically force himself from stiffening his stance: you must never suspect or know.

As you stare at him, your mind goes back to the night he had that nightmare, your brain trying to remember his precise words: what did he say that didn’t go there with murdering his family?

“I don’t want this. You said ‘I don’t want this’! And why would you tell your victims that?”.

Reaching the only, logical, conclusion it’s a matter of seconds, Aemond realizes and you can see his skin becoming a disturbing shade of gray. You don’t give him time to do anything, swiftly you go to him and take his hands in yours with a gentle hold.

“Is that person dead?”.

You have to repeat the question several times before he seems to be able to focus on your words.

“I don’t know. I never went back - his fingers curl with yours in a desperate attempt to keep himself under control, his stomach churning painfully - it doesn’t matter”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t”.

With gentle movements he uncurls his fingers from yours and heads to the door. He doesn’t have the courage to look at you, fearing what he could find there.

“I would have stopped my man anyway” he says grabbing the door handle

“Thank you Aemond”.

He doesn’t expect the seriousness in your tone, pity maybe, contempt even, but not the quiet firmness that makes him stare into your lovely face, where he can see your sadness and concern.

“You were the only one ñuha jorrāelagon, the only one I ever truly wanted - he hates how his voice sounds now - if you’ll excuse me” he says with a curt bow, before exiting your shared chambers, needing to be alone with his thoughts.

When you wake at sunrise, after an uneasy slumber, your handmaid tells you he has gone into battle. Your heart trembles at the thought.

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess

[breannasfluff]

Brittle Memories

Brittle isn’t a word applied to heroes, but it fits Legend. For all the sass and snark, backed up by biting comments, Wild can’t help but see him as—brittle.

The realization is made worse by recognizing the same trait in himself. He has no right to complain; his interrupted adventure was only one in comparison to the Veteran’s multiples.

Wild understands the grouchy facade and keeps his distance in deference to the other.

The scream of a moblin and the crash of Legend’s sword blocking the blow aimed at Wild’s head slams him firmly into the battle at hand. His bow broke and he switched to a spear to jab at the taller monster.

Unfortunately, spears are a poor option against clubs up close.

“What are you doing?” Legend grits his teeth as he shoves against the weight of the club bearing down on his sword.

His power bracelet pulses and he shoves the weapon aside. A quick slice and the monster screams, kneecap mangled by the sword. Black blood oozes from the wound, but it doesn’t go down. “Can’t you clean up your own mess?”

Wild is still off-kilter from the blow that knocked him down, fingers clumsy as he trades the spear for a sword. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s lots in the din of battle.

Once again armed, he joins Legend’s side. “Bow broke,” he tries to explain.

The Veteran gasps as he fends off the monster’s greater weight. “Maybe if you didn’t have such shit weapons it wouldn’t be a problem.”

It’s true, so Wild doesn’t push back. The art of making weapons was lost in his Hyrule and few good ones remained. Combined with his fighting style, it’s a miracle anything survives in his hands.

The moblin finally goes down and the battle slows around them. Time finishes off his bokoblin before glancing around for a head count. Hyrule darts around the heroes, hands glowing pink as he checks for injuries.

Leaning on his sword, Legend glares at Wild. “You’re a hindrance to the group and you’re going to get someone hurt.”

Sky, picking his way through the bloody field, catches the comment and cuffs the Veteran’s head. “We’re a team. There’s no need to be rude.”

Wild waves him off with a practiced smile. ‘He’s right,’ he signs, sword already stowed in his slate to free his hands. ‘I’m not the best at working in a group.’

Clapping him on the shoulder, Sky ignores the instinctive flinch. “You’ll get the hang of it, don’t worry.”

Behind him, Legend sends another glare and stomps off to fuss over Hyrule.

The next portal dumps them in an in-between time with no hero. It also dumps them at the seaside. Legend, upon catching sight of the water, distinctly pales and clutches at Hyrule groaning next to him.

The sea is rough and crashes on the rocks sending salt spray misting over the group. No gentle waves and soft sand beaches of Lurelin here. Wild breathes in briny air, trying to clear the dizziness from the portal.

Time reaches out to catch Four before he faceplants into a rock exiting the portal. Despite the rocky terrain, tropical trees beckon from up the slope.

“Let’s head for higher ground and then we’ll rest.” Time chivies the other into motion, a hand periodically reaching to steady himself on Warriors. Even he isn’t excused from the dizziness of the portal.

The rocks are slippery with spray and Wild’s thankful for his climbing skills. The others struggle and Sky needs a boost to get over the last lip, but finally, they are up and moaning in the wiry grass. It melds into a tropical forest and craggy rocks extending up and down the coastline.

“Is this an island?” Legend’s voice is rough and something edging on panic tints his gaze. “Are we on a goddess-forsaken island?”

Hyrule, despite looking like he’ll tip over in a stiff breeze, scoots closer to lean against him.

The others are silent until Wild breaks in. “It’s coastline or a really big island.”

“How do you know?”

Confronted with Legend’s focus and glare, he retreats into signing. ‘Look, up and down the coast you can’t see any curves. And these types of rocks are similar to the cliffs in my Hyrule. There’s no sand, either. Islands usually have some sort of beach, carved out by the waves.

The assurance doesn’t seem to help. Legend squints at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The jab hurts, but Wild shrugs it off. ‘Maybe,’ he agrees easily enough.

Time breaks in with a frown. “Vet, no need to take out frustration on Wild. Let’s take a break and head deeper in; find some water and a place to camp.”

Wild stares at Legend, who glares back. Brittle; the word a hollow ring in Wild’s mind.

Read the rest here!

[gerec]

I woke up with an idea that has utterly consumed my mind and I had to get some words out to see if it's going to go anywhere. Another alpha/omega historical au (I know I know) where Erik is the Crown Prince of Genosha and Charles his childhood playmate. What would happen if Erik's father the King decides to make Charles his new Consort???

-----

Azazel is waiting when he comes out from the wash tent, handing Erik his tunic and his scabbard with an easy smile. Nodding his thanks, he pulls the tunic over his head and scrubs his face and hair with the towel, relieved to get some of the dirt off his body after days of hard fighting. Their campaign in the west lands is coming to an end, at least according to General Frost, who has been leading the King’s Army against the rebels for the past six months. Erik had been dispatched by his father to join the fight, but strictly under the General’s command, and with instructions to learn the art of war from the respected and seasoned Genoshan leader.

It hasn’t been easy, as Frost treats him as she would any other soldier, and not as the Crown Prince who technically outranks her. But at eighteen, he’s barely been away from the castle and outside of Hammer Bay, with this deployment being the first real fighting he’s seen since he started training under Logan. He wishes his friend and mentor could see first-hand just how far he’s come, though of course the Captain of the King’s Guard must stay in the Capital to protect the King.

And if he’s being honest, what he really wants is to see Charles again and spend time with him, even if they can no longer run free all over the castle grounds. Though they’ve been close companions since they were young children, Charles’ freedom became severely curtailed when he turned fourteen, after his father’s death and his mother’s subsequent marriage to the traditional Earl Marko. In the two years since, their visits have been chaperoned at all times, as befitting their respective stations as alpha heir to Genosha’s throne and the omega scion of a noble house. And Erik’s complaints to his father largely fall on deaf ears, for by law Charles must obey his stepfather until he’s wed and bonded to his alpha mate.

He does not like how his warm and gregarious friend has become so reserved and distant of late, and vows to speak to his father again, for more time with Charles away from the eyes of Marko’s people. Erik is certain that Charles will confide in him given the chance again, and the close camaraderie they shared as boys will quickly return.

(And perhaps he’ll finally be brave enough to admit he’s in love with his best friend, and – assuming Charles feels the same way – will ask his father to arrange a formal betrothal.) 

“You’re smiling,” Azazel teases, as they make their way to Erik’s tent, where a hot meal served in relative privacy is the one luxury he’s permitted. His personal guard has likely already taken his meal, though Erik is more than happy to share his allotment of ale. “Did you get another letter?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Charles has written only once since his arrival at the camp, though Erik has never stopped hoping he would send more. “I was merely thinking I would get to see him soon, since the General seems confident of an imminent victory.”

“The General knows of what she speaks,” Azazel says, side-stepping a deep puddle, the ground still wet from the morning’s heavy rain. “Though it’s still best not to count the chicks before they hatch—”

“Your Royal Highness!”

Erik stops mid-stride, his way suddenly blocked by the incoming approach of a messenger dressed in the King’s livery. The boy is very young and looks utterly exhausted, as though he’d ridden the five-day journey non-stop from Hammer Bay. Falling before Erik on his knees, the boy proffers the letter clutched in his hand; a note from his father bearing the King’s Seal, though the lettering on the envelope is clearly written by another.

Frowning, Erik tears open the envelope and scans the message inside, curiosity morphing quickly to horror at its contents.

Azazel leans close and murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

Hands shaking, Erik can barely form the words to express his shock and utter dismay. 

“My father is planning a wedding,” he croaks. “He’s chosen Charles of House Xavier to be his new Royal Consort.” 

[thedogsled]

Hi friends! Welcome to my Stucky Bingo masterlist. I filled out the whole square, which is exciting for me because in two decades of fandom I've never so much as completed a single line of bingo before. It adds up to a total of 22, 817 new words and three (four) pieces of art, which is pretty darn cool. Hope you enjoy it!

Prompt: B1 AU: Concubine Rating & Warnings: G, None As the siege breaks and the battle wanes, Steve finds himself in Baron Zemo's quarters, where two people are hiding from the bloodlust beyond their curtains. Steve has a choice to make. Link: Looting the Baron's Treasures Prompt: I1 Red Skull Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Rape/Non-Con, Forced masturbation, Clinical voyeurism, Winter Soldier Bucky “So you see, Captain. Your friend is one of us, now. Zola has done an excellent job reprogramming him, don’t you agree?” Link: No Hero N1 "Your work has been a gift to mankind" Rating & Warnings: G, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Sleep Paralysis Bucky doesn't sleep well. Sometimes things from the past come back to haunt him. Link: Night Fury G1 Inside Jokes Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Naked butt in the art Tony's birthday presents are always inappropriate, and as usual he's completely outdone himself. Link: Butt Stuff O1 AU: Gang/Mobsters Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Anonymous sex, Internalized homophobia, glory hole When an anonymous voice makes him an offer, Bucky finds it hard to refuse. It's just a little stress relief. Nobody will ever know. Link: Friday Night B2 Enemies to Lovers Rating & Warnings: G, Implied homophobia/Misunderstandings Steve Rogers is a little punk and Bucky has had enough of it. Link: The Playbook I2 Holding Hands Rating & Warnings: G, None After all these years, Steve and Bucky get the life they deserve, and Bucky gets some birthday presents. He's happy to share one with the man he loves. Link: Stucky Bingo September Round Robin 2022 N2 AU: Sports Rating & Warnings: G, None When Russian figure skater Bucky Barnes defects, he can only skate for the Team USA if he skates with a partner. What he and Steve Rogers find together on the ice is golden. Link: Stucky Bingo February Round Robin 2023 G2 Kink: Hot Tub Sex Rating & Warnings: Explicit, PWP without Porn It takes a while to snag a little privacy after the party. Link: Water's Warm O2 Art Format: Explosion of Colors Rating & Warnings: G, None Art! Link B3 Major Injuries Rating & Warnings: G, Blood and injury It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed Bucky being struck. He’d thrown out his shield to block the worst of the damage from the exploding debris, but he’d noticed Bucky clutching his side throughout the fight. Steve knew. But in the middle of it there had been no opportunity for pause, no moment where he could check that Bucky was okay. He kept moving, and that was what mattered. Link: Stucky Bingo March Round Robin 2023 I3 Space Rating & Warnings: G, None MCU Bucky is the Man on the Wall, and he takes Steve on a little adventure in space. Sad vibes! Link: Picnic on the Moon N3 Free Space (also adopted prompt: Drunken Hookup) Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Semi-Public sex, drunken hookup Bucky is leaving in the morning, and Steve can't let him go without making one last desperate leap of faith. Link: Leap of Faith G3 Steve Coming out of the Ice Wrong Rating & Warnings: Explicit, PWP without porn, Rimming, Sexual dysfunction Steve has a terrible secret, and he's not sure how well Bucky's going to take it. (Please note: Brief HTP mentions but Steve is mistaken, mostly.) Link: Parsnips

O3 Secret Injury Rating & Warnings: G, Blood and Injury Bucky is shot during the prison escape (in The First Avenger). When he realizes on the march home, he has to decide whether or not to tell Steve. (Canon compliant! Not MCD!) Link: Carry Me Home B4 Kink: Tickling Rating & Warnings: Mature, Consensual kink, Breathplay Bucky teaches Steve about one of his kinks, and while at first Steve's not sure if he likes it... Link: Giggles I4 Pic: Shower curtain Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Mutual Masturbation, Shower Sex, NSFW art In which Bucky pulls a prank and then they have to make up. 1471 words + a little NSFW art for flavor Link: Bucky Barnes: Shower Menace N4 Predator/Prey Rating & Warnings: Explicit, None Maybe Steve Rogers needs to get better at stealth. Not that the consequences of losing are all that bad. Link: When the Lights Go Out G4 Avengers Compound Rating & Warnings: G, None Bucky comes home, and Steve can't keep the smile off his face. Link: New Old O4 "Before we get started does anyone want to get out?" Rating & Warnings: Teen, Ableist language “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Avenge Your Love, the newest and biggest show on the Marvel Network, designed to match a man of honor and bravery with the love of his life. I’m Nick Fury, your host for this adventure, and I’m here with Captain Steve Rogers of the U.S. Army. Captain, tell us a little bit about yourself.” Link: Stucky Bingo Round Robin October 2023 B5 Clint Barton/Hawkeye Rating & Warnings: Teen, None Bucky loved his friends, and he didn’t really blame them for interfering. How could he? Clint was right; in the two years since they’d come here together for uni, Bucky’s ladykiller days had spontaneously ended. It was always about Steve, now. Steve this, Steve that. Nevermind that in all that time Bucky had probably said maybe 20 words to the man. Link: Stucky Bingo Round Robin April 2023 I5 AU: Pen Pals Ratings & Warnings: G, None Steve illustrates Captain America A fan writes to him Flirting ensues Link: The Man With the Umbrella N5 Writing format: Stream of consciousness Rating & Warnings: G, Night Terrors, Sleep paralysis, Hurt No Comfort, PTSD Bucky isn't sleeping so well. Link: Locomotive Breath G5 New York Rating & Warnings: G, None Did Bucky go back to HYDRA? Did they recapture him, torture him? Why has he disappeared again? And what can Steve possibly do about it while he's 'resting up OR ELSE' as Sam so sweetly puts it? Link: Broken Hearts (In a Drawer) O5 Kink: Clothed Sex Rating & Warnings: Explicit, Clothed sex, Sex toys under clothing, In public Steve really can't keep his mind on mission planning...not when he knows something the other Avengers don't. Link: Modern Conveniences

Adopted prompt: Sokovia Rating & Warnings: G, None Zemo was right about visiting Sokovia. He needed to come here, needed to see the things that Zemo has lost. Beyond that, it's a good place for some introspection on the things that Bucky himself has lost along the way. It's Steve. He's thinking about Steve. Link: Scars That Never Heal Adopted prompt: Art style: Charcoal Rating & Warnings: G, None “There…might’ve been a bit of a hiccup on the mission.” “A hiccup.” “Just a tiny one.” “Well, I would certainly say that’s tiny alright,” Bucky drawled, moving in closer. “Do I even want to know what sort of tiny hiccup landed you with a baby?” “Would you believe me if I told you that this is actually-ah-Natasha?” Steve grimaced with a shrug. “I think ‘magic’ about sums up the hiccup.” Link: Stucky Bingo Round Robin November 2023 Adopted prompt: Double Agent Rating & Warnings: G, HYDRA Steve Rogers (Steve Rogers is not HYDRA) Steve returns the Infinity stones. Some are far easier than others. Avengers: Endgame Canon Divergence. Link: I Knew Him

[pathfinderunlocked]

Sheoldred, The Whispering One - CR20 Aberration

A Praetor of Phyrexia from Magic: The Gathering.

Artwork is official art from Magic: The Gathering, by Jana Schirmer & Johannes Voss, copyright Wizards of the Coast.

This creature was a commission.  Sheoldred is one of the five leaders of Phyrexia.  Like I said when I posted the stat block for Vorinclex earlier this week, I’m no expert in Magic: The Gathering lore, but if your idea of a cool enemy faction is if the Borg invaded Planescape and assimilated an entire dimension, check out the MTG wiki.

3.5e stats for some other Phyrexian creatures, items, effects, and so forth can be found here.

This boss creature is essentially something adjacent to a necromancer, using her artificial power to repair her allies' broken bodies and refuse to let them die, so she should typically fight alongside several minions (probably at least 4).  The combination of Sheoldred’s Touch and Transfer Life gives her an unusual way to revive her allies over and over, although it also requires that she stay in the thick of battle, so players do actually have a chance to focus-fire her down.  She can use her touch attack on herself if she’s feeling cocky, counting on her fast healing to recover afterwards, or use it as an attack of opportunity if someone is dumb enough to move adjacent to her and provoke.  She should probably be using Lunge almost every turn, even if she doesn’t attack, just for the sake of attacks of opportunity.

Swarm Shape is a good defensive ability, especially if the targets are mostly using physical attacks.  Note that a swarm uses its swarm attack as a free action, so she can do that and also cast a spell on the same turn.  Your players will not appreciate this, especially since she can usually auto-pass the checks to cast defensively.  She can’t use Sheoldred’s Touch in this form, though, and thus also can’t use Transfer Life; as a result, Swarm Shape is mostly a thing to do once she runs out of useful minions.

Separate is an emergency escape maneuver for when things go horribly wrong.  Live to fight another day.  Fighting to the death is for her underlings.

Sheoldred, The Whispering One - CR 20

This massive being takes the form of a feminine humanoid torso emerging from a huge-mouthed, many-jointed fiend.  Her movements are spiderlike in their grace, and her body is covered with plates of oily, corroded metal.

XP 307,200 NE Huge aberration Init +7 Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +26 Aura fast healing aura (60 ft.), selective greater death knell aura (20 ft., DC 24)

DEFENSE

AC 38, touch 16, flat-footed 30 (+8 Dex, +22 natural, –2 size) hp 262 (21d8+168) plus 31 temp hp; fast healing 20 Fort +21, Ref +15, Will +18; +5 vs. exhaustion, fatigue, fear, paralysis, +9 vs. mind-affecting Defensive Abilities fortification (50%) DR 10/epic and good Immune death, disease, fear, paralysis, poison, sleep, stun Resist acid 20 SR 31

OFFENSE

Speed 50 ft., climb 25 ft. Melee bite +22 (4d8+12 plus poison) or bite +17 (4d8+8 plus poison) and sheoldred’s touch +21 (14d8 negative energy, see text) Space 15 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with bite) Special Attacks separate, sheoldred’s touch, swarm shape, transfer life

Spell-like Abilities (CL 20th; concentration +29)     1/day—death clutch (DC 27)     3/day—finger of death (DC 26), greater false life (already cast x1), quickened enervation (ranged touch +20), quickened hold monster (DC 23)     At will—sow thought (DC 19), enervation (ranged touch +20), final sacrifice (DC 20), mindlink

STATISTICS

Str 26, Dex 27, Con 25, Int 25, Wis 23, Cha 24 Base Atk +15; CMB +25; CMD 43 Feats Combat Casting, Great Fortitude, Greater Spell Focus (necromancy), Lunge, Quicken Spell-like Ability (enervation), Quicken Spell-like Ability (hold monster), Spell Focus (enchantment), Spell Focus (necromancy), Toughness, Uncanny Concentration, Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Acrobatics +18, Climb +22, Craft (alchemy) +29, Diplomacy +3, Escape Artist +31, Heal +27, Intimidate +35, Knowledge (engineering) +31, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, local, planes) +28, Perception +26, Use Magic Device +22 Languages Common, Phyrexian; telepathy 100 ft. SQ phyrexian traits, praetor’s traits, swamp strider

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Fast Healing Aura (Su) All allies within 60 ft. of Sheoldred gain fast healing 20.  (Multiple sources of fast healing do not stack - only the highest applies.)

Phyrexian Traits (Ex) Phyrexians have a +5 bonus on Fortitude saves, and a +5 bonus on saving throws versus fear, sleep, stunning, paralysis, fatigue, exhaustion, and mind-affecting spells.  They have a +4 racial bonus on Intimidate and a -4 racial penalty on Diplomacy.  These abilities are already included in Sheoldred’s statistics.

Phyrexians also have 50% fortification against critical hits and sneak attacks, and are immune to the effects of the Glistening Oil.

Praetor's Traits (Ex) Like all members of the New Phyrexia hierarchy, Sheoldred is immune to paralysis, sleep, stunning, and death effects, has resistance 20 to Acid damage, has DR 10/epic and good, and receives a +4 bonus on saves versus mind-affecting spells and abilities.  These abilities are already included in her statistics.

Poison (Ex) Bite—injury; save Fort DC 27; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d6 Str and 1d6 Dex; cure 2 consecutive saves.

Selective Greater Death Knell Aura (Sp) Sheoldred is constantly affected by a greater death knell aura spell (DC 24), except that she can choose to exclude creatures from its effect.

Separate (Ex) As a move action, Sheoldred can separate her humanoid upper body from her insectoid lower thorax and move her upper body up to 15 feet, leaving her lower thorax behind.  Her lower thorax is treated as a separate creature, but can take no actions and is considered helpless while Sheoldred is separated.  Her upper body and lower thorax each have half as many maximum hit points as her original form, and she can choose how to distribute her current and temporary hit points when she separates (including choosing to leave her lower thorax at any number of negative hit points, up to the amount needed to kill it, usually -25).  If her lower thorax is killed while she is separated, it can only be restored with a spell or effect such as regenerate.

When Sheoldred separates, any physical conditions and physical ability damage or drain affecting her are transferred to her lower thorax, while any mental conditions and mental ability damage or drain affecting her remain in her upper body.  If she is affected by any effects that are not clearly physical or mental (such as the bonuses from death knell, and many other magic effects), she can choose whether they remain in her upper body or are transferred to her lower thorax.

Sheoldred can separate even when helpless or unable to take actions, as long as the effect causing her to be helpless or unable to take actions is not mental in nature.

She can climb back into her lower thorax as a move action when adjacent to it, ending the effects of Separate.

Sheoldred’s upper body and lower thorax retains her original statistics when separated, except for the changes described above, plus the following changes:

Sheoldred’s upper body is medium-sized.  It loses its bite attack, and its natural armor is 8 points lower.  Its land speed is reduced to 30 ft., and it loses its climb speed.  Its fast healing and fast healing aura both lower to 10.

Sheoldred’s lower thorax loses its auras.  Its fast healing lowers to 10.  It cannot benefit from Sheoldred’s fast healing aura.

Sheoldred’s Touch (Su) By making a touch attack, Sheoldred can draw the life out of a living target, dealing 14d8 negative energy damage and granting herself temporary hit points equal to half that amount.  A successful Fortitude save (DC 26) halves the damage.  This attack has no effect on undead creatures or constructs.  This touch attack must be made with her humanoid limbs, which have a reach of 5 ft.; she cannot deliver it through a bite.  The save DC is Charisma-based.

Sheoldred can use this touch attack on herself, either normally as part of a full attack action, or as a swift action, and automatically succeeds on the Fortitude save to halve the damage if she does so.

Swamp Strider (Ex) Sheoldred suffers no penalty to speed or on Acrobatics or Stealth checks in bogs and undergrowth.

Swarm Shape (Su) As a standard action, Sheoldred can convert her body into a swarm of Tiny spider-like vermin.  While in this form, she gains a +12 size bonus to Dexterity, takes a -12 penalty to Strength, gains swarm traits and the swarm subtype, and gains the distraction universal monster ability (DC 27).  She loses all of her attacks but gains a swarm attack which deals 8d6 damage.  Her movement speed changes to 30 ft., with a 30 ft. climb speed.  This is a polymorph effect.  Sheoldred retains all of her extraordinary and supernatural abilities in this form, except for Sheoldred’s Touch and Separate (although she can use Separate first and then use Swarm Shape while under its effects).  She can dismiss this effect as a standard action.

Unlike a typical swarm, she is considered to be Huge in her swarm form and takes up a 15-foot space, unless she uses Swarm Shape while under the effects of Separate, in which case she becomes a typical-sized Large swarm.  Either way, she can still reshape her space like a typical swarm.

The bonuses and penalties for polymorphing a creature that is larger than medium are already included in the above effects, and do not need to be added separately (regardless of whether Sheoldred is under the effects of Separate).

Transfer Life (Su) As a move action, if Sheoldred has temporary hit points that were gained from Sheoldred’s Touch, she can sacrifice them to heal any creature except herself within 30 ft. for twice that amount, or to resurrect a dead creature within 30 ft.  A creature resurrected in this way has 1 hit point, gains 2 negative levels, and can stand up as an immediate action.  If this would cause the target’s negative levels to meet or exceed its hit dice, it cannot be resurrected in this way.

[scruffyplayssonic]

Are the ArchieSonic comics actually an 80's/90's syndicated cartoon? Episode 22: Explosive case of amnesia, and episode 23: Hero is brainwashed to be evil

Welcome back to my look at the ArchieSonic comic series, and how it shared a lot of the same story tropes as a typical ‘80’s or ‘90’s syndicated cartoon! I’m going to be looking at two episode tropes for the price of one today, as these things both happened in the same story!

Episode 22: Explosive case of amnesia, and episode 23: Hero is brainwashed to be evil

This story took place in Sonic the Hedgehog #27 and #28, and kicked off when Sonic went on a mission to retrieve a secret message in Robotropolis. After running face-first into a Swatbot and knocking himself off, Sonic was captured and awoke with a bad case of amnesia.

Snively wanted to take advantage of the situation to just eliminate Sonic while they had the opportunity drop into their laps, but Robotnik wouldn’t have been much of a supervillain if he’d just roboticised Sonic while he was unconscious and helpless, would he?

…okay, to be fair he learned from that mistake in a later issue and did that exact thing, so who says Robotnik can’t have character development?

Anyway, Robotnik tricked Sonic into thinking the Freedom Fighters were an underground rebellion aiming to take down the government - which is actually true when you think about it - and tasked Sonic with finding their secret base. Sonic was pointed in the direction of the Great Forest and sent on his way, unaware that a tracking beacon had been placed behind his ear and a group of demolition tractors was in hot pursuit, ready to annihilate Knothole should he manage to find it.

Sonic soon managed to find a secret tunnel leading to Knothole, but set off the security sensors because of the tracking beacon he was carrying. Sally and Rotor didn’t fully understand what was going on, but decided to be cautious and tried to block Sonic off from getting any closer. When that didn’t work, Sally decided, “Well, guess we’d better kill him!” and ordered the tunnel flooded.

Sonic managed to escape though, and continued on his way to Knothole where he beat the ever-living snot out of his former teammates.

Antoine tried to ambush him in the dark with the help of Sally’s former trainees, and Dylan the Porcupine managed to get a lucky hit in, knocking Sonic out.

Sonic awoke with his memory restored, and led the demolition tractors off a cliff instead of to Knothole. Robotnik came to the conclusion that somehow Sonic had outwitted him again and that he had never been close to finding Knothole, and all was well.

…except Tails threw a tantrum about Sonic beating him up, which led to him heading off on his own and running afoul of the Fiona Fox auto-automaton. Whoopsie.

It’s worth noting that this story shares a lot of similarities with the season 2 SatAM episode, “No Brainer.”

In this episode Sonic got hit with a memory scrambler when he was freeing prisoners from Snively’s clutches, and Snively befriended him in the hope of using him to find Knothole. This was possibly the first time the creative team adopted the stance of, “Can’t think of any good ideas? Just copy from SatAM!” but it wouldn’t be the last. Heck, they even did full adaptations of two SatAM episodes in the comic, with horrible, horrible art.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for today. Are there any other cases of amnesia or brainwashing that I’ve overlooked? Be sure to let me know in the comments and come back tomorrow for the next post, where I’ll be looking at episode 24: villain forced to act good!

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Before Mack's Barbie Party PARTIES: @escudofracturado & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Alex goes to the art store to grab a sketch book and doesn't fully realize that the cashier is Milo until after she has a menty b and gets attacked by birds. CONTENT: Domestic abuse

If one could ignore the unnerving new painting on display and the bloodthirsty pencils that never knew when to stop, Periwinkle Paints was a pretty chill place to work. Now that the school year was finished, the store was a bit less hectic since many of the art students had gone elsewhere for the summer. There had been a few on the staff, too, so some of the familiar faces around the store had disappeared, including, to Milo’s disappointment, his fellow cashier Sita, who he had befriended over the past several weeks. At least he always had his discount.

It was a pretty slow day, and he was spending his free time working on his current knitting project– a color block cardigan that he wasn’t very far into. There was a group of noisy teens somewhere further into the store that his manager had gone to keep an eye on, leaving just him up front. He looked up as the bell on the door jingled, movements pausing for a moment as he greeted the newcomer with a smile. …Wait, he knew her, she had been at the party. Alex, the wolf girl. “Oh, hey, welcome! Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

—

It had been a while since she had sketched or drawn much of anything. Alex had always enjoyed it. When it came to sketching the many supernatural creatures she’d studied and showing her parents she knew what they were, their weaknesses, their strengths— it was the one damn part of her training she was actually good at. At least the practiced skill had stuck with her enough for her to enjoy it as a casual hobby. Not that it felt casual today. Her hands itched to etch every detail into memory, one pencil stroke at a time. 

The cashier who seemed to be about her age, greeted Alex as she entered the art supplies shop. She gave him a friendly smile and waved, “Appreciate it, just looking to pick up a sketchbook and maybe some colored pencils, pretty sure I can find them..” Not that any color or pencil stroke could fully capture the magic she felt down in that pit cave, but damn did she want to try. Maybe even give one of the better sketches to Cass as a gift before the logical part of her brain could think better of it. 

Alex realized a lot of people must have taken advantage of the sale this past weekend, because the aisle was fairly cleaned out. Surely, there’d still be at least a couple of sketchbooks left for her to choose from. Which was the case as she scanned the aisle, but they were all the same color– a grayish yellow that transported her back to another life. Lève-toi, petit. Her father’s voice rang in her head all too clearly and she could practically feel herself being thrusted back into another round of sparring where she got knocked to the ground over and over until the tears threatened to spill over her eyes. Ne pleure pas, bats-toi.

Somewhere in the unwelcome stroll down memory lane, the air in her lungs had seemingly turned to rock, anchoring Alex to the spot she stood in for longer than was seemingly normal for anyone to be looking at sketchbooks. The harsh fluorescent lights only made her feel more exposed and she rushed out the front door only to have something swooping down on her. “What the–,” she swatted at the bird, backing back into the store clutching the cut on her arm from the talon. 

—

“I’ll be here if you need any help,” Milo nodded at the redhead as she went off to find her sketching materials. Picking his needles back up, he knit and purled along, his ball of yarn situated underneath the register. He wished he were any good at sketching, but drawing both of the cartoon and realistic variety had never been his forte. Painting was much more enjoyable for him. The coloring and shading aspects had always been his favorite part of art classes anyway. 

He had finished up a row of stitches and was starting another when Alex came running out of the aisles, looking panicked. Shit, he probably should’ve warned her about the pencils. They had calmed down for a few days, but you never knew when they would start misbehaving again. Standing, Milo was going over to check on her when she pushed through the door, though she had just stepped outside when he heard the familiar sound of bird calls. Oh no. She backed into the store once again, now holding her arm. 

“Shit, are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice as he caught sight of the cut on her arm. 

—

Some combination of the blood flowing from her arm and the memory of the faded yellow door made the air in her lungs feel like lead. Alex found it difficult to gasp in another breath as she remembered her blood dripping on the concrete floor. She could practically feel tically hear her younger self pleading to be let out, for her father to look at her to no avail unless she made the targets. She felt like she was back in the room, begging to be let out and the voice coming from behind her took a moment to register. 

It made the breath seem to anchor in her throat as she tried to call out an answer. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her in this panicked state and Alex had half a mind to run right back out the door if the same birds hadn’t seemed to be staring right at her through the window. Connards. She held her arm close to her and forced herself to breathe more slowly. “Uh, yeah,” she answered, still not fully present. She blinked a few times to shake away images of a room she never had to enter again. 

Alex made a conscious effort to not look at her own bleeding arm. Despite being trained on basic first aid and waking up covered in it three mornings a month, blood still made her queasy. Almost lightheaded, though she would never admit that much. She turned to face the cashier and realized she knew the cashier. Fuck. Putain. Merde. Of course the poor guy she dared to eat soap was the one to see her having a meltdown in the middle of a fucking art store. “Shit, sorry,” she shook her head, “Milo, right?” 

Alex gestured with her non-injured arm toward the door. “Uh, birds outside just don’t seem too happy with me is all.” 

—

As had been made apparent in his adventures in the caves of Wicked’s Rest, Milo wasn’t good with blood. It hadn’t bothered him much before, but now… He froze, his throat closing up for a moment. No, no, no. Come on! 

He had been having some bad days recently, and had just wanted a calm one today. Forcing his eyes shut, he took a few deep breaths. You’re okay. You’re in the store. You’re at work. You’re with Alex. Alex is bleeding, but she’s okay. Everything was okay. He opened his eyes, noticing that the aforementioned Alex did not look okay. She was speaking, though. 

“Yeah, Milo.” He sounded distant, preoccupied. It felt like he had been underwater, was struggling to pull his head up entirely, but he forced himself to focus on her. “You’re Alex.” It helped to say it aloud. You’re at work. You’re okay. You’re with Alex. Alex is a customer.  

He looked to where she was pointing; a bird was sitting calmly on the sidewalk. Right, the birds had attacked her.  “Yeah, um– I don’t– They hang around the store for whatever reason, and attack people sometimes. I don’t know what the deal is there, but they always come back.” Since the first incident he had witnessed with the birds, he had wondered if they were a sort of familiar or if there was conjuring involved. That was more– He took another breath.

“Also,” glancing over his shoulder, Milo checked to make sure his manager wasn’t around, but It seemed he hadn’t heard the commotion, wherever he was with the other customers. “I have noticed they will go for shoplifters.” He shook his head. “Narcs.” It was directed at the door with a wrinkle of his nose and the hint of a smile. 

“Sorry, I was a little weird for a second,” he said, figuring it best to just put it out there. “I’m not the best with blood.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, Milo glanced in the general direction of her arm. “We have a first aid kit in the break room,” he offered. 

—

Apparently they had both gotten a little lost for a moment. Between the blood and the flashback, Alex was still in somewhat of a haze as she stood still just past the entryway of the shop. So much, she wanted to be stronger than she felt in that moment and wear a face of composure. This was one of Cass’s friends and she desperately wanted to make a good impression. Something about shoplifters had vaguely stuck out amongst the rest of Milo’s words. Had she even shoplifted? If it weren’t for being shaken up, she’d find it almost humorous getting busted for shoplifting when she hadn’t even— then she felt the charcoal pencil in her pocket. Damn, had it really become that habitual? 

“Ha,” Alex retorted with an uneasy laugh, “I knew birds were just government spies.” At least it was a good joke to fall back on, even if it rang flat and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her arm still remained uncomfortably tucked into her side as she avoided looking at it. As it turned out, neither of them were great with blood. All was well and good for Milo, there was no reason for him to be. But she was supposed to be a ranger and now she was a monster? What kind of monster who woke up covered in the stuff three mornings a month still felt faint at the sight of it? 

“No worries,” she responded, as if she hadn’t spent the entirety of her life worrying, “It’s not exactly the most fun thing to look at— so you’re so good.” First aid kit was probably for the best. She’d slap a bandage on it for now and have Andy clean it properly when she got home. “Would appreciate that first aid kit though,” she smiled, a little easier this time as she settled into the interaction and realized she wasn’t the only one who had been battling some form of nerves. 

“Lead the way,” she said as she followed along. Follow Milo, slap on a band-aid, stop acting like a scared kid. Really, a short check-list. Alex could do this. She released some of the tension and asked, “So what have you been up to since the party? Hopefully not pissing off the birds?” 

—

He laughed, the joke helping to pull him out of his head a bit more. Still, Alex looked dazed and upset, which was valid for someone who had just gotten attacked by a bird and had maybe been attacked by the pencils before that, too. She had tried to run out very quickly, so either something had happened or she was a very unsubtle shoplifter. Milo just hoped she was okay. He couldn’t give less of a shit if the girl was stealing, and it was ridiculous that the manager or owner or whoever the fuck was controlling the birds thought it was okay to actually attack someone over a few fucking art supplies. Maybe it was the work of whoever kept cursing those damn pencils. 

The whole blood issue would be less of a worry if it weren’t such a recent development. While seeing his own blood wasn’t anything to panic over, others’ was a problem now, it seemed. But, whatever. First aid kit. 

“Right, it’s just over here,” he said, leading the way to the break room. Perking up at her questions, Milo laughed. “Thankfully not. Mostly just been working and trying to find a more permanent place to stay,” he shrugged. “Helping out at the bookstore, too, since I’ve been staying with the owner. What about you, though? Manage to get anyone else to eat soap recently?” He asked with a grin. 

Stepping into the small room that functioned as both the locker room and kitchen, he held the door open for the girl. “Might wanna wash it first,” he said, nodding toward the sink before grabbing the bright red box out of the corner and setting it down on a nearby table. 

—

“Well, I hope you find a good place soon,” Alex smiled, “If you need help, I know a guy.” She wasn’t sure Alan really did rentals like that, but hey, he had a lot of people who worked for him. He could probably at least point her friend in the right direction. She did her best to focus on Milo’s words as she made quick work of at least cleaning the scratches and slapping a band aid on them. It was hardly true first aid and she wasn’t sure how deep the cuts actually went, but if she kept looking down at the blood, she was fairly certain she was going to pass out in the employee room of the art store which was not the vibe. 

“Book store,” Alex perked up, “I love a good book store… almost as much as I love a good book. Looks like I may have to visit you at work… again. Maybe skip the getting attacked by birds next time though.” She laughed lightly which was a lot easier now that the wound itself was out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind was her specialty after all. “And no, haven’t gotten anyone else to eat soap,” she gave Milo a playful nudge, “That’s our thing, bestie.” 

It was kind of nice, to think that they had a thing— an inside joke of sorts. Alex found herself hoping that they could make more of those, even if she had made a little bit of an ass of herself during this visit to the art supplies store, but with another party at Mack’s around the corner, the werewolf knew they’d have plenty of time for bonding. 

[ccborrega]

Just some examples on what I mean by how people in Deviantart who do comment are just way too comfortable being inappropriate, there was:

Rando who commented on everything Toy Story I posted with lyrics from the CATS musical but adapted to the TS characters. It could be literally anything, character concepts for No Name, a Woody/Bo piece, a Prideyear thing, a sketchdump. He’d never comment anything even remotely related to the piece. Turns out he’d written that crossover and he figured rather than use his words, he’d just push.

Generally people who rather than ASK if you wanted to look at their stuff, just pushed it onto you. Like. I’m not your kindergarden teacher, PLEASE, give me space.

The dozens of askers of ‘Can you draw this for me?’ who additionally often got defensive or downright rude when I pointed at my commission prices. I knew literally none of them but they expected me to draw them stuff (Highly specific stuff too, most of the time) for free.

Person without basic knowledge of how recessive and dominant genes work who did a cheating joke on a TP Zelink piece I did with their fankid ‘cause the kid’s hair was red (A nod to classic Zelda.) 

Weirdo who would just comment on my BLOSC with ‘Post more’ and directly lifted details from my design for Buzz’s mom to tweak her own pre-existing one to, and I quote ‘Make her more interesting’ (So it really did come off as ‘Race is something we do for brownie points, not because it actually matters.’) When I blocked her, she just went into an alternate account to keep it up. She was the reason I stopped posting about BLOSC there, I simply didn’t have the patience or energy for it. 

Funny dude who constantly dropped into my Ghostbusters stuff containing Peck to comment the ‘That man has no dick’ bit.

Another funny dude who constantly dropped on my GB art to comment downright incomprehensible jokes at the expense of my shipping Janegon.

Person who demanded I translated a comic (That, I cannot stress this enough, WAS translated in the author’s comment) after saying I was dumb for making it.

Rando who dropped in a Bo/Woody piece to say ‘It’s a bad ship’. Nothing useful or even interesting, just tripe. Additionally, when I told them to look elsewhere, then, they acted like I was over-reacting. My sibling in the Ide, how, pray tell, the fuck am I supposed to react. I wasn’t even being rude, just setting boundaries.

Peep whose only comment in one of my TP Zelda pieces with heavy ambient tint was ‘Why is she blonde’.

Mean girl trio who picked on a friend who was just learning how to art and made fun of me when I asked them to lay off, said they’d pick on whoever the fuck they pleased ‘cause they were badass like that, and then proceeded to clutch their pearls when I told them to ‘Have fun with that’ because I figured they were pathetic and not worth my time. My friend, sadly, ended up leaving due to them and I lost all contact with him.

My sister, who would go into my pieces and just generally ridicule me.

Alternate shipper from a fandom I was who redrew (More like copied) a well-known piece from a more or less famous fanartist but for their ship and got amazingly defensive when it was pointed it out. Said it was ‘Referencing’ and refused to credit the original.

The shipping discourse regarding Jack Frost.

There was a generally bad experience with the fangroup of a relatively popular Zelda fanfic but it’s too complicated to explain? Let’s just say, it was a cult to the personality of the author and it got UGLY.

QueenZelda and whatever the hell was up with her.

[resident-cake-anon]

im rotting away art block pls free me from your clutches