#over a plagiarized fanfic

[vampiricgf]

i do still dearly love bg3 it just sucks that fandom is spearheaded by some of the most hateful fucking demons ive ever had the displeasure of interacting with

[pastafossa]

Don’t you think you’re being dramatic? I just saw your post about the “plagiarist”, there was one line of plagiarised dialogue.. The other thing looked completely unintentional and coincidental. Do you *own* a medical product smelling like honey? I enjoy reading TRT and your other works but this seems a little intense..? Sending fans and friends to harass someone over one line of dialogue.. yikes.

Not particularly. Why you use quotes for 'plagiarist' I'm not sure of, since you admit they plagiarized dialogue. I'd honestly have completely written off the honey as a coincidence if that dialogue line hadn't been stolen, and there are plenty of fics around the fandom and ship I'm fine with even if there are some some similarities like that. But when you add in the stolen dialogue it's a lot more suspicious, especially when the honey elements are happening in the exact same way the last plagiarist took details from my fic.

Maybe it is intense. I don't know. I know I hate having to post about it. I know I hate having to run this gauntlet with my anxiety. I know I'm very careful even when discussing divisive fandom shit to not do anything that might get someone a mob of people sent after them, which is why outside plagiarism stuff I keep my blog pretty drama free. I know I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I wake up, again, to asks in my box and messages from friends telling me they found another fic that's plagiarized my stuff. I know I don't like any of this and all I want to do is write, and yet I'm having to deal with this again. Cause if you've been around my blog and following TRT then you know I've had my stuff plagiarized multiple times, including by a repeat plagiarist who stole not just dialogue and characters but also literal elements of my life (a person who has refused to leave me alone, and also refused to take their stuff down until other people pressured them to). Even before that, TRT has been plagiarized multiple times and I've had to get Wattpad and AO3 involved when my requests for takedown were either ignored or waved off using the exact phrase this last person did - 'I didn't think it was a big deal'. I've never once been able to get anyone to take their stuff down until others got involved. I've also tried leaving it alone, and it always escalates. In the past when I tried to talk privately, I've been repeatedly ignored or had it minimized. I am tired. So yeah, I did the only thing I've found that works when I know there's plagiarism and I don't want it to keep happening or escalating - I asked for pressure without hate comments to get the content to come down, because at this point I've had to do this three times in about three months and I'm kinda at the end of my rope. Because it's not just one line of dialogue, even though that would be enough - even though no amount of plagiarism is ok. But it's also about this time, and the last time, and the time before that, and before and before and before. This is a pattern of people thinking this is ok, thinking it's not a big deal to take unique dialogue or characters or backstories that fic writers are already trying to give everyone for free. And I really, really don't think it's too much to ask that other fic writers respect that.

I literally just want it to stop.

[lecoindecachou]

I know this one is an unpopular opinion but it's so weird that Cassandra Clare to this day gets constantly accused of plagiarism to the point where it's the first thing people tell you about her, all because she stole some shit during her fic writing days. And it's like, who cares when it's been so long and as far as I know none of the actual books she's published have that issue? (Obviously they're derivative of other popular YA books but what YA series isn't.) Honestly if all she plagiarized was her fanfic from way back then I'm sorry but in the grand scheme of things it's just not that big a deal to me.

[southfarthing]

what with all this talk of fanfic and ai and feeding other people's work without permission into ai programmes to 'finish' a fanfic or whatever... it's just showing how people see fic as 'content'? a fanfic as something mass-produced and official, something to consume at a distance and then talk about in a vacuum? something to use for your own purposes and something over which you have a claim?

fanfic is written by fans like you. written out of love and passion and a lot of effort and hard work, so that the author can share their enthusiasm for the characters and stories with other fans. like you. they aren't these untouchable, faceless people above you – they're your peers. gifsets, fanart, fanfic – they're all made by your peers. mutuals. friends.

if you want to know more about the fic, talk to the author! so many fic writers leave their socials in the end notes of their fics – talk to them! they're not going to be affronted or judgemental. chances are, they're going to be over the moon that you like their work and want to engage and discuss the characters and the themes etc. they made you happy with their fic, and you would be making them so happy in return! (and what does a happy writer do? write more!)

as a fic writer, I made one of my closest tumblr friends because she read my fic and left a really nice comment, and then we got talking and brainstorming loads of headcanons and fic ideas together! fic writers want to talk! if you enjoy someone's presence and contributions in a fandom, let them know!

and for the love of all that is good, don't feed someone's hard work into an ai programme!!! whether you post it (which is just horrible tbh) is beside the point – you're facilitating the plagiarism of their fic!

[its-weeping]

tsukishima kei | 𝟑:𝟒𝟐 𝐀𝐌.

genre. ᡣ𐭩 fluff, established relationship, timeskip!!, pet names (sweetheart)

˚. ࿔synopsis. you ask your husband to get you a glass of water because you simply don't want to.

notes. it's currently 3:42 as i'm writing this so... anyways im going on vacay in a few days so i won't be able to get any fanfics out in the next two weeks.

you shift onto your side and face your husband, hesitation clear in your actions. you swallow dry, feeling parched, then give your husband's cheek a gentle poke. once, twice, but the other tsukishima doesn't move.

"psst," you hiss, no dice. "psssttt." you try again, and this time he groans.

a smile stretches across your lips as kei unwillingly stirs awake. he's looking at you now, already annoyed at having been woken up too early in the morning.

"what?" he growls, yet there's no venom in his voice. you swallow again, "can you get me a glass of water?"

your husband blinks down at you, unfazed but not moving from his position.

"kei, please?" you plead, voice barely above a whisper.

the said man grumbles, "sweetheart, you're not a kid. you can get water from the kitchen by yourself."

you know how much kei dislikes getting out of bed when he doesn't have to, but what are husbands for if not to fulfill meaningless tasks from their wives?

you roll your eyes at him, "yeah but the water tastes better when you get it for me."

sure, it was clearly an excuse so you could stay in your warm, comfy sheets, but you consider some of what you were saying to be true.

kei sighs, accepting defeat—and how could he refuse you when you were being so cute for him? he gives your middle a light squeeze before slowly unwrapping his arms around you. you give him a soft thank you, and your husband waves a hand over his shoulder, drawing up a smile from you.

at times like these, when the moonlight illuminates through the sheer curtains, and the air-conditioning hums amidst the silence, and the queen bed is warm and smelling of both your scents, you can't not sigh and appreciate your life as it is.

the domesticity of being able to overhear your husband in the kitchen—your husband, who was a straightforward and sneering man to everyone, was going through the trouble of pouring you a glass of water just because you asked.

the door of your shared bedroom creaks open and kei's silhouette is clear in the dark when you notice.

"here you go, sweetheart." his voice is teasing as he passes you the cup, bed dipping as kei settles his weight on it.

taking a sizable gulp, you give a gasp, "wow, i feel so refreshed. you literally saved me just now."

your husband scoffs softly as he takes the cup from you, said object looking tiny in his hand. you grin at the response. in earnest, you thought kei would be sick of you by now, with the silly requests and annoyance you brought him. but somehow there were subtle signs that always gave away his true feelings.

"what are you thinking about?" your husband asks suddenly.

you shake your head, "nothing, let's go back to sleep."

kei seems sceptical but nods nonetheless, and soon he tucks you both under the covers. he's snaking his arms around you to keep you in his embrace, to keep you close. and you're pressed against his chest, catching the scent of his cologne as you breath in. kei's free hand is playing with a strand of your hair absentmindedly and you can't help but snuggle closer to him.

"kei," you mumble into his shirt and he hums, "i love you."

"..i love you too, sweetheart."

product of its-weeping ;༊ | do not plagiarize or translate.

[whatislovevavy]

Sliding Stops & Beating Hearts

Reiner! Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader (Honeybee)

Summary: Tyler Owens has worked almost his entire life for this moment. And he's so glad he gets to share it with you.

Warnings: Tyler being down bad for his wife, afab!reader, fluff, swearing, smut (18+), oral (m+f), facesitting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

WC: 4.6k (I'm so sorry, but not sorry enough to make it shorter)

AN: Hey girlies :) Apologies for taking so long to post this, I've been very busy and it feels like I have to wait for what feels like some kind of astronomical event for me to be able to write. Tyler Owens is essentially Jake Seresin so yeah I'm writing for him now lol. Reining has always been one of my favorite equestrian sports to watch. Granted, I've never done it nor competed so apologies to any reiners out there if there's inaccuracies with how competitions go lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

None of the pictures featured are mine and were taken off of Pinterest. All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

The competition had been fierce and each ounce of caffeine in your veins from your strenuous, early morning drive from Arkansas to Oklahoma had done nothing to quell your nerves. 

You could feel the sweat emulate from your palms as you watched each rider and horse pair complete their routine with near flawlessness, confidence, professionalism, and near perfect scores on maneuvers. 

Tyler would need to give it his all to bring home the NRHA world championship title for this season. 

You watched with bated breath as the pair before Tyler’s exited through the in-gate, applause and cheers ricocheting off the concrete and aluminum walls of the stadium. The announcer’s voice crackling and echoing through the speakers as the pairs score was displayed on the JumboTron that hung ominously above the center of the arena, threatening to crush Tyler's lifelong dream if a perfect score wasn't achieved. You fiddled with the competition program in your hand, waiting for the announcer to give the go ahead for Tyler Owens and Coppertone Boy, or as he was affectionately called at home, Copper, to enter the arena. 

“Come on, honeybee, I think you're more nervous than I am.” The fingers of your hand stop gingerly massaging into the muscle between Copper’s alert ears, eyes meeting Tyler’s unnervingly calm ones. You sighed, bringing your hand down to softly stroke the stallion’s velvet muzzle, looking back out at the arena that would be vacant for only a few moments more. “It's just the anticipation is all.”

He swallowed, dipping his heels down further against his stirrups, his weight settling on the back of the palomino American Quarter Horse. His thumb running along the smooth leather reins in his moderately calloused hands, his posture straightening. Tipping his hat on his head, eyes drifting from your almost perfect facade of calm collection to the no longer virginal arena footing. 

He gingerly scratched at Copper’s strong, gilded withers and neck concealed by the silken, alabaster strands of his freshly detangled mane, easing any anxiety the 10 year old stallion may have had. 

“Copper will take care of me out there, and I'm coming back, Sweets” his lip quirked into a gentle smirk, letting your anxiety ease a bit. 

Copper gently nudged you with his head, trying to get one last scratch in before entering. Or maybe to try to reassure you. “I know, I-,” you took a breath, licking your lips,” just really want this for you, and we're so close. I can taste it.” 

His eyes glazed a bit, a special kind of warmth spreading in his chest. You had helped him hitch the trailer to pick up Copper from the auction a few townships over back in his early twenties. You were the one who was with him every step of the way, through every high and frustrating low of training him and getting him ready for every competition. You were the one to stay up all night with him when Copper coliced during a muggy spring night a few years back. You were the one who encouraged him to try reining after his bull riding rodeo career came to a halt. You were the one to hide out with him on his family's ranch in Arkansas during the summer thunderstorms in the hayloft as kids and lovesick teenagers. And you were the first person he got to kiss out in the back field after the haying season was done, laying under the cover of Cassiopeia and The Big Dipper with homemade strawberry moonshine. It made the wedding band on a chain around his neck all the more meaningful. The microphone crackled as the announcer cleared his throat, announcing for Tyler to enter the arena. 

“Come on, baby, I need my good luck kiss before I go out there.” His urgent, but sweet, tone made you chuckle.  Stepping on your tippy toes, you met his lips that only seemed to get softer the more you kissed him. As your lips left his, you gave the stallion that gleamed like a new penny under the stadium lights a last, quick rub at his withers and a whispered “take care of him for me.” The stallion nudged his pink and gray muzzle into your side, letting out a puff of breath, seeming to listen and affirm your wish. 

You turned back to the man you had loved since you were a sophmore in highschool. “You'll get something a lot more when you come back.” You said softly with a flirtatious tone, trying to lighten the nerves that seemed to electrify your fingertips. Your eyes told an unspoken “whether you win, or lose.” His eyebrows rise before a smirk settles on his lips. “Looking forward to it darlin,” he winks before turning his attention to the packed arena. He gives the stallion a gentle squeeze of his sides with his calves to get him into a working walk, head low, and relaxed as his metal shoe-clad hooves rhythmically ricocheted off the pavement leading up to the arena as applause and whistles from the crowd marked his entrance like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. You watched him leave your side with bated breath. 

You always envied how he was able to feed off of the crowd instead of cowering under it, even when he was getting tossed around as a professional bull rider in the local rodeo circuit. It was a trait that Tyler and Copper had in common that made them a perfect pair.

You watched each calculated movement he whispered to Copper through his hands, legs, and seat. Each movement done in perfect harmony, from flying lead changes to each heart racing spin and rollback. You practically knew the routine like the back of your hand, softly mouthing the required movements right as Tyler and Copper conducted them with  complete poise and confidence. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flit back and forth from the golden stallion enrapturing the attention of the crowd and the judges scribbling down notes that had the potential to cut like a blade. Tyler had a calm, at-ease aura around him; his hands still with just the right amount of contact on the reins, loose hips and strong legs that wrapped around the barrel of the strong, powerful, and graceful horse below him. Copper’s ears kept at ease, each one flitting back to listen to each whispered task Tyler gave him. His mane and tail swayed beautifully with the rest of his muscular, golden dappled frame; steel horseshoes gleaming under the large overhead lights. You felt your anxiety rise as Tyler only had one maneuver left to accomplish- a sliding stop from a full gallop, the most exhilarating maneuver in reining.

Your breath felt like lead in your lungs as you watched each stride Copper took to complete his routine. With an impressive stall of his hind quarters, Copper planted himself against the arena footing to come to a full stop, his hind legs slightly folding under him as Tyler kept his body steady. The arena went quiet for only a second as Copper found his footing, remaining in a halt. As soon as the judges gave Tyler the go ahead to leave the arena, you jumped up in glee, applauding and whistling, just like the entirety of the arena   as Tyler gave Copper a loose rein, giving his strong neck deligent pats of encouragement and rubbing his withers as he made his way out of the arena at a working walk pace. After all, he had earned it. 

But would it be enough to win?

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face as Tyler met your gaze with a heart stopping grin, his handsome dimples on display, timothy grass green eyes shining for you as his chest rose and fell from his exertion, and the sweat evident under his Stetson at his hairline. 

As soon as he cleared the in-gate, he was out of the saddle and embracing you, lips on yours as you giggled against him as he picked you up and spun you around, your fingers splayed over his stubbly cheeks. Copper stood patiently as his reins hit the cement floor. Your fingers resting at the back of his neck, feeling his sweat, natural scent, and the smell of leather and horses caress your senses. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you said, voice thick with tears bubbling beneath your eyes as your hands encased his gently stubbled cheeks, his grin matching your own, voice thick, “Honey, whatever happens, I’m-,” his eyes becoming glassy, “I’m just so glad I’ve been able to do this with you. I love you so goddamn much.” He brought your lips back to his in a sweet, love filled kiss that made your stomach flutter.  The crackle of the microphone breaks you both away from your kiss, his embrace still on your hips. Tyler cranes his neck to look up at the JumboTron. 

Your eyes widening, putting your hands over your mouth and looking up at Tyler’s shock-parted lips as the arena broke into cheers. Tyler swings you around by your hips before bringing you to his lips again. 

A perfect score. 

—

As soon as Tyler rode out on Copper with you by his side during the award ceremony, and your picture was taken with his NRHA Championship trophy and Copper got his red, blue, and yellow tri-colored ribbon, you both were ready to load up Copper and drive all the way back to Arkansas. 

Photographers, interviewers, and cameras followed your little group out of the arena. Tyler and Copper both walked with pride in a way that showed a healthy balance of confidence and natural charisma. Copper not once flinched as cameras flashed as Tyler had him periodically stop for interviewers to ask questions, reins loose in his hand. Copper seemed to almost pose for the camera with his ears forward and moving with momentum whenever the cameras flashed; aware that he had done a good job and was being appreciated. You, on the other hand, preferred to be on the other side of Copper’s strong withers, away from the cameras, gently running your hand along his glistening coat; it took you and Tyler countless hours for it to gleam like gold. 

“Who would you say is someone who has always supported you on the road to winning this NRHA world championship title?”

You felt like you were hiding behind the near two ton animal, peeking over his strong neck to watch Tyler with his tipped up Stetson and near alabaster dress shirt. He turned from the interviewer to you with an easy grin on his face, gently reaching behind him to take your hand from underneath Copper’s neck, bringing you around his large head and into Tyler’s chest, placing a kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks like wildfire as you gave the interviewer a shy toothy smile. 

“I’ve had the undeserved pleasure to have by my side, during this entire journey, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known; my wife.” You felt your throat tighten and tears start to bubble up in your eyes at his gesture, all while trying to subtly hide away into his shoulder as the interviewer seemed to soak up the sweet moment between the new NRHA world champion and his wife. 

“You’ll have to forgive her, my honeybee’s a bit shy.” he chuckled, the interviewer following suit before asking her final questions with you by his side. 

As the last of the interviewers left to talk to the other competitors, you and Tyler led Copper back to the trailer to get him bedded in the trailer for the long way home.

You tried to keep your thoughts pure as you walked through the trucks and trailers with Copper in tow, passing competitors that turned into friends; like Bradley Bradshaw and his oil black quarter horse gelding, Turn and Burn, and Natasha Trace and her sorrel chestnut mare, Rising Phoenix. Both of which had gotten in the top 5 tonight out of 38. 

But Tyler looked too good right now. Too good. And his display of affection in front of the interviewer made your insides warm and jumble inside you. 

His hair peeking out from under his stetson, the color subdued from sweat; his taut jeans around his slim waist; his obnoxiously large belt buckle that glimmered in the overhead lot lights; his flushed, sweat soaked skin; bright, fern green eyes, and the defined line of his jaw to his handsome dimples. 

It didn’t help that you got distracted watching him tend to Copper as you put the tack in the trailer, biting your lip as you watched the thin material of his shirt cling to his back muscles. 

“Honeybee, you alright over there?” You almost needed to shake your head out of your trance, before trying to quickly put the tack away in the closet of the trailer, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on your lewd thoughts. 

As soon as you turned around from putting the tack away, Tyler was at the entryway. Both hands on the edge of the storage space prevented any chance of escape, sluttily leaning his weight on the frame like the scantily-clad men in those romance books Tyler always teased you for reading. He didn’t have anything to complain about though; he reaped the reward of it everytime. 

Your eyes met his mischief filled ones. “You got something on your mind, Honey?” 

You diverted your gaze from his eyes to his Stetson. He noticed, promptly removing it and placing it over his denim-clad pelvis with a teasing smile as he saw your eyes follow his movement. He always loved the dust of pink on your cheeks when he flirted with you. He took a step into the trailer, feeling his intoxicating scent invade your senses. 

You took a step forward, letting your eyes obscenely run over from his sweat-slicked back hair, to the slight crook in his nose, to his plush lips. Leaning into his ear, “I’ll tell you once Copper is in the trailer. Fed and watered.” Tyler almost shivered at the barely decent tone you used. You both were in a public space for Christ’s sake. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You bit your lip, a chuckle vibrating in your chest at his pace towards the patient stallion grazing from his well deserved hay bag as soon the words left your lips.

—

After ensuring all of your belongings were packed away, you went to check on Tyler and Copper. As you turned the corner, Tyler was just finishing up putting the latches on the trailer. “How’s our big guy doing?” You asked, leaning against the side of the trailer. 

He turned to you, “fed, watered, and out like a light. Copper’s going to sleep well on the ride home. Gave him a few extra flakes of hay to keep him occupied.”

“Now,” he took a step closer to you, a smirk painted across his lips, “I wanna hear what was on your mind earlier, pretty girl,” he purred. 

You took a step closer to him with a flirtatious smile blooming on your face, reaching out for his belt loops on his jeans. 

— 

“Honeybee,” he whimpered, heading hitting back against his truck as you sunk to the dusty ground beneath your knees, scrambling to unbuckle his obnoxiously large belt buckle, and unzipping his denim jeans with a harsh tug. He hissed, “careful, sweets, don't want to damage the goods,” you chuckled before bringing his jeans down to his knees. His breath freezing in his throat as you ran your palms against his defined Adonis belt and abs, scratching at the hair of his happy trail as your smooth palm found its home - wrapped around his thick, pulsing cock in his briefs. Tyler's eyes clenched shut, a hiss leaking from his kiss-swollen lips as you began to pump him in a corkscrew motion. God, he looked so good like this. Letting you take care of him and make him crumble beneath the palms of your hands. 

“Jesus, sweetheart.” His hips stuttered as you gave his oh so sensitive, engorged tip delicate kitten licks before taking him into your mouth, sucking softly. Eyes drifting shut as you savored the subtle musk of your husband and the salty taste of the precum leaking out of his cock. You hummed around his dick as his fingers weaved into your hair, keeping his cock encased in your hot mouth. 

Jesus, the glorious sight in your mind- Tyler’s head and Stetson tipped back, lips agape, cheeks flushed pink with sweat and arousal, dress shirt unbuttoned, strong abdominal and pectoral muscles exposed from years of ranch work, hips jutting out as his jeans and briefs tethered his ankles as you worked his fat cock. 

A sound akin to a mewl left his lips as you bobbed your head along his length, working his cock with your saliva soaked hand. 

“Oh fu- baby, that feels so fucking good.” His graveled voice made you clench your thighs, his eyes opening to see you pumping his cock as you playfully sucked on his balls. Saliva dribbling down your lips to the dirt below, leaving your mark on the event grounds. Your sinful acts hidden in the shadows of your truck and trailer. 

This was definitely the best way to celebrate a world championship win, he thought through a hazy conscience as he failed to find a steady tempo of breath. 

You could feel the tightness of his balls and the steady throbbing of the vein running underneath his thick cock. His fingers tightening in your hair. 

“God-Fuck-” His trail of words were cut off with a deep groan he tried to muffle the best he could.

 His hand kept your mouth around his cock as he shot his load down your welcoming throat, letting you swallow every hot drop he had to give. His body slumping against the truck, catching his breath as you rose up off the dirt, tenderly tucking him back into his jeans, bringing your lips to his. 

After a few moments, Tyler deepened the kiss,  reaching for the backseat door. He broke away from your lips, littering your neck and collarbones with messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your lips would get swollen soon from how hard you were biting them to conceal your mewls. His hands palmed and toyed with your cotton-clad breasts, feeling his calloused fingers slide under your t-shirt to fondle at your steadily peaking nipples. “Baby, we might need to do this half-clothed,” you murmured against his lips. He let his lips leave yours, realizing where you guys were: on the outskirts of the arena grounds. 

“Well, Honeybee, we’ll just have to do it with your pants down then, pretty girl.” He smiled sinfully. His gravelly tone always made you clench your thighs in need, and feel excited and jittery inside; like a new-born foal learning to run. 

He stripped off his dress shirt, leaving him with chest and abs exposed in the shadow of the truck. Before you had the chance to admire his half-bare body, he was unzipping your jeans and pulling them down along with your panties in one fell swoop. He guided your legs out of them before placing his beloved Stetson on your head. The sight of you bare below the waist and his white stetson had his cock twitching again. 

He hopped on the seat, laying down on the leather upholstery. “Come on, honey girl, get up here. I want a taste.” He purred, eyes raking from your face down to the little honey stash between your thighs with a Cheshire-like grin. 

You chuckled, excitement thrumming through your belly like a current of electricity. His hands guided your hips over his twitching dick, over his thick pecs, and right above where he wanted you. Your breath catches in your throat as Tyler brings your hips down with his broad hands, clutching at your soft waist as he starts lapping at your drenched core.  

“Fuck, Ty-” you clutched at his tufts of hair that peaked through your fingers, like the daisies in the hayfields. He toyed with your clit, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive inner thighs. He gently sucked on your clit to pull each sweet moan and gasp from your lips. His thick fingers forming troughs along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, keeping your weeping pussy pinned above his eager mouth. 

“Please.”

He grunted as your hips rocked against him, his grip tightening on your hips, guiding your movements. Your head tipping back as your thoughts failed to construe into something tangible besides broken moans and words. It’s amazing how Tyler’s Stetson has stayed on during your impromptu ride. 

God, the sight he had from below your thighs; black t-shirt riding up to just below your bra, your hands clutching at his hair and your covered breasts, beautiful parted lips, reddened cheeks and his staple atop your head.

You looked divine like this. Hell, you were divine for wanting to marry him in the first place. 

He gave your clit a delicate kiss, just enough to make you whine a little. Littering kisses along your inner thighs, feeling the tender flesh quake above him as you protested him giving attention to places that weren’t where you needed him to be. He licked his lips savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and gently teased two fingers at your entrance making you gasp and whimper at the intrusion.

“Baby, you look so good from down here, so fucking good.”

His graveled voice was marked by a unique breathlessness that times like these brought him. Your hands pushed your t-shirt up and your bra down to toy with your exposed breasts and perky nipples as the Oklahoma evening air pebbled them. Your hazy gaze looking downward at your lover’s tousled hair, flushed cheeks and lust-blown pupils with a characteristic devilish grin on his arousal soaked lips.

“Fuck, baby”

He smiled as he guided his fingers into your welcoming heat, your pretty moans music to his ears. 

His fingers finding the perfect tempo against that little spot inside you that made your toes curl against the upholstery of the car. His free hand holding an iron grip on your hip, keeping you steady.

If you hadn’t felt like you were going to cum before, you were now.  

Tyler could feel your velvet walls constrict around his welcomed digits. A soft yelp leaves your lips as he finds your clit again; toying and sucking at the delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He sucked harder the more you pulled at his hair.

“Tyler, I’m so close, please make me cum baby-please.”

The wanton, sultry tone your voice got in this state made him ache in his jeans and move his fingers that much more eagerly. 

You felt the familiar build up of pleasure in your tummy and the sparks of pleasure traveling from your toes. Tyler watched as you fell apart over him with a wracked moan of his name as his fingers continued to rub that special spot inside you, and as he continued to toy with your poor, abused clit.

He slowed his movements to a halt, letting his fingers leave to hold your hips steady, bringing his lips to languidly kiss and lathe at your cum soaked folds, drawing out any last sparks of pleasure and the sweet, little noises you always made for him. 

Your thighs shook with the aftermath of your orgasm, your body still ringing with small sparks of pleasure and sensitivity, your whimpers pouring out. 

He lathed his last set of kisses to your pussy before sliding your hips down to rest over his throbbing dick, hidden behind a layer of denim. 

Tyler brought both hands to encase your face, bringing your lips to his in a kiss full of teeth and tongue, your mouth going to the prominent vein on the side of his neck, lathing and marking the flesh as your own, spurred on by the deep groans of the man underneath you. He growled, feeling you bite into the skin there. It would surprise him if you didn’t draw blood. 

“I want to ride your thick cock, baby.” you simpered.

“Fuck, you make me so hard, Honeybee.” He growled, feeling you unzip his jeans, pulling out his aching cock and lining him up at your entrance. Gently teasing the tip, running it along your folds, letting it soak up your arousal. You smirked as you listened to the borderline moans that reverberated from his chest. He felt his eyes almost roll back at the feeling of your walls welcoming him in; back home. You watched with lust hazed eyes as his face was consumed with tension; his eyes clenched shut, brow lines rippling the tanned skin of his forehead, his tense jaw and kiss swollen lips. 

He guided your hips, savoring the feeling of you. His hips bucking up into your awaiting pussy as he got more and more invigorated for his release. 

“Fuck, Honey-fuck!” He growled as he felt your walls squeeze him for all he was worth. 

“God, you’re always so good for me, such a good fucking girl” he said as he held your hips tighter, fucking up into you at a faster pace than before. Gasps and moans falling from your lips as he pummeled that sweet, heavenly spot inside you that had you seeing a kaleidoscope of sensations behind your eyes, and your fingers clawing at his pecs and shoulders for stability. Tyler could feel the coil in his stomach tightening as his release was barreling towards him like a train going into a station. His abs tightening, pace unrelenting as he chased his high. He could feel you were close with this new set pace, your lips parted as sweet sounds echoed from your lips. He held on until he felt your walls snap close on him like a vice, your thighs shaking as your high washed over him with a broken moan and tremor. His hips rose, fucking into you one last time before releasing his hot load into your pretty pussy with a deep growl. 

—

He gingerly pulled up your panties, keeping his cum trapped between your folds. He snapped the button of your jeans closed as he languidly made out with you. He changed into a t-shirt that hugged his biceps just right, keeping his jeans on. You both silently changed into your new set of clothes with content, lovesick smiles on your face. You gave him a kiss as he passed you his sweatshirt to wear during the ride home. 

You both settled into the front seat of the truck. By now, most people had gone home, the bright stars above watching over you. He placed his Stetson on the backseat, smirking as he watched you reach out for the cowboy hat, placing it on your head with a cute smile that made him smirk and shake his head. 

He leaned over, placing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I love you, Honeybee.”

“I love you too, Ty.”

You give his thick thigh a squeeze, smiling as he groans into the kiss. He pulled black from the kiss, putting the truck into drive. As soon as his hand is free, he takes your hand in his, making your cheeks warm at the gesture, kissing the back of it as he pulls out of the dirt road onto the interstate towards Arkansas.

Let me know what you guys think :) Be sure to leave a comment and reblog :) My inbox is always open to requests and any thoughts you have <3

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[dykeomania]

lovergirl!hazel headcanons

｡.｡ just some evidence of a love that transcends hunger, tbh.

a/n: i needed a break from writing a fic and wanted to write something sappy. this is the something sappy in question. wanted it to give how-you-become-hazel's-lover -> what she does when you're actually her lover vibe but it just got real mushy. i like it. i hope you like it, too. proofread, but i'm blind as fuck + i'm rusty, so.

tags: gender neutral (i think. i may have fucked up once or twice. please correct me if i did, i proofread fr fr over time. not intended for cis men), body neutral, and poc friendly. some niche reader things (tarot mention, reader wears makeup). mild nsfw -- kissing, making out, heavy petting. almost third base. starts in high school, ends in college.

practice fanfic etiquette. please don't plagiarize or repost my stuff.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who sits up straight on the edge of your bathtub and looks up at you in complete awe when you're getting ready. she's got the dumbest, most lovesick puppy look in her eyes as she watches her lover line her lips, and apply a sheer coat of gloss on top. when they turn around to ask if it's even, hazel smiles so wide that it makes the apples of her cheeks sore.

she doesn't really know if it looks okay, she just knows that she wants to kiss you.

she only manages an mhm because it's what you want from her and, well.. at this point, hazel's convinced that she'd drop just about everything to give whatever you want.

you snicker, closing the space between you in slow and steady strides. "what are you looking at, huh?" you teases, grin stretched across lips lined nude, gleaming pink.

"mmm..." hazel can't help but like, drunklenly (she's dead sober).. haphazardly loop you in by the belt loop, head tilting easily to the right. "yyyyyou."

her eyes droop as she falls victim to the familiar spell that you cast over her. one that starts with you taking her face in her hands, and bringing yourself close enough for to take in all at once. she's made dizzy by the smell of your conditioner, made defenseless by the familiar trace of your body wash radiating off of your skin.

"what're you looking at me for?" you grin, your hands hot on her cheeks as you stand between her legs.

"why wouldn't i wanna look at you?" hazel gently manages, hand finding comfortable purchase on your hips. she grips gently with admiration, fingertips pressing into sacred flesh of something, someone, who she couldn't believe is hers. "you're just so pretty."

but let's take a few steps back first,

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who meets you purely by coincidence. you don't go to fight club, and you don't do cheer. you don't have any classes together, you hardly even know of each other. you do, however, have to work concessions for football together one night.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who doesn't talk much, and honestly standing next to you feels kinda stupid with the bruise that she has on her cheek. she usually never really cares and she's usually super talkative -- she doesn't talk much because well.. she doesn't really know.. how to. how to talk to pretty people -- well, it's not like she finds you pretty, it's just.. anyways,

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who makes some dumb joke about athletes and you kind of snort.. and she's immediately charmed. hazel callahan who has a desire to keep you entertained, and continues to do so throughout the remainder of the game.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who actually is in your class, but, neither of you just really noticed. hazel callahan who sits next to you in the weeks following. who spends her free periods with you. who eats lunch with you. who eventually gets around to telling you about fight club, over turkey and rye sandwiches.

"so you just, like..." you take a break from chewing, tonguing some bread out of your back molar. "punch the shit out of each other, and it's school-sponsored?"

"...well, yeah. but in like a self-defense, queer way. bring people together, create some solidarity. a safe-space on campus for queer community, kind of thing."

"oh okay, so like, in a slay way," you revise.

hazel stares. scoffing out a gentle laugh. "uh... yeah.." hazel furrows her brows, shaking her head. "um.. what does that.. what does that, like, mean?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who becomes your best friend.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who really likes you. like, as a person.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who likes you maybe a little bit too much.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who doesn't know how to embroider, so when you embroidered her converse -- creating a wreath of vines, speckled with bright little flowers around the all star symbol -- she was so happy. but she felt so bad because she didn't know how to repay you.

"let me make it up to you?" she insists, fingers playing with your own, but not creating enough distraction to prevent you from protesting.

"what?" you scoff, subconsciously locking her hands with yours, as though you're about to declare a thumb war. "no, how?"

"i don't know! this is so nice, let me like..." hazel shrugs voice dropping timidly, "..take you out or something."

a beat passes, one that feels like forever. a large enough one to create space for all the butterflies to rumble around both of your stomachs, and for the elephant to pass through the room. hazel can't tell if it's your hand that's begun to sweat in your grasp, or if it's hers.

your eyes narrow at her, grin stretched into something cheshire as you shake your hand, and hers. "i think you just wanna take me out on a date."

hazel smiles sheepishly, cheeks flushing a bright flamingo. she shrugs, next words quiet and intentional,

"so what if i do?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan doesn't know how to embroider but she does have an eye for wildflowers. when the girl who shows up at your doorstep, it's with a dorky smile, a batch of spring, and a bandaid wrapped around her index finger and her thumb. the flowers that she biked about an hour north to pluck -- from a field she discovered after having simply gone too far -- are bunched together and wrapped in a trader joe's paper bag, the kind that her mom always leaves in the kitchen under the sink. she put the boquet together herself. spent too much time thinking about whether or not you would like the arrangement or the colors, probably went to the store to grab a few of your favorite flowers that she couldn't find.

"oh, these are for you. see, i tried to make this whole thing, like.. semi.. transactional. again, like, i don't really know how to embroider flowers, or like anything really, so... these were next best thing, i guess." she offers, as though it's nothing.

"you look.. really nice." hazel's eyes linger, stricken and dumb. she fills her lungs with air, huffing out her next sentence. "are yoooouuu.. ready to go?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who thinks that star signs mean nothing, and doesn't know jackshit about crystals or anything of the like. but hazel callahan who is all eyes and ears, criss-cross-apple-sauce with you on her floor, as she watches you knock your knuckles on a deck of tarot cards and shuffle through them for what you called a "semi unreliable, two-card reading."

hazel callahan who jumps a little when two cards fly out from the deck. who furrows her eyebrows when you turn the over. an the lovers and two of cups, both upright.

"what..." she snorts. "what does that mean?"

"um.." she watches you blush. "it means.." and she blushes when your eyes linger on hers, and then look up. feels her stomach flutter when she watches you take a deep breath in through your nose, like you're shuffling through all of the words in your head.

"...let's just saaaaayyyy... nnnew connections might be coming your way, soon."

hazel has no fucking idea what that means, looking at you, she surely could hope that that's true.

...

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who is shocked that you want to like.. have a sleepover with her. this doesn't really happen to her. like at all. but it's happening with you, so she's down.. but it has to be planned. hazel callahan pulls out all the stops to try to make sure that it's.. well, perfect, she guesses? she makes sure that it's on a weekend where her mom is out of town (not even because she wants to do anything but you know how her mom is). she asks you what all of your favorite snacks are beforehand, and offers to go get more if you run out. she makes sure that you have satin pillowcases if you have textured hair, just in case you forget a bonnet, or anything. probably does that regardless of whether or not that's applicable to you, because she hears it's better for your skin and what not. she gets a weighted blanket for you and some extra pillows + takes out an extra throw if she knows that you get cold easily, or damn near strips her bed down to just one comforter and gets a desk fan to face her bed if she knows that you get too hot.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who you create a shared movie list with, and who will sit with you and watch all of your favorite movies. all of your least favorite movies. will watch movies that you insist that she must see and will do so with very little fight because it's whatever you want, really. hazel callahan who is very quickly realizing that she would do whatever you wanted, as long as it meant that it got you to smile.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ (hazel callahan who, granted, talks through a lot of those fucking movies. like. hazel callahan who has a really fucking hard time paying attention to movies.)

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who clearly has overthought everything. who laughs at and understands all of your dumb jokes and is always a little shocked when you laugh at hers. who lets you rest your head on her shoulder when you watch movies in her home-theater. who lays with you in her bed and compares your tiktok for you page with hers and finds it a little too easy to poke fun of you. finds it not as easy to remain calm when your head rests comfortably on her chest, and thus hopes to god that all of the cringy tiktok audios are masking the sound of her heart beating out of her chest.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who looks at you when you mention that it's getting late, and insists that there's a guest room if you wanna sleep in there, or an air mattress that she was supposed to blow up.

"it's too late for that, though." you frown.

"no," hazel, being hazel, is quick to reassure, shaking her head. "no, no, i could totally blow it up. we have an automated pump, it'll take like 20 minutes."

"mm, i don't know, it's still kinda late for all of that..."

hazel blinks at you. her eyebrows raise, corners of her lips gently upturning. "okay. i mean, do you wanna take the guest room?"

you look up at her, eyes big on purpose. "that guest room's kinda scary." you lift a brow. "it's dark. and cold."

hazel thinks she might.. be tripping. she has to be. her blink is slow, and her face knots together, and releases -- the way it does when she gets all timid and indecisive. "o..kay..." she grins nonetheless, furrowing her eyebrows. "so then .. where are you gonna sleep?"

"..i mean.." you burn, and so does she. "...i could just sleep here with you?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who can't help but feel girlish and vulnerable laying in her bed with you, her stomach tied in knots over how there is nothing usual about this situation. fully seeing you in your pajamas. feeling the gentle flesh of your bare calves rub against hers. being within such close proximity of you that she can still smell the lingering remnants of soap on your skin from your shower.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who dares to let her finger dance on your upper bicep, but that's just about it, really.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who only nudges closer only when you nudge closer. who only lowers her voice, when you lower your voice. who only holds eye contact when you start it, but is always the first to look away.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who falls into a trap: eye contact held after some conversation that did not, and does not matter. she follows your eyes down, chocolate eyes focusing on the arch of your cupids bow. she does tilt her head up to find her nose nudging softly against the underside of yours. she doesn't know how you two got this close. hazel callahan who feels her hands grow sweaty, feeling your breath linger over her the chap of her lips. who nearly stiffens when she feels your hand press into her back, but instead arches into the crevice your body makes and presses her palm against your hip.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who does what she thinks she's supposed to do, and kisses you -- soft and gentle, like the whispers that fluttered over both of your lips earlier. brief, and endearing.

her lips stick to yours, and then her lips press into yours. and then her lips open when yours do, and her hand tightens on you when yours does.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who has no fucking idea what she's doing. like, seriously. she kind of knows -- i mean, okay, yeah, she knows how to kiss, but this is, like.. not just a kiss. hazel's kisses are brief. gentle, maybe a little slow. never this deep. hazel callahan who forgets herself when her fingers weave through your hair. hazel callahan who doesn't recognize the way her breath shakes in your throat when your fingers ambitiously sift through her thick, black locks and pull.

hazel callahan whose lips slot over yours, and unlock. who leans forward when you lean back, and is almost nearly on top of you.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who doesn't know what to do with her hand, so she puts it everywhere. glides it over your side, presses it over the expanse of your lower back. who smooths her hand under your shirt and marvels in the way your skin burns against her palm. who itches to explore, traversing over your stomach, venturing up, up, and up--

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who stops dead in her tracks when you hum something sour in her mouth and grab her wrist. who looks at you stunned with parted lips as you softly shake your head against hers.

"not yet," you pant, opening your eyes to look at her. "not yet."

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who bats her lashes, dizzy with affection yet sobered from your action. she knows how you sound. not like you're rejecting her, but like you're admitting something, which you.. might be. something that she understands. regardless, she understands.

but she burns bright with embarrassment, stomach rattling with a guilt that crawls up her throat and wraps around it, tightening and tightening...

"yeah," she manages a whispers after a while. somehow, it's still raspy. "yeah, okay.."

"okay.."

"...m'sorry--"

"don't be," you shake your head. "keep kissing me."

you rush, and it's kind of just in time. whatever stinging was lingering in her chest subsides as you bring yourself closer, lips softly capturing her lower lip in affirmation after hazel just stares at you.

hazel callahan who blinks, oscillating between consciences, dazed and a little confused. she's cautious and readjusted, her hand only lingering over your side as she whispers a faint "are you sure..?"

the sentence dissolves when on the tip of hazel's tongue when her lips find yours again, at your action, which is her answer. hazel callahan who listens. who lets you take her hand and place it somewhere that feels more comfortable, somewhere that's right and yet still sensual.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who is wiped, but intentional with every kiss that either you or her leads, every swipe of her lips over your jaw, every tender kiss that you let her place against the stretch of your neck.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who will admire within her bounds. kissing you, and drowning in you until she is simply too sleepy to continue. until she is dizzy and feels comfortable enough to nuzzle her face somewhere into the crook of you, breathing you in until you become a part of her dreams,

and she will wake -- in the morning, and in the middle of the night -- only to have a hard time believing that she isn't still dreaming.

...

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who kind of has to get used to.. all of it. who crushes, even though she's already "achieved," so to speak. who grins at her phone when she's texted, who finds any excuse to facetime you and keep you on the line -- sometimes just so that she can look at you. who finds any excuse to be around you.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who you can't get rid of once you go both go to college. who facetimes you whenever, who visits you on weekends. who comes into your space and steals all of your sweatshirts and your pajama pants and of course, all of your spare time.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel "no, i can make that for you" callahan who can't embroider, but can crochet. she will buy you that jellycat that you really want, a hundred percent. hazel callahan will also greet you with a fucked up rendition of said stuffed animal that you wanted (giving jamdog, perhaps) and furrows her eyebrows when you have to hide your laugh with your hand.

"what?" she asks, grin dulling only for a moment. "do you not like it?"

"no it's--" you cover your mouth. "it's perfect." you cackle. when you cup her cheeks, all the worry and fear of judgement fades. sort of. at least enough. "you're perfect, babe. i love it."

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who does, in fact, keep a picture in her wallet of her lover, ready at all times. hazel callahan who weaves her lover into casual conversation.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who still doesn't really understand figure of speech all that well so when you say things like "i wish you could just come over," she literally goes "..well like, i could,"

and then proceeds to make like, a three hour drive.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who keeps the picture that you hate of yourself as her lockscreen and it's not to spite you, it's because she thinks you're beautiful, and she has no idea what you're talking about.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who figures out what names you like to be called by throwing everything at a wall and seeing that sticks. pretty. handsome. lover. angel. baby. and when she does find one, one that makes you blush just about as hard as she does every time you even look in her direction, she holds it over your head to high heavens. makes it your contact name. uses it to punctuate reassuring sentences, when she greets you, when she tells you goodnight.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who gets to take you on real dates, and gets excited to. who gets giddy when you get ready. who gets to fix your hair and come up behind you when you take mirror selfies once you're finished. who now feels comfortable enough to place her hands at the mid-point of your waist and let them venture toward your frontside while she rests her chin on your shoulder, and leans in to kiss your cheek. who tells you you smell nice, and makes you smile when she buries her face into some part of you and literally just goes rahhhh!!!!

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who is also stuck sometimes, in moment such as these, watching the wonder who she has had a crush on since high school -- jesus, has it really been that long? -- with gentle eyes and a completely disarmed disposition.

hazel callahan who is honestly such a fucking loser -- like, literally, loser-since-birth, no-hope-since-middle-school, gay-haircut-and-new-repotoire-can't-save-you, loser, and can't help but ponder and marvel over how someone like you is in her hands. in her face. in her life.

"m'not that pretty," you insist, fingers weaving through her hair, nails etching at hazel's scalp in a way that hazel has grown to like. love, even.

her eyes flicker over your face, smile lopsided and eyes heavy like despite everything, you don't even know the half of it. she scoffs, voice hardly above a whisper,

"yeah no, you are so much more than pretty."

[sailoryooons]

I am going to say something that has really been bothering me that not everyone may agree with, which is totally okay, everyone is entirely valid to disagree with me: There is a fast fashion problem in fandom, specifically fanfiction.

Disclaimer: This conversation is not about broadly writing the same tropes, genres, and ideas. I am not talking about people writing fics with similar themes or the same name. I am specifically talking about people writing fics that are very obviously heavily influenced by other fics. This is not me talking about: I wrote __ character as enemies to lovers vampires and so did this person so they stole. Please do not trivialize this conversation with instances that are very obviously not what I'm talking about.

As someone who exists in the fanfiction space, I want to express what I have seen specifically in this space in my own experience, my mutuals experiences, and random experiences I have seen on my dash.

Recently, it seems like there is a reoccurring theme of writers (often new writers) taking "inspiration" from fanfics that they love and value and essentially creating their own version of that story to the point it is bordering on plagiarism. I say bordering on plagiarism because while people may not be copying line for line or entire scenes in order, you can tell that it is a re-arranged duplicate of another story.

I am not talking about writing similar tropes and dynamics. No one owns a trope or a dynamic. I am specifically talking about people taking the plots, scenes, concept and core of fanfics and recreating it and changing some plot elements or placing it in a different alternate universe and calling it their own, when at the heart of that fanfic, it is taken from someone else's creation.

This to me, reads like people who read a work, fall in love with it, but think 'this is easy to do, I can do this myself' and they end up making a replica of a fic that you can tell is a replica of another fic, despite adding some changes. Nine times out of ten, these inspired fics lack the obvious thought and heart the original writer put into it.

Which, begs the question: How is this different than fanfic writers taking inspiration from media (i.e. published books, movies, music, shows)? Because fanfiction is meant to replicate a specific something from published media. It is not meant to duplicate an already established fanfiction contribution.

I know that the nuance between that line is very ambiguous and it brings up the discourse on 'should there be fanfiction of fanfiction' - to which my response is it is, generally, pretty obvious what the difference between being inspired by a fic and copying a fic are.

In the last few months, I have lost count of how many times I or mutuals have a) discovered someone has been writing a story based off of their fic 2) have been asked to use an already written work to make their own or 3) already have started writing works modeled after an already written work and in hindsight asked the author if they could keep doing so (this third instance almost always happens after someone accuses them of stealing another work).

This feels like the fast fashion industry. Someone finds a story that is popular (whatever that means to the individual), takes all of the elements they think makes the story works, rearranges it, posts it as their own and and says they were 'inspired' (if they credit the original story at all).

This is why so many works that readers are coming across feel like they are the same thing. It is the same A + B + C = D over and over and over again, because people are outright just taking what they think works from other stories and using it.

Again - I am not talking about people who come across a trope, AU, genre or dynamic they like and add something similar to their story. I am talking about the people who are very intentionally and obviously writing the same exact fic with their own 'twist' (whatever that means).

Why is this a problem (beyond the fact that it's essentially roundabout plagiarism)? You're taking the heart, soul, and creativity someone poured into something and posting it on your own and robbing it of the originality, the essence, and the intention behind it. You cannot replicate a writer's feelings and obvious emotions that they have poured into the original work, and it shows. And it is gutting to the original authors who are finding remixes of their work across the fanfiction space.

Please consider whether or not you are inspired by a story or if you are redoing it in your own image. If you find yourself worried enough about your story that you feel like you have to publicly credit someone to avoid scrutiny, perhaps the question needs to be asked of whether you're just redoing what someone else already wrote.

Please do not confuse inspiration and recreation. 9 out of 10 authors will love that they inspired you to write, but would not love to find that you wrote a fic inspired by them that is a rearranged or hollowed-out version of the fic they wrote.

The fanfic space wants and needs more writers, but it does not need people unwilling to create their own art, instead taking bits and pieces from others and calling it a success.

Also adding: This problem also directly contributes to 'smaller' writers or more niche (often queer and bipoc) stories not getting the hype, readership, or recognition they deserve. On more than one occasion I've seen stories that had explicitly queer or bipoc characters taken and turned into heteronormative or white-presenting stories.

Note: This 1000% goes for actual visual art as well, including gifs etc. in fandom but I'm not well-versed there and thus, did not include it.

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt 1

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, blood, brief mentions of violence and alcohol

Summary: Upon discovering the unconscious body of a woman floating in the water, you rush to provide aid. Little do you know her people are searching for her, bringing a mysterious man to your door.

A/N: Still very new to writing fanfic (this is literally post number two), but couldn’t get this drabble out of my brain for a week so here it is. Please be kind! 

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

It’s close to dusk when you make your way from town back to your home on the secluded shoreline. With food and supplies in a bag slung over your shoulder, it will be another two or three days before you head back to restock. Although a fair distance, you have come to cherish the 5-mile trek into town. Walking along less traveled paths, visiting with the locals, and admiring the breathtaking nature around you have become some of your favorite things about living on the island. 

As the sun steals its last glimpse over the horizon, the vibrant orange and purple hues stretching across the sky begin to dim. The outline of a small bungalow comes into view about a hundred meters down the way. The warm glow of lanterns you hung before you left shines from the front porch, welcoming your return. 

You stumbled across this place two years ago, abandoned and needing major repair. Maybe it was just your nature to see the beauty and potential in broken things, but as soon as you laid eyes on the residence, your heart was set on it. Wrapped around the front is a porch with stairs that lead down onto a stone path, eventually making its way to the sand. Through the front door, an open entryway and a small kitchen are situated to the left accompanied by a simple sitting area. To the right is a doorway that leads to your bedroom and bathroom. It's a humble home, but you've worked hard to make it comfortable.

As you walk the familiar pathway toward the bungalow, you look out at the ocean. You watch as the water dances its way up the beach with every push and pull of the tide, waves gently lapping their way up onto the sand to make a melodic rhythm. You breathe in the salty air and revel in the beauty the island so generously offers. 

The moment of serenity is interrupted when, out of the corner of your eye, you notice something just past the wave breaks. You squint as you try to focus your gaze to ensure the evening shadows aren't playing tricks on you. A shiver shoots down your spine. 

There's something floating in the water. Only, it's not something. It's someone.

"Oh my god," you say in disbelief, your eyes widening as you feel the air rush from your lungs. 

You react on pure instinct, immediately dropping your bag to the ground and sprinting into the water. Taking a deep breath, you plunge straight into the waves, pumping your arms and kicking your legs until they burn. You swim as hard as you can toward the body as it floats face down. 

When you reach it, you fear the worst. Quickly you turn it over to check for a pulse and discover it is a woman. Her frame is small, but she's solid and muscular. Body adorned with beautiful gold and jade trinkets, she appears to be wearing some sort of woven armor. You also notice her raven-black hair tied in a knot on top of her head, and a mesh-like apparatus covering her nose and mouth.

You carefully cradle the woman's head, lifting it out of the water.

"What the hell??" You mutter in shock. 

Right before your eyes, part of the woman’s face that is now exposed to the air turns a pale pigment of blue. She seems human enough, yet the way the blueness of her skin contrasts with its golden tones underneath the ocean surface makes you question what she might be instead.

All thoughts are pushed aside, however, the moment your attention is drawn to the sight of blood. Two gouges, a laceration across her shoulder, and a wound to her abdomen are seeping red into the salt water. She’s in poor condition and time is not on your side.

Doing your best to grapple her body, you kick your feet and pull the woman back to shore. The tide's added assistance gives you both the momentum needed to propel you toward the beach. As soon as you are able to stand, you turn and haul her body the rest of the way out of the ocean. 

Gently you lay her on a patch of dry sand as you take a moment to catch your breath. Your chest repeatedly rises and falls, your lungs straining for more oxygen. Staring at her now, you feel your heart nearly pounding out of your chest as the rest of her body turns the same shade of blue as her face. You shake your head as you fight back both your fear and curiosity. Whatever the woman's origins, tending to her wounds is your main priority. Help her now, and ask questions later.

Still unconscious, you reach up to remove the apparatus over her face, preparing to administer CPR. Suddenly, her arm shoots out and grasps your wrist, scaring the shit out of you. With unbelievable strength, she restrains any movement your hand could possibly make. Her eyes are wide and intense, pupils dilated.

"Okay, okay, I won't mess with it!" You promise. Her grip slackens as her eyes roll to the back of her head, losing consciousness again.

You rub your wrist, the bruise already forming. Deciding it would be best to move her from behind, you link yourself under her arms and pull her towards your home, unwittingly leaving a trail of sand and blood behind you. 

Making it to the bungalow, you manage to get the woman inside and onto your kitchen table. She's breathing, but it's shallow. Quickly, you grab all the first aid and sewing supplies you can scrounge out of the cabinets. You swipe a bottle of tequila from the shelf above the sink for good measure. Then you get to work to patch her up the best you can.

You clean the wound on her abdomen first, as that's where the bleeding is most prominent. Disinfecting it, applying pressure, then sewing it up, you focus meticulously on the needle in your hand, threading it back and forth through her skin. Once you finish, you fashion a bandage to soak up the excess blood.

The sky is dark as you move on to her shoulder to do the same. It feels like hours have gone by as you continue dressing the woman's wounds. It’s well into the night now, and the only light reflecting off the ocean for miles is from the moon and the lanterns of your home.

That's when he finds you.

A dark figure emerges from the water. He surveys the scene in front of him, eyes filling with rage as his focus dials in on the bloody trail leading up to your door. Spear in hand and body seething with anger, he marches towards your little house. 

Just as you clip the thread used to sew up the woman's shoulder and begin to apply another bandage, you're startled by a deafening CRASH!

Behind you, your front door gets obliterated. Through it, storms a man who quickly steps over the wooden debris that now litters the floor. His presence swallows the room as water drips off of his body. His eyes lock on to yours. 

"Holy shit!" You exclaim in terror. Before you know what is happening, he has made his way over to you, aggressively backing you up against the kitchen cabinets. 

Face-to-face with you now, he holds the tip of his spear to your throat, grazing your skin with it threateningly. He leans in so close you smell the salty ocean spray that covers his dark skin and can practically see your reflection in the cold piece of jade pierced through his septum. His breath is steady, but his glare is wild and ferocious. You raise your hands, attempting to show you mean no harm, only you don't account for the fact that your arms are covered in the woman's blood. His look becomes more menacing. 

"What have you done?" He growls, his voice low and dangerous. A fire is burning in his eyes as they widen with rage. 

"I'm helping her! I'm helping her!" is all you manage to say as you plead your case to the mysterious, hostile stranger. 

His stare remains intense as you feel the growing pressure of the cold metal spear against your throat. Everything inside you is screaming, telling you to close your eyes and that one way or another it will all be over soon. But you don't - you hold your ground and hold his gaze, searching his face for any shred of hope that he will spare your life.

The man's eyes flick over to the woman on the table, taking in more of the scene. As his head turns, you notice his pointed ears and beautifully hand-carved gauges made of jade. He turns his head slowly back to you, looking at you this time as if deliberating in his mind whether or not you are telling the truth. 

Again he leans in close, and you hold your breath as you await his final verdict. 

"You will speak of this to no one." It's not a question. It's a command.

You nod, willing to agree to anything at this point if it means not having your jugular sliced open.

"You will forget this night, and what you have seen."

Again you nod.

He keeps the spear pointed at your throat while carefully backing away toward the table. Your heart is pounding out of your chest as adrenaline pumps through your veins. You don't dare move a muscle.

The man retreats, withdrawing his spear and scooping up the woman who looks so petite in his arms. He carries her through the doorway but stops to look back at you. He says nothing, but his eyes are deadlocked on yours. You can’t describe or decipher the electric sensation that runs through your body at that moment, so you chalk it up to being in shock. 

Finally, he turns to leave, seemingly floating down to the shoreline with the woman securely in his arms. You watch as they disappear into the ocean and the night. 

Left alone, surrounded only by silence, the stinging memory of a blade against your neck, and a buzzing in your chest, you look around the empty kitchen. Blood and first aid supplies cover your table; debris that was once your front door now lays scattered across the floor, a draft gliding its way through your home. 

Your mind is still processing everything that has happened. Physically and emotionally, you are exhausted. 

"Screw it," you say out loud, grabbing the tequila still on the table and taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I'm going to bed."

--

You wake up the next morning as the sun is starting to rise and feel just as exhausted as when you had fallen asleep. Your mind is hazy. Your body is sore. You get up and pull on a fresh shirt and some shorts before making your way out of your bedroom. Groggily you shuffle through the entryway and into the kitchen to greet last night's mess. 

Only a few steps into the kitchen, however, you stop. Blinking a few times, you rub your eyes. On the table, where bloodied gauze, cloths, sewing needles, and the works had been scattered, now sits your bag next to a neat pile of the food and supplies you had gathered from yesterday's trip into town. You look down at your feet to discover a clean, debris-less floor. Moving in reverse, you pace a few steps back into the entryway and turn your head. Stunned, you see a new, beautifully carved wooden door in place of where your old one had been kicked down the night before.

You pinch your temples as you try to convince yourself you're not losing your mind. You move closer to inspect the door. Eyes full of wonder and amazement, you run your fingers down its wooden grooves. The surface is smooth as stone, yet the grain in it gives the material a richness that makes your jaw drop as you admire it. 

Before you can even ask yourself how it was possible, you open the door and your breath catches in your throat. The man from last night is sitting there on your front porch, legs hanging off the edge of it, looking out at the softly illuminated horizon. 

"I apologize about the door." He says, still facing the ocean. 

Fear takes over as you find yourself frozen in his presence. He senses your uneasiness and, still seated on the edge of the porch, turns toward you. He raises one hand to the air as a sign of his peaceful intention.

"I promise I am not here to bring harm to you... or your home," he adds, his eyes trailing toward the doorway. You say nothing, equally stunned and confused by his being there. 

"I am sorry for threatening you," he says, his voice turning somber. "I didn't know what you were doing to her."

"Is she okay?" You ask, finally finding your voice. "Your wife?"

He lets out a sharp chuckle. 

"Namora isn't my wife, she's one of my generals -- my best, in fact. And yes, she is okay, thanks to you."

A general. You avert your gaze, feeling foolish for assuming incorrectly. Suddenly the events of last night take on a different tone than what you had perceived.

"We had been searching for her for two days." The man continues to explain, "When I finally traced her whereabouts here and found her with you, I assumed the worst." He looks back out toward the ocean. "History has not typically been kind to my people in these types of situations."

You feel your chest tighten as the weight of his words sinks in. Your eyes wander from the ground up to the stranger. You watch as beads of salt water forge paths on his skin, rolling from his dark slick hair down the toned muscles of his back. 

"Who... are your people, exactly? Who are you?" You find the courage to ask.

He turns back to look at you, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he considers his answers.

"There are some who know me as K’uk’ulkan." He says thoughtfully. "But most know me as Namor." Pushing himself up to a stand, he continues, "As for my people, that is a discussion for another time." 

Namor walks up to you, and once again you find yourself face-to-face with him. Only this time his presence is not menacing, it's hypnotizing. 

"Thank you," he says softly, "for what you did. It will not be forgotten." 

There's a rich sincerity in his voice. Mesmerized by it, all you can muster in response is a nod of your head. A slight smile pulls at the corners of Namor's mouth as he closely studies your face. The light of the morning sun reflects in his eyes, and where you had only seen brooding darkness before, you now see shimmering flecks of gold. Everything about him is beautiful. 

"You are not what I expected." He says warmly, leaning in closer as if the two of you are sharing a secret. He lingers there a moment longer. Then, all too soon, he nods and turns to head down the stairs of your front porch. As he reaches the end of the stone walkway, he stops before stepping out onto the sand. 

"Remember," he says, repeating his instructions from your encounter last night, only gentler. "Speak of this to no one."  

"Will you be back?" You ask earnestly. You don't know what prompts your question, other than the thought of his departure suddenly pulling at your soul in a way you can't explain.

He turns back to look at you and smiles. You return it with a smile of your own. No words are needed for you to know that somehow, someday, you would see him again.

You watch from the porch as Namor strides out into the water and disappears below the surface. The sun glimmers brilliantly across the waves as they engulf him in their deep abyss. 

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Zayne: Keep Quiet | 18+

Once again this was due to my homie who also loves to dom Zayne. They sent me this fanfic from another fandom and we both realized we needed to step up the creativity game for L&DS. It's time to get creative with ideas my guys, because I haven't gone all out just yet.

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Greyson having to listen to Zayne being dommed, Submissive Zayne. Handjobs, Public settings, They're in a tent, Zayne being slutty, Whimpering and moaning, underwear gags ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Synopsis: Greyson was exhausted from the mission in the Arctic. He wanted nothing more than to just relax and sleep inside the tent. Then he heard it, your footsteps, your whispers, and...Doctor Zayne moaning? ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Keep Quiet

Greyson stirred in his tent, hating how bitter cold it was. There had recently been an incident over in the arctic, thankfully not as bad as the initial incident, but it had been bad enough that they called for some doctors to come and assist. Greyson had been on the fence about coming, but after seeing Dr. Zayne agreed without hesitation he thought it over and decided to join to help the hunters who had been injured in the incident.

He had been surprised to see one of Zayne’s patients had also come along, although he shouldn’t be surprised. They were a hunter, and when they called for recon they had requested both hunters and doctors. He always figured there was something between Zayne and that Deepspace Hunter, but if there was anything they had kept it under lock and key at the hospital.

Greyson let out a gentle sigh as he relaxed further into the cot. The medic’s resting tent he was in was currently empty, aside from him and Zayne. The two had been working hard and were finally allowed a moment of rest now that everything seemed to be settled down.

When he heard the flaps of the tent opening he was tempted to look over, but his exhaustion stopped him. Whomever it was would find a bed to sleep in and that was that. He closed his eyes again, opting to just try to go back to sleep. Then he heard it; Zayne’s gentle voice was barely above a whisper.

“What are you…?” Greyson’s ears perked up, ready to help Zayne if something was wrong. He then heard a laugh that he recognized all too well from his time of speaking with them at the hospital.

“I couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d visit,” your gentle voice broke out, a low whisper that Greyson wouldn’t have normally been able to hear if it wasn’t so damn silent in the tent.

Grayson heard shuffling on the cot and he briefly wondered what the hell was going on. He was about to turn around when he heard what sounded like a low moan. He froze in place, eyes widening as he wondered what the hell that was.

“Just visiting, huh?” Zayne’s voice came out in a huff and if Grayson strained his ears he could hear the shuffling of more fabric somewhere. Another soft gasp that had to belong to Zayne was heard and Grayson felt his face now heating up.

Your voice came out in a small giggle, “I mean, that and thought you could use a bit of…stress relief,” oh by everything good in life this wasn’t what he thought it was…was it? There was no way someone like Doctor Zayne would act so indecently in public, let alone with a colleague in the same tent as him.

“You realize we’re not alone, correct?” Zayne’s voice came out breathier than Greyson had ever heard. He was glad at least Zayne had some reasoning. He had never thought that you’d be willing to act like this. At the hospital you had always been polite and collected.

He heard shuffling and he could only assume it was you looking over at him, then he heard another gasp from Zayne and more fabric shifting. “He’s asleep, and will probably remain asleep for a while. You guys were up almost all night and day working,” you said with a playful lithe to your voice.

The sound of his colleague moaning then the sudden sound of wet smacking was deafening. It was clear you were kissing Zayne and Greyson was just laying there, listening to everything as he pretended to be asleep.

Should he move, clear his throat, do anything? God, he should do something to let you two know that he was awake. Sure the next time he made eye contact with either of the two it might be a bit awkward, but at least he wouldn’t have heard anything else…

He could hear Zayne now whimpering and his entire image of the man crumbled. He was used to Zayne, the Head of Surgery at Akso Hospital, someone who commanded respect. People were intimidated by this man, hell it was something he and Yvonne found entertaining with new residents who went to train under him.

That same Doctor Zayne was now whimpering while being kissed by one of his patients. He could hear more shuffling than a loud gasp from Zayne as you chuckled.

“Fuck, your cock is already leaking. Is the thought of possibly being caught turning you on this much?” your voice was teasing and it made Grayson’s own cock jump at the tone, “Fuck, you’re such a slut,” Greyson closed his eyes as he mentally told himself to not envision it was him instead of Zayne.

Another muffled moan followed by more lip smacking could be heard. It sounded so wet that it made Greyson flush at the mental image of your tongue delving into Zayne’s mouth while you were most likely on top of him. These cots could only fit one person, after all, and he hadn’t heard Zayne getting up at any point.

A sharper gasp was heard, followed by your laughter, “Gotta be quiet, baby boy,” he couldn’t believe Zayne allowed you to call him that, “Don’t wanna make a commotion. Last time we were almost caught in your office because you couldn’t keep that slutty mouth of yours quiet,” they had done it in his office?

Greyson knew he was far too deep now, all he could do was pretend to be fast asleep and wait it out. Maybe if he was lucky he’d actually fall asleep, but he doubted it. He could feel his own cock leaking at the mental images swirling inside of his mind.

The sound of Zayne whimpering again broke him out of his trance. He could then hear the wet squelching of what was most likely you working your hand over his colleagues dick. It was so wet he had to briefly wonder if you had brought lube, or if Zayne was leaking that much pre cum.

He tried getting that image out of his mind real fast. He could imagine getting a handjob from you without an issue, you were gorgeous and nice to everyone at the hospital. He couldn’t imagine Doctor Zayne whimpering underneath you. The wet slapping sound was getting louder, as was Zayne’s noises.

“Too bad I didn’t bring my strap, would’ve loved to fuck you into his cot and have you begging for more,” you said casually, not stopping whatever you were doing to Zayne. Whatever it was had to be amazing judging by how he had never heard another man sound so fucked out just from some simple touching.

Then he finally heard Zayne’s voice and it sounded wrecked, “Tha-haaah--that would be impractical. We're only here for a week.” the confirmation that you definitely bent Zayne over his desk didn’t go unnoticed. Greyson briefly imagined what you’d look like on top of Zayne, spearing into him. He didn’t think Zayne was so…submissive in bed, yet here he was listening to him coming undone.

Greyson squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his cock twitching. He was not getting off on listening to his senior doctor getting a handjob. He absolutely would never live this down if he jerked himself off while listening to them.

Zayne then let out a low groan, followed by a ‘tsk’ from you, “Damn babes, you’re so fucking noisy as per usual. Thought I told you to be quiet…hold up…lift your hips babes lemme take these off,” your voice was breathy now too and it made Greyson wonder if you were fucking him now. No, he was sure the sound of skin-on-skin slapping would be louder than the wet squelching of your hand going over Zayne’s cock.

He heard shifting on the cot near him and then suddenly Zayne’s voice got muffled by something obstructing his mouth. Your giggles filled the room and everything seemed almost louder. The cot was squeaking now as there was more movement, probably from Zayne’s hips thrusting up. Greyson knew there was no way he’d be able to just sit there himself.

“Fuck, need a lil more,” you murmured and he heard you spit. He then heard something else squelching and his face was on fire. Zayne’s muffled moans were sounding more and more like sobs. Was…he getting fingered?

It just sounded wet and lewd and how the hell did they think they were being quiet? How loud were they normally if this was what you considered as not being noisy; although upon closer inspection he was certain if he had already been asleep this wouldn’t have roused him awake.

A high keen from the back of Zayne’s throat was heard and Greyson laid there as the sound of your hand on Zayne’s cock got a little faster for a second before slowing down. It was silent for a while before he heard you hum, the sound of something somewhat wet and he knew it had to be you licking something, the noise was distinct.

“Taste so good,” you moaned and chuckled. He heard some more shuffling before Zayne cleared his throat, the makeshift boxer gag being removed from his mouth.

“That was…i-inapproriate,” Zayne finally spoke up, his voice a bit huskier but now finally going back to a proper whisper.

Your melodic laugh was music to his ears after all of this, but it came crashing down after you spoke, “Well fucking obviously. I’d rather see you more wrecked than this, but we were already louder than I wanted,” a wet smacking sound of a kiss, “Think you’ll be able to sleep after that?”

Silence fell the room before a hum from Zayne, “I’ll be fine. You should head back to your own tent before they discover you’re missing,”

“Fine…but one more,” you murmured before he could hear another kiss, this time deeper. He then heard the creak of the cot, and then gentle footsteps before the flap of the tent was opened and closed in haste. He heard the shuffling of fabrics once more as Zayne adjusted himself to be fully clothed again.

Then silence befell the room. Greyson didn’t want to make a move or else Zayne might’ve found out he was awake. He knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to look at his colleague the same ever again, but worst of all he doubted he’d be able to speak to you without remembering this and getting hard.

Greyson closed his eyes, willing his boner to go down and hoped maybe the cold he hated not long ago would help aid in calming him down. He needed sleep and perhaps he could convince himself this was all some weird, horny dream.

Y'all don't know this, but Greyson is my favorite victim. I always make him overhear Zayne getting railed in like all my RPs at this point. I need to write something where he joins...oh wait...Ferb, I know what we're doing today.

[fallout4bigbang]

Fallout 4 Big Bang Event Details

What Is A Big Bang?

I don't want to be a writer or an artist, can I still participate?

Of course! There is also the option to be a beta reader for the event's writers, or to be a moderator for the Tumblr or the Discord server. Aside from that, however, you'll just have to follow along for updates and wait for posting week! (we'll be posting teasers in the months to come)

Do I have to join the Discord server to participate?

No, you do not! It is helpful for brainstorming, writing sprints and connections with other writers and artists, but it is perfectly fine to simply create your own group chat (Tumblr, Discord, or elsewhere) once your group is announced.

Event Schedule

Submission Requirements

5K word requirement for fanfiction. You can, and are of course, encouraged to, go over the requirement!

Tag appropiately. You are allowed to be dark in your fiction, but we require that content warnings be given with the writer summaries and that important tags are included with both the art and the fiction in our event.

Art can be traditional, digital, animatic, animation, sculpture, comic, moodboard, etc. As long as it was selected as one of the art forms the writer is okay with, it is fine.

Any work, art or fanfic, does not have to be perfect. It does however have to have time put into it. Please use your best judgment.

Art must be made by you. Plagiarism is not allowed, and use of generative AI to make your written work or artwork will be cause for removal from the event. Please don't.

Have other questions? Feel free to ask!

[pastafossa]

Hey pasta, I saw your updated post about the impasta and I was curious so I went back to your original post and clicked on the link to their blog.

The blog is still up and they are active right now. Like they just posted something 5 minutes ago. So maybe they just blocked you? Either way I wanted to make sure you were aware of that

This wasn't what I thought it was referring to, so I figure I can respond. Yeah it looks like they blocked me and not deleted. They're still active and posting stuff, although I can't see it, so thank you for the heads-up (the other people who'd checked from me were also blocked so it appeared deleted across multiple people)!

Honestly at this point, all I want is two things - that people not steal my shit, and that the impasta leaves me alone. This time they denied being the impasta, and you know what? I don't care one way or the other. They still stole from my fic, stole work that wasn't theirs because, in their words, 'I just thought it was a good line and didn't think there would be a problem'.

I'm so tired of people stealing from my work when I invest this much effort into it. This is, roughly, the 5th time I've had to deal with this, since even before the Impasta saga I've had people try to plagiarize TRT. It's tiring.

If they want to keep that blog up now that everyone's aware they're a plagiarist, that's their choice. Not what I'd do but then again I wouldn't have plagiarized in the first place. What I'm hoping now is that they'll leave me alone, and they'll stick to their original work. Literally all I want. (edit: as stated, what i want is for them to leave me alone and stick to their own work, now that their stolen works are down, you can stop messaging them.)

[bamsara]

A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

[t3ag3rs]

g e n s o - 0 0.

where k.bakugou

falls in love with his childhood crush

when he least expects it..

☆ name:

» y/n l/n

☆ birthday:

» y/b/d (your birthday)

☆ parents: 

» d/n (dads name) & m/n (moms name)

☆ previous school (before UA):

» icaru private junior high academy (made up)

☆ quirk: 

» elements you have the ability to control the elements (basically like the avatar). you're preferred element is water, and your least favorite is earth. you soon learn how to control other elements such as metal, lava, and of course blood. you can use more than one element at once.

☆ drawbacks:

» each element has its own drawback. water being your most comfortable element you don't have much of a drawback, except if you run out of water or overuse your quirk you risk your blood being used for water. using fire causes you to overheat quickly and can give you burns depending on the severity of your flames. since earth is the weakest element for you, it tires you physically if you overuse it. lastly, air causes you to become out breath/have loss of oxygen.

☆ future hero name:

» genso 

☆ hero costume:

» sleeveless compression tank top made out of thin black material that can withstand any element. gray belt with extra water pouches. dark gray cargos which are also element proof, with harnesses over. you also have dark grey fingerless gloves and elbow pads. and a gray mask to cover your nose and mouth when dealing with heavy flames that can be taken off and put on. 

i don't capitalize my letters on purpose. i do this to add originality to my work. i apologize if it bothers anyone, but i wont be changing it any time soon.

this fanfic is being written both here and on wattpad (my user is ec1iypx3).

plagiarism is a crime.

do not copy my work, please and thank you.

©t3ag3rs

next part(s): pt. 01 / pt. 02 / pt. 03 / pt. 04 / pt. 05 / pt. 06 / pt. 07 / pt. 08 / pt. 09 / pt. 10 / pt. 11 / pt. 12 / pt. 13 / pt. 14 / pt. 15

[allforhee]

*ੈ✩ — 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (TEASER) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secgen!lee heeseung x journalist!fem!reader

synopsis: decelis high's academic weapon, future valedictorian, model un prodigy especially in the crisis council, and top-notch secretary-general of the mun club, lee heeseung has it all. from earning constant "best delegate-s" left and right, no one dared to go against his stances in any debate. until a student like you transfers into decelis high. as a soon graduating senior, you were a newbie to press. but with your endless love for writing, you'd managed to steal the hearts of your peers. it was your first mun, and you didn't expect much. but when heeseung finds out about an article you've wrote about his arrogant performance in a recent committee session, he is set to strike you down.

୨୧ genre — high school au, secgen!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, rivals in public but lovers in secret

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms, cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung makes fun of the reader a LOT, reader is feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, huh yunjin, and jang wonyoung

୨୧ word count — tbd

୨୧ release date — tba

୨୧ author's note — my baby! i love muns and as a press girlie myself, i had to make an mun-themed fic for my boy. mind you that i don't really understand the ACTUAL muns (unsc, who, etc.) cause i highkey don't want to get involved i just like writing!! this teaser is kind of short and sweet cause i know that the actual fic will be LONGER! so excited for you guys to read my works and what my imagination has to offer!!!!!!! enjoy this lil teaser. press 4 fanfic writers arise!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

the walls of his room were littered with delegate lanyards from conferences across the globe, "best delegate" certificates framed all over his house (and a couple crumpled up inside his desk to fit the space), and a collection of trophies that stood in every nook and cranny.

no one at decelis high dared to go against him. whenever it was, whether it was moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

it was no doubt that no one has ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general. and those who chose to go against him either get crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

park jongseong or jay, most known for his cold stares in the debate room, ready to make a delegate tremble, would always chair crisis. he was decelis high's deputy secretary-general alongside heeseung. and although being heeseung's best mate, he never favored him when it came to awarding. it's just that he was naturally talented.

sim jaeyun, known for his popular slogan around the school; "jake it till you make it!", was the strongest when it came to knowing what a country or character believed in. his research skills were like a pirate on the hunt for lost treasure, he had all the facts, the data, and the proof to back up any stance. whatever heeseung needed to know, jake already had his back.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with a simple, "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

back to my masterlist?

© 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐄, est. 2024 | do not plagiarize, modify, translate, or repost my works on any platforms.

[whatislovevavy]

Vending Machine Glow on Route 79

Jake Seresin x afab!reader

WC: 2.1k

Masterlist

Summary: Before leaving for college, you and Jake say goodbye in more ways than one on the last night of your cruel summer. 

Warnings: swearing smut (18+), angst, lots of feelings, friends to lovers to almost strangers, both reader and Jake are 18 and over.

AN: This fic is heavily inspired by Taylor Swift’s Cruel Summer. It’s been on my mind for a few months and I finally had the time and creativity to write it :) I hope you guys enjoy :)

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook 

These characters are obviously not my own. This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation. 

“What time do you have to leave tomorrow?”  

You said as you stared at the ceiling, laying on the cheap motel mattress with Jake, bare beneath the sheets. You didn’t have to ask him what time. You were mentally counting down the seconds till your best friend was leaving you. 

Your first love was leaving you. 

Jake was set to leave for Annapolis in the morning, and you were set for UT Austin in the Fall for journalism. 

“7 AM.” 

His tone lacked the usual joy and cockiness he’d started to develop in highschool. He gently reached out for your hand, running his calloused thumb along the back of it. You gently reached out to cuddle into his side. 

“I’m going to miss you.” 

Your voice choked in your throat, shifting your gaze to Jake Seresin, the farm boy next door who you’d known since you could run. The boy you used to sneak out into the fields and woods to look for frogs and snakes with. The once lanky, awkward teenage boy with braces who used knock on your screen door unannounced, now filled out his highschool football and baseball jersey and had girls batting their eyes at him. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Mooney.”

The nickname always made you smile. One summer during 8th grade, you and Jake had tried to make moonshine in the back of the Seresin farmhouse from some of the ripe strawberries on your family's farm. To say the least, you were far from successful and were both grounded for 2 months. 

But it was one of your most cherished memories with Jake. That, and sneaking off with each of your horses to go swimming in dagger lake in the hot summer months during chore time. The cherished nickname now just made the tears harder to hold back.

“Hey,” Jake soothed, “I’m here, Mooney, I'm here. I'm right here with you.” Your glassy eyes peaked up, meeting his kind, soothing ones. The pad of his thumb gently wiped away your tears. 

You sighed as he gently pulled your lips in for a soft, loving kiss. His hands clutched at your bare hips, rolling you underneath him. He sighed as your nails gently caressed and scratched at his neck and back of his head.

You tried to memorize the way his plush lips felt against your own. After all, you didn't know when you would get to feel them again. 

Jake didn't hurry with his efforts as he clutched at and caressed the slopes and edges of your body he'd always loved. 

Your soft sighs spurred him on, lathing kisses at your neck down to your breasts and areolas, your nipples taut from the friction against Jake's chest and the steady flow of chilled air from the humming AC unit in the corner.

Soft moans left your lips as he gently teased two fingers at your entrance, savoring the feeling of your silken walls around his welcomed digits. Eyes fluttering closed, fingers weaving into his hair as he gently, lovingly worked you towards your release, letting his calloused fingertips run along that extraordinary little spot that had you seeing the familiar, pretty shade of green behind your eyelids. 

He let you come down from your high, littering your lips and neck with tender kisses, like he was trying to memorize the way your skin felt against him. 

You clutched your nails into the back of his neck and flexed shoulders as he eased his cock between your smooth, soft folds, like the love-worn pages of a book that Jake couldn't get enough of. 

“Jake.”

Your sighs made his heart clench and belly stir. 

His hips moving in slow tandem with your own. Each clench of your plush walls made him moan softly, his nose running along the column of your neck, almost as if trying to memorize the soft smell of strawberries that always followed you. 

His hips moved in an uneven tempo, his release tailing your own. The soft whimpers and sighs leaving your perfectly parted lips made it more difficult to keep his pace in check. 

Your hips sputtered underneath him, thighs twitching around his lean waist. His lips crashed against yours as he felt you clutch desperately at his waist and shoulders, your release coming into the world with a cry of his name and a shudder. 

His release followed suit; his body, soul and mind lost in the feeling of you. 

Two people trying to make it in this world, intertwined as one. 

He let his forehead softly rest against your own, breaths weaving together against the cheap sheets of the motel. 

You pouted when he untangled himself from you, turning on the golden light of the bathroom to grab a washcloth. Softly smiling as he gently, lovingly wiped at your tender folds.

He always took care of you after your times together. 

But this time felt different. Off. 

The way he looked at you. He acted as if it was the last time he was going to. Like he was saying goodbye with each tender, soft touch of your body and lips. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to keep your bubbling anxiety at bay. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that ?”

His eyes didn't meet yours, instead focusing on the warm feeling of the washcloth on his palm as he continued to gently rub at your inner thighs. 

Your hand stalled his movements. 

“Jake?”

His eyes met yours. But they weren't bright or as mirthful as they had always been; they were glassy and distant.

Your heart beat was quickening by the second. 

“Please talk to me.” 

His heart clenched at your plea. He knew this was going to be one of the most difficult things he'd ever have to do in his life. 

A beat of tense silence passed. 

You swallowed, trying to lighten your tone. “you're acting like this is goodbye…forever.”

He swallowed, feeling tears brimming. 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Mooney.” He said it so softly that if you were anywhere else, you most likely wouldn't have heard him. 

Your heart stopped and increased in density by a thousand fold. The once lively organ now consuming the life force of everything within its vicinity, your fingertips tingling. 

“I just- with the Navy and everything, and you know how my dad is. I can't come back.” His desperate tone tried to plea a winning case for why this couldn't work. 

“And long distance doesn't work out for a lot of people.” He said softly, tears falling freely now. 

Your lip quivered, body retracting from his once welcoming, warm touch. 

“So you don’t even want to try?” 

The mix of anger and sadness felt so foreign being made from something Jake did. 

He put his face in his hands, shaking it. “I don’t know, Mooney. I just don’t know.” 

You watched with parted lips, trying to find the words to say with the tears budding in your eyes like the strawberry bushes Jake would help you tend to on your family’s farm.��

“It shouldn't be this hard for you to decide what you want with me!” You borderline shouted, frustration mixing with agony like a potent toxin in your soul.

"I thought you loved me?" your wounded, defeated tone made Jake's heart clench. If you weren't so devastated, you would have caught the flinch from the boy in front of you. You knew Jake wanted to be a pilot, more than anything in the world.

But you didn’t think it would cost what you had with him. 

“I need some air, I hope you find what you're looking for because clearly you aren't going to find it with me,” you rasped out, voice thick with emotion, staggering to your feet, finding your clothes littered on the floor, and hastily putting them on.

You half expected the boy that learned to have a response for anything to say something. Anything. 

Stay.

I’m scared, too.

I love you. 

We can figure this out, together. 

But he remained silent as you slammed the door closed behind you; pleading, teary eyes following your body leave behind the cheap wooden door. He didn't even try to stop you. You hurried down the steps to the first level, finding a quiet area near the vending machines and their inviting glow, under the full moon and stars. 

You leaned against the side of the machine, looking at all the near expired, wrapped goodies inside. All the goodies that Jake would have gladly shared with you. Now you weren’t so sure they meant anything. The familiar bubble of anguish and frustration became too much. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

And so you cried. 

You cried for the impending loss of the boy down the dirt road. You cried for the unfairness of your too separate dreams and what would feel like a million miles separating the two of you. You cried for the stark differences in both of your lives that made itself into a wedge between you both. 

But most of all, you cried for the trying times that he didn’t want to try to fight for. 

The ring of the bell above the glass door barely announced your presence to the packed bar. You had needed a break after unpacking the last box in your new home, and if you were going to be living in America’s Finest City, you should at least try to make some new friends. Afterall, you started work at the San Diego Tribune on Monday.

You drew your attention from the packed bar to the woman taking your order at the bar top, with her kind hazel, green eyes and shoulder length brunette hair. She couldn’t have been a day after 40. 

“A rum and coke, please?”

She gave you a nod and kind smile before turning to prepare your drink. Rum and Cokes became your go to during college. Nobody sold strawberry moonshine where you settled.

It wouldn’t taste the same anyway. 

Your eyes drew to the sea of people near the back deck and around the pool tables. The sea of beige military uniforms made your lip quirk. 

Did he ever make it to flight school?

Your chest tightened at the memory of how things ended, and the realization that you hadn’t spoken in almost 15 years. Not since he was set to leave for Annapolis; you didn't show up to see him off, watching his dusty, red truck leave you as he drove away on the dirt road of his family’s ranch from your bedroom window.  The last remnant of him evaporating into the dust his tires kicked up as he left. 

Memories of a simpler time swirled in your mind like the drink in your hand. 

Your ears perked up at the steady bass playing through the speakers. 

Foghat’s "Slow Ride".

Memories of laughter and secret kisses with the farmboy down the road, whose dreams were too big for Texas. 

Too big for you. 

Your lip quirked into a frown as you sighed, taking a drink, eyes drifting to the jukebox in the corner of the bar. A well-built man leaned against it, obviously hitting on the girl with the miniskirt and tank top to his left. From where you sat, you could only make out the blush on the girl’s cheeks, not the identity of the man behind the flirtations. He looked handsome; his strong shoulders, buzzed brunette blond hair at the base of his neck. 

Jake’s hair used to gleam the same way. 

You took a drink from your glass just as the man turned around. To walk to the bar top with the girl in tow. The burning liquid stalling in your throat, your stomach clenching as his features registered. He looked older now, brow lines evident. Definitely taller and more well built than when you saw him leave. He hadn't lost that charming smile, or his handsome green eyes, or the small cluster of freckles on his neck line. Your lip quirked with a wave of intense nostalgia. 

The girl that looked like she was in her mid to late twenties settled at the bar top, separating you from the man that you hadn’t seen or touched since the motel on route 79.

His eyes focused on her, giving her the same dimple-lidden smile you loved seeing in the hayloft during thunderstorms when you both wanted to get away from your families. 

She turned towards the bartender to place her drink order. His gaze flitted from hers to Penny’s. His eyes do a double take on yours. 

His posture straightened, lips parting, eyes staying on yours. Your eyes were held in a trance, placing your glass on the bar top. Before you had time to say anything, years of memories and missed memories took control.  

“Mooney?”

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