Black Hat Fan Art Novels & Stories

translates Daniel before the man starts laughing with us. “Don’t worry about that, my friend,” Daniel taps the man’s shoulder. “It’s a child game for us.” “V to Jack, how many rabbits there?” asks Vicky while we head to the main gallery. “Jack to V, rabbit is an understatement, girl. These guys are ogres.” I snort. “Seriously Jack? Is it time for jokes?” “I swear they’re so big! Gosh, I’m so thankful I don’t have to deal with them. Thanks, Jay, love you!”

signs, the fan club had taken over entire sections. Several large, colorful banners stood out prominently: “HARLOW x JONES: ENEMIES TO LOVERS ARC” “KANE + DANICA = CHAOS & CUDDLES” (with a cartoon teddy bear waving a hockey stick) “Protect Her, Captain Soft!” “From Hits to Hearts – Go Harlow-Jones!”

the leader of their council said. There was so much hatred in the way he spoke to me, and I wondered what he was talking about. "What did you find out?" I asked him. " You possessed a dark lunar magic and this has brought about some kind of darkness to our pack, we do not accept that kind of magic here and anyone who brings such to us will be punished" he said. It sounded like some lame joke, I am never with such kind of magic, what has this got to do with me?

I whispered, the words tasting like both fear and freedom. “Then tonight,” he replied, his hand sliding possessively to my waist, pulling me closer until the heat of his body seared through my dress, “we begin unraveling every secret you’ve hidden in stone. And I promise, Elena… you’ll never sculpt alone again.” In the soft glow, with thunder echoing my racing heart and his touch awakening fires I’d long suppressed, I stood at the edge of something transformative. Damien Blackwood wasn’t just buying art. He was claiming the artist—body and soul. And as his fingers tightened on my hip, dipping lower with deliberate intent, I knew this midnight encounter was only the first chapter in a tale of

someone asked. “I have seen shamelessness, but have never seen this kind of scam. They brought her in claiming she would be joining their project, but they want copyright to all her art?” another asked. “Look at clause Ten. They are allowed to trade the art and hold it on her behalf. Translation, if we manage to borrow it or take it from you, we can keep it for you for eternity,x someone commented “Can this even be considered being a fan? Is this not daylight robbery?”

Like a hive of wasps in a colony. There are ripples of life on the top floor of Black & Co., that continued even with Sebastian’s smoldering gaze, and intimidating disposition casting a shadow over the entire floor. Sebastian veers off to his left, lumbering into the entrance station of his own office. Drawing the immediate attention of his assistant, Ansen Lockhart. A man who appears to be in his mid-twenties with a plain, stone-molded face, lined brow, round cheeks, and dark, squinty eyes. Meagerly the doppelgänger of a nineties sitcom actor, with a sharp, thick unibrow. He has a thin nose that touches his pert lips, confining his warped teeth. Stained by some obscure impact, that was not

It's very satisfying work, so much so that when I'm done with the first brochure, I pull the rest down off the wall and start to go through them one by one. In the second brochure, I make all of them pirates (complete with eye patches and parrots, of course). In the following photo, I give all of them racy tattoos. I make them into clowns and cowboys and mutants. I give them bulbous noses and giant ears and fish lips. By the time I'm halfway through the stack, I've gone through all my usual doodles, but I don't stop. It's childish, maybe, and more than a little bit dumb, but I can't help myself. I'll take any small victory against Carolson and Huntington Manor. It makes it even better to ima

He knew the answer, but didn’t want to seem impish around his fellow skinheads. “People flock from all over the world to see me. I’m worth a lot in ticket sales, you’re worth nothing.” “If I took you out, I’d be the one they came to see,” Thor said. “Maybe, but Bohdan the Ripper Vampire sounds better on a poster than Fucktard the Skinhead Asshole. Now leave.” Thor stood his ground. Bohdan stood up and looked Thor in the face. “Ok jackass, do something.” Bohdan now wanted Thor to attack him so he could watch the bullets tear his skull off his neck.

I know the shocked look on her face is not about the spanking bench or the suspender frames or the array of bdsm tools that line up the table at the corner of the room. It's the wide array of erotic portraits on the walls, drawn by the one and only erotic artist in the underworld, Silas Moretti, who’s a non-aligned informant to mafia clans. Silas trades the secrets of most clans, and he makes a shit ton of money from it. Each of these erotic portraits costs over fifty thousand dollars, and I’ve about a hundred of them lining the walls. I got these portraits not because they’re so beautiful but because they’re an illustration of our deepest fantasies. The ones people don’t dare voice out in p

One thing he learned about being famous online is that it’s easy to disregard people, they won’t bug you if you don’t let them. The developer on the screen continued, “Private chats are classified into three tabs: Requests, Chatmates, and Blocked. Requests are those you’ve never replied to, Chatmates are those you’ve replied to, and Blocked are those you would never want to reply to again. Right girls?” The women inside the mall cheered loud this time.