#this past month’s been literal hell for various reasons

[bravemikhailo]

hi there! I miss your writing, hope you're doing well <3

hi hi 🧡 I miss writing too, so much! I wish I could manage to write anything right now, literally anything, but my brains still saying no 🫠

[raainberry]

Moonflower

« In literature, the moonflower has been used as a symbol of love, mystery, and enchantment. »

Sana x gn!reader

Not fluff, not angst, but a secret third thing

synopsis - your job is flowers. she’s not sure how she got into this mess. but maybe you could get her out of it.

- part.II - part.III -

wordcount - 1.6K

TW - like one (1) soft cuss word

A/N - Made a draft, let it marinate for a few days, came back, changed directions completely and VOILÀ. I might get a little silly and make a pt.2 bc there’s leftover drafts🤭

Getting married at twenty-two was not in her plans.

Getting her needs and wishes overlooked in the process was not something she imagined either.

Yet there she was…

“We’re here!”

The volume of that voice startled her. She’d grown to hate the sound of it too.

“You’re gonna love it! The flowers are so beautiful and smell amazing. It’s like they pick them every morning.”

Sana watched as her soon to be mother-in-law left the driver’s seat. The much older woman slammed the door behind herself, leaving her in a silence she craved for ever since that same morning.

However, it wasn’t long until she heard that voice piercing through the windshield.

“Come on, what are you waiting for!”

Sana sighed, quickly gathering herself and putting on that fake smile she’d carefully crafted over the last few months.

She couldn’t remember the last time her smile had been genuine. One that conveyed how happy she felt, like whenever she’d meet up with loved-ones, get one of her sugary drinks no one liked but her, or simply listened to music.

Mundanities like these used to be enough. Now it was all a luxury she couldn’t seem to afford.

It felt like forever since she’d last enjoyed something as simple. Since she last enjoyed something.

Everything was a chore nowadays. Just chores she could only do with her fiancé and/or future in-laws.

Each time, each day she had to see them somehow meant adding a new detail to worry about in a wedding that felt less and less hers as time went on. A new box to tick in a checklist she had no desire to even start in the first place, much less partake in.

She barely knew how it had gotten to this point.

She felt as though she was drowning, yet had no idea how she’d even landed in the water.

The last few months were a blur. Everything went so fast.

One second she was graduating college. The next she was engaged to her year long partner.

Literally.

The man had proposed at her graduation party.

She blamed it all on the moment’s euphoria. That’s what made her say yes. It had to be. It was the only reasonable explanation as to why and how she would agree to such a mess.

Now the bliss was long gone.

“White roses are really pretty, aren’t they?”

Your voice startled her out of her thoughts, causing her lips to turn into that fake smile again.

It was impressive how quick she could switch up. That skill she picked up managed to fool more than a few people in the midst of this hell hole.

“I got proposed to with them.” She blurted out, her eyes stuck on the flowers proudly exposed in front of her.

It was almost robotic. Like a pre-loaded answer.

That didn’t go past your ears. You could tell her voice lacked a certain emotion that you were used to hearing in this workfield.

“Oh. Then would you consider them as an option?”

The woman finally looked at you, taking notice of your uniform and name tag. She looked confused, and a faint redness appeared on her cheeks, giving away something she’d rather keep to herself.

Now she regretted the words that slipped out of her daydream.

After taking a glance at you, she would have preferred to keep you clueless about her engagement…

“For your wedding.” You precised, breaking the silence that had settled.

“Right.” She sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I see. Maybe something similar?”

You went on to show her and tell her all about a bunch of flowers that looked like this damn white rose. It didn’t go so far as making her smile again, but she enjoyed hearing about the various pretty plants surrounding her.

It took her mind off what she really was there for.

Until she was reminded again.

“Sana! Have you seen these? So pretty!”

The brunette glanced over to the other side of the shop, seeing the older woman holding what seemed to be a bouquet of bright, orange flowers.

She couldn’t contain the disdain she felt at the sight.

You caught her features tense up for a split second, completely understanding her reaction. It was hard to hold your laughter back, but you pushed through in order to keep the palpable tension between the two from exploding.

Sure, the flowers were pretty, but they were far from a good choice considering the kind of event you were being sollicited for.

“They are, but something a little more delicate would be more suited.” You said, attempting to save the poor bride-to-be by your side. “I’m actually showing Ms. Sana a few options here if you’d like to join us.”

You’ve dealt with a few mothers and in-laws before, you knew how to handle the more hands-on ones.

You always made sure to put the brides and grooms’ tastes first, earning you more than one scolding. You couldn’t care less, though, all you wanted was for your customers to have a pretty bouquet to their liking and a smile when exiting your shop.

“I’ll just look around on the side.” The older woman turned her back to the two of you, to the brunette’s delight.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

You looked back at her, catching a determined gaze with your own. It was certainly different than the detached, almost absent one from a minute prior.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m open to any suggestions. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to like at least one thing about all this.” She scoffed, bringing a peony to her nose.

Now, you’d sensed the fact that this wedding planning was being done under some tension. The patterns never lied, but you still found yourself surprised at her words.

It seemed to be worse than you thought.

“Do you not have one?”

Her voice snapped you back to reality. You must have been silent for a while.

“Sorry. I was just thinking.” You mumbled. “But to answer your question, I do have one. I like moonflowers.”

“Moonflowers…” She repeated under her breath. “It sounds pretty.”

“They look pretty too.” You smiled. “Would you like to see them?”

“Do you have some?” She asked, curious.

“Of course. It’s the main reason I work here.” You smiled, leading her to your favorite flowers.

Her face lit up at the sight of them. Her features suddenly looked much softer, her eyes a little brighter, and her smile… It was small, barely noticeable if you didn’t focus on her lips.

Yes, you were staring at her lips, but could you really be blamed? She was beautiful. Everyone stares at beautiful things. You were no different, and she wasn’t either.

She was staring too, only at the flowers.

You cleared your throat, suddenly remembering what you were being paid for, and resumed your job.

“We only have a few of them, but they’re beautiful.” You said, filling the silence between the two of you.

“Why do you prefer these?” She asked, tracing a few petals delicately.

“It’s a long story.”

“I have a lot of time.” She glanced at you, her eyes letting you know you’d better start telling her that story.

You weren’t sure where that attitude was coming from.

She seemed so hopeless when she stepped in behind that in-law of hers. You expected to deal with another worn out bride, bracing yourself for about an hour of work to turn that frown upside down.

Nothing had warned you about this rebellious trait she seemed to have.

You were curious now. Surely, if she wanted to put an end to this, it looked like she could…

So why was she here?

“Why are you getting married?”

Maybe a little too forward, you thought, wincing at your own words.

The motion of her fingers against the flowers came to a halt.

“What?”

Her eyes were back on you, and you felt your heart pick up the pace. You racked through your brain, searching for an excuse to cover your unprofessional slip-up, all while trying to decipher the way she looked at you.

“I ask this question to all my customers in order to get them the best flowers.” You lied, pulling your best customer service smile. “I’m not trying to sabotage your wedding, don’t worry.”

“Do you actually?” She asked, completely switching her focus onto you.

“Yes.” You lied again. “I’m not asking for details. Just a few adjectives will do.”

Sure you felt a little bad about it, but in all honesty, you were more impressed by the fact that you managed to keep it together and not stutter once.

That woman had one intense gaze.

“Well…” She trailed off.

She was hesitant, looking for words you could already tell would be lies.

It made you frown internally while you feigned patience in front of her.

Maybe the attitude was a façade.

“Because I was asked to.”

Or maybe not.

You weren’t sure of anything regarding this woman and her situation anymore. That was one good lesson of never judging a book by its cover, or something along those lines.

“I see.” You nodded, looking down at the ground.

It was a lie again, but in your defense, you didn’t know what else to say this time around.

“Have you ever actually sabotaged a wedding?”

Your eyes darted back to her. Your obvious surprise amused her, and she let you know with a laugh as soft as her smile.

You felt something in your chest. A sudden drop in temperature as her laugh sent chills down your spine, only for it to rise again along with your heart rate.

It was odd. Something about her was odd. It seemed as though she was hiding something, and your body debated on whether or not it wanted to be around to find out what.

And all you could do was watch, feel, and respond when needed.

“No.”

You opted for the truth this time. You didn’t expect much to come out of it, but it seemed to please her.

Her smile appeared again. It was a little wider than before. More confident.

You ignored its effects, but you couldn’t ignore the beauty of the sight before you.

It was all you could focus on, forgetting about your surroundings and their own beauty once again.

It was blinding.

Enough for you to agree to anything that might come out those perfect lips.

She knew all about that.

She’s been told all her life.

And she loved to take advantage of it.

“Do you want to?”

[shorthaltsjester]

maybe i’ll write something longer about this at some point but the choice that bell’s hells made in terms of which activity to do first i feel like actually illuminates some of the party’s issues and is why (particularly their truths) it seems like parts of the activities might just exacerbate their issues. like in particular the choice to do honesty before communication because honesty is required for communication is an interesting choice. like on the one hand i understand the logical steps and reasons they have for that, but on the other where imogen just took of her circlet in demand of honesty without insisting on communication as well and where orym had a conversation with ashton insisting that ashton know the group truly cares for him but also incidentally implying that ashton shouldn’t communicate the extent of whatever demons he’s fighting because it will get in the way of the fight on the horizon… i think perhaps communication is the first step for this group.

because the group has honesty, very recent events aside — and even the ashton and fearne lying thing was Very very short term — what they don’t do is communicate around that honesty. imogen in particular is immensely honest but often expresses it in ways i wouldn’t consider communicating in any beneficial sense, which i think also tracks for how willing she was to be honest. the problem for the group tends to come in that there are various degrees of willingness to communicate and several different modes of communication that they’re trying to use that aren’t cogent with the group actually communicating as a group.

and this isn’t malicious or ‘fault’ of any one member in a pejorative sense — the ones i think tend to be the ones who make it hardest for the group to combine honesty and communication have very understandable reasons for the forms of communication they lean towards. imogen’s bluntness because of her association of thought with character given her access to peoples thoughts as much as the expression of them, fcg’s similar but not identical habit of taking in everyone’s emotions and suggesting solutions but not actually really having conversations around those experiences/emotions (tho this is changing), fearne’s reluctance to express any discontent or fear about what’s happening in the group but willingness to lie to avoid those fears, orym’s tendency for simply pushing through problems due to his own experience with grief (which as other users on here have aptly explained is not a good emotional solution for many things other than grief). so while they all have rationales for the communication/willingness towards honesty they posses, it’s definitely still the responsibility of all of them to find ways to communicate that allow them to work as a group.

obviously i cannot predict the future and i don’t like doing serious predictions about the show in anyway because a) i think it’s useless and boring but b) literally anything can happen. that said, i do think that the honesty challenge As The First challenge might’ve had the effect of just being the exact same thing the hells have been doing for the past 3(?) in game months. which, the rapidity of everyone’s confessions paired with the other two challenges and the recent Heightening of the Circumstances will hopefully mean that they deal with it some way - whether that’s resolving problems or further party fracturing i’m excited to see.

[system-vent]

one of the nastiest nastiest feelings is taking our shirt off and its not even because the body is human and afab and im a tabaxi tiger and amab, i have accepted that and i can look past it. i can cope with that, it doesnt bother me or any hosts or ex-hosts. what bothers me is the scars on our arm that come from a very harmful frequent fonter we had because i KNOW that the scars from him were preventable. i know we couldve stopped him. why the hell didnt we stop him from doing any of that? if we had known he had bad intentions and was doing all those bad things on purpose we wouldnt have let him front but he kept saying he was trying, he would be better, hes just anxious, hes depressed, he has bpd. so do the rest of us the body has those disorders you dont see me causing half the shit he did?? i hate him.

seperate rant/ramble: as i was typing this i heard either coyotes screaming outside, or i had an auditory hallucination. i hate this body and it's schizophrenia for a multitude of reasons which sends me on a new tangent ☝️🤓 i hate having schizophrenia because its often misdiagnosed as did (/srs) and we go "ohhh but maybe im faaaaking" i can garuntee you that the disassociative amnesia regarding our childhood may be a sign! and the very obvious shifts of personality, and also earlier today i had a fleeting thought that was something i wouldnt think and i thought it in the voice of one of my headmates. lo and behold he fronted without my noticing and neither of us know how long he was in front for.

on another note i hate hate hate having to self disgnose. our mother gets aggravated and has a borderline mental breakdown every single time one of us asks her why she thinks we are not autistic because to us and to other people with autism it is BLINDINGLY obvious, just as an example of why we need to self disgnose this much. schizophrenia, adhd, depression, anxiety, and various physical issues are all things we have been diagnosed with. we suspect autism, bpd, aspd, did, and dyslexia. we did not think about any of these disorders or about having them, and we knew nothing about them until friends with said disorders would talk about their experiences and vent about it and we went "oh no... oh no..." and then we had to go do vast amounts of research into them and overlapping disorders and just. so much research. and the autism part takes EVERYTHING literally and at face value so very often we will go "oh this cant be us! we dont have every single symptom!" and it is, in fact, us. we also fakeclaim ourselves when we hear stories about how bad these disorders can be and ours is never that bad. its bad enough to actually genuinely impact our life more often than not and the symptoms are very distressing when we notice them, but they arent as bad as they could be which to a lot of my headmates makes it very obvious that we do not have the disorders we very much do. it causes a lot of denial towards ourselves, we had looked into dyslexia and joking about having it for months but we never flat out said we have dyslexia until one of our managers straight up told someone "yeah we're dyslexic this losers are just in denial because we can send messages that are coherent. they think we are not dyslexic because we go back and correct any typos? doesnt make sense to me. the typos are still made, and we still miss a lot of words we need to correct very often. oh yes im aware theyre idiots." sometimes fakeclaimer logic is just so broken. we also have a lot of alters that have dyslexia in source memories and whenever they fromt our typing gets much worse which obviously means we don't actually have dyslexia OR did! /sarc. DID truely stands for dumb idiot disorder because i could spend a week listing times when our symptoms for all our disorders were very very prominant.

.

[nightmarewing]

I've told everyone who needed to be told privately, and we've started disseminating it a bit more widely, so I'll say it here: I'm getting married next month, tentatively January the 9th, and then, if all goes well and the visa gets approved- I will be moving to England in as soon as a few months.

This was supposed to happen probably more like the end of next year, but the UK government screwed us and countless others over by planning to raise the sponsor's minimum income for family visas from £18.6k a year to £38.7k. In... spring of 2024. They announced this the literal day that we made our plans for the next year.

There is no other schedule we can work on besides "do it right now" and still get this particular shot at a life together. There are various reasons we want it to be the UK, but chief among them is- he's actually happy there right now, with his job and his every day life. It's been wonderful seeing him come out of a rough time and start to really flourish. I want him to be able to keep doing that right where he is.

On the flip side, I've been... straight up miserable lately. Y'all know how my job has gone in the past few years. I badly need a change. It didn't need to be this extreme or this soon, but then again- why the hell not? I've never had something in my life that I wanted badly or needed to fight for. I've never felt enabled to make choices and take risks for the sake of my own happiness. I spent the first three decades of my life living in survival mode.

So it's not how we wanted or how we originally planned, and it's going to be an incredibly strange and overwhelming time for a good long while, but right now? I'm really starting to feel like I can be excited about this. Like I can be happy. I'll do whatever I have to to get this chance at a life with someone so infinitely precious to me.

[yuribeam]

hey hello, sorry if this will be rude but wow your last post dude

hrt is NOT "like trying antidepressants" holy shit why are you spreading such an innacurate information

every hormonal medication doing fucked up shit, like don't you hear about all problems that cis women obtain after using oral contraception, for example? all health problems that tgirls get?

hrt is not like hell yeah give a shot and then just stop using it if it won't fit, nothing serious will get you i promise ;)

sorry again but as a trans on hrt MYSELF i'm a little confused by this attitude

my comparison to antidepressants was not in a literal medical sense. I meant HRT should be destigmatized and considered neutrally as a potential tool you can use that may or may not improve your health.

I very clearly say you should be fully informed of the risks.

I am not saying there are no permanent changes, I am saying you will not be immediately and completely transformed overnight like a werewolf and you can stop taking the medication at any point, assuming your hormone-producing bits have not been surgically removed. Obviously some changes can come quickly and it varies person to person. Obviously some changes can stick after you go off it. See again, informed of the risks.

I am on hormonal medication myself. I am aware of its physical and mental effects. I have tried dozens of other medications too. I have been fucked up by various meds in the past, including some long term side effects. I am disabled with complex medical problems, so believe me, I am familiar. However, in every case I weighed the risks and decided with my doctors to try them because I killed the gatekeeper of earning through suffering in my head and gave myself permission to try.

There's a huge transphobic narrative that HRT is unlike any other medication and should not follow that same process of informed consent, and that trans people should wait years and years agonizing lest they mutilate their bodies, and the sentiment of that post was intended to counter the internalization of that which causes many trans people to suffer for years thinking they're not trans enough to try medication, which most people picked up on.

It was not to give medical information on how HRT works, just to say that it is a process you can have some level of control over.

HRT very obviously has risks. I think everyone is well aware of that. Changes can obviously be permanent, but by and large they are gradual changes, not flipping a magical sex change switch.

I am not encouraging people to go try HRT for kicks and giggles without knowing the risks. I'm emphasizing that it's a personal decision that they should be empowered to make just like any other healthcare decision.

It takes years for a puberty to "complete." You know how people complain it's been months or years and they've barely seen any changes or still don't "pass" Going off low dose HRT after a few weeks or months most often doesn't mean you're forever gonna look like a man or a woman now, or that you can never try it again (in the case of informed consent access).

At a certain point, HRT kinda is just give it a shot and see if it fits. Not give it a shot if it passed your mind once or as a first step in exploring your gender, no one is saying that, but if you've been agonizing over whether you're allowed to try it, you should give yourself permission to explore the option. You have to pull the trigger eventually, which is what I'm saying, not to fire blindly. There will always be a degree of uncertainty with any medication until you see how it works for you and your body.

If it's something you want, you are informed of the risks and have accepted that your mileage may vary, and preferably have medical supervision for safety reasons (although I recognize that is a privilege for trans people in many places) you should give yourself permission to try it.

[mjm5655]

MAJIMA & SMOKING HC

since this pops up enough in roleplays, i'm going to get specific on how much of a smoker this man is.

majima has a preferred brand of cigarettes, he personally purchases hi-lite cigarettes. they have a sweet flavour to them, but are quite strong. he will take cigarettes of other brands offered to him as he doesn't refuse the cabin one that sagawa offers him, but this could be because it's considered rude to refuse a cigarette offered ( just like how it is rude to refuse at least the first glass of alcohol ), as much as he hates sagawa, he remains civil with him in this cutscene.

majima easily can go through a pack, & more per day. he is a heavy smoker, he smokes when he's chilling, smokes when he's stressed/angry, smokes when he's being social, smokes when he's fighting, smokes when he's fucking ... pretty much this guy can nearly always be smoking.

even know the legal age in japan is 20 for smoking, majima picked the habit up when he was 14 years of age. this is around the time he starts to run about in a biker gang. he would have got into it via peers of these gangs, & has been hooked since.

he has no plans in quitting ever. he knows it's bad for his health, but he doesn't really care. majima didn't originally see himself living to his current age ( 58/soon 59 ), anywhere near it in fact, as he was willing to die for his boss in the 1985 hit at age 20. he knew if he was part of that hit, it would have seen him behind bars for life, & possibly executed.

he typically has no issue smoking in or outside. in 5, he's seen smoking within a restaurant whilst eating, as in japan, smoking inside is still allowed in various businesses. he smokes within his apartment in 0, but makes sure to open the window. he's seen various times smoking outside, mostly around west park, & his idle animation in 0 is him taking out a cigarette, lighting it really quickly, & smoking it wherever. if he has a child, or children are around, he does have some decency to not smoke around them, & definitely goes outdoors to smoke within his home.

the hole was torture enough, but it was even more torture for majima as he started to suffer nicotine withdrawal. though, the symptoms weren't seen that easily here as he was also being tortured, so he had other reasons for a lot of the symptoms involved with withdrawal too, but he really did miss cigarettes here, what made matters worse for him is men that came in to torture him smoked away, & he had to see that. as soon as majima got out, & was able to get some money to his name again, he immediately brought himself cigarettes ; sagawa would have also offered him one every so often, which majima would have taken, no question.

the next times he experiences withdrawal are times when he's arrested, & is in jail. the first time he lands into jail isn't so bad, but the second time, he's in there for several months, & it is literal hell for him, he gets angered, frustrated, & irritated by things that usually didn't have that kind of effect on him, his depression also deepens ( majima suffers depression because of events in his past, & having poor coping methods, he does not have any medication ). there are ways he can get cigarettes, but it's not enough for majima's habit. like when he got out of the hole, one of the first things he does when he gets out is buying himself a packet of cigarettes.

[heredis-sanguinis]

𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘕𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘌𝘓𝘓 𝘊𝘈𝘕 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘔𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘞𝘙𝘐𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘛𝘖𝘎𝘌𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘛 𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘐𝘌𝘙.

Name: Cella

Pronouns: She/Her

Preference of communication: I prefer Discord. Tumblr's IM system is spotty as hell and most of the times does not update for me. Especially on mobile, which is where I'm at most of my days, because of my work schedule being all over the place. I'm willing to exchange Discord handles if people ask for it.

Name of muse(s): Active: Vladimir, Vayne (In process of re-making blog theme and sorting out archives) Inactive: Kalista, Karthus, Thresh, Illaoi, Swain, Veigar, Scarlet (LoL OC), Emperor Mateus (FFII), WoL (FFXIV OC), Erza Scarlet (Fairy Tail)

Experience / How long (Months/Years?): Oh man, I lost track of that stuff. I've been in the League rpc since before the lore reboot, back when we still had summoners and the Institute of War and the single circular-like continent. And before that I've been in other fandoms. I'd say, including ttrpg rping I've been at this game for over 20 years now (yes I am OLD) I've used Tumblr, Skype, Discord, MSN Messenger, PlayByWeb among others as mediums.

Best experience: I can go over the various specific threads and interactions that are close to my heart. But I really think that the lasting friendships I've build with past and present partners to be my best experiences. To meet so many different flavours of people, with their own lives and interests and stories, and become a part of their life (and vice versa) is what matters more to me than whatever rp-ing does.

RP pet peeves / dealbreakers: I'd like to think that I'm fairly easy-going as a writing partner. But, like anyone, I do have some lines I do not cross. Aged-up canon muses are a big no-no for me. I've had horrible and unpleasant experiences both personally and in fandoms with those. i.e. Annie is a child and someone rp-ing a young adult version of her just creeps me out, because obvious reasons are obvious. I adhere very strictly to the canon ages of canon characters, especially since Riot gave us an actual timeline to work with, or at least moderately accurately deduct dates with.

As far as pet peeves there is actually only one I can think of right now, my muses not being taken seriously and being ridiculed and made silly or memed at. This has happened to Vlad a few times and I just hard-pull the plug on interactions if it happens. He's a 1500+ year old homicidal tactical-thinking bloodmage, who is bored out of his mind most of the time. The fact he may crack a joke or two, or act aloof at times, does not mean he will not turn your muse inside out when insulted. This does not mean, in any way, he is unavailable for more casual interactions, but there is a very fine line between casual talk dare I say banter and downright memeing on him, and pushing him around. Luckily this has not happened in a long while, but it is something I can be sensitive on.

Muse preferences fluff, angst or smut: Angst > fluff > smut; though it can change depending on vibe and muses. Smut is something I rarely post publicly or write with someone else. I become extremely self-aware of my writing and over-analyse each and every word to the point it can take literal weeks until I come up with a reply that I do not want to gouge my eyes out at. Angst works wonders for my singular brain cell that thrives on it. Fluff is something that does not often happen, especially with my selection of muses. But it can be nice every once in a while.

Plots of memes: I can work with both. I don't mind plotting at all, but I prefer to not plot every little step out of an interaction between two muses. I like to be surprised by a partner's muse's reaction or response. And it feels a lot more natural, because there is always a certain level of compromises when it comes to plotting. Memes are a perfect ice-breaker as opposed to a first-meeting interaction (because let's face it, those can be pretty boring if it falls down to 'hi my name is x, who are you?') It makes us writers think out of the box slightly to have our dumbass children play together.

Long or short replies: It depends on the setting for the interaction. But I try to at least go for several paragraphs to give my partner something to work with and also offer development for both muses and give insight into mine's thoughts and actions. I'll never expect to be matched in length and will never fault someone for this either.

Best time to write: Since I work in three different shifts, which alternates per week, my activity hours shift a lot. So my 'best time' to write also changes. It mainly depends on a mood to write, especially with a manchild like Vlad as a muse.

Are you like your muse(s)?: Somewhat? I share some interests and personality qualities with my muses, for sure. But I wouldn't say I am a lot like them per se.

Tagged by: @blackrosesmatron Tagging: Anyone that hasn't done this yet and wants to do it. Consider yourself tagged!

[theremina]

I fully expect to get shouted at for saying this. I still think it’s worth saying. ❤️‍🩹

The amount of reasonably well-off white people I’ve observed losing their entire shit over crappy AI theft these past couple months is… well, it’s completely understandable, of course.

But let’s unpack the fervor pragmatically.

As a classically trained full-time professional musician who has been honing their own craft since early childhood, and as someone who is used to being taken for granted, undervalued, even exploited, by folks who literally have no idea how much work and expense goes into doing what I do, I keenly relate to frustrations concerning algorithmic AI theft.

That being said, never have I ever observed a single one of the most reactive, aggressively angry white professional artmaking chums lashing out blindly over this problem come anywhere close to the same level of agitation regarding far more brutal atrocities: systemic racism/sexism/transphobia/homophobia, the climate crisis, Roe being overturned, anti-science / antivax rhetoric, etc. Yanno, shit that’s literally, directly killing people and the planet.

Some of the same dudes screaming “unfriend me if you’re going to post that garbage, and btw FUCK YOU” at the world right now are the same men who’ve opined in the past that I shouldn’t “get so worked up” over various systemically violent, directly life-threatening issues faced by millions, even billions of us.

Listen, I’m not saying artists don’t deserve to be concerned or upset. I don’t use any art generating AI myself, in large part bc I’ve seen how much needless pain and stress it’s causing a lot of my loved ones. For me, personally, it’s not remotely worth it.

That said, a lot of the same white, predominantly male artists we’re all watching yell at Cloud right now use Spotify, right? No judgement. I do, too! And a lot of you enjoy music with synths or samples that reproduce piano or string or drum or horn or choral vocal sounds? And you’ve probably watched a bootlegged television show or two in your day, yeah? Or resorted to 12 foot dot io?

Meanwhile, you’re out here literally damning random non-artists to hell for making corny-ass AI selfies? That’s the hill you’ve decided you wanna die on? Okay…

OR! Or, hear me out, what if you allowed your personal frustration over this issue to radicalize you less selectively? Mebbe? Could ya try showing up with a fraction of this passion to support reparations for Black Americans, or the safe and legal reproductive rights for half the population, or combating climate crisis, or disability rights, or universal income, orororrr, etc?

Look, I dunno. We live in an abattoir. Times are only getting tougher. Maybe before you decide to have another Totally Normal One that involves howling directly in the faces of disabled and low-income folks who aren’t in the fine arts or commercial arts industry and probably can’t afford a boardwalk caricature right now, let alone a $1K commission for you, you could try hitting the pause button, take several deep breaths and ask yourself: “am I picking healthy battles?”

(This is the exact same advice I try to give myself every single time I get worked up about something that isn’t literally life-threatening. I do not always succeed, of course. My shit stinks, too!)

Butt. Maybe next time you observe a friend getting excited prompting images for their own personal pleasure by using AI, consider restraining yourself from calling them a “lazy thieving scumbag”? Remember, not everyone can afford decades of training and school. How is your Facebook buddy who’s happily making endless Beksinski/Moebius/Ryden-derivative computer doodles for their own personal satisfaction managing to trigger your biggest, scariest threat response?

There gotta be some middleground between “woo this AI fad is fun and harmless” and “my barista friend sharing Meitu-lookin cybercosmonaut selfies on IG is stealing food directly out of my family’s mouth” worth exploring.

Sincerely, I get why folks are upset. But maybe don’t bring a nuke to a knife fight.

I promise you, this is a lesson I have personally learned the hard way. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so hard for you? Or —and this is my main concern, tbh— so hard on people who don’t deserve to be your punching bag.

I dunno. I’m just a bit shocked at how emotional some of you are able to get about this specific issue when your chosen line of work is largely run by rapists and racists and robber barrons. (Oh my!)

[toymittens]

JSAB PROTAGONIST HEADCANONS

LONG POST TIME

I have definitely not been obsessing over these freaks for the past month

PLAYER 1 | Pixel Rapids, he/him

-speedy

-very short (to be fair they're all short)

-extroverted yet can't socialise properly, keeps making other people upset by accident

-doesn't understand it when others act based on emotion, can't feel empathy but tries to make others feel listened to (he still likes people, dammit). doesn't understand his own feelings very well, which can lead him towards rash or sometimes morally questionable choices

-threw a catboy three times his size off his own tower

-comes off as a jerk when trying to be nice to people

-envies Pent's high empathy and wishes to understand his own feelings the way Pent does to his own

-when neither are stressed (Tri's stress causes Pixel to deflect with humour, making Tri angry) Tri and Pixel get along exceptionally well. they both like to find outlandish solutions to various problems

-he enjoys Tangent's presence, and admires her bravery. he wants to be like her one day

PLAYER 2 | Trig Hayu (goes by Tri), he/him

WHY IS THERE NO YELLOW TEXT

-a recluse, lives in the Volcano (he's not the same person as Barracuda)

-helped Pixel and Tangent fend off Barracuda, led them out of the caves

-Lycanthropy's roommate (before the game)

-tries to have a calm, collected exterior but just ends up looking and sounding stressed all the time

-sleep deprived for lore reasons

-jokes during tense situations easily rile him up, which has lead to him snapping at an apologetic Pixel a few times

-under stress, Tri focuses on finding an original solution to his problems, not trusting any preexisting information. this can cause him to get extreme tunnel vision and miss obvious answers

-has (wrongfully) accused Pent of murder

-has (rightfully) accused Pixel of attempted murder

-disheveled little conspiracy theorist

PLAYER 3 | Pent Oerca, he/they

-catboy energy

-severe trust issues

-uses his speed to run from literally all his problems and responsibilities

-used to be a thief (Paradise Isle usually has great programs for getting shapes a home and job, but most services aren't provided to dangerous international criminals in order to maintain peaceful relations with the other country)

-has been accused of murder multiple times, once causing them to flee their home country

-trying to kill Pixel in the factory when they met did not help their case

-HIGHLY empathetic, also tends to use emotions in his logic to make decisions. has a stong moral compass and ideals, in contrast to Pixel who struggles

-he likes Pixel. would die for him probably. he helps Pixel understand his emotions

-displays emotion openly, and often looks worried or like a lost child

-listens to Tri and makes him feel as though his feelings have been validated

-likes to draw and trade art with Tangent

PLAYER 4 | Tangent Cosi, she/her

-the most mentally stable in the group by a lot

-uses some emotion in her logic, but is also very grounded in reality in contrast to Pent, often stuck in his own head

-grew up in Paradise Isle (at least she thinks so. there are no records of her and she has amnesia)

-very in tune with other shapes' feelings, often putting her own aside to comfort others

-is the reason the group is even functional

-possibly eldritch??? idk man

-gets along with Tri, they communicate well and she calms him down when he's panicking, helping him see the bigger picture

-protective of the group and, by extension, all of Paradise Isle. was the first to confront Blixer and try to fight him. she's very cool

-rambles a LOT, frustrating the hell out of Pent and Tri

-likes to paint, does art with Pent

-spends a lot of time explaining the emotional meaning of both their works to Pixel, all of them enjoy this

Will be tagged under Beat!au for lore reasons

[voxxian]

I'm so happy to see that there's some activity here, you kind off disappeared all of the sudden and was so worried. I hope that you're doing well and just know that there's still people who care about you here in Summerfield 💗

- Stephany

hey stephany. sorry the activity you see on here isn't from me being active, is from my pre-set queue that just runs without me. this is my first time logging in and seeing this. i actually logged in to prewrite a farewell to life note for future posting when it's time to actually post it (which i guess i won't do right now since i saw your message) so seeing this was actually shocking. im really sorry i did that, after that whole fight i got into with my dad everything kind of came crashing down and ever since i have just been in a really bad dark place struggling with my mental and physical health (which the physical health is destroying my mental health) and that coupled with recent events has had me like over the top suicidal

it's really sweet that you even bothered to message me, especially since i have absolutely nobody to talk to and no friends for various reasons some of it due to my shitty failures amongst other things.

i have always had a really bad relationship with sticking around and stuff because of my upbringing and right now im struggling very hard in life and i just don't want anyone to see that. i am really really unstable, i have next to no support, my finances came crashing down on me a month ago and my car is breaking down while im in the negatives, and i am in a state of being suicidal like 24/7 and i just feel like i can't talk to anyone. my body right now is ruined and it's affecting my employment and my relationship with just about everyone is non-existent besides literally 1 person and life is just really really really difficult. im still considering ending it, because i just don't think the suffering that's been getting worse and worse the last ten years will stop tbh. nothing is looking up. everything is just getting worse and worse and worse and im really close to a breaking point

i don't want to get all dramatic on my blog that i literally am never on but since you even bothered writing i feel like i owe you an explanation for my (unjustified) behavior and disappearance

it means a lot to me still that you've reached out and even bothered to check on me. even in the midst of all this hell it really does mean something special to me. i didn't even think anyone cared. usually the people i talk to disappear on me or just show me through words and actions that they don't want to be a friend to me or, in some cases, just don't want to be a real friend, so i just thought i did everyone (including myself) a favor by disappearing from the world because normally people are just fine and really don't care about me and i just become a thing of the past. it's crazy to my mind that you even still think about me because i feel like i was nobody to even care about after leaving.

[miniiredd]

So surprise suprise another RSD/I don’t know what people want from me rant. I know I always seems to be complaining about my RSD but a series of things happened this past week that just really set it off, like the worst it’s been, and I just, I just need to get this out, I need write it down even if it makes no sense or it’s just going to fester and make me even sadder

So Wednesday “friend” at work J1 was (I will say it was jokingly) like oh don’t talk to J2, and when I ask why, he was like ‘I’m trying to plan a dinner for C’s birthday with J2, D and myself, like we did for j2’s birthday (which didn’t know about that) and she’s being difficult’…. A dinner I wasn’t invited to btw lol, and when I pointed oh this is like the ice cream incident (where they went to the gelato place literally doors down from work one day on a day I wasn’t working, despite me saying hey I wanna go we should go one day), he laughed Because he thought I was joking and then wondered why I was in a mood the rest of the day

And like every week, well 98% of every time we work a Saturday together I’m getting two of those 4 a juice from our favourite place that I walk to and then back to work because I finish before them, and the other 2 when I grab lunch I’ll get them chips or share mine or my nuggets but I can’t get a dinner invite? It just hurts alittle

Like i understand they can do things as their own little group but like don’t complain to me about someone being difficult about plans and then laugh when i point out ‘oh hey another thing you guys are doing that I’m not invited to’ when we’re supposed to be friends but your constantly doing things and not inviting me.

And Saturday/Sunday another “friend” from work who start of the year made all these promises of what we were going to do this year (none of which we’ve done, we’ve hung out 2times that wasn’t a concert and one was to get an outfit for a concert and the other to see a concert movie), made the joke ‘oh your going somewhere without me” when I said i was going to something Saturday night the very rare time I have had plans, despite her originally being INVITED when the plans were made (she didn’t actually acknowledge the offer at the time)…. Went to the beach and didn’t invite me like people wonder why they don’t here from me much or make the “joke” I don’t leave my house

Oh and The kicker to Saturday night?? she already had plans!? But complained because I didn’t invite her to mine which again she was, and then the next day goes to the beach and not a word 😶. But if it’s a concert she wants to go to? Oh I’m the first person she messages, cause I get the tickets and don’t ask for the money straight away because I’m an idiot and talking money makes me uncomfortable.

And to round it all off, My own mother, who I’ve barely had any contact with since like Feb? Last year (Due to various reasons growing up but especially due to how I found out about a death in the family) is in Fiji. I can barely get a text for Christmas/my birthday, haven’t gotten a present in years But she can put money in to get my brother a dog for his birthday and now apparently an overseas holiday, And not to forget She owes me a couple thousand she ‘borrowed’. How do I find out she in Fiji? A phone call? A voice mail?, hell a text? Nope I find out from her posting on facebook

I’m just sick of being too much for people, too loud, too focused on the “wrong things”, I message too much, I’m too weird, but at the same time I’m too quiet, I don’t message enough, I don’t speak up enough, I’m not enough to actually spend time with and go do things with

Like It makes me want pull back from my online communities, I mean shit I’ve haven’t been active in the discord groups in I’m for months (and the thought of trying to literally scares me), and pull away from my online friends because like if people in my real, day to day life don’t want to do things with me or interact with me, why would my online friends? Which I know isn’t true I know it but that thought is hella loud

[thankskenpenders]

TKP Addendums: The Endgame Arc (Archie Sonic #47 - #50)

I wasn't planning this at all, but the Endgame arc has become surprisingly relevant again for very stupid reasons. The main one being that my mortal nemesis, The Screen Rant Guy, wrote a short clickbait article comparing and contrasting the (only halfway finished) Imposter Syndrome miniseries from IDW to "Archie's best arc," Endgame... solely because we're nearing issue #50 and Starline used the word "endgame" in a random sentence. No, really, that's it. Penders himself then butted into a Twitter thread to proclaim that fans have declared the Endgame arc a classic and that it "will never be topped." In the past he's even called it "the greatest storyline in Sonic history."

So, you know what? Fuck it. It's been a long time, and it can't hurt to go back and write something more thoughtful about it, compared to my original play-by-play liveblog. I also never said my Addendums had to be in order. So... is Endgame actually a classic? Or even any good?

No, it still sucks. Thanks for read - no okay fine

It's easy to understand why Endgame always stands out in older readers' memories because it's practically the first arc where anything consequential actually happens in Archie Sonic

Sure, there were memorable events within the first 46 issues and their various spinoffs. The introduction of Knuckles, Mecha Madness, Sonic reuniting with Chuck, rescuing King Max, etc. But rereading my archive a few months ago, it really struck me how little actually happens in that span of time aside from those bits. The series was largely content to rely on its status quo. Robotnik would hatch an evil scheme, the Freedom Fighters would go on a mission to infiltrate Robotropolis (that never resulted in anything). They'd go back and forth like this for a few years. There's nothing inherently wrong with having a status quo, of course, and I'd absolutely take those first 50 issues over the shit Penders wrote later. But the general lack of dramatic consequences prior to this instantly made the Endgame arc stand out. It really does feel like the series finale it was originally written to be

Of course, I'm not reading this as a 9-year-old in 1997. I already know this isn't the end, but rather one of many status quo shifting milestone stories from a series that would last nearly 250 more issues. And like I said back when I first covered this arc seven years ago, the sources of drama here are mostly lame as hell

I'll avoid ranting about Sally's death too much here, but it has to be addressed. It sucks. It's dramatic and it grabs your attention for sure, but it sucks that Sally doesn't even get a heroic death, but rather a sudden anticlimactic death on a random mission with no clear goal, just because Penders thought she "cramped Sonic's style" and didn't know what else to do with her. She had already been largely reduced to a prize for Sonic and the ever-skeevy Geoffrey to fight over, but her fridging here only takes that even further. In her death she is fully transformed into a mere concept for the guys to fight over, not a character with any agency of her own. Hell, this could have been a setup for a twist where Sally has her own counter-plan at play and makes a triumphant return in the climax to reveal that she was actually alive the whole time, and then take part in the final battle with her friends. (The possibility that the report of Sally's death had been a lie was being teased as early as issue two of this arc.) I didn't like the similar storyline in her miniseries, but I'd take it over this. Instead, she's only thawed out at the very end to give Sonic a kiss. She's not a character, she's a reward for Sonic

Actually, a thing I couldn't do when I first covered Endgame was compare it to the series finale of SatAM, as I hadn't seen that at the time. And the difference there is night and day. In the show, instead of being written out, Sally is more present in the climax than ever, to the point where she literally shares Sonic's super speed, allowing her to be there at his side for their final victory. The difference is so stark that it's actually kind of hilarious

(Side note: Some of my critiques in the early days of this blog came off as more black-and-white than I would like. A few times I may have skirted a bit too close to the whole Strong Female Character angle, where a female character has to be an ass-kicking, "empowering" aspirational figure in order to be considered a good character. I'll say very bluntly that there's nothing inherently wrong with writing a story where a female character dies a pointless, tragic death, nor is it inherently bad to write characters with no agency in their lives. (I am a known Gundam liker.) The problem here is that the way Penders writes Sally is part of a larger pattern with his typical Baby Boomer view on gender roles.)

But, okay. I said I wasn't gonna dwell on this. Let's set the decision to kill Sally aside and look at what Penders and co. do with that twist. For one, it's there to shock the reader. And, yeah, it sure did that. But it also turns the early part of the arc into a murder mystery. A classic premise! So, is Endgame a good murder mystery?

Nope!

As I ragged on repeatedly in my original coverage, Sonic immediately gets blamed for Sally's death, and it's pure nonsense. Nobody believes that Sonic, the main hero of the team, has any motive to kill Sally. Because he doesn't. But they don't do anything to disprove it, even though this is a series where Sonic alone has been mind controlled into acting against his will, impersonated by his evil universe doppelganger, and replaced with a robotic duplicate - not to mention how often this shit happens to other characters. When Endgame began, it had literally only been seven issues since Sonic was put on trial for crimes he didn't really commit following the Mecha Madness event. And yet we're already doing this again

Even the question of who really killed Sally doesn't get to be a source of intrigue. None of the established characters end up being a traitor, despite the presence of a traitor being the entire focus of issue #46, and it isn't even an old returning villain or anything like that. No, it's Hershey. A brand new character introduced after Sally's death. But she didn't do it of her own free will - the whole thing was orchestrated by Drago, a confrontational member of the Wolf Pack the Freedom Fighters met literally one issue earlier who was already immediately suspicious, and King Max, who had been replaced by an Auto-Automaton off-screen... somehow. (It's revealed in the end that Robotnik had actually discovered the location to Knothole and sent troops to replace Max all the way back during "Battle Royale," while Sonic was out of town. Why didn't he just blow up Knothole then and there? Who knows!!!)

The actual explanation of how New Friend Hershey could possibly have killed Sally might be even more nonsensical. As Drago reveals, he tricked her into wearing a lifelike full body Sonic costume designed by Robotnik that has an augmented reality display built into the head that makes everyone look like Snively. So Hershey thought she was killing Snively, and everyone else thought she was Sonic because of the costume. Why did Hershey think she needed to come along on that mission and dress up as Sonic? Who fucking knows!! More effort goes into explaining what happened to fucking Crocbot over in Downunda - no, seriously, he gets two whole pages of exposition in #49!

Overall, the best explanation we get for why Robotnik's plan is so complex is that he just seems to be playing mind games to pit the heroes against each other while he finishes the Ultimate Annihilator. But, again, the story devotes very little time to this tension within the team because of how quickly the question of who killed Sally gets resolved, and the only ones who really bicker are Sonic and Geoffrey, who were already constantly at each other's throats long before this

And, yes, the subplot with new characters Hershey and Drago devolves into a domestic abuse story. As I said years ago, I think it's a good thing to teach kids how to spot abusive relationships, but this isn't a well told story about abuse. Drago is a one-dimensional exposition dumping villain who also hits and insults his girlfriend. It feels like it was mostly setup for Hershey to turn the tables and beat the snot out of him in the last issue (which admittedly is kinda satisfying after having to read about Drago for multiple issues), but no matter the intention it's just a bizarre inclusion in this already overstuffed arc

This is all part of what's probably the overall biggest problem with the arc, which is that despite being intended as a sendoff for the series, so much of it revolves around new characters over the actual main cast. Hershey, Drago, and Dr. Quack all get a lot of screen time throughout the arc and are integral to the plot. So is Geoffrey, but at least you could say he was an established character who had fans at that point. (This was years before folks realized the age gap between Geoffrey and Sally, or before Penders made That Tweet.) Most of the Freedom Fighters are totally passive for most of the arc. Rotor, Tails, Chuck, and Amy contribute basically nothing. Dulcy does exactly one absurd thing and then Sonic tells THE GIANT DRAGON she doesn't have to help fight. Antoine starts tailing Drago when he realizes something's probably up, but he and Bunnie are immediately caught and shipped off to literally the opposite side of the planet and kept out of the action until the finale. (How they manage to travel from the Midwest to Australia and back so quickly is a mystery, but nitpicks about travel time are the least of this story's problems.) Even Sonic himself doesn't contribute all that much to Robotnik's defeat in the grand scheme of things, and he spends most of the arc just going "man it's fucked up that Sally died and everyone thinks I did it"

But finally, we come to #50. (Or, well, the "Director's Cut" version of it released as Sonic Super Special #6, which has supplanted it in canon.) I'll stand by my statement that this final issue is the best part of this arc. Broadly speaking, it feels like a proper ending. I like the way it's bookended with Robotnik's arrival in the Acorn Kingdom and his death. It's got some action that feels appropriately climactic, and there's good Spaziante art mixed in there. At the very least, the last issue is in the shape of a good series finale, with the heroes starting at their lowest point and then rallying together to win once and for all

That decent climax is just massively let down by the story surrounding it. The cracks start to show very quickly with the infamous scene where Dulcy reveals that dragons are all walking lie detectors. (Sure would've been convenient to know that three issues ago!!!) Even in this expanded Director's Cut, they just need to get the ball rolling and convince Geoffrey of Sonic's innocence as quickly as possible. Then the Ultimate Annihilator is FINALLY set up after somehow not being mentioned the whole arc and the fighting begins. Again, another concession: Knothole finally being put in danger by Robotnik's invasion and then the U.A. is a smart move. An obvious one, but a good one to raise the tension nonetheless.

Then we get the final showdown between Sonic and Robotnik, which is still pretty good, and after that it's all plot cleanup. (Contrary to what I've been saying for years, it isn't actually said anywhere that Sonic uses his billionth ring to avoid getting blasted by the U.A. I'm not sure where I got that idea from, other than the image of him coming out of a ring.)

Said plot cleanup is just wall to wall nonsense, as if this story wasn't full of that already. The reveal that Knothole has been blasted three hours in the future, a fact that never ended up mattering. Author's pet and Bones McCoy expy Dr. Quack revealing that everything is actually HIS fault, because he's such a super genius inventor that his "Dream Watcher" had the exact part Robotnik needed for the U.A. and that's how he was able to locate Knothole off-screen. The fact that Snively was actually the one to ultimately defeat Robotnik due to him tampering with the U.A. off-screen. (He doesn't even get to gloat about it!) And, of course, the reveal that Sally was alive and recovering the whole time, because readers (rightfully) complained. They kiss so that she can be Sonic's prize for winning, despite the fact that he actually contributed very little to Robotnik's defeat. Roll credits

Yeah, Endgame just isn't good, y'all

Again, I get why this was a big deal to fans back in the '90s who read this as kids. This story has actual drama and stakes and consequences on a level that nothing leading up to it had. Sure, Sally's death was undone, but Robotnik's mattered. The problem is that, as with so many other Penders stories, it only has the shape of a good story. The actual details that make it up are all fucking nonsense. The needlessly convoluted plot, the focus on brand new characters and pet characters of Ken's over the actual main cast, the tonally bizarre soap opera drama. It's trash. And not even particularly fun trash

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

What Do You See, Mirror? Chapter 10

John Constantine x reader

Word Count: 865

Summary: The real reason for the divorce

Maybe it was that the pair of you were still riding high and distracted from the fact that you were remarried. Maybe it was just plain bad luck. Either way, a run-of-the-mill evil hunt had spun completely out of control and led to John lying limp and bleeding in your arms with Zed flickering at the edge of consciousness next to you.

Across from you stood the culprit: a demon of middling power that managed to get its hands on a sword that rendered the wielder almost immortal. Nothing John threw at it landed (magical or physical), and any visions Zed managed to have only showed the lot of you dead at its feet.

“At last,” it was monologuing, “the great John Constantine will take his rightful place in the bowels of Hell.”

Zed was just blinking herself awake fully when she saw you stand. All she could do was watch in horror as flames--those same flames she’d seen in your mind so long ago--started writhing around her entire body. Inwardly, Zed wondered what the hell she’d been living with for the last few months. You’d displayed power, sure, but nothing like this.

Outwardly, the demon expressed a similar train of thought as you stormed towards it. Within moments, it found itself simply vaporized, sword or no sword, by the hellfire that seemed to be pouring from every part of you. Later, the lot of you would figure that the sword couldn’t protect from power that matches that of the wielder. Meaning a demon could still be killed by demonic power.

For now, though, the threat of the random demon had passed, but the threat of you was still fully present since you were showing no sign of calming down.

“John,” Zed called weakly, praying her friend was still awake enough to stop his wife.

“I know!” His voice sounded strangled, probably by the pain, but still he was already struggling to his feet. Leave it to John to keep pushing forward despite his injuries. The fire he was approaching was still concerning; Zed only hoped he knew what he was doing by just boldly walking towards her.

Meanwhile, John was almost too worried about you to feel the various injuries that littered his body. Almost. Every part of his face aching was still quite literally painfully present in his awareness. The rest, though, irrelevant as he carefully stepped into the swirling vortex of hellfire. Small blessings that he was immune to your main weapon of choice, he supposed.

“Luv, it’s over,” he tried to say, but his voice was drowned out by the crackling flame. Gritting his teeth, he reached out and took your hand in an attempt to get your attention. Your eyes were solid black when they landed on his. “I’m alright,” he said as loudly as he could manage. “Might not look it, but a couple days and I’ll be right as rain. You can stop now.”

This was what the pair of you had been afraid of when you first realized just how important the other was to you. Neither could ever be sure how they’d react to something happening to the other. It was the real reason for the divorce all those years ago, the hidden one below all the layers of lies.

“Relationship differences,” was the surface one you actually told people, the one that no one that knew you believed.

“Being with a demon-blooded human was a certain way to damn John’s soul,” the partial truth, the one no one had ever tried to look past to get to the real truth.

“The sight of the one you loved potentially dying was enough to send you flying off the handle potentially on a world-ending scale since one of you was part demon and the other was a powerful mage,” that was the truly terrifying one.

The fire calmed finally. The swirling slowed to a stop.

“John?” came your terrified voice. Ironic, considering that you were the only remaining threat.

“Who else?” he said with a tired smirk.

A tiny smile graced your features before your eyes rolled back in your head and you collapsed.

John merely waved off Zed’s scared yelp of your name as he knelt beside your prone form. You’d be fine; that fall wasn’t enough to really hurt you. Normally, he would have tried to catch you, but that dislocated shoulder and broken arm of his simply wouldn’t allow it. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he muttered while digging his phone out of his pocket with his good hand. “I’ll get Chas on his way.”

It was only once everyone was back in the car on the way home that Zed finally asked the question that had been burning her tongue since you first lost control. “What . . . just happened?”

John just shook his head, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Which prompted Chas to ask, “It finally happen?”

“. . . Yeah . . .” He squeezed your still-limp hand.

“Was it her?”

“Yeah.”

Chas hesitated. “You’re not planning on leaving her again are you?”

“No,” John denied without hesitation. “Never. We’ll deal with whatever happens as it comes.”

You were the one that responded to that with a croaked, “Good.”

[diaryofadaringwitch]

Witch Tips- Crystal Deodorant

What? A witchcraft related post on this blog you followed for witchcraft related things?! Absolutely wild.

No but this is actually a purely secular witchcraft related thing which I feel like I haven't posted something like that in ages. So buckle up, it's going to be a long one.

Anyway....

I am a very reasonable hippie. I love "unnatural" things like my contact lenses, antidepressants, and vaccines, but I also tend to seek out the green or more natural version of things provided that

A- It actually does what it says it does

And B- the price and effort required doesn't outweigh the benefits

And this new thing that I've been trying for the past 3 months or so definitely meets those criteria and is a great addition to my witchy toolbox: crystal deodorant.

What the hell is that?

It's a salt rock that you use as deodorant.

No I'm not joking.

I've been looking into a few different natural deodorant options for awhile now, simply because there's a lot of conflicting research on the long-term effects of ingredients in antiperspirants (aluminum, propylene glycol, parabens, various fragrances, etc.)

Again, I'm not against artificial ingredients solely because they're artificial. Everything is chemicals, after all. But as I've been studying for my personal trainer certification exam, I"ve learned more about the importance of being able to sweat during physical activity. Antiperspirants clog sweat glands. That's how they work. The armpits also contain lymph nodes, which filter out any bacteria/bad compounds that eventually excrete through waste. So the less work I can make for them, the better.

But most DIY "natural" deodorant recipes suck. Maybe for those that live in colder climates or aren't as physically active, they could work.

Native Deodorant, which is probably the most popular natural one on the market right now is thirteen dollars for a single stick. No thanks.

Crystal deodorant though- that's a game changer.

There are various brands, but this is the one I tried. About 5-6 dollars depending on where you buy which is about the same as the Old Spice I used to use, maybe a dollar more.

It's a literal stick of mineral salts. You apply it onto wet skin (or run the stick under water briefly), and it deposits a layer of particles that are too small to absorb into the skin but kills any bacteria that accumulates as you sweat. It's advertised as lasting 24 hours with no odor. I've found that I can get 18-24 depending on the weather and my activity level.

Y'all- this thing works. I've been out working in the garden in 90 degree weather, sweating like crazy, but no smell. No residue getting on my clothes, no fragrance or other things that might irritate sensitive skin. It also lasts quite a bit longer since you're not using a ton of product per application. I've been using it for nearly three months straight and my stone is barely smaller than it was when I first got it.

The few drawbacks is that it's kind of hard to take with you and reapply quickly. You have to get the stone wet/put it on wet skin for it to work so it's not something you can just throw on at random.

If you've been using standard antiperspirant for awhile, it's common to sweat more/smell worse the first few days using natural products. Mixing a bit of ACV with baking soda or bentonite clay and applying it like a mask before a shower will drastically reduce that "transition" time period.

I typically put it on right after I shower but be warned- don't put it on right after you shave. Because even if you didn't cut yourself, shaving still creates micro-abrasions on your skin that fucking hurt if you put salt on them. Literal salt in a wound. (Found this out the hard way)

Kate, this is neat but why is it witchy?

It's a massive stick of salt! Salt is a key component in many spells for cleansing and especially protection. I drew a simple sigil on the bottom of the stick and now I've incorporated a mini protection spell into my daily routine. This kind of spell is so helpful especially if you get into a rut/have trouble maintaining a regular practice.

I hope this is helpful for y'all, if you have any questions about natural skincare/hygiene products please message me because I love talking about this stuff. (I could write a full essay on my diva cup, for real) Or you can just message me in general to say hi! I'm traveling for a wedding this week so I may not be able to respond right away but I'm always down for making new witchy friends.

Have a wonderful day fellow witches, brightest of blessings!-Kate

[keilemlucent]

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want? 

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic. 

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days. 

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours. 

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much. 

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment. 

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk. 

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog. 

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

 Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them. 

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway. 

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine. 

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care. 

You were comfortable and content. 

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes 

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious 

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird 

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

 You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered. 

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too. 

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes. 

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion. 

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by. 

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse. 

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance. 

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows. 

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures. 

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly. 

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger. 

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished. 

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego. 

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office. 

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood. 

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk. 

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods. 

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up. 

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way. 

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control. 

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath. 

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on. 

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn���t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.” 

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants. 

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you. 

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you. 

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you. 

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming. 

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state. 

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold. 

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe. 

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body. 

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?” 

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment. 

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you. 

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you. 

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut. 

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically. 

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back. 

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed. 

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him. 

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides. 

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty. 

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?” 

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock. 

 “Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.” 

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best. 

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him. 

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded. 

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way. 

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

 Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily. 

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit. 

“You’re my good girl.” 

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his. 

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably. 

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god. 

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.” 

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw. 

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been. 

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness. 

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips. 

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted. 

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings. 

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech. 

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue. 

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right. 

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back. 

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet. 

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them. 

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained. 

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat. 

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full. 

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in. 

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer. 

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest. 

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it. 

++++++++++++

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