#You can hardly see the wings but I'm thinking of making something else with their pattern

[thyandrawrites]

I forgot to post about this little guy, but here's one of my newest additions to my crocheted family! His name is cupcake and I put him on my backpack :')

[pars-ley]

Title: Traces of you

Pairing: Jimin (BTS) x female oc

Summary: meeting your soulmate wasn't a problem in a world where your fated lover comes to you in your dreams, but finding them for real…that's a different story.

Genre(s): Soulmates au / strangers to lovers au / fantasy au / fated lovers / angst / smut /

Rating: Mature 18+ (NSFW) MINORS DNI

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you…you know the deal) / cream pie / oral f.recieving / nipple play / clit play / Jimin has a wet dream and cums in his pants

Word count: 2.2k

Banner: @shadowkoo thank you, you're a goddess

Moodboard: @anyamaris dreamy creation as, thank you!

Beta: @anyamaris and @hobeemin thank you for all your help and support with this

Author's notes: this is for the lapydiaries event ‘sad boys club’ and I used the prompt Ateez - Inception. I'm not used to writing in this person or from the male perspective but I enjoyed it and I hope you do too

Looking out at the expanse from his hotel balcony, his dark eyes scour the inky sky, pausing on each star as he surveys the view. His attention was stolen by the landmark, illuminating the thick blanket of night. The metal tower that led him to Paris in the first place.

Although it was not any historical beacon that held his interest on this night…it was you. He was so close he could hardly contain his excitement. He needed to tell you so many things, he needed to let you know he was here right now.

“I'll find you soon,” Jimin whispers into the soft nighttime breeze, hoping it'll grow wings and make its way to you.

He closes the balcony doors, the silence enveloping him instantly, and climbs into bed, pulling the plain white sheets tightly over him, hoping that sleep will follow.

He's too wired and jet-lagged to give in, but he must—he must be with you again. It's like a drug that he can't get enough of. Spending time with you in the dreamworld makes him feel at peace and loved beyond anything he could fantasize about. The softness of your touch is so gentle and caring, and the pure adoration in your eyes when you look at him sometimes takes his breath away.

His love. His soulmate.

He yearns to see your face; dreaming is the only way he can.

As he thinks of you, picturing your face behind his eyelids, he slowly starts to drift. Once he's pulled under the cloak of the surface of sleep, he meets you yet again.

“Jimin.” You breathe, sounding relieved, but there's something else in your voice, something he hasn't heard before.

“I'm here.” He whispers as you rush over to him, encasing him in your loving embrace. You swirl around him, trapping him in a cage of his own senses, one he will gladly surrender into. He breathes you in, a scent like no other that he will remember until the end of his days.

He pictures the Eiffel Tower view from his hotel room, showing you exactly what he means.

Your soft, little gasp as you look at the expanse behind him makes his stomach flutter, “you came?” You ask.

“Of course. How could I not?” He strokes the length of your cheek, and the smoothness of your skin against his fingertips sends shivers down his spine.

When you meet his eyes again, there's a heat he's never seen, sending his heart into a frantic pace. His body reacts instinctively, an erection growing rapidly before he can try to restrain it.

“Soon, I will be able to touch you for real.” You say, trailing a finger down his shirt and to the waist of his jeans. “But I don't want to wait that long.”

Your voice, low and thick, drips with lust as you speak, and Jimin can't help but bite his lip to try and stop the ache of his solid cock. When your fingertips linger at the button of his jeans, he has to restrain himself from thrusting against you; instead, he slides his arms around your waist and pulls you to him. The heat radiating from you makes it hard for him to think straight.

Gasping when you feel him pressed up against your clothed core, your fingers fumble as they frantically grapple at his trousers; yanking them down, he steps out and kicks them aside.

He grabs fistfuls of your top and pulls it quickly over your head, throwing it across the room. Marveling at your body, the sight before him better than anything he could have created in his tiny mind. You were glorious and he wanted to live in this moment with you, to explore every inch of your body, but time here was precious. It moves fast; before he knows it, it will be morning, and his eyes will be snapping open in disappointment again.

“Where are we?” you pant as you undo the buttons of his shirt, fingers shaking with desperation as he walks you backward.

“My hotel room,” he whispers, his lips making a trail down the side of your throat as he undoes your bra, whipping it away from your body. The cool air hits you, puckering your nipples, and he quickly closes his mouth around them, licking, sucking, and relishing the taste of your skin.

Your moan fills the room, an erotic melody he could get lost in, and he would do anything to continue the song.

He guides you down onto the bed and sinks onto his knees, reaching up under your skirt, he pulls your underwear down. You stare at him in wonder, fascinated, and unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding before you.

Smiling up at you, he licks his lips, lips you've yet to taste. Pushing your thighs apart, he leans down and touches his mouth to you ever so lightly. His tongue comes out and licks a stripe up your centre, ending with a flick against your clit. When you twitch in response and call out his name, your hands snaking their way into his hair, he can't help but thrust his crotch against the side of the mattress, desperate for some of his own release.

“Say that again.” He pleads, looking up at you. Your pained expression and teeth embedded into your bottom lip is so sinful; he pictures what you would look like if he pushed himself so far into your mouth that you were full of him.

He continues his kisses against your sex, tasting every crevice of you, and it delights him when your back arches off the bed. His tongue makes gentle circles on your sensitive bud, and he catches the way your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.

Your legs come up to clamp around his head, but he pushes them down. They fight against him as your body takes on a mind of its own, chasing its high. Grinding against his face and gasping for air, the only sound he's attuned himself to is his name, leaving your lips repeatedly. And god, could that sound make him lose all composure.

He hums against you, the vibration sending a delicious jolt through you, and it's all you need to tip you over the edge and have you falling down the cliff face of pleasure.

Continuing his motions, ensuring he absorbs every part of your release, a thirst for you that rivals the victims of the desert, and he does so until your body stills and the wave has subsided. But his desperation for you had not been sated at all, and he wastes no time in crawling up your body.

Your hands cling to his back as you push his boxers down with your feet; lining himself up, he slides inside you easily, enjoying the way you cry out. The feel of you wrapped around him, pulling him in further, and clenching around him sends a ripple of pleasure through him. You are so wet and warm and perfect, he wants to stay buried inside you forever. But he does not have the luxury of time tonight.

He finally captures your mouth in a hungry kiss, crashing his lips against yours. The two of you move perfectly in synchronisation, a dance only fated lovers know. Your hands grab his buttocks, guiding his speed, and he obeys.

With every thrust, you moan, and with every moan, he is one step closer to the edge. He strokes your hair as he leans over you, peppering urgent kisses down your throat when you tilt your head back.

“God, I love you.” you moan, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

“I love you.” He responds, smiling at how perfect you are and thanking all the gods for the gift of you.

You turn him, pushing him over until he's the one on his back; swinging your leg across, you slide right back onto him, grasping at your own breasts as you adjust to him inside you once again. The feel of your sex sucking him in has him writhing beneath you, desperate to feel you come undone around his cock.

Finally, you begin to move. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your thighs, grabbing your hips, your breasts, before his thumb is gathering your slick and circling your clit. The more you move above him, the closer he is to release, and as desperate as he is for it, he will not relent until you do once more.

He can tell you are close when your cunt tightens around him, your breathing becomes erratic, and he uses his free hand on your hip to guide your movements against him. He angles himself upwards in rhythm with you, hitting that spot inside repeatedly; the sounds leaving you are as close to heavenly as he'll ever get, and just as he's wrapped up in every detail of you, your hot, wet sex spasms around him. He thrusts up into you as your movements become sloppy, and as you squeeze around him, he too comes undone, ropes of hot liquid lust decorating your insides; the thought alone only adds to his ecstasy. You collapse on top of him and pepper gentle kisses along his jaw. He's still inside you but yearns to be closer, his arms winding round your waist, holding you against him.

He can feel the rouse of consciousness stirring in the distance; he knows your time together is coming to an end, and judging by your pained expression, you do too.

As he takes one last look at your face, your eyes flitting desperately between his, the view changes to a quaint, little café.

“Find me here,” you say as the dream begins to fade, “Say it, say the name.”

He does, twice.

“I'll wait for you.” your voice echoes in the distance as he desperately clings to you but to no avail…

His eyes snap open, and he winces instantly at the bright morning sun streaming in through the windows. He should have drawn the curtains last night; maybe it would have delayed his separation from you. He rubs his eyes, fighting the haze of sleep when the image of the café appears like a snapshot in his mind. He says the name out loud, remembering what he needs to do. Fresh excitement blooms inside him, and he is ready for the new day ahead.

He will find you even if he has to wait at that café all day, every day.

He throws back the covers, unable to wait to start his day, knowing it could be today that he meets you in person. Oh, the thought of your skin under his fingertips and your lips pressed against his, the taste of you, so vivid and honest, he couldn't wait. But as he sits up, his attention is drawn down to his boxers, the discomfort is apparent…he'd ejaculated all over himself.

“Great.” He mumbles, rolling his eyes as he climbs carefully out of bed and retreats into the shower.

Nerves are flying rampant inside him, like a caged bird hitting against the bars, expecting to find an escape. He focuses on keeping his feet moving; the faster he gets there, the less time he has to spend agonising over finding you, and you can be together. He's mapped the journey and memorised the route to the café but has the location up on his phone just in case. It’s only a fifteen minute walk from his hotel. Some would say luck is behind this, but he knows fate better than that.

When he is simply a corner turn away, he picks up his pace, speed walking to his destination with blinders on. He pays no attention to the shops, the beautiful city surrounding him, or the landscape of the river beside him; the only sight he cares about is your face.

He comes to a halt when the shop front comes into view; the sign lit up like a beacon calling him home. There's a relief that moves through him briefly; he's here, and you will be there, whenever that may be. Crossing the street, he surveys inside, looking at every occupied table and examining their faces through the window. None of them are you, and sadness washes over him.

It's okay; he has time. He'll go in, order a coffee, and wait, knowing that every time the bell above the door rings, he'll hope he sees you.

“Jimin?” someone behind him says, and every muscle inside him freezes to a halt. He recognises your melodic voice, which sounds even more soulful and perfect in reality.

He turns slowly, his heart galloping like a racing horse at the sight of you. Pure perfection crafted to complete him. Your mouth stretches into a breathtaking smile, one he can't help but mirror as his hand reaches out instinctively for yours, and you do not hesitate to entwine with his. He pulls you closer, needing to feel your warmth and touch your skin, needing to know he's not dreaming.

And when he does, he sighs as you wrap your arms around his neck, clinging onto him as if you don't plan on letting go. He wouldn't mind that at all. Your scent swirls around him again, but it's real and even more intoxicating this time. You stay wrapped up in each other and finally break apart, leaving him missing your warmth and closeness instantly, but you take his hand and gently tug on him to follow. He does, as you lead him on his forever journey…with you by his side.

[pomefioredove]

Hiya! Do you think you could write something romantic and fluffy with Vil? I love him!

hi anon of course! I am so unwell about this man

summary: being friends with vil schoenheit has its perks type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, FLUFFY, mentions of food, friends to lovers huhuhu, maybe a tiny bit suggestive but also not really? lap-sitting and kissing

Someone should write a guide on how to be friends with Vil Schoenheit.

It did not come as naturally to you as you would have hoped. There were times when he felt like a star in your presence, not the actor kind, but the heavenly body.

Bright, and burning, and millions of miles away. Even as he sat directly across from you.

"You're not eating," he remarks. The comment is not degrading, though it is tinged with curiosity. "Is it bad?"

You haven't even sampled the meal yet- something fancy and expensive that you likely couldn't pronounce. He'd ordered it for you.

"It's okay," you lie.

He either buys your excuse, or ignores it. Either way, he reaches across the gossamer table cloth and switches your plates without asking.

Vil Schoenheit Friendship Survival Manual, rule number one: always assume his judgment is correct, until proven otherwise.

You look down at the plate- some kind of vegetable dish. He urges you on with a nod, lilac eyes fixed firmly on your pleasantly surprised reaction when you take a bite.

Rule number two: his judgment is always correct.

"Better?" he asks, not bothering to finish your food. He'll likely get something else later. "You really shouldn't skip meals. If you were feeling unwell, you should have said so. I would've ordered something lighter for you."

"Sorry. Didn't think of it," you say, taking another bite of his meal, if only to appease him.

You're hesitant to mention that the heavy feeling in your chest wasn't from illness, and so you say nothing more.

"No need to apologize. Here,"

Vil delicately reaches across the table and dabs at the corner of your mouth with his napkin. You hate how light-headed such a simple action makes you feel.

"Better. And don't worry about smudging anything, I have a few new products I'd like to try out on you later,"

Rule number three: always accept his gifts.

"Thanks," you murmur.

You were starting to feel as if you really were ill, the way your entire body warmed in his presence. Vil brought out a feverish sort of stupidity in you that made outings like this a minefield to navigate.

How painfully cliché, you thought. Hopelessly in love with someone far out of your league, with infinite options, none of which you could even hope to catch up to...

It made these evenings together pure torture.

You felt guilty for wishing he wasn't such an amazing friend. Must he insist on showering you in gifts and holding your hand every time you cross the street?

But being in his bedroom is another, dirtier realm of guilt. Vil saw you as a friend. Platonic. Someone he confided in, who he took under his wing. You were allowed to see parts of him no one else had, and yet, you can hardly pay attention to what he's saying because you can't stop thinking about the way his lips look when he speaks.

"Did you understand any of that?" he asks, bending down to your level as you sit on his bed. On his bed. And you had the mind to be thinking about doing romantic things...

Rule number four: speak when spoken to.

"No, sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind lately,"

Vil clicks his tongue and holds a hand to your forehead, feeling for temperature. "And you're sure you're not ill?"

"I'm fine! Just distracted,"

He chuckles, walking across the room to peruse his vanity. "Hm... and what sort of thoughts have got you scatterbrained today?"

You can feel your skin burning again. He could tell, couldn't he? All these weeks of coming undone every time he so much as looks your way couldn't have gone over his head... could they?

Or perhaps he was just used to people staring at him, stumbling over their words every time he spoke. Perhaps you were just another foolish fan who'd gotten to know him before falling in love.

You couldn't help but wish that there was someone or something that would just tell you what to do.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

Vil sits beside you, a small, wooden box in hand.

"I'm supposed to promote these next weekend, but I'm not sure about them, yet," he says, opening the lid to reveal a plethora of lipsticks that likely cost more than your existence. "I'll need your opinion, of course."

"Right," you murmur.

"And I'd like to try them on you, as well,"

"Of course,"

"And you're alright with that?"

You nod. Ever the gentleman, always asking for permission. He's been quite generous with his products lately, giving them away to you like candy. You're almost certain he has a full list of your allergens somewhere.

Vil returns to the vanity, delicately prepping, and then applying the first shade. It's a marvelous, metallic pink, with dark red undertones that make it a regal color. It suits him, and you say as much.

"Oh, you think so? I suppose it does compliment my eyes, although I'd definitely need to pair it with something darker, else it become too overpowering..."

He clicks his tongue, and then turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Your turn. Come sit,"

There isn't another chair at the vanity, and you take that as your cue to awkwardly stand in front of him until he tells you what to do. He chuckles, amused by some thought of his that he doesn't share aloud.

"What are you standing there for? Sit,"

You awkwardly look around the space, eyes searching for a mysteriously hidden stool, something that should have been obvious...

He smiles. "Oh, don't be shy. We've known each other long enough by now, haven't we?"

You can't think of the right thing to ask, although your thoughts are quickly cut off by the sight of him gently patting his lap.

Sevens. If there were any time to wake up, this was it.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

He's not joking, of course. Vil hardly jokes. And so, you awkwardly straddle his lap, facing towards him, and allow him to get a good look at your visage.

He holds your chin firmly, studying your features as if he hasn't already seen them a thousand times before.

"Stay still,"

He's going to give you a heart attack, and there's a little quirk in his smile that tells you he knows it, too.

You wonder what your tag at the morgue will say. Death by Vil Schoenheit?

He starts with your skin, commenting on how soft it's gotten since he met you, then your eyes...

...Once he's satisfied, as he always is with his work, he turns your head so you can admire the makeup look in the mirror behind you.

"Stunning," he comments. "But you're missing something."

You look back, eyes wide. Surely, he hadn't forgotten something...? That's simply not in his nature.

He smiles at your confusion. "Remember? You promised to test these for me?"

Right. The lipstick. You nod. "Yes, but, I thought you'd already..."

"Oh, I do like the color. I'm just worried about this brand," Vil says. He looks away for a moment, almost as if to summon his courage... what a strange expression on him.

"What's wrong with the brand?"

He turns back with a small smirk. "They have a nasty reputation for smudging easily. I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself next weekend, hm?"

His cups your chin again, bringing you closer.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him!

He tilts his head to the side. "You don't mind, do you?"

You couldn't have shaken your head any faster, even with his grip on your chin.

"Good. Now, stay still. I think this will be a good color on you, anyway,"

He pulls you in with ease, letting his lips rest on yours for a second or two, before pulling back. Short but sweet, enough to make you feel like your entire body has gone numb.

He inspects your face, humming to himself...

"Good so far," he says, bringing you closer again. "But that was too safe. I won't hold back next time. Are you ready?"

You nod. Barely anything had happened, and you're already breathless. "Ready,"

Another smile crosses his perfect face, though he doesn't give you any time to admire it before he's kissing you again, one hand still cupping your face, the other holding the back of your neck and pressing you closer.

Definitely not a very platonic kiss.

It takes him longer to pull away this time, though when he does, it gives you a perfect view of his still-pristine makeup.

"Hmm... still nothing. I'm quite impressed with this line," he says, reaching behind you and returning with the wooden box. "How do you feel?"

Dizzy. Light-headed. Warm.

"Good," you say.

Rule number five: do not fall in love with him.

Or do.

"Not too much, I hope?"

A delightful realization was beginning to come over you, one that made all you had thought about him null and void:

No one else could possibly give you a guide on Vil Schoenheit, because he writes the rules himself.

"No. That was perfect,"

"Excellent," he smiles, and flips the box open again. "Because we still have six more colors to test."

[satans-codpiece]

8 with screamer pls

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

(Implicitly TFP Starscream, post-Partners. Him sneaking around the Nemesis is so good for this.)

----

You thought you were dying; that someone's finally come to kill the High Command's pet human in an idiotic power play-

Until he was shushing you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him in weeks, months-- you still didn't see him as talons had curled together in a protective cup. Until your demand registered in his audials and each towering rod of metal sprung apart.

"ME???" He hisses, optics wide, lighting up the room in scarlet. All around you, his thin digits twitch with indignation. He holds you at chest height, but even here he makes you look up to see him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm running on fumes out there and-" Starscream's head whips towards the door. All at once the red light that had been bathing you is gone, illuminating dark metal. It takes another several seconds before you hear what had drawn his attention. Footsteps- several in succession. A squad of Vehicons. Were they there for him? You turn back towards him and truly take in his appearance. As bright as his lights are in the pitch black room, they're dim- dim for how blinding they should be with him keyed up, ready to fight whatever came through the door. Worse, him looking away gives you the perfect view of the horrid scratch just below his right optic.

He holds you so close, so precariously folding his limbs to fit into the closet anyway- you stretch up onto your tip toes and reach for him. "Starscream..."

Your fingertips barely brush metal. His face snaps back towards you.

In an instant you can see it, plain as though he'd told you himself. He didn't come back for you-- not that you would have expected him to, he was hardly the most dedicated of them-- but now that he has you in his servos again... The apertures of his optics spin, watching you, betraying more than he would ever want to say. Outside, the footsteps recede.

"I was worried about you." You say, "I missed you." and it's true. When you reach for him again, he lets you touch, your tiny palm against his massive, cool cheek.

"Of course you did." Starscream says on instinct. But the waver of his optics, of his derma means there's something else. Starscream quiets as he struggles to say something with sincerity. Evidently, he doesn't quite get there. "I can't mass displace." It's not what he really means to say, replaces his first-line defense of sarcasm and self-aggrandizement with second-line allusion. It's enough to give you pause- "Have to be quick." and that's enough for you to push it aside.

You nod, instantly breathless. You don't know what quick means to him right now, so you skip the formalities and kick your pants off the edge of his servo. His optics darken at the sight of you adjusting, settling back against the quickly warming plates.

And when you part your legs for him- his engine hums, spooling up despite his attempts to suppress the sound- and his glossa spills from his intake. Slick, smooth metal joints trace up your thigh- and that's all the warm-up you get before he's sliding between your lips.

A gasp rips its way from your mouth- and you quickly cover it with your hand, sinking your teeth into your fingers just to keep quiet. From the heat in Starscream's gaze and the momentary flick of his wings, you think he'd wish you wouldn't- regardless of how tactically sound that impulse is.

He drags his glossa up nice and slow, lets his optics shutter, rerouting processing power to the chemical sensors on his glossa. It's been a quartex- no, two- since he last tasted you and your strange little organic lubricant. It's sweet and so strangely inert, his drained tanks aching for energy-dense fuel, not the delicious strings of proteins you leak so obligingly onto his glossa.

His faceplate is cool when he draws his servo even closer, your thighs pressing up to rough-worn metal. You sigh for the contact, squirm in his palm as his languid licks turn intentional, the tapered tip prodding at your entrance while the base rubs teasingly across your clit.

"Star," You sigh into your fist. He must hear it- because his engine gives a stuttering, half-aborted purr and his glossa pushes in.

With so little effort, he fills you- and your warmth, your softness, your taste surrounds him. This time, his engine's spooling goes unchecked, a deep rumble that rises in pitch- and yet does nothing to hide the distinctive shnk of his panel opening.

You wish you had the time, that he had the energy to fuck you properly. It's been so long, and as nice as his glossa feels pumping into you, squirming deliciously against your walls, it's not the same.

Around you, his talons twitch again- and now you watch his arm move and stroke himself with a pace that shuns the very concept of patience. Heat bursts from his vents, fans clicking ever higher in vain. It's been too long- too long without him, too long worrying. There's no room for the nice, slow reunion fuck you each deserved.

"Close," You gasp, but he already knows. He's felt how your soft, squishing walls keep trying to clamp down on his glossa, as though you could trap him inside that soft, wet little frame-

"Yes, yes," He purrs- voice rumbling unimpeded from his vox. Red light washes over your tiny body as he re-engages his optics, watches as you squirm in his servo-

And when you cry out, "Star!" body going rigid because of him- for him- Starscream's engine stutters, skips a cycle and he moans against your skin. His arm trembles, struggles to work himself through his own overload.

He leans away, his vents hot like desert air on your skin. The light of his optics has dimmed, lowered in the wake of his spent charge- but still coat your body in a garnet gleam, every inch of you painted red for him.

You rub your hand along his, feel the grooves between plates. "Do you have to go?" You murmur, staring up him.

"I'll be back." Starscream promises, stroking your body so carefully with one long, sharp talon. "I'll find you."

[lbcreations-blog]

Holy Mother Of Many

Summary: You are the wife of God himself. You both made many amazing angelic children such as Lucifer and Sera, one day in many of the galaxys and cosmos problems occurred, so you set out to fix the problems while intrusting your husband with your children. But what you didn't know was when leaving many bad things would happen, making hardly any good come out of it.

Female mother reader

All plotonic

proofread

Words: 1121

Masterlist

You had a relationship with the holy father God himself. You were his devine wife, the holy mother of all creations. You were together since the start of everything.

You had many devine children, one of your favorites being little Lucifer. Just seeing him when he was a baby, you knew he would have a similar personality to you. Sadly, you never got to find out due to you having to leave to do other things like glaxeys and cosmos to look after. Before you left, you instructed your husband to look after both of your creations. You then left the home you loved.

Oh, how would you regret that decision.

??? Years later

You were now working on a glaxey in your main form (which is like atleast 300ft tall) when you realized you should really take a vacay and see your husband again and all your angelic children, I mean it has been many many many many many many many years.

A few mins later, you arrived in front of heavens gates in your smol form (7 ft tall). About to walk in, you saw a blonde male at a podium. "Oh greetings, mister!" You said to the man. "Welcome to heaven ma'am! May I please get your name." The man said to you.

"Name? Why do you need my name?" You asked. "Well-" "St Peter, let me deal with this," Sera interrupted Peter and told him so while flying down from somewhere. "Yes, Sera," St Peter said, then flying away. "Wait, Sera?" You said, "Hello mother, " Sera said softly, smiling. You quickly hugged her. "Oh, Sera, my darling daughter!" You said.

You moved slightly backward so you can have eye contact with her. "Oh, sweety, you're all grown up! Im so sorry that i haven't been here!" You told Sera. "It's alright, mother," she told you. "Anyway, what's up with the whole name thing? And where's Luci? And all my other beautiful children?" You asked her.

"Let's go and talk about this somewhere else," Sera said as she telaported you both into what you assumed was her office. "Take a seat, mother," Sera told you. You listened to your daughter and sat down on the comfortable seat.

"You see Mother when you left. Father decided to sleep once i and some of the others were old enough, and he is still sleeping. When he first fell asleep, some of the oldest ones and I made a project called Earth, and we made these creatures called humans. And well... Lucifer destroyed it with childish actions. He brought evil into earth, and in turn, he created his own doman fill of that evil. He lives there, ruling the doman of evil." Sera told you.

"WHAT⁉️"

TIME SKIP

"You know what, I'm going down there to check on him," you told Sera. "But mother," Sera began "no don't even think about it, Sera," you said, getting up. "Yes, mother," Sera said, making a portal in front of the hotel for you. "I'll talk to you more once i return," you said, entering the portal. "Yes, mother," she said not trying to upset you anymore.

"I wonder why Sera telaported me in front of a hotel." You sighed. "Oh well, he's probably in there. I can sense my boy," you said, walking up to the door.

You knocked on the door, and a few minutes later, a pink and white spider looking guy opened it and looked at you in shock. "Hey uh Vaggie there is an angel at the door!" The guy said toward what you saw to be an ex angel, going by her aura, wings, and lack of halo, at least.

"Oh shoot, I'll go get Charlie you let her get comfy," Vaggie said to the pink and white spider guy. "But isn't she busy with something important with Alastor?" The guy asked. "Oh, right! I guess I'll get Lucifer and be nice to her Angel!" Vaggie said, running up the hotel stairs. You smiled at the mention of Lucifer, You were so excited to see your son.

You now sat on the couch, which the man named Angel kindly led you to sit on and wait. While waiting, who you now learned was named Angel dust tried making small talk with you. But it did not really end up well he seemed to be nervous for some reason, but you decided not to overlook it in some way.

After a few minutes of waiting, a portal finally opened. Lucifer walked into the hotel lobby and made eye contact with you. You immediately telaported to him and tightly hugged him. "Oh Luci, my son. I'm so happy to see you again!" You told him.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" Lucifer asked you. "To see you ofcourse" You told him, holding his rosy cheeks and looking down at him. "I would have came much much earlier if I knew what happened to you all those years ago, but I intrusted your now excuse of a father to you and your siblings."

"Are you alright, though? I'm aware the... Fall. Was, alot," "Of course im alright Mom, i have a daughter now. " Your smile increased at that information. "I have a granddaughter?!" You asked Lucifer, squishing his rosy cheeks even more. "Indeed you do, mom," Lucifer told you. "Oh my word, im a grandmother! That's crazy so where is she?" You asked him.

"Well... she just walked through the doors right now. " You looked behind you seeing the splitting image of your son in a female form. You smiled cheek to cheek upon seeing this just seeing her. You knew the both had at least a similar personality.

"Dad, why is there an angel here?" His daughter asked. "Charlie, this is your grandmother." "It's nice to meet you, my granddaughter." "It's nice to meet you too. My name is Charlie, but you already know that, i have one question, though: how come i did not see you in heaven?" Charlie asked.

"Well, i was busy with a lot of work at that moment," you told her. "Oh! uhm! Can I tell you about this project im working on!?" Charlie asked you. "Sure ofcourse go ahead. I'd love to hear of such" Charlie bounced up upon hearing that and started walking you through the hotel with your son that Vaggie girl and what you sensed to be a smiling fellow behind he did not speak yet though.

You needed to wake up your husband and scoled him for his passed actions and Sera as well, but for now, you would enjoy the company of the Hazbin Hotel.

Taglist: @fatherlesschild2 @whitewingsh @iheartpieck @i-yuki @ilovemyths2003

Taglist ask area

-L.B Creations

[geopsych]

The reason I saw those red-winged blackbirds out back and I saw the snipe in the park the other day is that much of the marsh by the park has been destroyed and when I went down there I saw a bulldozer and a huge dump truck loudly destroying the hill next to it, what I used to call Fox Hill because whatever vixen had a den nearby would hunt there among the grasses, weeds and shrubs for the abundant mice and voles, to support the kits in her womb and then in the den. Along with everything else that's going on, the loss of the red-wings in that spot where I've seen them for all these years and possibly the loss of a viable fox population in the woods at the park (the woods now bought by the borough so they can "improve" it) it's all making me incredibly sad. I used to love glimpsing foxes, especially seeing the young ones playing. I counted on hearing the red-wings there every February. But it also made me think of something I wanted to say here. Everybody probably knows I support people of various genders and preferences. I hope everyone knows I support trans people and count a number of trans people as my friends.

But more than that I want to say that I also support and love people who are messes, including people who can't decide what gender they are but also including people who can't get out of bed in the morning, people who other people consider ugly or overweight, people who can't get their acts together, people who struggle with disabilities and those who are just sad and lonely, people who think of themselves as writers or artists or musicians but can't bring themselves to do the thing. And of course the people whose minds are always on their blorbos.

Do you know how much I would rather share this world and this life with you than with the business assholes and the people who lord it over everyone with their work ethic or their beauty or their fitness or their money or whatever? Yes, we need people who get things done but we also need regular people to just be regular people with. I feel this so strongly! Life is really hard right now for a lot of people. It's difficult just to face each day even if your circumstances at home and work haven't changed, because of the stuff we're hearing on a regular basis. Meanwhile things like what's happening at the park or other bad things we want to rave about or mourn for keep happening and we hardly feel like we have room to react the way we need to in this environment of constant horror. Our personal horrors and griefs get overwhelmed by the news and we don't get to process them. So it's really okay if you find it hard to live in this world. It's really okay if you're not living up to other people's or even your own standards. I know you want a happier life and I want that for all of us but it's hard to see the way there when it feels like everything's being torn down. The thing where they had to go in and shoot thousands of snow geese in the quarries here plus the bulldozing of the marsh and the hill next to the park and the purchasing of the woods aren't big things in the context of the world but those were things that helped me feel like there were good things around me. Now I feel like anything might be next, nothing is safe. I think a lot of people feel that way right now. Sending you hugs if wanted. <3 I'm glad you're here!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

More angel Neil please :))

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Guardian Angel Neil AU (Part 238)

“Will you answer a question first?”

"If I must." Andrew says, flicking his fingers. “What is it?”

“I wanted to ask if it’s still just Neil.”

“Just Neil,” Andrew repeats, confused. “Are you asking if I have more than one angel?”

"Sort of. I’m asking if you’ve met anyone new or seen anything else strange recently.”

"No," Andrew lies. Then he blows air when he thinks of something. "Yes."

Betsy latches on. "Care to talk about it?"

"Sure. I found a feather on the roof a while ago.”

“That’s nice, but not really what I meant—”

“It glows sometimes."

"Oh.” Betsy says, changing her tune. “What color is it?"

"White. But it glows blue." Andrew tells her, thinking of the cerulean light that illuminates his pillow.

"That sounds pretty." Betsy says with a smile. "Out of curiosity, have your roommates seen the feather?"

"No. I didn't show them."

"But you kept it?" Bee asks. At Andrew's nod, she continues. "So, we've got an angel and a glowing feather. Angels have wings, so I’m told. That makes me wonder, did the feather come from Neil?"

Andrew was not expecting her to ask. It's such a simple conclusion to reach. Betsy doesn't like simple things. 

"I think so."

"Did you ask him?"

"No," Andrew says. It's not quite a lie. He'd asked, but Neil thought Andrew was scheming to see his wings again. Andrew's heart leaps. Neil's wings. It's his birthday. He's going to see them today. Later. Soon.

"When does it glow?"

"When."

"Is it constantly or a specific time of day?" Bee asks. She’s genuinely curious if her expression is to be believed. Andrew doesn't understand why she's so hung up on the feather, but he glances down at his shoes and thinks about it for a moment.

"At night."

Betsy gets a look on her face and sort of nods to herself. "Okay."

"No. No 'okay'. What was that?"

"I just know you aren't fond of nighttime." Betsy says, making Andrew bristle. Damn her for being good at her job. "And I know you sometimes have a hard time sleeping. Maybe the feather is a subconscious plea for you to invest in a nightlight."

Andrew laughs. He is not afraid of the dark. Only the monsters that lurk in it.

"Oh yes, a twenty-year old man with a nightlight. I'm sure my roommates would just love that."

"It might help." Bee says with a smile. For a split second, Andrew considers buying a fucking nightlight. If nothing else it would at least piss Aaron off. That's almost enough to convince him. Then he realizes he's basically just been using Neil's feather as a nightlight. The glow of it brightens and dampens. Sometimes it's so bright he can hardly sleep and other times it barely lights up at all.

"Enough about the feather," Andrew says, shaking his head. "I answered your question, you answer mine."

"I'm sorry. What was your question, Andrew?"

"I..." Andrew has to think about it. His fucking meds are eating holes in his brain. "Why would Neil suddenly start showing up in new places? It used to be just the roof. Now it's the roof and practice and Nicky's."

"He's your friend, Andrew. Why wouldn't he go where you go?" Betsy's voice is calm and even and it's annoying.

"I suppose that makes sense."

"Now, back to my questions. The reason I asked about any new," Bee fumbles for a word, "Things. Is because of the study I read this weekend. It was about a young lady who is taking medication similar to yours. I wanted to see if anything lined up."

"This girl had a guardian angel?"

Betsy opens her mouth. "I can't tell you all that."

"She's not your patient, Betsy. She's a case study." Andrew points out. "No confidentiality clause between you."

[readychilledwine]

Training Tensions

A second part of Early Mornings (link in masterlist and coming soon) in a way. Showing the beginning of the mateship/courting between Cassian, our illyrian oc (who now has a name), and Nesta. But with a plot twist so I have an excuse for something that may get posted later.

Summary - Nesta can't help falling harder and harder for Irelina. They've been ignoring it for months now, but the dam has to break at some point

Warnings - fxmxf threesome inferred, oral, mentions of a trouple/poly-relationships, husband encouraging someone else to bang his wife (because Cassian is a king), mentions of impact play, wing play, oh and some actually emotionally stuff. It's NSFW but not as spicy as I've been known to post

A/N - I hadn't intended to add to Early Morning much, but when I'm in a writers block, my mind goes back to her, Nesta, and Cassian, and the emotional bond between her and Nesta. So you may occasionally see pieces of them sprinkled between other updates.

"He's just selfish!" Nesta landed another harsh punch that had Irelina smiling with pride inside despite the stinging in her hands growing. "He just thinks he knows everything," another sharp punch landed on her pad. "And for being able to get into people's heads, he understands nothing." 

The final blow caught her off guard. Nesta pulled a move the young female watched her use while she was sparring with Cassian. A faked right into a left into the stomach. Nesta gasped as she doubled over. Eyes wide in shock as she began to cough. 

"I'm so sorry!" Nesta was at her side, a hand gently touching her back. "I-"

"Don't apologize," she wheezed out. She placed her hands on her knees, taking deep breaths through her nose as Cassian ran over.

"What happened?" Nesta backed away, only for Irelina to reach for her hand and hold her there. Electricity shooting through her at the contact.

"She's a visual learner," is all she said. "She took a fake shot on me and it worked because we had hardly even discussed that yet. I'm so proud of you, Ness."

Nesta's face slightly flushed with the praise before she buried it away. 

-

Training the next day involved her and Nesta in meditation. Focusing on their inner self. "I can feel how unsettled you are. Talk to me." It was a gentle invitation. One Nesta took immediately.

"I just do not understand how you all sat there and did not tell Feyre she would die."

Nesta watched her eyes open. "There was not a single day that went by since I found out that I did not want to tell her. Trust me." Irelina paused, looking towards where Cassian and Azriel were sparring. "It just was not my place. I do agree it was not handled properly, though."

Nesta's mind froze, unprepared to have her feelings validated. "You don't think I'm wrong?"

She shook her head at Nesta, eyes closed again. "I think Rhysand, my dearest brother, should have included his mate and wife in decision making regarding their babe and her body. I feel HE should have told her right away and included her in the search to find solutions."

She opened her eyes, finally looking at Nesta with that gaze that reminded the younger female of molten honey. "I do not think you told her from a place of genuine concern and love, though. That is the only thing I do not believe was handled correctly on your end."

Nesta sook her head. "I do love her, it was concern."

"It is not your love I question, Ness. It's your intention. In your heart, yes, you meant well. In your subconscious, no." Nesta studied the illyrian female, her beautiful face and scarred wings. "I think you are grieving so deeply, Nesta, your heart has begun to be poisoned. You are blinded by your rage and hurt. I understand that heartache." 

"We failed you," she continued. "We failed you, and Elain, multiple times. We failed you when you were forced into that Cauldron, we failed you when you were recovering, we failed you when your father died, and we failed you after the war."

Nesta felt her heart swelling, her eyes beginning to water. She had longed to hear those exact words for nights now.

"I failed you," Irelina said softly. "I failed you when I allowed you to go down the same pathway I did of numbing yourself through booze and sex. I failed you when I wasn't there every day and night holding you. I failed you, and I will never be able to make up for it."

She held her hand to Nesta, then gently laced their fingers together. "Everything you are feeling, little dove, every piece of anger, of longing, of sadness, of self doubt, of absolute burning sheer rage, you are valid in those feelings. You are allowed to feel those feelings." She brought Nesta's hand to her lips, kissing the top of it gently, "it's how we move forward in how you process those feelings, how you let them free, that makes the difference in your soul's peace or turmoil."

-

Nesta was awake before her. Before Azriel and Cassian. Eyes locked in the fire burning in the hearth. Her dreams were haunted by Irelina, but not the way her nightmares had plagued her. 

They were haunted by gentle touches, soft whispered words of love, support, and encouragement. 

They were haunted by memories of the two of them, when Rhys would allow her off her leash and the two of them would spend time reading, finger tips running up and down her arm as Irelina jotted down notes for reports or flipped her horror novel behind her. 

Nesta jumped when soft hands found her waist, a kiss placed on her temple. "Why are you up so early, dove?" She shivered at the sound of her voice laced in sleep. "Want breakfast or coffee? I can steal some tea from Azriel too?"

Nesta's mind flashed to the last time they had breakfast alone, to when Irelina served her coffee and the fluffiest pancakes she had ever had. Nesta had hardly been able to control herself around Irelina and Cassian for weeks after that, but her  rage towards Cassian helped. Her jealousy of hearing him make his wife a begging mess helped. 

"I was wondering if we could not train today?" Nesta asked quietly. "Just take a day to relax, you and me?"

"I'd have to ask Azriel," she said. "But I will work something out with him. Did you want breakfast?"

-

Azriel had not let Nesta out of training. Following his orders to a t, much to both of the females disappointment.

Nesta and Irelina were sparring basic hand to hand and currently locked together. It didn't take her but a spare second to take Nesta to the ground, straddling her hips and pinning her hands above her head. 

Nesta's chest was heaving, her eyes wide and mouth parted slightly.  Irelina's brows scrunched together at the same time Cassian gripped his chest over his heart and Azriel's shoulder. 

She was off Nesta in an instant, moving through the House of Wind as Nesta ran after her. 

She locked herself into the bathroom of her and Cassian's room, sinking against the wall. Nesta jiggled the door handle forehead against the cool wood, "Irelina, let me in." She knocked softly. "Talk to me, please. I know you're scared. I was scared when I felt it too, but you've made me feel so safe, please."

She heard Cassian's footsteps. "Lark? Baby, what's wrong?" Irelin didn't answer. Sitting with her head against the wall, a new silver thread gleaming next to a golden one. She tugged them both before closing the bond down. 

Cassian knew the message, placing a hand around Nesta's shoulders as he saw that pretty silver string too. "Give her a little bit, dove. She's shocked."

"You knew?" Cassian nodded at her question.

"Of course, dove. I knew the second I laid eyes on you in that manor you were mine, ours." Lark and dove, Nesta noted immediately. His little birds. The thought spread warmth through her body. The thought of being his. Of being Irelina's. Of being theirs.

-

Irelina skipped dinner, punching her feelings into one of the spare bags into the early hours of night. 

Nesta could feel her confusion, her excitement, her pain radiating through her hands. 

Cassian and Azriel had left for the evening claiming there was an emergency in Windhaven, and telling Nesta to behave herself while they were gone. Nesta closed her book, walking to the training grounds and sitting to watch Irelina.

She was covered in sweat, muscles and breasts shining in the light of the full moon. She struck the punching bag quick, precise, and repeatedly. She was wearing nothing more than a tight pair of leggings and a bra built for training. Her dark hair was messily braided back with a few pieces framing her high cheekbones. 

Nesta felt her eyes trapped on the muscles flexing in her thighs and arms.  Irelina paused, her head turning to Nesta. She shook whatever thoughts were running through her mind off and went back to beating the punching bag. 

The loud flapping of wings and a soft thud next to Nesta ripped her from the inappropriate place her mind was going. 

"She likes to bathe after doing this," it was an emotionless purr that made Nesta growl. "She likes lilac oils and red wine. Plenty of bubbles."

Nesta glared towards Rhysand. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Cassian asked me to ensure you took care of her tonight since he won't be here to do it himself. It is your duty, after all, as her mate." Rhysand took off again, flying back to the home he and Feyre were staying in. 

Her mate. The words replayed over and over again like a crescendo in a symphony. Her mate.

-

Nesta prepared a bath for her, pouring the scented oil and wine for both of them, and waited. Irelia froze at the door, already wrapped in a towel. 

Nesta took a step back from the bath, sitting in the vanity chair. "I thought you needed something to help you relax. You don't seem okay lately."

She nodded. "Thank you." She moved toward the tub, stepping shamelessly out of the towel and into the warm water. Nesta was reading her romance novel while Irelina bathed. Her eyes locked on the sultry scene being painted for her between the two female love interests. Her thighs began to squeeze together occasionally, begging for friction. 

Her eyes began to flick to the naked illyrian female. Her breasts were peeking above the water, bubbles hiding the toned body and curves below. 

Nesta was desperate to touch her. To kiss her. To have her. "Your back looks sore," she stated. "Do you want me to come rub it?" 

The scent in the air changed immediately. The lilac oil mixing with something slightly musky. "If you'd like to?"

Nesta swallowed that bit of fear in her bones, moving to the tub behind her and sitting with her legs in the warm water.

The steam in the room was thick as if it was adding to the tension between the two females. Nesta moved her wet dark hair over one shoulder and began rubbing her shoulders.  A soft moan had Nesta almost pausing before moving lower. "Cassian needs to give you a massage," Nesta joked.

"He tries," she laughed out. "He really does. But he gets distracted."

"I can see how." The words came out before Nesta could stop them. They hung in the air like magic. Lingering in their effect on both of them. Irelina turned between Nesta's legs, wet hands trailing her bare right calf. 

"You can't say things like that, Nesta. Our self control with you is already low." She lifted Nesta's long left leg over her shoulder and trailed a few testing kisses up her calf. "There's so many things I long to do to you, Nesta."

The oldest Archeron sister's face had flushed. She pulled her dress up further exposing her legs, then her stomach, then her breasts until it was off and they were both laid bare to each other. "Show me," Nesta whispered. "Show me what you want to do to me."

So Irelina did.

-

Cassian could smell sex in his room the second the door opened. He knew one scent immediately. Pomegranate and currants, his wife. The other a vanilla spicy musk with touches of amber. 

A familiar moan had him hard instantly as he moved mindlessly to the bathroom door. 

The sight behind that door was heaven. Nesta had his mate laid out on the tile bathroom floor, her back arched as her hands tangled in Nesta's freed long hair. 

Nesta had her head between his mate's thighs, tongue and mouth working her timidly but encouraged by each hair pull and breathy gasp. "Like that, Ness, please, fuck." 

Cassian moved the chair Nesta had previously been in, drinking the wine that was opened straight from the bottle. Nesta looked up, seeing him and pausing, ripping a pleading whine to leave his wife's throat. 

"Don't stop on my account," his voice was deep, laced with arousal as he watched Nesta. "Keep going, Ness. Unless you need me to show you how to make that pretty bird sing?"

Nesta's eyes grew dark at the offer. At the thought of learning how to draw the same noises from Irelina the way Cassian did. He smirked, moving to Nesta. He took one of his wife's beautiful legs, placing it over Nesta's shoulder, similar to how she had pulled Nesta apart earlier. "Do to her exactly what you want done to you, Ness." 

So she did, sucking her clit into her mouth and licking that bundle of nerves. 

"Fuck. Please?" Moans turned into whimpers as Irelina pulled Nesta's face further into her heat.

Cassian ran a long finger down Nesta's spine, feeling every bump and ridge. Memorizing every building muscle. Nesta hummed under his touch, sending vibration through his wife causing another crying moan. "Is this okay, Nesta?" She whined in response, arching up for Cassian. "What a beautiful little thing you are, sweetheart. We've wanted you for so long."

"So long," his mate moaned and confirmed. 

-

Nesta woke up between two warm bodies, two sets of wings caging her in like weighted blankets of protection. She turned to her side and traced Irelia's Face and played with her lashes causing the other female to wrinkle her nose and pull her closer. "Did we hurt you?" Nesta shook her head at the sleepy tone from the other female. "This doesn't have to change anything between us, Ness. We can still just cuddle, read, and be friends."

Nesta swallowed thickly. "And if I want more? If I'm ready for more?"

"Then we're more," she whispered. "But he is part of the deal, so you two will need to work on your…. Current relationship." 

"I don't know how."

She ran a hand through Nesta's hair. "Let him train you with me. Stop pushing him away. Talk to him. Cassian can be rough, but once those walls you two seem to fortify around each other melt and bend, you're both these soft creatures needing love and validation. Gentle understanding."

She pulled Nesta to her, kissing her lips softly. Nesta rolled them over carefully, a hand going to Irelia's Delicate wing, making her arch her back. 

"Oh?" Nesta rose a brow. "I thought Feyre was kidding." 

Irelia shook her head quickly. "Pretty serious. Watch." She watched as Irelina danced long limber fingers on the ridge of Cassian's wing. "Get on top of him. Take what's yours, dove. I know you want him back inside of you." She tugged that string, making Nesta gasp. "Shall we turn him to putty?"

Cassian woke up to Nesta on his already hard cock, riding as she kissing Irelina, whose pretty dripping cunt was just in reach of his happily awaiting tongue.

-

Azriel sat with his hands folded at the table as the three of them emerged one by one. The scent of it was overwhelming. The ridiculously pungent bond. The heavy scent of sex.

He rose a brow at Irelina, knowing the female would tell him everything shamelessly to draw jealousy out of him.. "Anything happen while we were gone? Anything I as Nesta's babysitter need to know about."

She rolled her eyes at him, forcing Nesta into her normal seat next to Cassian and taking the spot next to Azriel. 

"You can join us next time if it makes you feel better, Spymaster." Cassian and Nesta's eyes both lit up. "Maybe I'll even let you beat me with a cane or hang me from the ceiling."

Nesta noticed how that immediately got Azriel's attention. His scarred hand flying to Irelina's neck. "You know better than to tease me, little bat." Azriel smirked at the shock on Nesta's face. "Welcome to the throuple, Ness. Excuse me while I go remind this pretty little thing who is actually in charge between the 3 of us." He took Irelina by her neck back up the stairs, whispering in her ear as he moved with her.

Cassian leaned back with a smirk. "Welcome, dove. Might want to start mentally preparing for that one."

[punkrastination]

Lonely fag yells at antifa to step up their anti ableism and wear a damn mask. My contribution to PD La revue N° 7

Text translated under the cut

Antifa [soulève -untranslatable, play on the word which means both rise up and fuck] me

Historically more keen on political ardor than passion, from half a life of painstakingly performing femininity, and social anxiety only extinguished by the fire of rebellion, I came to anti fascism before coming to faggotery. Anti-ableism and the fight against rising eugenics in late stage capitalism followed this commitment naturally. My desire to form relationships with people who shared these values became a core part of my identity.

Because I know I will never fuck a fash, I will never get naked in front of a boss, will never put my heart in the hands of a cop. Why would it be any different with a cute left wing boy, unbothered with aligning himself with a rhetoric, practices and a general indifference worthy of the far right when it comes to COVID?

For some time I attempted the endeavor of the encounter. However I found myself helpless when confronted with the task of explaining to left wing people (often claiming to be antifascists) that it is important to avoid disabling your comrades (among others), and risking killing some of them, by not protecting yourself from a virus that promises exactly that. So I am left with solitude. Invisible in my masked visibility, the looks go right through me or worse, I find in them the familiar judgement, half badly hidden, that us deviants are used to receiving from unnerved heterocis eyes.

Activist solitude, which pushes me away from antifascism despite myself, because some are antifa only when it's easy, when it doesn't require you to shift your habits or make sacrifices. It stings to be deprived of community when we know how important it is in our lives on the margins, even more so in a period of rising fascism, massive instability, growing violence and exclusion. Even those who make some efforts on the subject do it begrudgingly, garbage accessibility that doesn't hold up more than 5 minutes, and that isn't conducive to meeting anyone I would be inclined to kiss.

Interpersonal solitude then, since neither activist spaces nor social gathering places are safe, and the people who frequent them live in a world where risks only concerns other people, vaguely ascertained as fragile, who can well stay home if they want to protect themselves.

So having barely stepped into the intimacy game, I see my options, already limited by my being trans, be obliterated by my values and my yearning for safety. After years of hesitation, I am finally on solid footing, ready for the experiences I was promised: community, solidarity, connection… They slip between my fingers like the years already gone. Meanwhile they all close their eyes, decide that the roulette is worth it, that I remind them too much of that reality they don't want, that a thousand times over they will take the risk over me, my masks, my tests, my vaccines and my figures, my fears, my hopes, my rage, my sour desire.

I wonder how things were at the very beginning of AIDS. I think of the Cassandras of the time, fighting against the state's deathly silence, and their peers who would say We can hardly just stop living. Hardly. To think you need to breathe to get it on. So you'd expect something else from faggots, used as they are to the government's minimizing lies about epidemics. But even grassroot community health groups are spineless or fully absent when it comes to covid. I look for solidarity in the crowds but no eyes meet mine. What antifa, mask clad when it comes to protests, will take my hand?

I'm left with hope in the fight, from my brethren in [autodéfense sanitaire, untranslated: grassroot covid arm reduction movement]: fags, trannies and crips held together with tape, rage and true solidarity. A minuscule grain of sand in the cogs of the neoliberal individualism eating up our communities.

Antifa fags who are ready to challenge the capitalist poison haunting every breath we take, join us.

[kit-williams]

First Meeting

Lion El'Johnson D&D AU

Canon status? It's canon to its AU

"How did you meet mother?" Luthor says looking up at his father as he draws the heavy bow back watching his father's eyes narrow before letting the arrow loose.

"Why are you suddenly so interested?" Lion says calmly as he and his son start to forestwalk.

Between patches of trees their conversation can be heard by the moss and the ferns and the fungi. "Because I'm a man now."

Lion snorts at his sixteen year old son. Still just a boy in his eyes as he was no Primarch no need for him to grow up quickly. "Is that so?"

"And well not everyone can save a damsel in distress to get a wife." Luthor says as if it is obvious. The fledgling Paladin and the Dark Angel look to the twisted beast snarling as the arrow Lion had loosed had ripped right on through it.

"Fine I'll tell you. Kill the quarry." Lion said pulling his sword out just watching his son fight. He had promised his Dove that he would make sure the boy was safe.

"SMITE!" Luthor shouted and Lion watched those green eyes turn gold as he could feel it... out of all his children so far Lion had sired... he was truly his grandfather's child. As power rushed into the monster through his sword and it laid dead. He could tell Luthor was grinning under his winged helm.

"Alright."

-------

Seventeen years earlier

Lion frowned at the ruckus the soldiers were making. He clearly knew his part in keeping this fledgling lord safe... perhaps his brothers were right that he was simply a sellsword at the moment but Lion didn't care. Beasts seemed to be in plenty supply for him to fight.

"Not a party man?" A voice cooed at him as he looked over at the maiden, though maiden was a strong term given her appearance as she grinned at him. Shoulders exposed to the twilight sky, her blonde hair in unruly trussels, and she gave him such a cat caught with the cream grin. "Oh I do apologize," She cooed with certainly no apology in her voice, "Not a party man, ser?"

"Lion." His deep timber resonated as he gave her his name.

"Oh the big man of the hour. I hear the lord is going to give you something nice tomorrow." She winked and Lion just scoffed but Gloria took it in good stride given the fact the mighty Ser Lion hadn't backhanded her away or shooed her off.

"And what would you know of it?" He said pulling on his gambeson and freeing his long blonde hair from its tie. It fell straight verses this maiden's half curled locks.

Lion's icy blue eyes watched her face as she hesitated for a brief moment... the slight shame in her tone before she just lightens it, "Well I'm one of his handmaidens it's my job to know." She forces a smile.

"Well why are you here?" Lion asks bluntly and it seems she is unphased by his rough nature.

"In his service or besides you?"

"Both." Lion says waving a hand as he walks over to a small stone wall and sits on it.

She shrugs following him, "Got nothing else really going for me. And to let you know good Ser I was out here catching my breath first. Only so many times you can allow your ass to get slapped passing by men before it gets annoying."

Lion's head snapped towards her and she sighed, "None of that good Ser no need to waste your righteous chivalric anger on a pigeon like me." She says sitting on the wall with a smile.

"Pigeon?" Lion says softly.

"Yeah, some men like to think proper court ladies like doves. Pure and just sit there being demure and cooing softly. I'm hardly anything like that. I'm just some piebald bird only good for sending missives and annoying the bakers for bread. Nothing like a dove."

Lion sat for a moment before speaking, "Doves and Pigeons come from the same family. A dove is just a fancy pigeon."

She blinked at him before slapping her skirt and laughing nearly falling off if not for his hand grabbing her arm as she just laughs and laughs. He tilts his head not seeing what is so funny about it.

"Oh thank you Ser Lion you've made my night. Perhaps I shouldn't be so dismissive of myself."

The topic of conversation is lost to his memory but she eventually tells him her name... Gloria. How it dances from his mouth. Lion was taught on Caliban to seek the demur and courtly woman but there was a freshness to Gloria.

"Ser Lion I'm awful at dancing." She says holding his hands looking down at her feet.

"You're in good company. I'm awful at dancing myself."

Again she tilted her head back laughing, "Then why are we trying this?"

"To live as fools for a night." Lion says softly as the two do slow methodical steps. Hardly any room for deviance on Lion's part as his hand rests on her hip as her off hand rests on his shoulder and the other hand for both of them rest together.

"Forgive what I am about to say Ser Lion but bad dancer my ass." Gloria giggles as he takes the lead before dipping her and a furious blush rushes over her face as this feels scandalous.

"I cannot forgive your mouth Lady Gloria." He smiles internally as she giggles at being called a lady. Her rough hands against his as they simply dance. But the night grows long and tomorrow calls for duty.

"I won't say I wish to see you again... I won't get my hopes up." Gloria says.

"Why not?" Lion uncharacteristically asks.

"While you are getting some lucky lady as a gift, Oh hope you aren't torn up about the surprise being ruined. I get to share the bed of a new man to help convince another knight to stay here. But if by some act it should be you... tell him you've never met me." And with that Lion knows not to ask questions with the list in her voice... the way she looks away and down... the shame of it all. Before she looks up, "I hope to get enough one day... go out and have a small adventure... perhaps find my own knight in shining armor." She pauses for a few moments, "Oh I must be boring you. Have a good night Ser Lion. I shall treasure this night."

"Good night Lady Gloria." He says kissing her hand causing her to blush deeply.

------

"A simple companion nothing more really." His lord says walking with Lion and as much as he wishes he was back home... Lion remembers to remain somewhat humble. He and his brothers have not siezed power in these lands for a reason... they did not want to be warlords again. But Oh how the Lion wish he could throw his weight around but without his sons to rally to his aid... Lion huffed.

"Again my Lord I do not need some nanny to cook and keep my armor cleaned or patch my holes."

"But you could be using your time elsewhere verses mending your things yourself. Just allow her to show her use." Lion could see that glint in his eye but he would humor the man. "She is particularly good at what she does. Ser Lion this is Gloria."

He was the master of keeping a stone face as he looked over Gloria. No longer in attire fit for a lower class she was put into lower nobility attire, her wild hair pinned back into a tight bun, painted lips, all of that wild bubbly energy he saw the prior night gone as that piebald pigeon she had called herself... had been painted white and forced to coo so sweetly. "I am but your humble servant Ser Lion." She says with practiced grace.

"Have you two met?" The lord says looking over at Gloria.

Lion speaks up first, "No. I've never met her. I would have certainly remembered meeting a charming dove."

She curtsies lower, "You flatter me good Ser."

"Splendid. Just if she doesn't meet your tastes just let me know." He says turning away as Gloria spares him a look and for once the Lion feels a mixture of anger and pity. He ignores the prattling of his lord as he takes her hand and once again kisses the back of it.

"It is lovely to make your acquaintance my Lady."

--------

Luthor just looked at his father blinking. "Wait mother always mentioned there being a dragon."

"Her old liege lord is the dragon in her stories. She simply was saving her dignity. Unlike your Uncle Curze's wife who embraced her past your mother doesn't like to remember it." The Lion says before walking over and lopping the beast's head off. "You did good today Luthor." He says patting his son's head.

While Luthor much like many of his cousins inherited most of their features from their fathers... Luthor inherited his mothers eyes and her unfiltered smile.

"So when are you going to tell me about the Dark Angels?" Luthor says looking up at his father.

"That is a talk for when you are older." Lion says softly as they walk together.

Taglist @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @illusivecam

If you wished to be added to the taglist please let me know

[pixies-and-poets]

A Bite for Good Luck

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

(Early, but I'm impatient)

Sooo, I haven't felt like writing in a while, and I'm still mostly inactive here, but I'm not done being... myself. And I may have been really inspired by @hostess-of-horror yet again. Thus I present to you a little vampire-themed Phandrow thing that came to me in a fit of insomnia. It's kinda saucy! Nothing explicit, but, y'know. Vampire stuff.

Enjoy 🩸 🧛

The poet was working again. A multitude of candles illuminated his words, their light reflected in the polished mahogany desk seen on either side of his parchment.

It was hard to believe it had been just over a month since he had received the letter. The summons. So much had changed since then; he had lived a lifetime in those weeks. Become something of a different creature.

He had always been one to stay up late, but now... now the night was his world, and he spent the days languishing. There was little else he could do. He hardly considered... perhaps hardly remembered... the orange and red hues of his homeland, the plump squirrels and healthy pumpkins. His brain was filled with the howl of wolves, the flap of bats' wings- the sounds of the castle and its grounds, which he was forbidden to leave.

Of course, he had hardly known it would come to all this. Despite Sweetlopek's fears, despite Dryad's dire warnings, he had said goodbye to them both. That was the hardest part. And yet... and yet he would do it again. He would make the same choice, knowing it all. He had been more prolific in these past few weeks than in a year or more combined. Because, after all...

Sir Poet-Warden, the letter had said. I request your services. I am in need of a chronicler of my life, my deeds. In return I can offer you room and board, sturdier and more reliable than that with which I know you currently make do. Moreover, while you are under my roof, I can make you a promise. No curse shall harm you, no ill luck will cross my threshold. I know it may be hard to believe, but my powers are great. You may write as much as you desire, on any subject, with no fear of cosmic retribution. In return I only require that you not leave my premises until released, and handle my particular needs with your utmost devotion and priority.

Ever yours,

Lord Tom Phan

Woodrow kept the letter near his heart, in his coat pocket, but he need not pull it out to see it clearly before him. The red ink, the lovely cursive, the gramophone seal... he had memorized every word before he had even set foot in the castle.

The poet found himself stuck on a rhyme, and got up to stretch. As he arose, a sudden rush of dizziness greeted him. He swooned, and stretched out his paws to catch himself on the desk. Stars and sparkles danced in his eyes behind his glasses. When he had regained himself, he lifted a paw and looked down at it in the candle-light. It was hard to remember how pink it had once been. It was certainly a very pale pink now. He wondered how the rest of him must look - he had not seen his own face in an age. There were no mirrors here. Why would there be?

He sat back down on the chair, wondering what Sweets and Dryad would think if they could see him now. But even more than them, he missed... her. Jinx. His cloud. She was not allowed past the threshold. A storm had taken up residence outside the courtyard, a thick and constant rain in the woods that deterred any visitors even moreso than normal. But, true to the master's word, ill fortune could not come in.

...Was all of this really worth it?

The sky outside was beginning to brighten, ever so slightly. Woodrow knew what that meant. He got up and drew the blinds closed in preparation.

Yes. It was worth it.

And before long, the familiar huge shadow filled the doorway to his room. The poet could sense it before he even saw it.

"You're home," said the writer, turning joyously, ready to approach. There was his lord indeed, his black cape, his piercing eyes, his imposing form- but the poet stopped short. There was red on the corners of his lord's mouth, and in his bulbous transparent belly, streaks and rivulets of crimson sloshed and whirled.

"You- you have eaten already," said Woodrow in shock.

"Only a little, my dear," came the reply. "A small hors d'oeuvre."

"Am I no longer enough for you?"

"Of course not," was the cooing answer, and in a smooth movement the master of the house was upon his guest, one paw on his back, the other caressing his hair. "Nothing can satisfy me the way you can. Perish the thought."

Woodrow smiled in relief. He thought he might be blushing, but- he doubted he had the means.

"It is only..." the Lord continued, "I fear I have been pushing too hard. Taking too much. I fear to let you sate me alone."

"I am fine," said the poet. "Truly."

"I do not think so, my darling." He smiled, sweetly, his pointed fangs digging into his lower lip. "And yet... I am still rather hungry, if not famished. So if you are ready-"

"I have been waiting all night," said the other breathlessly. "I have tried to keep myself warm for you."

"Very well, very well," chuckled the ghost. With ease, he lifted the other and carried him to the bed, laying him down, taking off his glasses, settling his head on the red velvet pillow that awaited. The Lord reached for the pink bow that his beloved wore - every morning, it was there, wrapped tightly, keeping the poet's collar close around his neck; and to untie it was to open a present, the same one every day, but one that never got stale. It was a test of patience, and yet, a ritual. With paws trembling in anticipation, Lord Phan pulled at the ribbon until it loosened, then took it off and set it aside. He opened up the collar of his beloved like peeling back the rind of an exquisite fruit. And then-

Woodrow gasped as the fangs found their familiar indentations, and pierced inwards. He may have gotten used to the pain, but he would never fully deaden to it. And he didn't want to.

Despite his claims, his Lord seemed no less hungry tonight than any other. The familiar suction of the skin, the desperate movement of the tongue to clean up any missed drop- the poet moaned and turned his head, an instinctive bodily reaction to such sensation - and soon found a paw on the other side of his face, turning it gently but firmly back - the message was clear: stay still.

"Mmmnm," the soft, involuntary, almost musical hums of bliss that emanated from the Lord as he fed made Woodrow want to melt into the blankets. He had never had much reason to be proud of his body, but apparently his blood was a delicacy. And of that, he was happy... he was lucky, after all... he was precious, wanted, needed so desperately... he...

He passed out.

----

Some time later - he knew not when, for the blinds kept the room as dark as night at all times - he awoke. His coat had been removed in favor of warm blankets, and while he was tucked under them, laying on top of them at his side was his Lord, gently stroking his hair and his cheeks.

"Are you happy?" was the first thing he mumbled as he came to. In his blurred vision, he could make out the red swirls gorging his beloved's clear tummy, cascading around the musical device at his center.

"Of course, my delight. You need never ask," said the vampire-ghost, red still streaking his chin. And yet... he frowned. "But again, I must warn you. When I get started on you, it is ever so hard to stop. And I fear... well, perhaps we shall take a week off, or so."

"My... My Lord..." said the poet in sorrow. He needed the break, of course. And yet...

"Look at this, mon cœur." The Phantom touched Woodrow's hand and brought it up to his face, and the poet saw that his own paw-pad was barely distinguishable from the white fur around it. "You are not well. I shall bring you whatever you desire, and as much of it as you need, whlie you recover your precious health."

Woodrow nodded, feeling that sleep would soon overtake him again. "Pumpkin and carrot soup," he said weakly.

"What?"

"Soup..." he repeated. "The way Sweets makes it... I shall write him for the recipe, when I... when I am up. That's what I need. I'll be... myself in... no time." And he closed his eyes, his breathing slow and heavy.

Lord Phan kissed him on the forehead, leaving a mark of red. He tucked him in even tighter, and arose, heading for his coffin, for his own daily rest.

[shirohige-pirates]

Hey Doll

CisFem Reader x Thatch

CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.

tag list: @mfreedomstuff @harahettania @clumsyraccoon

Chapter 7: How Does Your Garden Grow

Thatch guides you out to the garden, but once you stepped out into the backyard you had a much better sense of how rich Edward Newgate really was. The house had been large and impressive, the amenities and decor a balance of functional modern and a cozy traditional feel, so you already had some sense of things.

The backyard, if it was even proper to call it that, highlighted that the estate had two wings that came off the front section of the house, and created a courtyard feel for the area just off the back patio. There were a few places set up for people to sit around and eat, a barbecue pit, and a stone oven which had function, certainly, but also played the part of center piece with a mini bar and seating around it.

It was easy to picture most of the family outside enjoying a meal from the grill more often than not.

The garden stretched out even beyond the penned in courtyard. The patio you were on was elevated slightly compared to the rest of it, and you could see the paths leading out into distinct areas.

“Aside from just grilling food, we use this area for social events and other parties.” Thatch says, after giving you a moment to take it all in. “I think Pops wrote a third of the house and the entire courtyard off as a business expense when he expanded the place a couple of decades ago.”

Taking a few steps forward, he steps down from the back porch and looks up at you with a smile. “There’s a few different sections, but we don’t have to walk all of them today. There’s even a green house off the south wing. It has some vegetables in it, herbs, spices - things that are just harder to find fresh on this island.

“Is there something you like?” He prompts and your gaze shifts from everything else back to him.

“Pardon?”

“You were excited last night when I mentioned we had a garden.”

You can feel the blood rush to your face and you just hope it’s not visible. “I was - am - interested.” You correct and Thatch smiles. “I’ve seen plenty of flowers, but I’ve never really seen them just… growing.” You admit somberly. “They were already always cut and arranged.”

His smile falters a little, brows creasing, but it doesn’t last long before the smile is renewed. “I know what to show you then, shall we?” He questions, offering an elbow.

You accept it, placing your hand as you had just like last night. You lift your arm up a little higher than before, so Thatch doesn’t have to lean down as far. He explains some of the reasonings behind the layout and design, how things had changed over the years.

It’s interesting, but you recognize nervous chatter when you hear it, and you realize quickly that he’s just talking to distract himself. It certainly makes it easier to be around him with no one else around, the way he gets flustered being near you. It’s endearing, and your only fear is that it will turn out to be a falsehood.

Things didn’t look up and then continue to look up. Not like this. Something was going to break. Thatch was either going to turn mean once you moved into his apartment, or Mr. Edward was going to demand a rematch because you were just a fake, some doll hardly worth his kind and valued son. Something was going to break.

As long as it wasn’t you, you wouldn’t be blamed.

“Everything okay?” Thatch prompts and you look up, and then around, and realize that you can’t see the estate anymore.

“Yeah, I’m just… nervous.” You say honestly, before realizing that you’re saying that while isolated and alone with him, and continue speaking so you can clarify. “About this afternoon. I’m not nervous right now, I’m just,” you look around again. “Unsure where we are.”

The space itself is beautiful. The hedges are well-kept and there’s flowers lining the space in front of them. They’re tall though, maybe to create a sense of privacy or to help keep each section visually separate from the others, or maybe just because they grow best that way.

All thoughts of the estate and its location leave you, however, when you finally start to take your immediate surroundings in. The flowers lining the hedges are just a preview to the glory of the flowers around you right now.

Stepping away from Thatch, you reach out and brush your fingers over the petals of flowers you could name by heart, from what they meant to how they needed to be arranged. They all looked so different right now, so vibrant. Laid out with intent, you’re sure, but then left to fill in the gaps on their own.

Flower types were taken into account well, including shape and color, to create an aesthetically pleasing space. It also smelled amazing, softer scents lifting up sweeter ones. In the open garden it wasn’t so powerful as to be overwhelming, but you imagined there were some days where one didn’t walk the gardens - they left them to the bees.

“It’s beautiful.” You say quietly and Thatch smiles.

“Yeah… it is.” He clears his throat before motioning to a nearby stone bench. “If you want to sit and enjoy the sights for a while before we go back, we have time.”

“That would be nice.” You agree, going over and sitting down on the bench, your back to the hedges so you can look out over the majority of the space. “Did you and your family design these?”

“Hm? The different gardens?”

“Yeah.”

“It ended up being a kind of coming of age thing,” Thatch explains, standing a few paces away from you. “Not just to give something to the estate, but to have a place that was ours in a sense. Prove we could oversee a smaller project like this, how well we would or wouldn’t rely on others, that sort of stuff.”

“Growing up when your father owns a business is certainly unique.”

“Heh, it can be a little stressful, but it’s not like we’re in competition with ourselves, and it’s not like you have to do any of it either. A couple of my brothers hired other brothers to design their gardens, and aside from myself, Marco and Izou, only two others own their own businesses. But it’s not like we tease Haruta or Vista for their choices.” He explains.

“Family is not a source of any of the stress, then?”

“Exactly!” He beams. “Aside from the occasional brotherly aggravation.” He admits with fake grumble.

You smile, but even in the garden it fades. There’s a few moments of silence, and you let yourself enjoy the sun - you should’ve put sunblock on, Doll - and the soft breeze - don’t let your hair smudge your make up, Doll - and the sweet scents - ugh I hate these outdoor venues, the flowers stink.

It wasn’t often you got to enjoy the outdoors in peace, and Thatch seemed content to let you do just that. Looking over at him you catch his eyes shifting away from you, pink on his cheeks. Usually you could tell when someone was looking at you, but it didn’t seem to be the case with him.

“This… isn’t your garden though, is it?” You question, hesitantly. You don’t know him as well as you’d like in order to make such an assumption, but you do know flowers, and dealing with people’s associations to them. While these are beautiful, they don’t strike you as flowers Thatch would choose.

He scratches the back of his head idly. “Nah, this one is Izou’s. I can decorate pastries, but all this?” He waves his hand over the impressive collection of blossoms. “I might’ve been able to commission Izou, but yeah, this one isn’t mine.” He grins, looking down at you. “How’d you know?”

You look away, pressing your lips together. How strange was it for such a conversation to feel so intimate? It wasn’t like you’d never talked about flowers to someone before now. You’d critiqued arrangements and had gotten into flower arranging to such a degree you had been able to spot famous, and local, arrangers easily.

This shouldn’t be any different than any other explanation.

“This garden is well-designed and beautiful. The scents of the flowers are complex, but not off-putting, and the colors are exacting.” You’re not looking at him to see the concern on his face, and so you continue. “But it’s very harsh, in a way. Unforgiving. There’s no softness, and it’s not very in… inviting.” You manage to finish, feeling your heart speed up a little as you’re pointedly avoiding looking at him now.

“Plus the flowers all mean rude things.” You mutter after a moment and Thatch bursts out laughing.

“They do?” He asks, still laughing, and you nod.

“Meadowsweet implies uselessness.” You explain, pointing as you move from one flower to the next. “Orange lilies are signs of hatred, and the foxglove is insincerity.”

It takes Thatch a moment to stop laughing long enough to explain. “Izou wasn’t - haaa - wasn’t happy about the garden project.” He breathes in deep, turning away and nearly wheezing. “Told Pops he’d still put his - his - hahaha - his heart into it.”

You smile at the implication. Malicious compliance was something you could certainly understand. You’d only spoken with him a little this morning, and mostly about his business, but you could see him enjoying this space. Especially since no one else seemed to know just what it was built around.

A shrill short whistle cuts through the air and Thatch holds out a hand.

“That would be my dad letting the entire neighborhood know his sons need to come inside.” He explains. “Shall we?”

You take his hand as you stand, and leave it in his loose grip as you walk back to the house. Thatch walks much slower with your hand in his, you aren’t entirely sure if he’s being considerate, or if he’s just prolonging the return to the house. Maybe, honestly, a bit of both.

“There you are,” Izou says, greeting you both as you make it to the back patio. “Pops was - oh? Holding hands already, Thatch you sly dog.” He teases.

You don’t withdraw your hand and Thatch doesn’t let go, instead sighing at Izou as he holds your hand until you’re at the top of the patio. Finally letting go he looks at his brother.

“Everything’s settled then?”

“Yup, we’re not leaving for a little while still. The bird’s nesting in the living room, and Pops wanted to talk to the both of you before we left.” He says, and then gives you a much kinder smile. “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page, it’s nothing bad.”

“Certainly. I’m honestly surprised my parents agreed.”

“I don’t think Haruta left them much of a choice.” Izou admits with a mischievous smile.

Edward Newgate was waiting in the dining room, sitting where you’d sat earlier while Izou had talked about his business. He was dressed differently than you’d seen before, his clothing more casual, but there was something intimidating about him. Intimidating in a mafia sense and less in an international CEO kind of way.

Your parents were certainly grifters, and you thought maybe their tendencies would give them a leg up when it came to being dubious, but now you felt you may have been wrong. You were suddenly curious how Whitebeard Shipping and Trade had been initially financed.

You sat across from Newgate, and Thatch sat beside you. The old man’s stern face softened a bit as he regarded you.

“I apologize that you have to come with us, Miss Kakusho.” He says gently, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s okay. I understand why.” You agree. It was very possible that you’d arrive at your parents house and they’d have marines there, trying to convince them that you’d been kidnapped by Edward Newgate and were being held against your will. Or they’d simply bar them entry and screech about trespassing, or lie about what room was yours.

“Alright. The plan is to have Marco, Thatch, and Izou pack your room and empty it. Haruta will be driving, and I’ll be staying with you.” He says.

“They’re… going to pack my room up?” You question tilting your head.

“It’s not gonna be pretty.” Izou says. “We have some forty-two inch duffel bags, we’re just going to toss everything in those.”

“One room, the three of us, nothing of sentimental value to you,” Thatch looks up at the ceiling, calculating something in his head. “I can’t imagine it’ll take more than twenty minutes.”

“We can give Marco some coffee before we leave and he’ll pack it all in ten.” Izou muses.

“We want things to make it into the bags.” Thatch admonishes, a grin on his face.

“Concerns?” Pops asks you.

You look at the table, pressing your lips together. “Some, but I will do my best.”

“Such as?” He prods, and you shake your head.

“It’ll be okay then.” Thatch says after a moment of silence. “If you can’t put it to words we’ll still figure out how to make it work.” He assures you, putting one of his hands over yours and giving you a smile.

“Before we go though, I just want to make sure we’re in the same boat.” Pops says, but his voice seems warmer than before, like he’s trying to be as gentle as he can. “You do not want to stay with your parents, correct?”

“Correct.” You answer.

“You want us to gather your things and come back here, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Alright. That’s good enough for now. We’ll worry about when you’ll move into Thatch’s apartment tomorrow.” He says. “But now I know what lines to hold your parents to while we’re there.”

Edward Newgate stands up and you’re reminded of how large he is. Wider across than Thatch and a little taller, his physical dimensions were nothing compared to his presence. This was a man who could shoulder the world with one arm as far as you were concerned.

“Wake Marco. No pleasantries for this trip, my sons, we’ll get this unpleasant business handled quickly.”

[forjustice]

[Johto Moon Festival '24] BEWARE THE CONTEST SNOB

"Well, well, well..." Wallace puts a hand to his chin as he watches the Moon Maiden performances with a critical eye. His most toxic trait: he holds every Coordinator to the highest possible professional standard, like he's never heard of people just doing it for fun. "This Moon Maiden competition has many more contestants than last year, but more isn't always merrier~"

And there he goes, spouting off his opinions on the shows to literally anyone who'll listen.

@dandieliongirl

"First up, we have Anzu. Not a Coordinator by profession, and I can certainly tell. It was lovely enough to look at, I suppose, and she does have a good singing voice. But are twirling and throwing flowers everywhere really her only two skills? She says she wants to spread her wings and fly...She should stay on the ground first and add some more complexity to her technique. Perhaps there's a glimmer of potential in that Cubone of hers, but that performance was too much of a novice one to really tell."

@vixletserenity

"I've met Celeste before. I helped her get a Cosmog. She may prove a Trainer worthy of the Solgaleo or Lunala it evolves into...but she certainly won't get there with her Coordinating work. She makes the same mistake as Anzu does, thinking her voice can carry the performance--and the sparse move use certainly isn't enough to make up for the fact there isn't much else to comment on. I will say this, though. Her grasp on the use of Water- and Fairy-types is quite decent, all things considered. If she wanted a Coordinating career I wouldn't say she's doomed, but she certainly has a long way to go."

@oathofmoonlight

"Kaguya's? Oh, please, girl! Everyone else at least tried to have a moon theme! Unlike some others she seemed to actually be an expert in the skill she was performing, which I definitely do appreciate. But I take exceptional issue with the fact she's vying to be a Moon Maiden and yet the only phase of moon she seems to perform with is the new one. Besides, after a while of watching it, all her moves started to blur together to the point I can't even remember them--and it wasn't even long enough that most people would think details blurred together to begin with. Let this be a lesson to everyone: It's one thing to be an expert in something. It's another to do it expertly on stage."

@gruusha

"So, the thing about Grusha is, I owe them a big, big favor. I owe them a trip to the biggest, best Pride celebration in town--and with the end of Pride Month coming up, I need to do it fast. Maybe I was too late, though, because if they'd been to even one--one--drag show they'd come away with insights into the art of performing that they oh so desperately needed. It is admirable of them to do such a graceful dance in spite of previous injuries--I say that without reservation. But my one big question is: Where's the Pokémon? I suppose the main focus of a Moon Maiden Appeal should be the actual maiden, but to me, keeping the Pokémon completely hidden just screams a lack of imagination on how to use it.

"....Don't tell them I said this, by the way. How can I drag them to Pride if they know I've been gossiping about them?"

@forjustice [yes I'm tearing apart mine as well it's only fair heh]

"Look. I normally don't like questioning performances with deep personal significance. But we're talking about Volo of all people--are we sure she isn't just guilt-tripping us into giving her the prize? You'd hardly believe that she's one of the few Coordinators who's ever gotten a perfect score across the board when you see her make such a hugely glaring rookie mistake: She barely even does anything up until the middle part, and after the dance there most of the rest is just singing--which doesn't help my feeling that she was riding on the audience's sentiments to win. On top of that, I know these performances have to be short, but can we talk about the pacing--they go from strangers to honored guests to friends to family in the span of, like, what, three minutes? Maybe this wasn't the place for expressing such a story. Or the place to try and win the popular vote just by making everyone feel sorry for you outside the context of your performance--not that there even is a place for that, really. But you don't have to take my word for it. I'm just one person who as a religious figure is intimately familiar with the mythology and scripture surrounding this particular individual, and this is just my personal opinion."

[hymns-across-the-stars]

[ moved from here, @heaven-said ]

---

Um.

Where does one even begin in this situation? Gabriel's... well, if nothing else, she knows he's not a machine. Her situation shouldn't be directly applicable. And sure, there's phantom limb syndrome—which would be close enough—but that implies the former presence of extra limbs. Why would he have...?

And if he had, somehow, why would he have forgotten losing them?

Oh, but she's taking too long thinking. He's already trying to explain himself. But there's something about that explanation that catches her attention, gets her to freeze in place.

"...dreams?"

An echo without really thinking. Even with the rest of what he says, that is the part that gets her—not wings, dreams. There isn't even anything strange about dreaming itself.

But still—but still—something fits a little too well, things she previously dismissed as the result of exam season. And why wouldn't she have? The simultaneous feelings of endless frustration and wanting liberation paired with latent programming easily form an oh-so sweet dream of bloodshed, a way for an exhausted mind to find some temporary escape from its woes. Maybe she should have been a little more alarmed by its contents, sure, but a dream is just a dream. Nothing morally wrong there. Loose connections in memory manifest in strange ways, too. As much as she cares about Gabriel, he can sometimes get on her nerves. Pair that with his name, and then...

Realistically, it's just coincidence. Unrelated events. He makes no mention of something like her, anyway. And that's something you'd bring up in this situation, right...?

God, she hates this, hates that she's thinking about this at all. He already questions reality, and if by some stroke of luck the stars aligned and she is right, mentioning it would hardly assuage those concerns. But what else can she say? What can she do?

Mirage puts her head into her hands.

"Alright. Don't think any less of me for entertaining the idea. Not even for a moment. I do not care if I'm wrong—honestly, I hope I'm wrong, because this is already insane of me. And I did believe it was just some stress-induced dream I didn't need to think twice about, but here we are."

A pause.

"I don't want to sound even more stupid asking the color of your wings, given it's entirely possible you just can't see them—"

Sky blue. Gold. Beautiful, both in tranquility and rage.

"—but would you happen to recall wearing stupidly-sized pauldrons?"

[ritualcaster]

Had a dream about some scary bugs

I tried to draw them but idk how to draw digitally

I'm just gonna rant about them now

These insects would set up hives incredibly quickly, within minutes, they aren't aliens or genetically modified either, it was rapid spontaneous evolution of multiple bugs at the same time.

The bulls are fast, faster than you can see. If i had to give an estimate around 300 mph, about half the speed of sound.

They can't turn well because they're bodies aren't flexible that way, in fact they can hardly bend at all despite their length. Theyre a bit like a stag beetle and a centipede mixed together.

Theyre wide but not very tall, not that their height matters when theyre that quick.

They occupy hallways, and loop around them over and over, they had a secondary name of "sweepers" because they stayed so low.

Any time they needed to go around a corner they were to long for, they would just smash the wall to make it wide enough. They didn't need speed to be strong.

They are COMPLETELY blind, they have rough indents where their eyes should be, but don't let that fool you, their hearing is better than anything else alive.

At one point in the dream my group thought we were safe after the bull left, a friend opened the door and it was off it hinges before she even walked out.

The bull had heard the door and charged down the hallway full speed crashing into the wall, terrifying, but its head got stuck because if that, giving us a chance to escape.

Think bullet train down your school hallway.

---

The watchers are a bit like weevils crossed with tarantulas, and they're huge. About the size of a garage.

They weren't very fast despite their many legs, and would move around by sliding on the floor.

Despite their size, they never made sound. Ever.

They're deaf, so sneaking around is an option, vut despite havibg no (visible) eyes, they could see incredibly well.

They would roam around as groups in large rooms that could fit them, cafeterias, auditoriums, ampitheaters, gyms.

Anytime one of them saw you,

They would all look at you.

The worst part is that they would throw things, but they were SILENT ever single time.

Cars, stairwells, sheds, it would just be flying through the air for no reason.

They didn't have telekinesis, but the way they would throw something from behind them withiut moving or makibg a sound made it seem like they did.

They would always do shit when you weren't looking too, at one pointin the dream I rounded a corner and one was just there, already staring at me, like it saw me through the wall. I looked up and there were about 40 of them just standing around watching me i turned to leave through the door but it was locked because of the lockdown, and when i looked back they were all closer than before.

They would move around if they didn't see you, but they would freeze the second they spotted any kind of movement, it was terrifying.

--

The third bug that was in the drean was the "wanderer" but honestly like the name "scarab" more

They were the only one that could fly and they used that to their advantage

At one point they were nicknamed "the pirahnas of the air" (which i think i stole from doctor who, the vashta nerada episode)

They would fly around in flocks and shred anything soft. They were SHARP.

Barbs, blades, needles you couldn't see, everything that makes you bleed.

They were fast as all hell in the air, which is so strange for the size of their wings. (not even comparable to the bull though, that thing didn't even seem living.)

Speaking of wings, you could always hear them coming because the wing beats were fucking deafening, like a million little whirring drones all in a pack.

The worst part about rhese guys was how they seemed so intelligent, like the velociraptors in jurrasic park. They would open doors, use elevators, ambush tactics.

The only encounter I had with them in the dream was actually just one, but it was actually what I ended up dying too.

After fleeing the school they used as a hive I managed to run to a parking garage, I sprinted up the stairs hoping that the height would give me some better protection while I tried to use my phone and find a hiding place, I reached the top and hid in the bathrooms with the lights off, but there wasn't any signal through the metal brick and concrete. I left the bathroom and there was still no signal so I knew I was gonna have to try somewhere else or just keep running, I pressed the elevator and waited for it too come up. But when the doors opened, a scarab jumped at me. I kicked it off of me with both legs after it tried to snap at my face, when it got stuck on its back, I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. My plan was to use the climbing caribeener on my backpack on the railing of the stairs, slind under the railing and cling to the underside of the stairs, then ditch my backpack and jump down to the stairs below and make a run for it (It was blocking the stairs.) I execute my plan, but my jacket sleeve its caught on my backpack when im upsidedown, I don't want to risk falling wrong so I try to jimmy it around.

Then it slowly hovered down and impaled me with its absurdly long tounge.

Stupid plan.....

[laylabahiti]

HSHQTASK059: FAREWELL SEE YOU LATER!

when did you join ? what made you join ? what do you remember from the plotlines that were current at the time ? where were you in life when you joined and where are you now ?

i joined september 2016 when this was vikrp! i was a junior in college and had been writing indie rp for a minute before that kinda died down, so i took a peek at the tags. vikrp/haisociety/highsociety had the pairs aspect to it back then, so i fulfilled someone's jade thirlwall wc but they went inactive like right after i was accepted asjdfka. i believe the revamp to haisociety happened in december/january, truly a time to be alive. i started as a junior back then and i'm ending as a junior in my second bachelor's degree💀, a homeowner, and within the next couple years, i'll be married and have a kid*. *tbd when we're both done with school and onto other careers

which characters have you written over the years ?

layla, cameron (early days), tobias (early days), katalina, gabriel, mikolas, alaina, dmitri, juliana, ettore, emerson, tamiko, kaira

what is your favourite plotline that you've been part of ?

too many to choose from! tbh the aslan/layla/olivier triangle was fun just because of the silly ic drama it caused. i'm pretty sure it was during haisociety when i messaged e about layla/olivier, because layla has the "he helped me, i love him" mentality and we just went with it askdfa, not really planning anything or knowing what would come of it. also love the egypt plotline and anytime those siblings interacted. and the early days of barbie and layla's friendship, how barbie pretty much took layla under her wing and got her out of her shell.

what about other people's plotlines ?

definitely the chaos of england and the murder mystery event. if i remember any more i'll edit this jaksdf

who is your favourite character from the ones you've played ? why ? what made you love them ? what made them so fun to write ?

no surprise here but layla. in the early days, layla was meek to the point she hardly spoke, took everything literally, and asked too many questions. she developed her voice and learned to be a little selfish in the later years, but she's still a crier.

if you could relive a plotline, which would it be ?

the greek invasion. it might have been one of the most well-constructed events i have been a part of. i remember traveling during it and writing replies on my phone just so i didn't miss out. every character was affected one way or another, and that event was a turning point in layla's personality.

is there a plotline that you'd edit now if you could ?

i wouldn't necessarily say edit, but it'd be interesting to see how things would've panned out if layla kissed olivier back and still felt guilty enough to tell aslan.

what's a plotline you wish you would have been able to finish before closing or just write more of ?

egypt<3 getting to see amon's coronation and both of them trying to rectify the family's image. life got way too chaotic over the past year, but i love mine and lina's headcanons

what is your favourite ooc memory ?

late 2018, someone kept sending rude/hateful anons to muns and the main, and everyone banded together to keep hshq alive and well. i submitted a whole essay to the main with my comments not thinking the admins would actually post it and they DID, 2018 was an interesting time here. also in the early days when we started listing how all characters were connected and making full circles of connections, simpler times.

where can others find you if they want to get in touch ?

you can always reach me on discord! i'm in the hshq server so feel free to add me or message anytime. i have a few socials if you want those as well - if this is farewell, you've earned my real name ajkdlfj. tbh this is probably my tumblr exit, i don't have much time or mental capacity to write full threads and join something new, but this blog will remain.

what else would you like to say ?

hshq is truly the only reason i've stuck around tumblr this long. almost 8 years of my life has been spent communicating with you all! in some of my worst moments, i was able to turn to hshq and escape reality for a bit. i feel like i'm missing a lot but trying to dig up memories from 8 years ago is difficult lol.