#Raven's Unkindness Blog

[formerfollowerofthatman]

So...

I just saw a video of what Smash Bros characters would (canonically) pay taxes (linked in text), and it made me think HARD about taxes in games.

But

It also made me think about what GG characters WOULD pay taxes?

So, I've compiled a list of what playable characters would pay their taxes, because hyperfixation on a topic hits like a bus.

Here it is.

Missing Link:

Sol: Most likely would. At the end of Strive, he makes an auto shop, and would probably have to pay a tax to run it. However, he's also royalty due to being related to Dizzy, who is queen. Probably wouldn't have to pay up.

Ky: Would be taxing his people, wouldn't have to pay taxes due to being a king, but still pays them anyway to keep being humble.

May: She's a pirate and an outlaw on the run, she definitely wouldn't.

Axl: As translated from Answer's announcer pack in Xrd, Axl doesn't have records due to being an anomaly. He wouldn't have to.

Zato: Legally considered dead. However, now that he has a government job, he does have to pay up now.

Millia: Same as Zato. Runs the PWAB, probably has to pay a tax to keep the place running.

Chipp: Is president of a nation in South Africa. If anything, he's taxing his people. Would probably make it cheap, though, as he knows what it's like to be on hard times from personal experience.

Potemkin: In ML, most definitely not, since he was considered property. Now though, since he's a member of the Zeppian military and a citizen, he probably does.

Faust: He's a nomad, from what we see in Xrd. Probably not.

Baiken: In Strive, it's shown she has settled down in a little place of her own to help raise Delilah. So... possibly, though, most likely not, due to her being an outlaw.

Justice: Fucking dead.

Kliff: Also fucking dead.

Testament: They're legally considered dead (probably) as a result of ML's story mode. Probably did pay taxes, as they were a part of the Holy Order.

GGX:

Dizzy: Before Strive, probably not, due to being considered dead after Jam claimed her bounty. As of Strive, though, since she is queen, quite possibly does pay taxes for the same reason as Ky.

Johnny: Same as May. Doesn't pay taxes due to being a pirate.

Jam: Has to pay up for her restaurant business.

Anji: Quite possibly a nomad, so probably not.

Venom: Wouldn't have to, due to being considered dead. Now has to pay taxes due to running a bakery.

XX:

Bridget: We see her bathing in a lake in Dual Rulers, so for this reason, I believe she's a nomad too.

Slayer: Definitely. No questions asked. He has a LOT of money from his years as an immortal, and since he has no reason to spend most of it, would choose to pay taxes to make room.

Zappa: Has a government job, and is a good chap. Would definitely pay taxes.

I-No: Same as Axl. Is an anomaly, and wouldn't have to pay taxes.

Robo-Ky: Probably considered property of the PWAB, and the last Robo-Ky is also probably property of Venom.

Accent Core:

Order-Sol: is also an anomaly due to i-No's timey-wimey wumbo jumbo.

A.B.A.: Due to being a Homunculus, is probably considered property of P.W.A.B. Paracelsus probably is, too.

Overture:

Sin: Has no damn clue how to pay taxes. Doesn't have to, for the same reasons as Dizzy and Ky.

Valentine: Fucking dead.

Paradigm: Is hidden in Illyria castle as of Xrd. Probably not.

Izuna: We don't know what happened to him at the end of Overture. Quite possibly doesn't pay taxes. He doesn't have a clue how to do so anyhow.

Raven: Legally considered dead, is a nomad. Doesn't pay taxes.

Xrd:

Elphelt: She wouldn't know how to pay taxes even if Ky taught her. Her husband probably had to pay the marriage tax, though.

Ramlethal: Same reason as Elphelt. Does have a government job, though. Ky probably does her taxes for her.

Bedman: Do I even need to say it?

Leo: With all the paperwork on his desk, taxes must be as easy as breathing for him.

Jack-O: Has no records, and as such, doesn't have to pay taxes.

Haehyun: Considering she's the head of her family now, definitely does have to pay a tax.

Answer: Works a government job. Would have to pay taxes.

Strive:

Nagoriyuki: Is a nomad, but did have to pay a tax to rent out a large basement under a high rise. Probably also had to pay Elphelt's marriage tax, due to becoming her husband in Elphelt's arcade mode ending.

Giovanna: Works a government job and has to pay up.

Goldlewis: Just like Gio, also has to pay taxes.

Happy Chaos: Somehow manipulated the tax income flow of Illyria so that HE gets the money.

Bedman?: is considered property.

Delilah: Too young to even think of paying them. But is smart enough to do so.

Asuka: Would probably have to pay a small tax to keep his podcast afloat.

Asuka R♯: Is a clone, and thus doesn't have documents.

Unika: Is an outlaw. Wouldn't have to pay taxes due to being on the run.

[formerfollowerofthatman]

Update: I now have an additional 44 spikes in my head, and 30 in my chest. I'm not taking them out. I'm going to make Pinhead look like a normal bald man.

Back when I first started learning about the occult I was very desperate to get rid of my ghost EX and It got to the point that I started swallowing different types of crystals to try and get her out of my body a lot of the crystals were very toxic but I consumed so many crystals that curses just kept being deflected off of me but at the same time I was filled with so many toxic chemicals that my doctor at the time was horrified that I was still alive

[raven-unkind]

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ such a tease

hyung line! enhypen x reader

summary: teasing your bf while your out <3

tw. very suggestive, jake is kinda subby, implied that reader has female anatomy.

a/n. yall please send request or just thoughts my blog is so dry im going insane 😭

©RAVEN-UNKIND

reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!

taglist: @annybah

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs. 

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils. 

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear. 

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face. 

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen. 

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found. 

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community. 

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.  

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5. 

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?" 

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups. 

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago. 

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?” 

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea. 

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most. 

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands. 

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap. 

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty. 

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up. 

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs. 

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless. 

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks. 

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.” 

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon. 

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh. 

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next. 

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak. 

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further. 

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better. 

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth. 

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.” 

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority. 

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag. 

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live. 

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone? 

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him. 

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown. 

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder. 

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you. 

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression. 

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly. 

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?” 

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod. 

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm. 

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs. 

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit. 

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love. 

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does. 

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.” 

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back. 

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

[70sscifiart]

The Last-Minute Sci-Fi Gift Guide

There's only one thing worse than procrastinating on getting gifts for your loved ones, and that's procrastinating on putting together a guide to help out everyone else with all those gifts. It's Dec 12, so you can decide for yourself which I'm doing.

Art book: Worlds Beyond Time, $32

If you follow this blog, you might have heard of this one. I published Worlds Beyond Time: Sci-Fi Art of the 1970s this year after five years of work on it, and I think it's really good! 400+ images, 100+ artists, with lots of fun art history and jokes.

Also, it's just $20 right now if you order through my publisher and use the code SKIPTHELINE! Cheapest it's ever been!

Card game: Coup, $14

In this "social deduction" card game, you play as a government official in a future dystopia who needs to backstab their way into power. Everyone starts out with just two cards in this bluffing game, so the tide can turn pretty quick when players start assassinating each other's cards. The fast pace makes it a good gift for someone who loves spies but thinks they don't like card games.

Game to play over Zoom: Bad Spaceships, $3

If a bluffing game stresses you out, try Bad Spaceships: It's a collaborative world-building game in which you roll dice to see what area of your spaceship connects to another, forcing you to spitball exactly why this is the case. As the game puts it, you might fix the hull by playing Tetris, or charge your weapons in the swimming pool. You're basically getting weird prompts to tell a story that can evolve over the course of the game.

It's such an indie game that it comes as PDFs you download from itch.io, but you can play it just as well over Zoom, if you're looking for an excuse to catch up with your old digital nomad college friend.

Movies/TV: Streaming service gift card

Gift cards are all well and good, but you can personalize them by recommending a few of your favorite shows as well. I suggest:

Hulu: Cowboy Bebop

Apple TV+: Severance

Criterion Channel: Ravenous, Paprika, Strange Days

Paramount+: Yellowjackets

Amazon Prime: The Devil's Hour

But to be honest, this entry is just an excuse to talk about the new Max show Scavenger’s Reign. Inspired by the work of French artist Moebius and with a clear debt to famed 70s animated film Fantastic Planet, this stylish sci-fi show features a bunch of humans trying to survive on a beautiful but hostile alien world. Perfect for lovers of fictional nature.

Vintage sci-fi

This Etsy shop has some good stuff, like the 1971 Frank Kelly Freas NASA poster above, a bit of history that I even mentioned on page 167 of my art book.

Penguin science fiction postcards, $28

These postcards have a ton of very cool sci-fi covers I've blogged in the past – great value if you want a lot of art for a low cost.

Meteorite pendant necklace, $34

I think we all know what kind of rock your loved ones need around their neck: A chunk of meteorite straight out of the 1576 Argentinan meteorite fall.

Book recs

For astronauts: Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, The New Guys: The Historic Class of Astronauts That Broke Barriers and Changed the Face of Space Travel by Meredith Bagby

For comedians: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, Even Greater Mistakes: Short Stories by Charlie Jane Anders 

For sleuths: Six Wakes by Mur Lafferty, Drunk on All Your Strange New Words by Eddie Robson

For crafters: Knits of Tomorrow: Toys and Accessories for your Retro-Future Needs

For the resistance fighters: The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

For slasher movie fans: Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare

Syd Mead "Biomorph Vehicle" button down shirt, $49

T-shirts aren't classy enough for the world's coolest visual futurist, Syd Mead. I haven't actually bought this incredibly odd shirt, but I really need to.

Art prints (and more) from 70s sci-fi artists

Artist shops can be surprisingly hard to track down on the internet, but here's a short list of ones I've come across. All of these artists are featured in my book (except one), so you can read up on them before you commit to a print.

Michael Whelan 

John Harris

Syd Mead

Don Maitz

David B Mattingly

Peter Andrew Jones - Jones was one of just a few artists who declined to be included in my art book, but he has a distinct, colorful style that I would have loved to have featured!

Finally, here's one extra bonus, just for everyone who made it to the end of this article: The UK-based educational charity Centre for Computing History sells three big officially licensed John Harris posters featuring these three artworks, famous for their use as covers for Sinclair programming manuals.

It's a great deal that I've never seen mentioned anywhere, and Harris' work has a timeless quality that makes it great for an unassuming wall decoration. If you're outside the UK, the shipping costs will be a pain, but there's no better deal for a classic sci-fi poster.

[lemon-russ]

𝙸'𝚖 𝚂𝚘 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷

CW: Horror, brief mention of vomit, Description of corpse, Mentions of suicide, Mentions of self harm, Other horror themes, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Reader insert / Second person POV, GN reader, Raven Guard

|| Next Chapter || AO3

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @artemisareia

Written based on discussions and ideas shared by @yestheantichrist on our wretched den of a discord server ✨

This is going to be a multi part horror, so different than my usual faire, consider before reading!

Word Count: 1,428

The sound of sloshing water in your bucket echos down the empty corridor of The Shadow of the Emperor. This wing of bunks has been put aside for maintenance as of late. The machine spirits have been displeased in the area, doors opening and closing, lights flickering, so the Tech Priests have been doing prayers for a few days. Thus, the duty of dusting and mopping was easier here than the rest of the ship. 

You wonder why, then, you were the only one to take up the spot on the schedule. 

"Wailing, like a banshee-" One of the serfs more local to this area of the massive vessel said. "I swear it, There is something foul in those halls. The machine spirits must be going mad there." 

Since no one was willing to step foot in the area, you had been randomly pulled from another section of the ship to assist. You weren't particularly worried. Sure, ornery machine spirits can be a bother, but they liked being cleaned and cared for. They'd hardly ever be unkind to their caretaker, in your experience. 

You nudge the panel to open a new room, preparing for the usual routine of dusting down the surfaces. Hardly minding your surroundings, you hum to yourself as you pull your washrag from your apron pocket and work at the empty lectern, settled with dust from weeks of disuse. How long had it been since this room was washed?

You wrinkle your nose as the stagnant air catches up to you. This wing has been a little stale, but someone must have left something out, because this was another level. You gag back a little as the scent wafts stronger, almost sweet smelling, with a definite edge of-

Rot.

You drop your rag after turning to the bed searching for the source of the odor. You found it alright. What you had glancingly saw as a pile of unkempt bedsheets on the thin mattress was not so.

It is a corpse. 

The corpse of a human. A serf, like yourself. Desiccated and long past putrefying, their face was no longer discernible. 

Cold fear runs down your spine as the scene sets in, your mind scrambling to put together the pieces of what you were seeing. The body curls on its side, arms reaching into empty air as if missing a lover. The empty sockets where eyes once were gaze gormlessly at you, jaw open, lips receded. Their rot wrapped fingers almost reach for you, almost beckoning you to join them in bed.

Your mind catches up with your senses and you stumble back a step, the hair on the back of your neck screams at you to run, hide, danger. Your muscles tense to run. You should not be here, you need to tell someone about this-

You still as you hear the sound of the door sliding closed behind you. 

"It didn't do it." A deep voice almost whispers behind you. 

You hear the confirmation beep of the door being locked. 

Time slows as adrenaline pumps through your system, your mind narrowing into survival mode.

"I know." You agree, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, like someone is speaking next to you. "I know you didn't, Lord."

A heavy step falls closer to you. 

"I would never… Not on purpose, I would never-" 

The sound of an Astartes speaking with the voice of a frightened child is almost more terrifying than the hollow, mottled face still locking an empty gaze with you from the bed. 

"I know, my Lord." You repeat, trying to sound reassuring. "I know it was an accident-"

"NO-" His voice rises, snapping your muscles out of their rigor as your hands fly to your ears, trying to muffled the painful boom. 

"No, I- I didn't do it- She did it, to herself-" he pleads, voice lowering again. 

Shaking, you slowly turn around to face him, breaking your staring contest with the corpse.

"Okay," you say gently, nodding reassuringly. "Okay, I'm sorry that she did that."

He isn't a Raven Guard you are familiar with. His skin is of course pale, his eyes black like all Raven Guard past their scouting days. He is unarmored, wearing a sleeveless tabard and soft shoes. 

His face is wracked with worry that sits unnaturally on his post-human face. The Emperor's angels were meant to know no fear, but this man looks like he is trying to talk down a predator from consuming him. 

"I would never hurt her, not on purpose, I- you know that, right?" He asks, taking another step closer, hands raised in a panicked stance. That is not good, you don't want him to panic- he already locked the door. Not that you could outrun him. You resist taking a step backwards as he steps closer.

"I know-" you assure, nodding and slowly raising your hands in what you hope is a calming gesture, "I know, you- you liked her very much, right? That's… that's why you kept her…?"

His brow lowers and his lip curls down, and cold spikes your stomach. 

"I like her. She is resting. She got hurt- she hurt herself very badly-" he says, black eyes darting to the corpse, "and she needs rest to heal. She's okay, though. She is sleeping." He says, nodding to himself. 

God Emperor on the Throne, what have you stumbled into?

You glance sideways at the desiccated once-serf. "Oh, yes-" you nod shakily, "yes, she's sleeping. Well, I better leave then, I don't want to wake her-" 

"No." He says, voice lowering again. "No, you can't go yet. You will tell."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Tell, my Lord?" You ask, looking back up at him in what you hope is a sincere gaze. "Why would I do that, Lord Angel? It is no business of mine that a serf is resting."

His brow furrows lower, and he straightens to stand above you. Mentally, you are scrambling at the walls, looking for a way out, any place to hide, a weapon- futile thoughts of a cornered animal.

"I can hear your tiny heart beating." He whispers. "You are scared. You wouldn't be scared if you were going to cooperate. No." He knelt down before you, eye to eye. Bile crawls up your throat at the terror of meeting those voided eyes.

"You have to stay here. Until you understand and are calm." He says carefully- measured, gentle words, like he is talking down to a child. "You need to see she is fine, so that you know you don't have to tell anyone."

"M-My Lord-" you start to stammer. You can't let him keep you here. 

"Shh, shhhh-" he hushes softly, touching your face between his massive hands. They are clammy, and you just barely register a tremble in them as he brushes your cheeks with his massive thumbs. 

"It's OK, you're fine. You are safe here. I took out all the things that a baseline can hurt themselves on, for her safety." He says, smiling and nodding. "You just stay here a little bit, take a breath, calm down. When you are in your proper mind, we can talk, okay?" He asks.

You weakly shake your head no, "Sir, I- I have duties to attend, my Master will- well they will worry and want to check on me-"

He stills your head between his palms, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You will stay here." He says, his grip tightening ever so slightly around your skull. "Understood?"

You swallow back the bile, suppressing the urge to vomit that your spasming stomach is begging for. 

"I- I understand, my Lord." You rasp out. 

He smiles and sighs, releasing your throbbing head. 

"Good. Good." He says as he stands again. "Just take a moment to be calm. I'll go get you a meal ration, okay?"

Your legs feel like they will collapse beneath you. When he opens that door, you would have your only chance to escape the room. But escape where? Down the empty corridor, alone with a maddened Astartes? You wouldn't make it 2 steps before you were splattered on the walls.

"O- Okay, my Lord." You squeak out. 

He smiles and sighs, before turning to the keypad by the door. 

The door slides open, and your heart skips a beat, the prey animal in you screaming go, go, go-

And it slides shut again, the Raven Guard on the other side.

The beep of the locking keypad is as loud as a bell toll in your rushing ears.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

It ain't over 'til the Old Crow sings.

This is the concluding story to go along with the Two Ravens at the Writing Desk blog event! Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were submitted after the period of acceptance and/or disregarded other event rules.)

Does Two of us make a Murder of Crows? … Or an Unkindness of Ravens?

The Newspaper Club's office was a hub of activity. When its door was cracked open, the smell of fresh paper and ink would greet visitors. The murmurs of concentration and furious keyboard clacking of its members, the organization's calling card.

Raven was fond of it.

She tended to skitter on the outskirts of the club, observing as students drifted in and out, sometimes lugging supplies or equipment with them. Too shy to ask if she could pitch in, too scandalized at the thought of the boys staring at her if she entered.

And so she remained, watching.

Raven peered around her secretive corner. Today, there was a cluster of club members outside the office, caught up in a heated debate. One of them--the leader?--had a thick packet in hand and a frown on his face.

"We can't print this," he was saying, waving the papers around.

"If we don't, he'll be on our asses," protested another member. "Let's just suck it up and send it into the printing press."

"Where's your journalistic integrity, man?!" a third demanded.

"We've put out crappier stuff before," a fourth shrugged. "Remember that article about the seven greatest unsolved mysteries on NRC campus? As if most of us don't already know."

"It's not the same thing," the leader shot back. "That was one piece. This is an entire issue. You really want to flush down our rep?!"

Oh dear, it looks like they've run into some sort of trouble. I wonder what's wrong...? Raven leaned a little closer, cupping an ear.

"What are we going to do" The club leader worriedly paced around. "We don't have much time before the deadline comes up on us... Oh, hmm?"

He cocked his head, noticing a flicker of movement around the corner. "Is that...?"

Raven startled. I've been spotted!

"Excuse me!" To her horror, the club leader approached and called out to her. "You are... the headmaster's something-or-other, right? Someone who can speak to him on our behalf."

"Er, yes. I-I suppose that's true." She tried to control her nerves by smoothing out her skirt, but found herself anxiously wringing the hem of it.

"Great! See, the headmaster proposed running a special edition in the campuswide newspaper. In honor of NRC's founding month, he said," the club leader explained. "Front to back, the whole works. The only problem is... well, see for yourself."

He offered his packet. It was about the width of a modest novel and bulged with additional sticky notes and photographs shoved inside of the stack.

One glimpse at the cover page, and Raven instantly understood what was happening.

Oh, Uncle. You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?

"You wanted the school newspaper to have a Crowley-themed edition for March... Have you gone mad?!"

"I thought it would be an earnest and approachable way for the student body to get to know their headmaster," Crowley faintly defended himself. "And you did tell me to pen some writing by my own hand. Does it not make sense to publish those works in a publicly accessible source?"

Raven held her head in her hands. A migraine was coming on, steady but piercing.

"Please do not impose your agenda on a student-run organization. It is meant to be a forum that promotes freedom of expression, not for personal vanity projects!!

"There are other avenues you could use for publications if you want an 'earnest and approachable' image. For example..." She produced her phone, pulling up Magicam via an app. Personal blogs, social media accounts... There are many other places.

"Oh." Crowley cupped his chin. "I was not aware."

"Many students are on Magicam, so if you want to be relatable this may be a good starting point. Perhaps it's not the best for posting written works, but surely you could take pictures of your daily activities and briefly caption them."

"Well, why didn't you say so sooner? Nothing could be simpler, my dear niece!" The headmaster beamed, displaying his pointed, pearly canines.

“I wish you’d explored these options first,” she sighed. “Then we could have avoided this almost-disaster altogether.”

Her guardian was already preoccupied with his own phone now. Typing in information, fishing up the most photogenic pictures from his album to slap on. A few minutes into setting up his account, Crowley paused. He eyed his child the same way a hawk might eye a scurrying field mouse.

“… What is it now?” Raven asked, dreading the worst.

“Oh, I was just thinking about what my first post should be. Something that says a lot about me and where my values lie. I know exactly what to use: a family photo!"

She raised a brow.

Crowley shoved the rejected proposal packet back into his niece's hands. He then shuffled next to her, holding his phone out--the camera, flipped--and made a peace sign with the other.

A bolt of panicked realization raced through her. "Uncle... you don't mean--"

"Fufufu. Say 'cheese', Raven-kun!"

CLICK!

The headmaster's first post would go up around midnight. Under the picture of a jovial crow and a befuddled raven was a very telling statement.

So glad to have such bright young minds steering the way to the future~ Proud to be the headmaster of NRC 🐦‍⬛

[the-sisters-library]

My New Year’s Resolution is to be more active with this blog again, and to diversify the characters featured :)

Starting with this one I found because of a thread on @tagedeszorns page. It is canon that a grouping of Raven Guard is called an “unkindness”!

From Angel Exterminatus:

[rise-my-angel]

On a much lighter note, do you think Jon would like cats? I have a hard time imagining Jon not liking any animal. I mean his relationship with the bird is tense but clearly he actually loves this animal. I love cats and wish they were more present in the story and I like thinking about my favorites playing with cats. We know Sam loves cats and I can imagine him introducing Jon to some kittens he found and insisting they keep them to control the mice in the library. I think Jon would worry Ghost might be unkind to the cats but it’d be cute if they curled up in his fur and Ghost didn’t mind at all. Man I’ve never written fanfic but maybe I should write a fluffy little one-shot about this.

I’d also like to know who your favorite asoiaf characters are aside from Jon

Jon is the biggest dog person, he is built for loving dogs. But there are absolutely spaces in his heart for all animals. He only hates Mormonts Raven because it steals his food, pecks at his head to wake him up and screams at him for no reason throughout the day. But its still technically his pet now so he begrudgingly cares for it despite wishing he could turn the other way and let Ghost eat it.

Jon at first just looked at the cats and was like "They're cute Sam, sure I mean Ghost seems to like them". Only to routinely go to feed them and leave fresh water and then he returns and Edds like "Jon where do you keep disappearing to for half an hour and coming back covered in fur?" Because each time he spends more and more time with them because hes a big softie when alone with animals. The second Jon is petting a cat and it starts to purr and nuzzle their head against him, Jon's heart is stolen forever.

I feel like Jon would be hard pressed to find an animal he doesn't like, it would have to be something really vicious or symbolizes something which has wrong him or his family (I.e lions or dragons).

Aside from Jon, Ned and Robb are favourites which are fairly obvious on my blog. I love Jaime, and Theon. I love Euron from the books specifically too. I tend to love characters who are either more stoic and quiet or loud and unhinged. Theres so many but those are the ones I could talk about endlessly.

[undercoverravens]

Ahoy-hoy! Feral destiel shipper here who gnawed through the heller fence to wincest land. @unkindcorvid is my main blog and I'm unkindravens on ao3. (A group of ravens is an "unkindness" and they're some of my fave birds to work with.)

Thanks for letting me play in your sandbox!

[formerfollowerofthatman]

Still recovering from the crystals?

@zappayourlocalghostexpert

I am encased in one giant crystal at this moment. Send help.

[gingernut1314]

Meet the Oc: Eloise Pendleton

*Slight Spoilers for part 4*

↞ to Jjba Masterlist | JJBA Oc Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

A/N: I can't draw to save my life so I used picrew to help me out! Here is the link! I did draw the Stands cause I can only draw animals....not well but I can do it better then humans oof.

This will also be updated as I continue to write for and flush out this character!! (also does this spoil some things for Elise....maybe....but Eloise is my baby and I wanted to put her out here so I could start writing little things for her)

Setlist: (Full "Eloise Pendleton" Playlist)

Wicked Game

Dichotomy (Intro)

General Knowledge:

Name: Eloise "El, Ellie" Pendleton

Birthday: May 1st, 1984

Nationality: British-American

Family: Elise Pendleton (mother), DIO (father), Jonathan Joestar (father/Uncle), Erina Pendleton (Aunt), Joseph Joestar (Cousin/adoptive father), Suie Q Joestar (adoptive mother), Holy Kujo (adoptive sister--cousin??), Jotaro Kujo (cousin??), Josuke Higashikata (adoptive half-brother....cousin?), Giorno Giovanna (half brother)

Lives in: New York

Personality: shy until you get her to open up (then she's very talkative and bubbly), anxious, people pleaser, doesn't try to be too obnoxious/loud, BIG daddy's girl (cause Joseph is the #1 girl dad), kind-hearted, holds a burning anger inside of herself she has learned to keep deep, deep down but will still burst out when she's pushed too far, self-sacrificing tendencies for her loved ones

Likes: Animals, fruit, music, being around others, loud/crowded places, loud people (reminds her of Joseph), picnics, Disney movies

Dislikes: rude/unkind people, mentions of Dio or her mother, mushrooms (mushrooms on pizza especially)

Looks: was born with light brown hair, then pure white hair when stand manifests, golden-brown eyes (Dio's genes), the biggest RBF known to man despite her personality, looks a lot like Jonathan, three moles lining the cure of her lip (left side), Star birthmark on left shoulder, 5'2

Love Interest: Okuyasu Nijimura

Stand: Burning World (based on the song "Wicked Game")

Burning World (Form 1): A giant ball of fire (like those zoomed-in pictures of the sun). It gives off an eerie silence, like in the vacuum of space

Garfield (form 2): named after the Garfield cartoons/comics is in the form of a cat whose fur is made of fire

Tweety (form 3): named after Tweety Bird, it is in the shape of a tufted titmouse with firey feathers

Queenie (form 4): named in inspiration of the Evil Queen's raven from Snow White, this form is in the shape of a large raven made of fire

Lucy (form 5): Named after the cat, Lucifer, in Cinderella, this form is in the shape of a cougar made of fire

Abilities: Control over fire (created or from an outside source). Can shift into 5 different forms and can only use one form at a time. Switching forms drains Eloise's strength, especially during battle. Garfield & Tweety are more docile and are more "pets/spies" then anythings else. Queenie/Lucy are used for attacks. Forms 2-5 are limited in power. Form 1 is where all of this Stands power is. Burning World's abilities consist of fire control as well as the ability to burn time away for an individual (if perfected, groups of people). This time burn can be for just a few seconds or it could be years--this attack weakens the opponent's strength depending on how long they are exposed to it. Burning World can also burn away at the fabric of time to "peer" into the past or future.

Background Info.:

Eloise's mother believed her to be pure evil and feared she would be just like Dio if not worse.

Due to this, Eloise's mother left her on the streets of Cairo in the daytime in hopes she would burn away like a usual vampire would. She didn't and Eloise's mother left her there to die.

An older couple found Eloise and took her in until Joseph Joestar found her with them. He took her back with him to New York and raised her as his own ("keeping an eye on her in case she turns out to be like Dio" is what he told people who knew of Eloise's father)

Joseph insists on Eloise going with Jotaro to Morioh in hopes that they would be bond as well as in hopes she might grow to be more independent so that she isn't left lost when he dies. He also hopes that she can become friends with Josuke since they are close in age

Initially doesn't like Josuke cause he hates turtles/other like animals but the more she hangs out with him the more she grows to enjoy him

Is instantly taken with Okuyasu because he's loud and a goofball and always takes extra care to make sure she is involved/invited

Eloise gains her Stand when a Stand User Keicho created attacks her. Her hair changes color after this.

[caointeag]

𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱 ❄︎ this is a private & selective rp blog for the original character 𝑳𝒀𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑲 , eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark and twin to Robb Stark. Mixed though primarily BOOK canon along with elements taken from the Old Kindgom / Abhor.sen series by Gar.th Ni.x the blog itself is a sideblog to @gedwimora​ , as this is a hub-style multimuse. If you follow here the follow back will come from there. est 2019 & rebooted 2024.

Medium to sporadic activity. Created by Train | EST | 30s | They/Them

❄︎ 𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝒀 𝑰𝑵. war is hell. badass bookworm. jeanne d'archétype. prophetic visions. eerie pale-skinned brunette. good is not nice. chaos & order. action survivor. silk hiding steel. broken bird. combat pragmatist. the banshee. the gods demand blood. ends justify the means. the red right hand. the spymaster. last sane man. he who fights monsters. anything for family. eldest daughter woes. cursed with awesome/blessed with suck. no good deed goes unpunished. dark is not evil. freezing & defrosting ice queen. the extremist was right.

𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺  ❄︎ 𝑩𝑰𝑶  ❄︎ 𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑹𝑬𝑭 ❄︎ 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑨𝑮 ❄︎ 𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻 ❄︎ 𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑹𝒀

blog canon/heavily built into her lore: @azmenka / @tymptir , @sandw0lf , @playshrp pretty princess club: @wornkindness

𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶 :

❄︎ Lyarra is not betrothed even as the eldest daughter and at the age for it, she's wiggled out of that successfully for a while.

❄︎ Lyarra is an apprentice bard, which in the North is much different than in the south. I base a lot of Northern culture on gaelic cultures (Ireland, Scotland, etc) and historically a bard there like poetic scholars. They would create great works of lyrical art yes, but they also maintained chronicles, genealogies, journals of the goings on, and recorded and preserved traditions. I'm also throwing in the role of a brehon into the mix, which is basically a ye olde legal professional. So basically she's a junior magistrate and historian who can write a sick tune about how much you suck ass. more detail on this can be found in the General Northern Lore and North: Women Lore pages I have.

❄︎ Lyarra is a staunch follower of the Old Gods. In my lore that includes human sacrifice, so buckle up. More details in the General Northern Lore .

❄︎ Lyarra is a skinchanger. She has her direwolf Night and adds onto that a bird, usually something like a raven or hawk, which she uses to do reconnaissance.

❄︎ Lyarra will always get her facial scar one way or another. It's a universal constant.

❄︎ Lyarra is a good archer, learning to get better with melee weapons and very fit from all the illegal exploration she's done her whole life. But she is more likely to manipulate, poison or stab you in your bed.

❄︎ Lyarra is a stubborn and increasingly paranoid person. She's cool but polite to strangers, sometimes even stand offish if the paranoid is really kicking in, but she's not cruel or unkind. She's only actively hostile when she dislikes someone or very scared or agitated. The closer you are to her the more obvious it is how loving and considerate she is. She's kind of the Stannis of her family but like, with a better sense of humor and more amicable.

❄︎ Also like Stannis, she has rap.ists gelded. No Exceptions.

[deadbeatbirdmom]

Tag Index

FYI: This is a safe space for LGBTQIA+, this is not the blog for you if you're against any of those.

Feel free to browse and reblog and/or like anything on this tumblog. Spam away, I don't mind, and I'm sure most artists love it. Why else post on this hellsite?

My main blog can be found here: @notoftheskaal. It's mostly random reblogs of things that I find interesting or funny. That's the blog that can follow back. I'm also on bluesky as notoftheskaal too. There's some different fan artists over there, although some post here too.

This sideblog was originally titled 'Not Really Raven.' That changed. There have been consequences. If you want to call me by a name, it's apparently Raven. If that's confusing because of the other Ravens on Tumblr (hi fellow Ravens), you could call me Freya.

Fun fact: a group of ravens is apparently called an unkindness.

If you follow me and you're not a bot, please make it obvious or I'll report and block thinking you are one. Change from the default icon, make a post saying you're not a bot, reblog things.

About asks: I've answered my last ask about faunus rights/bigotry in RWBY. This answer explains why. In short? I can't give a satisfactory answer about such issues.

I'm also not terribly keen on talking about Adam.

Or anything about Jaune with stuff that belongs in the bedroom. I can't quite believe I need to specify this, but here we are.

On to the purpose of this post:

I thought I'd get my tags organised so I can have links to them in a pinned post. Namely this one.

Most of what I do with this sideblog is reblog RWBY fanart, usually with Yang in it, and mostly Bumbleby. But not always.

I also sometimes post links to my own fics on AO3, so far mostly for Bumbleby Week (and a cursed Yorse crackfic if you really want to read that). I have other RWBY fics in progress, as yet unposted.

My AO3 fics are now locked to registered users on AO3, no thanks to gen AI thieving bots. Feel free to send me an ask if you'd like an invite code to register for an AO3 account (link here to a guide about what to do with it).

Sometimes there's links to recommended reading by other RWBY fic writers.

And occasionally my own posts about RWBY stuff, usually to do with Yang because she's my fav, but sometimes Blake or team RWBY as a whole. There's usually some connection to Yang though.

And a poll or two.

My main tags:

My fic

Fic-ish snippets added to posts

Recommended RWBY fic reading

My own posts

Asks answered

Asks for Raven

Polls and poll results

Reblogged RWBY fanart

My RWBY fanart

Character tags: (I have a tendency not to tag for separate characters where they're covered by the tag e.g. Bumbleby and team RWBY)

Bumbleby

Bees kissing

Bees Schnees

Yang Xiao Long

Blake Belladonna

Ruby Rose

Weiss Schnee

The sisters Xiao Long-Rose

Team RWBY

Team STRQ

Summer Rose

Raven Branwen

Ensemble RWBY (could be anyone and everyone, generally used when I don't have the spoons to tag every character)

[stahne-ona]

I'm Unkindness, General, Empress, or Lydia.

This is the religious blog of @fluffyunkindness . I am technically pagan, but don't follow any existing religions. I have my own! It's got its own words that important things go by.

Atlantic salmon, and by extension, fish in general, are extra important. Cats and foxes can see through humans and are often possessed by spirits, leading them to have the eyes they do. Ravens can travel to the death realms and are symbols of the dead. The moon (Miolnet Nir) is source of all nocturnal female animal life and a mother figure. The night sky (Miolnet Nak) is for all male nocturnal animal life and is a father figure. This isn’t very strict, though, it’s just kind of general. I don’t really know how to explain it.

I myself am a sort of deity, taking the form of a polar bear, gyrfalcon (and various other birds of prey), a seal, sperm whale, bottlenose dolphin, etc. I do not think I fit into my own religion, I just found this fact interesting.

[raven-unkind]

♱ raven, she/they, 05, intj, pansexual.

♱ this is an enhypen centered blog but this might change in the future!

disclaimers

♱ minors dni with nsfw posts.

♱ Im a multi stan and have zero tolerance for any anti's or hatred towards groups or idols.

♱ I have zero tolerance for anyone that is: homophobic, racist, islamophobe, zionist, thinks idols owe them anything, koreaboos & solo stans.

tags

꒱ blog

#🐈‍⬛ —￤ unkind — my work

#🕸️ —￤ shut up raven — shitposts

#🕷️ —￤ to the wanderers — questions/stuff to readers

#🪦 —￤ gathering of souls  — events

꒱ reblog system

#📜 —￤ reblog  — all other reblogs

꒱ asks

#🦇 —￤ wandering soul — anon asks

#🦇 —￤ wandering soul [emoji] — asks

#🔮 —￤ special visitor [name] — mutuals

anons

- 💝