to cure my depression, I'm going to summarize and preview the WIP I've been obsessing over for months, in order to allow my wilted brain to imagine that maybe someday all this messiness will find an audience
Pigs In The Sky
Hawks / Female Reader, Explicit
Reader is semi-specific: a tall American refugee and wannabe experimental artist with a useless quirk, deeply critical of hero society and just trying to survive
Hawks is a government project with weaponized dissociative trauma and perfectly healthy normal human coping mechanisms. He is definitely not an angry horny bird trying to bite off his tracker tag
The Best Summary I Can Currently Come Up With:
Hot new Wing Hero Hawks has just exploded into the top ten and opened his very own hero agency. The youngest Billboard breakout ever, it’s time for little Keigo to make good on all those years of ruthless Safety Commission investment. Despite his public ascendance coinciding with a particularly... troublesome... spring, he's been coping just fine with his horny bird problems, thank you very much. He doesn't have a mating season anyway. According to the stuffy white coats, that shit is all in his imagination.
Everything's on the up and up... until YOU show up. You - along with a small army of social rejects from the fringes of hero society - have just moved into the abandoned parts factory where Hawks has been nesting through his cycles. That worthless den of filth was HIS gooner hideout, and if you relatable freaks are gonna gentrify his territory, you're just gonna have to deal with the consequences.
He only stalks you a little bit, it's fine. You hardly notice all that random stuff that goes missing out of your apartment. And if the guys you date all end up ghosting you, that's just your bad luck, isn't it. Nobody's following you home or peeping in your windows; the weed is making you paranoid. Anyway don't worry, the thing hunting you has no intention of closing in. You and the other residents of Sims Tower are just fun little dolls to imagine playing with. A replacement cope for the hideout you stole.
Seasons come and go. Hawks continues climbing the Billboard chart, and you continue scrapping together your pretentious hero-hating outsider art career. That is, until another particularly troublesome spring rolls around, and a random villain attack goes sideways, exploding your balcony (and you along with it.) Now you're suddenly indebted to one of the most popular pro heroes in the world, and he has a pretty good idea of how you can pay him back.
Excerpt (AKA Bird So Nasty I Have To Hide Him Under A Cut):
I steal dirty laundry.
Panties first, because what else. The embarrassing, everyday multi-pack underwear you’d never want anyone in the world to see. Those especially. All mine.
They’re not cute. They’re not “soaked” in the colorless Crystal Pepsi way people pretend in pornos, where the brand-new pair is only on her ass for the five feet between the shower and the bed.
Nuh uh. Not my girl. You wore these ugly, functional cotton briefs overnight, then through a full day of painting and sweating, sitting and eating, pissing and shitting. You balled them up into your boxy work pants as you stepped into a shower and then you forgot all about them. Just poor little dirty panties over there, languishing and ignored while you were busy with other things. Just like me.
So it’s fine that I take them.
I stake them out from half a kilometer away. While I’m at work, Wings does the pick-up. It’s a wonder people never look up, because you see some strange shit in the sky sometimes. Like flying panties whizzing all the way from your laundry pile to my executive penthouse. There they wait patiently on my sterile white bed, looking pretty on the center of my sterile white pillow. By the time I stumble through the sterile glass balcony door, the scent of you is omnipresent. Soaked into everything. Thickening the air.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe…
I take off my clothes and crouch on the bed like a caveman. Feathers circling. Cock out and proud. We’re all wide the fuck awake. Leaking with anticipation.
Time to gather for a council meeting. So Wings and I can just. Just. Just.
Look at your panties.
The most boring panties in the world. Mid, all the way down. Not high or low cut. No lace. No thong. Just some fabric, factory stamped to comfortably cover your ass, a blank void-filler no one was ever supposed to see. Black cotton. Breathable. Your pussy has bleached the fabric all along the crotch. I had to look that shit up online to make sure you don’t have some kind of acid pussy quirk destined to eat through my dick. But no, says the AI assistant, trying to calm me down. This is just what happens to natural fiber when it meets natural pussy pH.
Huh. The more you know.
I hold them open and imagine. This measures the volume of you. Imagine, if you fell into my hands. I imagine it as heavily as I can. THUD. Fall out of the sky. Please. Squash me like a bug, then mount me with pins in a glass box and carry me around. Your little trophy husband. I’ll do anything you want.
My hands feel so empty. A generous helping. Too much, an idiot might say. Not me. I’m fucking hungry. I want it all and seconds and thirds. Childhood food insecurity does things to a brain. I never know when I’ll get the next meal.
The burned-in smell of you is so strong I don’t have to bury my face. If I did, I would instantly die. I shove the panties inside my pillowcase and sleep nose-first inside your raw, unwashed pussy stink. Well. First I fuck a fleshlight four or five times until I almost pass out. Then I sleep on it.
Still. It’s not enough.
Next, we take a tee shirt. A big roomy stained spare that you got all fucked up while stuck in project mode. Scars and stains and shadows cast by your work. So many pieces of who you are, and you were thinking about throwing it away… How dare you. I’m doing the world a favor.
I secrete it away. In my bedroom, I shove a large squishy plush inside it. A sample of my own hideous branded tween merch, because it’s so fucked, all of it, and I don’t want to look at his stupid shiny fuckface anymore. So I wad a pile of Hawks up into a ball and shove him inside the skin of you. I roll my body onto it. Head down on the floor, forehead and knees crunching into the carpet. For a long while, I just curl up like this on the ball, doing some kind of evil yoga. Smelling you and my floor. Not awake, not asleep. Is this a bird behavior? I don’t think so. I think it’s a Keigo behavior, like stealing and hiding and staying very very very quiet.
I think deep hero thoughts like I need to fuck you I need to fuck you I need to fuck you, until my eyes lose focus and all I can hear is the whispering ocean sound inside your apartment.
Low-fi feather radio, with no bass or depth. Wewh-whwheh whi whwhwwwiiiishhhhhhhhh. I close my eyes and imagine the words. Imagine your uncanned laughter, exploding big and loud, all around and inside me. Imagine your rude mouth, your chapped and bloody bottom lip. Sour kissing, teeth filmy and stale from working too long. Biting you, tearing off a slice. Bet it stings, doesn’t it? A little drop of blood. Imagine tasting that. I’ll keep some skin, just a sliver. A hint of you, stuck between my sharp fake teeth. Licking off your metholated lip balm, blowing out a smoke ring. Tasting the last of the almost-empty tube you keep in your big utility apron pocket. Next to a box cutter and handful of pens. I need to steal all that too.
My body hurts. I sweat and I shake. I cum into a ghostly, floating fleshlight. Cumming without you, over and over and over again, until my throat is dry and my face is wet.
Till I’m empty. Till I’m dead. Just another haunted object, my spirit echoing off empty gallery walls. This can be your next installation.
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ougghhhh so curious plz tell us more about negative au :3c
Heh well... It's still new and has concepts as I literally created it in idk 5 mins literally two days ago, BUT ☝️ I'll tell ya what is like cemented. Which apparently is Tyrants backstory bc I'm biased, sorry Stryker
(mini ficlet or something below)
Tyrant was a patient at a hidden research facility that was completely off the records. He had been there all his life, with his earliest memories consisting of the dark, cold cell he once resided in. Instead of receiving treatment, he was subjected to tests—experiments that were either too risky or unrefined before being approved. You could call it Mobian experimentation.
He, along with others, was used daily by faceless adults—some in white lab coats, others in yellow bodysuits with masks that never revealed their identities.
Tyrant—or rather, Patient 029—had never known a life outside those walls. Even if he considered it "normal," it was nonetheless traumatic for the poor kit. He had never been shown love, gentleness, or kindness—he had never even heard the words before. All he knew was pain and obedience, because if you didn’t obey, you only got hurt more. That was precisely why he was considered one of the "favorites"—but that wasn’t a good thing.
It only meant he was the favorite for testing.
So, when the faceless adults in white coats arrived with a hospital bed, he wasn’t surprised when they wordlessly strapped him in.
He knew the routine. He was going in for another surgery.
He just hoped they used enough anesthesia this time.
As they prepared the injection, he braced himself for the familiar prick, squeezing his eyes shut. No matter how many times he had been injected, he still hates needles.
But the pain never came.
Instead, he heard rustling—then a sharp yell.
“Hey, what are you—?!”
A loud thud. Then another. Heavy objects crashing onto the floor.
When he finally opened his eyes, the straps around his wrists, ankles, and tails had been undone. In an instant, he was scooped up into someone's arms.
He was in a state of shock as the familiar walls blurred past him—until they weren’t familiar anymore.
He thought he was outside.
He had never seen the outside before, but nothing around him looked like the facility.
His gaze slowly lifted, his body still trembling, to see the face of the one holding him so tightly.
It was an adult in an white coat. But this time, he had a face.
Bright pink eyes stared down at him. His lips parted, as if they were about to say something—
But the words never came.
In a flash, red liquid dripped from the spiky, yellow-furred adult’s eye, seeping through three deep slashes.
The same red liquid dripped from the terrified, shaking blue kit’s claws... (TBC? Idk I'm done writing for the night)
What happened was Stryker had impulsively saved Tyrant and only him from that facility. He had stumbled upon said facility by accident as it was hidden as an abandoned warehouse, which Stryker was planning to crash at for the night. Who knew he was going to get a whole knew brother instead huh? Stryker btw is NO HERO. He takes jobs for commission because he loves rings(money lol). Don't ask him why he saved Tyrant, he just did. He was already too far gone when he gave the ex-orphan a name. Ask him if he has baby photos of Tyrant and he'll pull out an album outta no where.
I plan on sharing more of them hopefully through art work!
hey cool news - one of my short stories (Lady in Waiting) has been reprinted in a charity anthology! all proceeds go to the Trevor Project (and thanks to a generous parallel donation, us writers all got a token payment of US$40, which was great because we signed up to do charity for free lol)
Mirrors Reflecting Shadows is a multi-publisher project from Roi Fainéant, OUTCAST, and Anxiety Press(es) that collects 34 high-concept, high-octane, high-quality short stories from basically every genre you can shake a stick at, including personal essays.
many stories tackle LGBTQ+ themes directly while others deal with more abstract takes on love, rebirth, community and actualisation, and while nobody's required to self-ID i can tell you that most of us behind the scenes are part of the family one way or another
grab a print or epub edition here and let me know what you think!
i wanna know what stories everyone connected with (and which ones they didn't), what concepts you found compelling, what phrases got stuck in your brain, and what shit you just found fun to read 💕
A list of all works currently in progress. As long as it's not labeled as abandoned, it will be updated! Eventually!
simple souls - Assassin's Creed x sense8 fusion AU. Works: 2
Eight people across time and space meet, flying with wings that don't physically exist.
Sidestep - Assassin's Creed x My Hero Academia
Desmond saves the world, and ends up in a world of Heroes. Or something. He's mostly concerned about ending up an experiment. Again. Seriously, what was with his life?
Short Cuts - Cardcaptor Sakura x Lord of the Rings crossover
Sakura will hold out that it was an accident, and even if it wasn't, obviously there was some higher being at work. Still, she manages to travel sideways to Arda and finds herself joining the Fellowship of the Ring. Everything will definitely be alright! Right?
iris (when one pretends) - Bleach
Ichigo learned many things from Masaki- including the responsibility of being a Quincy. How to ask questions. That not knowing something was okay, but ignorance was something else entirely. And that family was what you made of it. This, of course, changes the trajectory of how Ichigo approaches most everyone and everything.
Demon Conqueror's Tragic Apostasy - Yin Yang Shi (Dream of Eternity), co written with americanjedi
Literature Professor Qingming wakes up in the child body of Qingming, the half-demon protagonist of Demon Conqueror's Tragic Apostasy. Luckily, this Qingming doesn't want to become the Fox Demon Emperor, as he would rather learn magic and recite poetry. Unluckily, it seems like the plot of the novel is correcting course. Can Qingming save the world from a great evil and the lives of everyone marked for death from the original plot?
So I just took a wander through a stationary shop nearby and saw a notebook with the slogan “Creativity is Contagious Pass it on...”
2 thoughts jumped into my head going in opposite directions:
1) Remus has some sort of contagious but not deadly disease, that Virgil recognises and he’s trying to convince everyone to stay away from Remus. The issue is He was exposed to the illness already and thinks Roman might’ve been to so just texts Patton the phrase.
Patton then completely misinterprets it, thinking if he hangs out with Roman he’ll get more creative but still shares that idea with Logan while trying to find their good Creativity.
The only one who hears the message and makes plans to avoid them is Deceit,everyone else finds Virgil, now with both Remus and Roman barricaded in their room and screaming at them to go away.
Even when Logan realises he does mean they’re sick and contagious Virgil cannot convince either of the other sides to stay away cause now they want to look after at least Virgil and Roman
Out in the real world Thomas finds himself with a migraine and fever for almost a week, often lying because Deceit is the only side that’s still healthy. Thankfully he cannot do anything well enough to be convincing while everyone else is unwell though.
2) Instead of there having been one Creativity that split into 2 originally there was just Remus as all of creativity and Roman in charge of ambitions and romantic wants.
Then while indulging in some fantasising with Creativity Roman finds himself having some of the powers but also choice over how far the creative abilities go.
He panics and freaks out trying to convince the others something is majorly wrong because “Creativity is contagious? I’m catching creativity there must be something wrong with Thomas, Help!”
Remus is equally upset, he’s losing the ability to actually plan and arrange his creativity or give it any story at all, leaving him only impulsive bouts or completely unconnected messes of thoughts
They take a long time to work out who they’d now be or how any of the creativity powers have actually split up now.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Re-read Red Streak yesterday and have some Thoughts
why did I hate myself about this so much? girl it's okay. girl why. oh honey. at least we're better now
it's amazing to me that I wrote that much, at all, ever. it's particularly amazing to me that I wrote that much THAT FAST. It's nigh unbelievable to me that, for the most part, the writing was very, very good, and the story feels HUUUUUGE. wtf. no wonder I crashed and burned so hard. What the hell. I have no idea if I could ever do that rapid, high-volume level of output ever again. Probably not, and that's probably a good thing.
That's not to say I could never finish it. Just not. Like. Posting 8,000 words A WEEK??? Or whatever insane shit I was doing. Girl put the ADHD hyper-fixation down and back away slowly.
I can actually see the drop-off point; can just feel it in the writing. there's a point after the Mako sex scene where I abruptly had [another] mental breakdown, lost all confidence, and became totally consumed with untreated anxiety and depression. That time in my life was absolute chaos; years spent at rock bottom. Not because of this story, (in fact, the incredible ME community probably kept me from killing myself more times than they'll ever know) but the pressure I put on myself didn't help matters at all. I started pushing chapters out because I felt like I owed it to people, and I wasn't giving the writing the time it deserved, nor was I enjoying any part of it at all. I can feel all that in the writing, and it just makes me want to take that woman aside and get her into dialectical behavioral therapy years earlier.
speaking of the ME community, it's beautiful to me how many of you are still here. I know tumblr is like the back alley dive bar of social media, and I've gone through about a thousand hyperfixations since Red Streak, but a lot of the OG readers and friends are still here, and I appreciate all of you
For those reasons, it's been difficult for me to revisit this fic, even though I never stopped loving it. The core of it was this wondeful sandbox for me to play in creatively, it's just that it got tangled up in all the too-real self-immolating mental illness and alcoholism that I didn't want to deal with.
WELL I FINALLY DEALT WITH IT (spoilers: depression lost) and now it's fascinating to look back on that obsessive, chaotic journey from a totally neutral place.
It's been ages since I played the games, which was actually helpful for evaluating the story on its own merits. For the most part, overwhelmingly, it is *good and fine and sometimes even incredible* and the criticisms I levied at myself were entirely made up by the serotonin-eating Demons that live between my misfiring neurons.
There are places to fix, yes, especially toward the end because I just kinda gave up and started panicking, but like, those problems are very fixable. It's just a matter of clarifying a few things, finishing up some re-writes, and taking appropriate amounts of time with any new material. The bones are rock solid. It's not this huge disaster I made it out to be.
(turns out I was the disaster the entire time)
Anyway. It's big that I can even read it without having any emotional reaction whatsoever. No egotistical mania or suicidal depression. I can finally just observe the thing I made and not reflexively love it or condemn it, or tangle it up with my self worth.
Good job, me. I really think, if I got some things figured out, and used the current WIPs I'm working on to train myself into to a *HEALTHY WRITING PROCESS*, I could take on this big beautiful beast again.
