#But like a patterns developing at this point

[lisenberry]

The mountain is you

Chapter 4: I'm scared to let go of what I'm scared to lose

Dom Price x Fem Reader

MDNI/NSFW/18+

CW: Dom/Sub, Bondage, Sex Work, Voice Kink, Size Kink, Oral Sex, Bathroom Sex, Mirror Sex, Boot Riding, Orgasm Denial, Possessive Behavior

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3)

AO3

No two sessions with John were the same.  You learned something new about yourself with each one. 

That the act of waiting could be so therapeutic.  Had you ever been so still as when he took his time looping ropes around your arms, breasts, ribs and waist?  Tying the intricate knots just right, in perfectly symmetrical patterns, carefully avoiding your neck and throat.  Reminding you to breathe, and hold your posture, in that voice that sounded so rough you wondered if it caused him pain just to speak. 

That a deep, dull ache that never wavered, no matter how you squirmed or struggled, could be as cathartic as a sharp, fervent strike.  When the bindings compressed your tissue and made your muscles throb with confusion.  Like your skin was too tight, and you’d burst from the pressure.  Until you finally broke through the building panic and let yourself melt into the fibers like well-tailored Chanel suit.

That being helpless wasn’t the same as being out of control.  That surrender wasn’t as much about giving up as it was giving yourself over to something else.  Someone else.  To trust that his patience was his gift to you, and that he didn’t ask for anything in return for a reason.  Maybe being there for you was enough for him. 

He’d certainly been greedy for your abandon.  Collected orgasms from you like they were precious stones, with his mouth and his hands.  Played your body like an instrument to be drummed and plucked.  Mouthed and blown.  Percussion, string, and wind.

All to make you sing.

Little deaths.  Little victories each. 

But it had you feeling a bit like a selfish Sub.  You listened.  You obeyed.  You cried.  You came.  But the more you played, the more anxious you became to give him some release.  Relief.  You wanted to see him taken care of, too.

You’d never bothered to explore new things with Ghost.  He’d had a list of services he offered, but you hadn’t been tempted to branch out from the standard package.  Anything extra, like temperature play or Shibari would cost a premium due to the additional time needed and the specialized skill they required. 

Anyone could spank your ass, you supposed, but you had to pay extra for the finesse.  Now, it seemed like you were getting it all for free.  Or perhaps John didn’t desire anything more from you.  It was simply a one-sided transaction for him, and he was just being nice.  A favor for his old friend. 

But you tried to shake those thoughts away when they threatened.  He’d promised that you’d always know what he wanted.  And never be left wondering what he was thinking.  There was no room for insecurity when he’d stuck to the book when it came to everything else.

And once each scene was over, you stayed a little longer.  After the first, when you’d practically run out the door like the building was on fire, he’d made a point to have food on hand that you could eat together.  Something tasty and satisfying sitting in his gigantic, high-end fridge waiting to be heated up in the microwave and eaten cross-legged on his couch.

Conversation developed more easily, and you weren’t too shy to talk about the things you liked the most (rope play, hot showers, barehanded spanking, his aftershave), and those you weren’t keen to try again (so far, blindfolds hadn’t added anything to the experience for you).  You found him to be funnier than you expected, with a wry sense of humor and an easy laugh. 

You always left feeling...secure. 

*****

The two men sitting across from you at the table of your go-to restaurant for closing deals with pushy potential clients were a father and son, CEO and VP team.  Your company offered a service that they needed desperately.  And they had the audacity to demand it at a cut rate.

They tried so hard to impress you with their staggering wealth and impressive portfolio, they must’ve forgotten that this was your job.  That you weren’t fooled by overwhelming displays of douchebaggery.  By smoke and mirrors.  Cutting through the bullshit was what you did best.

And as dinner went on, they piled it waist high.  Flung it around like monkeys at the zoo.  In the end, you just had to plug your nose and wade through it with patience and your head held high.

Fuck them, their rare car collection, their villa on Lake Como, and their 75-meter yacht.  You were ready to give in, to take the loss just to get them to stop fucking talking so you could go home and take off your bra.

The waiter had just brought over another round of drinks when you looked up to see John find a seat at a nearby table with an older couple who looked to be in their late sixties, and a beautiful woman in her early thirties.

It only took a second for his gaze to meet yours across the room.  It was exactly the type of situation you had avoided with Ghost.  That awkward breaking of the fourth wall when you ran into each other in the real world.  Outside the protection of your carefully curated sessions.

You tried not to stare, but it shook you more than you thought it would.  Part of your contract was that you’d be exclusive.  For safety purposes, you’d have no sexual partners outside of each other throughout the duration.  It was one of his hard lines. 

One you could easily keep.  Was it so hard for him?

He even had the gall to look angry, eyes darkening perceptibly even in the distance as he held up his phone briefly. 

A second later, you received a message on yours.

Meet me in the bathroom.  Five minutes.

Surely, he wasn’t serious.

Your companions were still talking away, congratulating each other on their mastery of the universe, as you quickly typed your response.

Wife or girlfriend?

Taking a sip of your water, you smiled impressively to the older man naming dropping who he was playing golf with over the weekend.  Taking great care not to turn back toward John, whose daggers you could feel as sharply as though they were lodged in your skin.

Sister.  Fucking the father or the son?  Or both?

You looked up at the dynamic duo and stifled the urge not to vomit a bit in your mouth.

Ick, no.  Clients.

There was a long pause before he responded, but you still didn’t look back at him.  His presence was too much for the room.  His hold on you too strong for polite company.  The vibration of the next message jolted you like a jump scare.

I gave you an order.

The blood drained from your face.  Your mouth went dry.  Your panties, on the other hand, seemed to catch both like a grounding rod of sensation.  Hot and slick.

Fine.  But don’t be nice, you typed, before adding.  Please.

You did look up then, just in time to see John nod once before excusing himself and disappearing down a long hallway.

“I’m getting the feeling that I’m being dicked around here, gentlemen.  I’m going to take a minute in the ladies’ room.  When I come back, if you don’t have a number ready that I can work with, I’m going to walk out that door and instruct my assistant to stop taking your calls.”

Not that she could anyway.  You were still working on that particular aspect of her job description.

But that, along with any other concerns, disappeared below the surface when you opened the door to the single restroom in the back of the restaurant.    

“Did you really just say ‘fine’ to me, like a whiney little brat?  ‘Don’t be nice’?  Hope you know what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”  He growled from the corner behind the door, just before he pounced on you like a panther in the dark.  Eyes flashing with a sort of calm, primal hunger.  The kind that waits, as long as it takes, despite the sweet smell of fear in its prey.  Despite the promise of how good it will taste.

You stumbled back out of instinct, only to hit the hard wall behind you.  Trapped.

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered.  Suddenly not really sure at all.

Outside of your sessions, text messages had been an open space.  Where you were free to object to somethings and discuss others.  Negotiate times and dates.  But as his hand spun you around gruffly and gripped your hip from behind, fingers just above your pubic bone while his thumb massaged deep circles where your ass met your spine, you realized you’d miscalculated somewhere.

You'd never thought of yourself as manageable.  Moveable.  You took up space.  You were a lot to handle.  No one ever called you “cute” or commented on how nicely you cowed and begged over their knee.  Not until him.

Not until you watched from the mirror above the cold, stainless steel sink as his other massive paw cupped your jaw.  This man made you feel like a ragdoll.  A toy.  A mouse trapped in the jaws of that big dark jungle cat.

"Just for me, aren't you?”  He raked teeth and stubble along your cheek.

You were boneless then, even more pliable under this sudden mean streak.  The hand at your jaw trailed lower, skipping past your throat and neck, and your head rolled backwards against his chest without its support.

It paused to slip under the fabric of your top and bra, to cup your breast and pull it free.  There was a primal hitch of breath in his teeth as he admired the way he could cover it all.  A stiff, darkened peak notched between his knuckles as he gave it a painful squeeze. 

“Use your fucking words.  I thought we’d been through all this.”  He didn’t sound like himself.  Patience had gone out the window somewhere and you scrambled to right yourself.

To get him back.

“Yes, sir.  All for you, sir.”  You met his eyes in the mirror in the way he trained you.  Wanting to be good.  “I’m sorry, I just—"

Another squeeze, tighter and concentrated on the bud of your nipple.  This time, the hiss was yours as the sensation rippled straight to your sex.

He was big enough to swallow the moon.  Eclipse the sun.  Envelope you into darkness.  There was nothing but the stars bursting behind your eyelids as his other palm slunk lower from your hips to the hem of your skirt. 

As stealthily as an avalanche of rocks and sand.  Abrading and disrupting everything in its path until it settled back up to the base of you. 

"Please,” you whispered, whimpered, on some foreign tongue that felt too big, too thick, to be yours.  

Because he was in your mouth.  Lips against yours, tongue pummeling inside. No affectionate peck, but an assault that promised to leave you maimed.  A kiss you’d never get used to.  One that would only consume you.  His solid body against yours from behind as he bent over you and arched you into him.

The grip you had on the sink felt strong enough to leave marks.  Dents.  Tiny little divots like bird prints in the snow.

"Open up, brat.  If you ever hope to fit the real thing, you still need more practice."

He found you wet, a small accommodation as you muttered a silent thanks to your nature.  Your brain needed him, and your body did its best to oblige.

"I want it.  Please, I’m ready."  He’d dangled what you desired most in front of you like carrot.  You’d get down on your knees and beg if you could only escape his hold.

"Maybe next time.  After you show me how good you can be."

His long, thick fingers disappeared three at a time, to the gnarled and swollen knuckles before your eyes in the mirror.  Knickers notched to the side and your skirt up around your waist.

The cry that slipped from your lips would’ve been heard across the restaurant if hadn’t had the clarity of mind to bite your tongue.  The satisfied huff from his could conjure magic.  Gods and monsters.  Things best left dormant. 

He liked it like this, you could tell.  Where you both could see in the stark, fluorescent reflection.  The dark hair of his hand reemerging from your depths silky and dripping with slick.

The glass was like a barrier, a window or a picture frame that kept you hanging just on the outskirts of real and make believe, as he circled those same fingers again and curled them back inside, tormenting your most vulnerable weakness.  

While his other still worried and bullied your poor nipple.  He stretched the offering of your flesh up to his mouth, biting and sucking until you bucked and writhed along his hand for more, more.  Just a little bit more.

He felt on top of the world.  And you were his puppet on a string.  Brought to life.

But in your mindless dash to reach the end of his rope, to plummet off the side into the wind, your backside hit against his rigid length.  Once again reminded of what you’d been denied.  What you were fighting for.

You leaned into it, ignoring your own pleasure to steal a chance at his.

But he spun you around so fast, his fingers leaving you cold and empty, that you teetered precariously before he could lean you back against the sink.

“Spoiled little bitch, always whining and going on.  Haven’t I been nice to you?”  His tone lightened, to the point of…regret?  “I’ll indulge you, then.  But will you like what you get?” 

"Yes, please, sir!”  You weren’t going to waste the kindness as you settled down in front of him.

The tile floor of the bathroom cold and hard on your bare knees.

“The only way you’re coming today is on my old boot,” he slipped his leg between yours, helpfully, giving you something to sit on and a needed friction along your unsatisfied folds, “while you fuck me with your pretty little face.”

Sir thought you were pretty, was the only message your horrifyingly needy Sub brain could hear.  You weren’t too deep in subspace yet, but if you weren’t careful, you’d need to be carried from the restaurant in his big, strong—

He interrupted your warring brains with the tip of his cock against your cheek and a warm, heavy hand on the back your head.  Not even enough pressure to guide you.  More of an anchor, as it tipped you back just enough to find his eyes.

Signal fires, burning bright.

Emboldened, you opened your mouth as you would for your inspection, flattening your tongue and waiting for him to test you.  Eager to please.

“Don’t look at me like that.  You’ve got the big brass now, don’t you, brat?  So, show me,” he taunted, the flesh bobbing heavily just out of your reach.

Tentatively, you moved forward, clutching the sides of his thighs for balance and licking out at the rosy meat in front of you.  You’d never expected to see it for the first time in the dingy bathroom of an overpriced downtown restaurant, but it was indeed massive.

He wasn’t being overly boastful in that you’d have trouble taking it unprepped.  As it was, your mouth could only work him in halfway, as you hollowed your cheeks and took him just to the point of gagging.

You could still breathe through your nose, and you weren’t choking yet.  You were doing okay, but that didn’t stop him from using that hand on your head to pull you back when your throat started to fight him.

“Easy, now,” a softening at the corners of his eye lids, as your own teared up at the intrusion. 

Somehow, you fell into a clumsy rhythm where he didn’t take any control and you focused on the enjoyment of him.  The smooth, salty skin of his dick along your tongue.  The rough loops of his shoelaces against your bare cunt.

And before you knew it, you were so close to coming that he pulled his foot away just in time for his cock to go rigid against your tongue.  

“Ah fuck, that’s good, sweetheart,” he muttered an oath to the ceiling.

You blinked your betrayal through dazed eyes and shuttered around nothing while he took his release all over your face.  By the time he milked the last drops along your chin, he paused only a second before wetting a paper towel in the sink to clean you up.

He tenderly wiped away the pearly ropes of his spend first, then the eye makeup that had smudged along your cheeks.

You didn’t look that bad, you thought, as you focused on yourself in the mirror and quickly put your tits away.  You were a bit wrinkled, and your nose was leaking snot like a puffy faucet, but no worse for wear.

“Tell those wankers you had an allergic reaction or something.  You’ll be fine,” he assured you as he found your lip gloss in your purse and moved to help you apply it.

You let him, with a reassuring smile of your own, before taking his hand along with the gloss.

“You all right?” you asked, needing to check on him.  You’d done something new.  Potentially crossed a line.  It mattered to you that he’d enjoyed it.

“Bloody grand,” he grinned in a way that made you believe him.  Left no shadow of a doubt.  “Now get out there and give them hell.”  He gave you one last once over before slapping your ass and sending you out ahead of him.

“Yes, sir.”

You left the restaurant on a high like you’d never felt before.  Your cunt ached, inside and out, and it hurt to swallow, but you’d closed the deal.  With your clients, and with John, too, in some way.

And you swore you heard him chuckle as you texted him to set up your next session on your way out the door.  He’d left you hanging without an orgasm. 

Not nice at all.

[tigerwing-animal-hrt]

Cat HRT 0 Months

My alarm went off, blaring in my ear. I turned it off and got up, heading for the bathroom.

Sure, getting up at noon wasn’t exactly early, but it was for me. Thank you being a night shift employee for giving me a reason to be up the hours that actually work best for me.

I brushed my teeth and got ready for my appointment, being sure to make sure my partner was awake to take me. She was sitting up by the time I was ready.

“Are you ready for your appointment?” She asked, checking she had her wallet.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Here’s your keys.” I handed them to her and left the room, scooping small kittens out of the way before they got a chance to run in before my partner closed the bedroom door again.

The car ride was quiet, save for music playing as he drove. Until we got to the appointment.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, gesturing towards the office of Dr. Erian as a woman with budding horns, fur, and a tail walked out.

“Yes, I am,” I responded, a bit shakily. “Is that… I think I know her.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“Yes, please…”

We got out, and she must have seen the nervous and startled look on my face. “Is this your first appointment?” She asked kindly, looking at the way I clutched my fiance’s hand to my chest.

“Yeah. I think I’ve seen you talking about your experiences… Josie?”

“Yeah, my name’s Josie. You look petrified. Don’t worry. The doctor can be difficult, but you’ll be fine. Take the leap. I think you’d be happy.”

“Thank you…” I looked up at her. “Thank you. I should get in there, don’t want to be late.”

“Of course not.” With that, she was heading away.

My fiance looked at me. “Do you know her?”

“Kind of, I’ve seen her talking about her transition. Now let’s go before I’m late.”

We walked up to the doors, and into the reception area. He went and sat down on a larger seat, likely one meant for a dragon or similar creature. He laid down as I spoke with the receptionist.

“Appointment for James… at 2pm.” I said.

“Alright, I have you right here. Fill this out and bring it back to me.”

I took it and went to go sit and fill it out. It was a basic questionnaire, asking about health problems, identity information, the works. I got to the information about species and paused before writing Domestic cat- Felis catus. Longhaired tortoiseshell variant.

I signed the waivers after skimming them, then took all the paperwork back to the receptionist.

“Can my fiance come with me?”

“Sure, but she’ll have to wait for a few minutes after you go back there.”

“Alright, I’ll let her know.”

--------------------------------------------

“James?”

“Coming!” I got up, put my phone in my pocket, and walked to the nurse.

They led me through the doors and sat me in a room to take my blood pressure, pulse, temperature, ask me the usual safety questions. After I was done, the nurse got my fiance and we walked to the office of Dr T. H. Erian.

“Which one of you is the patient?”

My fiance pointed at me. “He is, I’m just moral support.”

I nodded and we both sat down opposite the doctor.

“I see you’re interested in becoming a… domestic cat?”

“Yes.” I gripped my fiance’s hand tightly under the desk, he squeezed back.

“And you’re a trans man?”

“Yes.”

“How unusual. Why a tortoiseshell? Those are always female, and you marked down male as your legal sex.”

“That’s complicated, doc.”

“I’d expect you to pick a coat pattern that you’d see on a male cat is all.”

“My answer won’t change.”

“Very well then, I’ll see what I can do. Have you been living as your preferred species for the last 48 months?”

“Yes, I have, doc.”

“Can you confirm this?” He turned to my fiance.

“Yes, yes I can.” He held up his arm, showing a faint line of scratches that were still healing. “This is because I gave him a bath yesterday.”

“Is that so? Hmm. I’ll need to develop the formula for you, but that shouldn’t take too long. Your prescription should be ready in about two weeks.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“You’ll need to make changes to your diet while taking this medication. More meat, less everything else. Read this pamphlet before you leave.” He handed me and my fiance both pamphlets about feline HRT. “Some things may differ in order and strength of effect, but all of this information will be relevant.”

“Am I the first trans man to be taking this?”

“Yes, and I’ll need you to log any and all effects to see how thins differ for you.”

“So he’s an experiment?” My fiance asked, standing and looking like she was half a step from hopping the desk and decking the doctor.

I put my hand on her arm. “It’s new and experimental. Someone has to be the first.”

“Exactly. Now. Any questions?”

“Will you call me when it’s ready?”

“Of course.”

“Will I be coming here to pick my prescription up, or will it be sent to the pharmacy?”

“I’ll send it to the pharmacy.”

“Alright, thank you. Oh, last question. Will it be an oral medicine, or an injection?”

“Oral is the usual route. Do you want injections?”

“Depends on if it tastes bad.”

“I’ve heard it isn’t too bad.”

I stood up, and my fiance and I left the office. I was shaking, nervous but excited.

-------------------------------------------------

I got the call that my prescription was ready, almost exactly two weeks later. I turned to my fiance, almost vibrating with excitement. “It’s ready!”

“Alright, get dressed, and let’s go.”

I scrambled to get ready, almost bouncing off the walls.

“Calm down, kitty. I know you’re excited.”

“But… but… but…”

“I know. Let’s go.”

-------------------------------------------------

My prescription was a bottle of small pills, enough for a month with instructions to take before bed each night.

“I wonder what happens if you take it during the day?” I showed them to my fiance.

“Feli- Felisterone?” Is that what it says?”

“Yeah.”

“Wonder what they taste like.”

“You’re not taking them, dear.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to.”

“Go play your game, dear.”

“Love you too.”

I made a post online about picking up my prescription, and a few comments on the timelines I saw, including the white tiger and a few others like Josie, since I’d met her briefly, telling her thank you in particular for giving me the push I needed. I commented on the king cobra guy’s, saying I was another transmasc on HRT. Same for the black arms timeline that crossed my dash shortly after.

I also commented on the slimes, werewolves, dragons, and bat that I saw afterwards. The lamias were neat- I asked to join a server about HRT.

I went to take a quick shower before my fiance gave me my testosterone shot and I settled in to play Farmer’s Life until it was time for my new medication.

My fiance handed me the pill bottle, my drink, and my stuffed animals.

“Here goes everything, I guess.” I took my first dose.

“Good boy.” She patted my head. “Do you feel any different?”

“No, but it’s only been a minute.”

“Still.” She tucked me in and then turned back to her game. “Night, kitty.”

First Prev Next (TBD)

[wings-of-ink]

Hi Lunan, I was wondering about the player stats if you have time. I keep getting reckless as a go to response for things despite trying to play a more shy and timid MC and it made me curious. How do you determine what choices actions constitute which stat? I understand that the game is still in development and it may not be set in stone or other aspects of the game might be more of a priority, but I was mostly interested in picking your brain, in a general sense, if that's OK. I'm sure you're very busy so there's no rush to answer this ask, or answer it at all.

Hello, Anon!

Let's see, player stats are definitely something that will get fine-tuned as we go. And, funny that you ask, I have literally been dwelling specifically on the reckless stat this weekend.

I'll just explain how I have worked this out below. I apologize that I went a little long...I genuinely enjoy chatting about this stuff, and I gotta bit...lost in the sauce here, lol. ^_^

For the MC's personality and actions/reactions and some of their speech patterns, I have 4 main stats. These are on a scale with their opposing characteristics, so 8 total. There's a 5th stat that tracks how your MC flirts.

Reserved vs Outgoing

Gentle vs Assertive

Serious vs Playful

Reckless vs Cautious

Bold Flirting vs Shy Flirting

The MC starts with scores directly in the middle for all of these (50 on a scale of 100); however, I decided not to code for much in the way of "middle ground" behavior. This saves me tons of coding and tons of agonizing about what a middle-of-the-road response would be. So, if your MC's score is above "49" they default to the characteristic listed first, but lower than that, they default to the one listed second.

The only score that is treated differently is the one for flirting. To default to bold, the score needs to be below 40, so the character must show a fairly direct preference for boldness in this area. I did this since shyness is a fairly "safe" bet for this type of characteristic.

Number 4 does not come into play very often - yet. As things heat up, some actions that the player does not get to choose will be determined by their score in this stat. Currently, there are only a few options to choose what influences this score. It is possible to barely have any score for this stat one way or another. I'm going to be increasing the influence of this and probably adding some new ways to get points for this as I do some editing.

As for how I determine if something raises or lowers a stat in general, I try to use my best judgment to determine motivation when I design the choices that influence stats. To me, being reckless or cautious could be either intentional or not. I think the first time this stat comes into play is in Chapter 1 when MC decides if they are going to try to steal the honeycakes at the beginning. Trying to snatch one gives an increase to recklessness since it could be a naughty or impulsive decision.

I also wanted 1, 4, and 5 to be independent of one another since someone could be more outgoing but very timid when they flirt and cautious when they act. Outgoing/Reserved is another that needs some adjusting as well and will be tweaked in the future.

The others are more straightforward. If an action or speech choice is more kind/soft/mild/considerate, I label it "gentle." If it is more direct or even a bit aggressive, I label it "assertive." I kinda just have to use my own interpretation as best I can, and I know that to other people some of my options will feel flipped (occupational hazard, lol).

I have liked this system for the most part. It took a lot of working out when I got started. I was just learning so it was easily a solid week of me just hammering out what I understood and what worked. I have learned so much since then. I knew I wanted to keep things paired down to ease my own burden. Lots of stats can be so much fun in a game, but I just do not want to get too lost in it, so I keep my focus narrow.

Hope that helps, Nony! If you have follow-up questions, please feel free to let me know! ^_^

A side note, while we are on the subject...

For my next IF, I may play with a different way to set the MC personality. I may just have players pick at the beginning from either specific stats or like 4 or 5 MC archetypes. The wheels are still turning on this though, nothing is set!

[cruiseshipmoment]

@1989worshipper Gladly!

So we can guess that their memories of the event are somewhat skewed, since we know that's happened before (e.g. Dennis thinks he was the Golden God in high school, when people actually found him erratic and off-putting.). We know they tend to remember things as better than they were as a coping mechanism.

Charlie is huffing substances at work. Not nearly as much as he does in the present, but it's noticeable, because who on Earth would willingly put their face in a communal shoe? Charlie would, because he's huffing the cleaner. Even the rosy version of the story involves substance use connected to childhood trauma.

With Dennis it's probably more accurate to say that we get a better look into why Dennis is how he is. Note the inconsistency between Dennis' previously expressed wants (veterinary medicine, academic psychology), and what he expects he'll actually end up doing (working for his dad). Has he already given up on what he actually wants to do by this point? Is he deferring to his dad because Frank is abusive to him? Dennis remembers saying, "I can't make him mad" about his dad. Is he having an identity crisis? Part of BPD is struggling to feel a consistent sense of who you are.

Additionally, Dennis freezes and is stuck watching Frank sleep with a prostitute, which is a consistent response to sexual trauma for him. (See "PTSDee," in which he gets quiet and scared when the older women harass him.) Freezing on its own isn't pathological, but it's a pattern for him.

Then we have Mac. Mac is so clearly dealing drugs because he wants to be like his dad. He's terrible at it. He's not good at keeping himself safe. He could do just fine only working at the roller rink, but his parents messed up his ability to develop his own sense of self, so he's trying to be Luther 2: Electric Boogaloo.

Also, they don't change the bar's decor or name. They immediately get stuck in how it was when they got there, which is 100% a metaphor for how none of them can move forward psychologically either.

There's a post out there that says "The Gang Buys a Roller Rink" is likely the three of them telling themselves a story in which Everything Was Fine until a specific point in adulthood, instead of reckoning with the fact that literally all of them have extensive childhood trauma. I think that post is right.

Fascinating that even if "The Gang Buys a Roller Rink" is the boys' much rosier version of what really happened, they still all show signs of their current mental health issues.

[badadboombadabing26]

What is it with me and my obsession with men who have grown up in the circus

[schemelin]

Palmer and Altairus

[averlym]

"now, doesn't that look nice?" [insp]

[levemetal]

Retired happy Junmei for no reason at all except let them be happy post-canon that's all.

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

So I have a couple of ways that I am considering quantifying the performance of each competitor in this competition. My ultimate goal is to make a model out of publicly available information that fits the trend here that I can use to approximate a new competitor's performance and seed it accordingly.

I may have more ideas later, but here are the ones I have now:

Option 1

Purpose

This option is an approximation of the next option. It reasons that a competitor that gets into a later round is stronger, therefore a vote in a higher round is "worth" more.

Cons

My seeding was bad (as discussed previously). It is possible that a strong competitor was eliminated earlier in the competition than expected, due to erroneously going against an even stronger competitor. In this case, its "strength points" might be underrepresented.

Option 2

Purpose

This option seeks to add up every single vote a competitor got throughout the entire competition.

Cons

Again, a strong competitor could have been eliminated sooner than anticipated due to my poor seeding. If a competitor is eliminated, they obviously cannot acquire more votes and thus would be underrepresented by this metric.

Option 3

Purpose

This option seeks to purely measure the amount of votes a competitor got on its last round.

Cons

Competitions tend to get more engagement as they progress, which results, in this case, in more votes. Thus, potential issues for the previous two options still apply somewhat. Furthermore, a standout competitor that is eliminated prematurely might have a stand-out performance in its relevant round compared to other polls.

Option 4

Purpose

To get a ratio of votes cast for the competitor in their final round to all votes cast in that round.

Cons

All of previous option, except for standout competitors being underrepresented. Additionally, it has an additional flaw of possibly counting many people's votes multiple times. Many people vote on multiple polls in a round, so their votes on other polls would count against the competitor, even if they voted for it.

Option 5

Purpose

To find the ratio of votes cast for the competitor in total to total votes cast in a round the competitor was in.

Cons

Same as above. However, it may be canceled out somewhat by people voting for the competitor multiple times over several points.

Option 6

Purpose

To find the average amount of votes the competitor got over each round it was involved in

Cons

Honestly, this seems to be pretty good; I can't think of any major flaws. However, it would be time-consuming to record.

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads / storygraph

Something More

YA contemporary about a Palestinian-Canadian girl starting high school, navigating new crushes and accepting her recent autism diagnosis

[un-pearable]

why are 99% of crochet animal patterns just vague blobs. cmon. i know we can do better as a community. have you seen the shit the national parks service put out? yeah, the NPS. there are grandmas on the frontlines of the most formally accurate critters this side of a 3D printer. we can do better than orb with two triangles sewn on. we can make a more accurate cat. that is NOT what a turtle looks like. step AWAY from the axolotl

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Hey what do you think of Master Khoga? I love the yiga in general but Khoga's been kinda divisive. Personally, I love him!

Hey, thanks for the ask!

He actually was my light in the tunnel while playing TotK, his boss battles were delightful and his whole persona was a breath of fresh air --I was grinning every time he was on screen, and I'm super happy they allowed themselves to get really goofy there. I really adored TotK's yigas, I think they make for great antagonists even from a gameplay perspective, as they directly interact with the Ultrahand mechanics and give a much needed spark to the Depths.

There's always the notion that, you know, it would have been cool to enrich the whole "the yigas have an actual reason to be pissed off, and they have gotten yet another step closer to Team Rocket level of shenanigans since BotW, where they already had that very well paced build-up of goofs, instead of exploring actual grievances with Hyrule, and given the game it could have been interesting", but I dooon't think the yigas, as they have been set up by the games, serve to explore this side super well given they are being undermined by the tone at every step. So I think the yigas are fine as is, but I just wish we would have had something else to fill up that role. In the absence of that, yeah, Kohga and the Yigas (great band name) might be a little much and/or underwhelming under a certain light, but I had fun, and I feel like everybody who worked on them had fun too, and that's good for me honestly haha

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

In case it's hard to read/understand: "If I had a nickel for every time I had a story with a blonde girl named after a plant, who has a German father and a French mother but absolutely hates said mom, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice."

weird, extremely-specific tropes in my stories: pt 1

[tahirkarim2244]

Advance EMF Security Pet Pendant

[winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts]

thinking more thoughts!!

Kiley time-

I uh- kind of poured all my chaotic energy into her, and separated her from the rest of the npc cast? Otherwise the dialogue would get totally fucked, and my ‘I need to hit this story with a drama nuke’ desire would cause trouble.

So she’s uhhh off on her adventure of a different genre. (But stuff she does Will affect things... dun dun dunnnn) but dude Wow she would be so irritated by Jun. Good thing we’re going to Sanctuary to leave them and take Preston.... OR THAT IS WHAT I WOULD SAY if she didn’t want to be anywhere near the vault!! We’re going somewhere else, babeyyyyy! Maybe talking with him and Murphy would bring some understanding (is what I would say if I were doing big character development in the beginning but we’re not!!) Shoving my desire for conflict into this.

[mimsically]

What do I want

Short-term: have fun, feel in community with people who are similar to me, flirt with pretty girls and enbys, cuddle, receive loving and caring physical touch from people who are romantically and sexually interested in me, continue making this city a real home to me, have more sex, get my kinks scratched

Long-term: a nesting partner (platonic or romantic honestly at this point) someone that can help me make a home cause caring for a place all by myself is so so taxing on my neurodivergence, have a constellation of partners, get my needs met in a variety of new and different ways, to not be sleeping alone all the time, be getting my needs met so much that I'm able to discover new things about myself, have someone I can trust enough to collar me again, to trust myself and my feelings