#Consciousness Conundrums

[metanarrates]

i think that there is some type of test being posed to me every time a creator holds up a couple of fingerpuppets and goes "im going to make you think about how you quantify what makes a Real Guy." i consistently fail this test because unfortunately 100% of the time i tend to just skip over that question and point at the puppet and go "yep that is a Real Guy."

[azukilynn]

ambivalence

how do you tell those few people who matter, who actually care, that you do not want to die but that you aren't very keen about living either

how do you iterate this going through the motions: clock-in, clock-out, eat, sleep, lather, rinse, repeat as nothing more than madness, sorrow, rage, silence, this endless, lonely fortitude

how do you sit on a fence without falling to either side, beauty here, decay there, both of them alluring, like the Sirens of Odysseus

how do you tell your best friend that you love her more than anything in this world, for calling you Sweet Sister

how do you straddle a conundrum, do you grip it with your upper thighs, as if it were a bucking horse, untamed, not yet broken, wild

how do you survive

azuki lynn

[satellitefish]

Raise your hand if you’ve ever not done what you were told <no pause> yeah I thought so. And those not raising their hands because they don’t like to be told what to do, well played, sentient being. Well played.

So it’s everyone, basically. Why do we do this? “Here’s the key to unlocking all the answers of the universe, all you gotta do is pick up this piece of paper and OH NO no sorry that wasn’t right your eyes looked at me first that wasn’t part of the deal. No you don’t get another try.” Classic universe.

So I just want to say you’re all doing a bloody good job. Especially you, Conundrum. You’re doing juuuuust fine.

~Deleted scene~

Endorphins help to keep us going. We value them. But we need just the right amount. And maybe that’s why people fight. They want the world their way so they can have their endorphins. But they’re doing it at the expense of other people’s endorphins. And maybe endorphins shouldn’t be a tradable commodity.

~later, at the pharmacy~

‘50ccs of endorphins please.’

~Nonsecateur~

The medicine worked. Oh my.

[mywitchyblog]

Reality Shifting and Age Changing Explained: A Deep Dive into the "Controversial" Practice

Introduction: Reality Shifting, the mind-bending practice of moving your consciousness/awareness to another reality (known as a Desired Reality or DR), has sparked intense debates within the community. One of the hottest topics? Age changing – the act of shifting to a different age in your DR. This shit has caused so many arguments, especially about ethics and what's "allowed". Let's break down why age changing isn't as fucked up as some people make it out to be, and why those who say otherwise might need to reconsider their stance. I will Mostly talk about agin yourself down since that is what is making the biggest noise

Taglist of various people who i think would be interested in this post (i will update it progresively) :

@shiftersroom You wanted my opinion ? Here is it /pos

@norumis I saw that post of yours

@evangelineshifts and @reiashiftsrealities Talked my project on your discord lol.

@jolynesmom Loved your post about it btw

Warning : READ IT FULLY BEFORE JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS THANK YEW

My Race Chaging Post

Masterlist

Part I: Why Age Changing Isn't Bad

a. The Maturity Conundrum: When you look at the source of this controversy, you'll realize it revolves around the maturity gap between the shifter and their DR . Critics argue that age changing either doesn't alter your maturity (meaning if you're a teen in your DR, you still have the maturity of your Original Reality (OR), essentially making you an adult in a minor's body) or that it's inherently problematic. But here's the thing: when you shift, you fully take on the age and mindset of your DR self. You're not just playing pretend; you actually become that age. If you can get your DR self's memories, abilities, skills, and personality, why the fuck is it so far-fetched to think you can have their maturity as well?

Let's break this down scientifically. Maturity is dependent on brain development, more precisely, the coordinated functioning of four distinct zones:

Prefrontal Cortex (PFC): The "CEO" responsible for planning, decision-making, impulse control, and emotional regulation.

Limbic System: The "Marketing & Sales" team that influences emotions, motivation, and memory, shaping how we perceive situations and respond.

Basal Ganglia: The "Operations" department that controls habits and translates plans into action.

Temporal Lobes: "Customer Service & Public Relations" that processes social cues and guides our interactions with others.

This neurological ensemble shows that maturity is something physical, related to the brain development of an individual. It's been established in the shifting community that you cannot bring physical things across realities, so what makes you think you can bring your CR brain with you?

If that were the case, scripting a different personality, skills, and knowledge would be impossible. This means your DR self has its own cognitive and emotional frameworks developed in that reality. Your experiences and maturity are context-specific (in that case reality specific), so when you shift back to your OR, you regain your OR maturity. Shifting isn't like a permanent personality change; it's more like fully immersing yourself in a different role or life. Which is exactly what happens.

b. Debunking Anti-Aging Arguments:

"If you age yourself down, that means you're attracted to minors/you're a pedophile": This argument is complete bullshit. If there are gay people shifting to be heterosexual, lesbian shifters shifting for men, aro/ace people shifting to experience romantic/sexual attraction they never do in this reality, then aging yourself down and potentially having romantic and/or sexual relationships as a minor with another minor doesn't mean you're attracted to minors as an adult in another reality. This take is a "Hasty Generalization" fallacy – making a broad generalization based on a small or unrepresentative sample.

"Why in this reality are you thinking about dating minors??": This type of take is not what you think it is, baby girl. It's called a fallacy, more specifically the Straw Man fallacy. It occurs when someone misrepresents or oversimplifies an opponent's argument to make it easier to attack or refute. In our case, they're trying to oversimplify something as complex and nuanced as reality shifting, not taking into account valid instances where one would age themselves down.

"Even if you are the same age, you still have the awareness of being an adult, which means you're a predator": And again, another fallacious argument. Seriously, aren't y'all sick and tired of bouncing on my wood all day long? That's not how shifting works, and you know it. We aren't even sure awareness works like this. It's just a theory, plus I can tell that a lot of people with this stupid-ass take haven't shifted at all.When you shift – and let me tell you because I did shift, so I know how awareness works – when you shift to a reality, you don't even realize you've shifted at first because for you, existing, waking up, just living in this reality is something normal, not extraordinary at all. Then something will trigger the fact that you know you've shifted, and from the perspective of you in your DR, you don't feel as if you "originate" from a specific reality. For you, your DR becomes your CR, and subsequently,so does your awareness. You just know there's another reality, another version of you that exists and that you're an adult there. Your existence/consciousness/awareness is like a circle: no beginning, no end, no origin.Plus, according to the concept of infinite realities and possibilities, you can change via scripting how your awareness works. I haven't done that; that's how I and thousand of shifters WHO DID ACTUALLY SHIFT personally experienced/perceived our awareness while in our DR.

"Using shifting to age yourself down to date a minor while being an adult hereand saying 'oh well according to multiverse I AM this age, it doesn't matter ifI'm an adult in a different reality' is similar to trying to pursue someone thesecond they are of legal age when that shit varies in other countries/states": Nah, seriously, do some of y'all have actual arguments to defend your point of view except fallacious ones that have as much value as my nonexistent heterosexuality? The statement equates aging down in a Desired Reality to the practice of pursuing someone as soon as they reach the legal age in this reality, which is a "false equivalence" fallacy. These scenarios are fundamentally different in nature and intent. In reality shifting, the individual adopts the full cognitive and emotional framework of their DR self, becoming that version of them entirely. This is not comparable to someone in this reality deliberately targeting individuals based on legal age thresholds. The intent and context are distinct. Do some of you people realise that an actual predator/creep/pedophile would not age themselves down once they realized they could strike a chord as an adult in their DR without any consequences?

c. Valid Reasons for Age Changing:

Exploration and Nostalgia: Some people age down to relive experiences or explore stages of life they missed in their OR. It's like getting a second chance at living life. Maybe you want to experience high school without the anxiety, or have a childhood free from trauma. This shit can be healing as fuck and the best therapy there is in the multiverse.

Healing and Fulfillment: Shifting to a younger age can help heal from missed opportunities or trauma, like experiencing a fulfilling teenage romance or a carefree childhood. It's a way to rewrite parts of your life that were painful or unfulfilled.Imagine being able to have loving parents if you didn't in your OR,or getting to pursue that dream you gave up on as a kid.

Non-Sexual Intentions: Many shifters change their age without any sexual motives, focusing more on friendships, adventures, or just being in a different stage of life. It's about experiencing life from a different perspective, not about fetishizing youth. You might want to join a high school club, go to prom, or just enjoy the simpler responsibilities of being younger.

Tried to shift since being a minor: A lot of shifters discovered shifting when they were still minors and made DRs whose age corresponded to the one they had in their OR at the time and tried to shift again and again despite the years. Are you telling me that you're going to tell those people to discard those realities the moment they turn 18? Bitch, make it make sense and you cant.

Part II: Examining the Discourse Within the Reality Shifting Community

a. Teenage Shifters : Double standards and hypocrisy. Teenage Shifters need to acknowledge the hypocrisy of them shifting to a DR where they are a married adult with kids one day and then deciding to shift to a reality where they are 15 and dating another 15-year-old the next. This inconsistency becomes even more problematic when they complain about their "maturity" being affected upon returning to their original reality. Furthermore, these same shifters often label adult shifters as "predatory" for shifting to realities where they interact with high schoolers, failing to recognize the double standard in their own behavior.

This hypocrisy extends to their attitudes towards sexual content and relationships. Teenage shifters often defend scripting mature content in their desired realities, arguing that teens naturally have such desires. However, they become outraged when adult shifters express a desire to experience young love again through shifting. This inconsistency is further highlighted by their willingness to engage in adult behaviors with older partners in one reality while simultaneously pursuing teenage relationships in another.

This hypocrisy extends to their attitudes towards sexual content and relationships. Teenage shifters often defend scripting mature content in their desired realities, arguing that teens naturally have such desires. However, they become outraged when adult shifters express a desire to experience young love again (or expereince young love they never did) through shifting. This inconsistency is further highlighted by their willingness to engage in adult behaviors with older partners in one reality while simultaneously pursuing teenage relationships in another.

Moreover, the logic applied to adult shifters - that having a teenage love interest in a desired reality implies attraction to minors in the original reality - is not consistently applied to teenage shifters who frequently shift between adult and teenage experiences. This disparity in reasoning further underscores the bias within the community.

Lastly, the pressure to shift before reaching adulthood in the original reality is a concerning trend. The community's belief that minor-aged shifters can shift to any age creates an implicit urgency to experience various realities before becoming an adult, after which such experiences might be viewed as pedophilic fantasies by the wider community.

Many Shifters who are minors (I do not say that all shifters that are minors are like this, just a huge amount) have a very odd understanding of what shifting is. They often treat it like cosplay, which is not what true shifting is about. They accuse adults who age down of being predatory, yet they:

Age themselves up to be with adults.

Age down adults to be with them.

Have pornstar or stripper DRs, which is ironic considering their criticisms.

This double standard reveals a lack of understanding about the true nature of shifting and the subjective experience of each shifter. It's like they're playing by different rules depending on what suits them at the moment.

Consider this mind-fuck: A 17-year-old shifts to another reality, lives there for 40 years, then comes back and dates someone who's 17 in their CR. By their logic, this makes them predatory because they've lived for 57 years. Conversely, if they return to their CR as a 17-year-old and date a 57-year-old because they're "57 in shifting age," it's still seen as wrong. This highlights the inconsistency in their arguments and the subjective nature of age and experience across realities.

It's like trying to apply the rules of chess to a game of poker – it just doesn't work. Each reality has its own context, and trying to apply blanket rules across all of them is an exercise in futility.

b. The Hypocrisy of shiftok : Oppresive and unfounded dogma, lack of empathy and Cultish Tendencies

The TikTok reality shifting community, colloquially known as "Shiftok," often displays a concerning lack of empathy and nuanced understanding when discussing complex issues surrounding shifting experiences. This is exemplified by the interaction shown in the image below :

In the first comment, an individual expresses feeling emotionally and mentally stunted due to missing formative experiences while growing up(which is true a lack of expereince can stunt someone s well being and developement). They view shifting as a potential way to have those experiences and achieve personal growth. This perspective highlights the therapeutic potential some see in reality shifting. However, the response to this vulnerable admission is harsh and dismissive: "Just bc your childhood got fcked up does not give you the right to fck up another child's." This reply demonstrates the judgmental attitude prevalent in the Shiftok community, where complex motivations are often reduced to simplistic, moralistic condemnations.

This interaction illustrates several problematic aspects of the Shiftok discourse:

Lack of empathy: The responder shows no compassion for the original commenter's expressed trauma and stunted development.

Misinterpretation of intentions: The reply assumes malicious intent, ignoring the therapeutic or self-exploratory motivations expressed.

Imposing rigid moral standards: The response applies a single moral framework without considering the subjective nature of ethics across different realities.

Oversimplification of complex issues: The nuanced topic of personal growth through shifting is reduced to a binary "right" or "wrong" judgment.

Hypocrisy: While condemning certain shifting practices, the community often overlooks similar ethical concerns in other contexts, such as minors scripting adult relationships.

This example shows perfectly the need for more thoughtful, empathetic discourse within the shifting community. Rather than rush to judgment, shiftokers should strive to understand diverse perspectives and the complex reasons one would shift to a specific DR of theirs.Otherwise people will keep thinking that we are nothing more than a cult that seeks to exploit the mental health of broken teenagers and prey on their desperationf for fame and money.

c.The "holier than thou" attitude: The "holier than thou" attitude, also known as moral superiority or self-righteousness, is a mindset where individuals or groups believe their moral standards, beliefs, or practices are superior to those of others. This attitude often manifests as judgmental behavior, condescension, and a lack of empathy towards differing viewpoints or experiences.

In the context of Shiftok, the TikTok reality shifting community, this "holier than thou" attitude is particularly evident and problematic. It applies to Shiftok in several ways:

Moral Absolutism: Shiftokers often apply rigid moral standards derived from their original reality (OR) to all desired realities (DRs), ignoring the concept of subjective morality across infinite realities.

Selective Condemnation: The community tends to harshly judge certain practices (like adults shifting to younger ages) while overlooking potentially problematic behaviors by minors (such as scripting adult relationships in their DRs) or people scripting in trauma abuse or that people get SA ed or are in relationship with problematoc people such as murderers and villains.

Lack of Empathy: As demonstrated in the image, there's often a dismissive attitude towards individuals expressing personal struggles or complex motivations for their shifting practices.

Oversimplification of Complex Issues: Nuanced topics are frequently reduced to simplistic "right" or "wrong" judgments, disregarding the multifaceted nature of personal experiences and ethical considerations in shifting. Shiting at its core is complex, nuanced and multifaceted, no black and white its gray.

Assumption of Expertise: Despite many members potentially lacking deep understanding or personal experience with shifting, there's a tendency to speak authoritatively on what is or isn't acceptable in shifting practices. It's always those who either have never shifted or minishifted who yap the most about shifting like they know it all . Honey you don't , you know nothing you have nothing to talk about shut up and try to shift before opening your mouth on a subject you do not have an expertise about.

Gatekeeping: Some members of the community may attempt to dictate who can or cannot engage in certain shifting practices based on arbitrary criteria or personal biases.

Dismissal of Therapeutic Potential: The community often overlooks or dismisses the potential therapeutic or personal growth aspects of shifting, focusing instead on enforcing their perceived moral standards.

This "holier than thou" attitude in Shiftok creates an environment that suppresses open dialogue, discourages the sharing of diverse experiences, and potentially alienates individuals seeking support or understanding within the community. It contradicts the very essence of reality shifting, which is about exploring different perspectives and experiences across infinite realities.

And also the most concerning consequence of this effect, this hypocrisy, this lack of empathy makes shiftok look like a cult in the eyes of other spiritual communities. I do know and disagree when antishifters make the statement that shifting is a cult but I understand and come to agree with them when they say that shiftok is a cult.

This community that is supposed to help one another is just oppressing bullying and suppressing people when they have an opinion that differs from the dogma big shiftokers imposed on the rest of the community thinking that their word is law and they get to write the rules of a practice that is the antithesis of that .Shifting is the epitome of breaking the chains the constraints of this world and its rules. Plus do some of you lot realise that those people that you worship do not give a flying fuck about you ? These people pray on your desperation to keep you on their page.

Shiftok is nothing more than a living sack of horse shit. All the knowledge and tips are just poorly regurgitated from amino and other shifting spaces that existed far before 2020. They immediately closed themselves to outsiders when they saw the damage shiftok did to the community as a whole. When a cultist, shiftoker claims to have this groundbreaking solution /information about shifting keep in mind that 100% of the time it was already known elsewhere.Just not on shiftok and now they are the new shifting Messiah lmao.

Shiftokers sometimes (more like always tbh) ignore the fact that shifting involves complete immersion in the new reality. If it's possible to gain your DR self's memories and personality, then obviously, you'll also become their age mentally as well. You're not just dropped into that life with no context; you fully integrate into that age and lifestyle. When you shift to your DR, that's your new CR. This reality becomes a DR. This reality is not the baseline for anything.

Some people say their memories of their OR feel far away while their DR memories are front and center, making their DR life feel like their primary existence. This means you won't feel like an imposter, no matter how different your DR is from your OR.

In ancient times, gaining spiritual knowledge like shifting required understanding that you are a soul or consciousness having a human experience. Modern cultists shiftokers often skip this step, leading to judgment and misunderstanding. Shifting should be a tool for self-discovery and growth, not just entertainment. This lack of spiritual foundation often leads to a superficial understanding of shifting. It's not just about living out fantasies; it's about expanding consciousness and understanding the nature of reality itself. By focusing solely on the surface-level aspects of shifting, many miss out on the profound insights and personal growth that can come from this practice. Because of the damage shiftok did on the reputation of the practise it is nearly or impossible to break free of the stereotype of shifter being a bunch of mentally ill schoolgirls shifting to be with the wizard version of Nazis (looking at you girlies that shift for Draco Malfoy or Tom Riddle).

Honestly that is the thing that makes me cackle. The most about shiftok i keep hearing and seeing videos from these cultists shiftokers asking and wondering themselves why is the platform dying and why theres no active discussions like sharing tips story times etc...

Bombastic Side Eye-Do you fuckers realised it is all your fault ? You try and silence people when their opinion differs than the one you have.They experienced something you did not you shame and burn them at the stake for it no wonder why people leave that ghetto ass platform and im scared just like a lot of us here of the massive exodus of shiftokers that will happen once tiktok is banned in the US.

Conclusion:

Age changing in shifting isn't inherently bad. It lets people explore different life stages, fulfill desires, and grow personally. The real issue comes when age changing is done for fetishizing purposes, turning ages into objects for sexual gratification. As long as shifters are respectful, consensual, and not exploitative, age changing can be a valid and enriching part of the shifting experience.

Remember, shifting is about expanding your consciousness and experiencing the infinite possibilities of existence. Don't let narrow-minded judgments hold you back from exploring the full potential of this practice. Stay open, stay curious, and most importantly, stay true to your own journey of self-discovery through shifting.

[matcha-milkies]

Married Life Worldbuilding Lore Drop ♡

❝ Bill has changed the cultural landscape of romance in some pretty sad ways. ❞

I’ve been rambling in my Discord server and wanted to do a lore dump about the post-Bill culture of Dimension 13’\ (the official designation of the Married Life AU). I want everyone to be on the same page, since some server members have expressed wanting to create fan content surrounding this lore!

It's no Chapter 10, but I hope it's fun to read all the same. Big walls of text under the cut:

♡ Despite outward appearances, Bill is terribly insecure about his relationship with Ford (part of the reason he keeps him locked up so tightly).

♡ You can imagine Bill would hate seeing anyone in a relationship happier or healthier than his. He may not even be consciously aware of why looking at happy couples fills him with so much visceral, inexplicable envy anger, but it does.

♡ At first, this might manifest in him favoring the torture of happy couples he comes across in his domain. Singles are more likely to get off scot-free. This is why Bill flesh-sculpted Jonathan and Lucy and then made Ford eat them. They were truly in love and committed to each other, and Bill couldn’t stand the sight of them.

♡ This insecurity in Bill escalates. He needs more control, but he also needs to be Mr. Nice Emperor. He appoints himself the arbiter of romance/marriage. Because he knows best on the subject of course! And he just doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, getting into a relationship they shouldn’t. All non-Bill-sanctioned relationships of a romantic nature are illegal and punishable by neverending torture (which Bill might subject you to anyway, for funsies, but unsanctioned romance is a surefire way to rocket you to the top of the list of candidates, and Bill has an ever-growing number of enforcers and loyalists). But don’t worry, it’s still for your own good! Very 1984 I know. If you’re actually in love, good luck getting that approved.

♡ This leads to one of two major culture shifts:

Either A) 13 adopts a hypersexual culture (much like the Hand of God AU for those familiar, although for very different reasons in this case). Romantic love becomes a sort of nigh unobtainable virtue reserved for God and his beloved, and a select chosen few. People resort to sex to satisfy their need for intimate connection.

OR B) 13 becomes hyper asexual for fear that anything bordering on passion will anger Bill. This however does create a conundrum in the lack of reproduction, at least for species who procreate via sex. Could still work if people still have sex but it’s a very… businesslike transaction and possibly organized/ordered by group leaders. Literally “I only have sex in missionary position for the sole purpose of procreation.”

^ I have not yet fully committed to either of the above routes, though I’m leaning more towards B.

♡ The heart and other romantic symbology such as roses and swans become sacred and divine. (Designs of Married Life Ford from later in the story will feature a red heart tattoo under his left eye).

♡ This monopoly on romance is of course extremely authoritarian, but literally in every other aspect of life, Bill is like “Go nuts, do what you want.” It’s just this one thing in particular that he fixates on and becomes obsessed with controlling.

♡ This also forces people to vicariously enjoy Bill and Ford’s love story, as it becomes one of the only ways the average person can experience romance at all. It tends to create some very obsessive fans. Bill turns their life into a sitcom called “Married Life” and broadcasts it across the dimension as daytime television. Some tweaks and edits are made of course, to make for better TV and not at all to give Bill the most flattering angle possible. However, Bill doesn’t always understand what does or does not register as disturbing to humans, and something is still very obviously wrong with this relationship. Anyone who isn’t a delusional Ciphertologist knows full well what’s going on here, but you should really keep those thoughts about domestic abuse to yourself if you know what’s good for you.

This TV series even makes it beyond Dimension 13’\ as VHS tapes. There are a few lost episodes and a lot of behind-the-scenes trivia that you’d have to dig pretty deep to find.

The sitcom aspect of the lore could honestly be an entire post on its own, and I look forward to developing it further and incorporating it into future chapters as well. It just might be a while before it can come into the story in any significant way, and it is helpful to have this context when understanding the wider culture of 13’\, so I wanted to get the lore out there.

**clicks button that brings us to the final PowerPoint slide which says “Thank you! Any questions?”**

[tugoslovenka]

Safehaven

Summary: You have felt a little insecure in your situationship with Halsin as of late. Fortunately, the druid seems to have taken notice—and takes some steps in consoling your fears and self-consciousness.

A/N: I just want to say this was something of a self-comfort fic. I don’t often see plus size/fat bodies in these fics (I’m responsible for doing the same in all of my work too) and I felt like making active efforts in remedying that. Especially when it comes to Halsin. With that said, obviously don’t take this as anything other than an exercise in writing something different. All bodies are beautiful, I just want fat ones to be more represented in fiction sometimes.

This is also my first time writing in second person and I must say, it’s very unnatural for me to do so. But I hope it at least tickled someone’s pickle.

Also available on AO3!

The tent was haphazardly made. Having lived in Baldur’s Gate for most of your life, nature was not where you felt most comfortable. Although, this entire adventure has been an exercise in understanding yourself ever since the Nautiloid crash a couple of weeks ago. Sometimes you felt utterly useless, having to trek through some of the rougher parts of this strange land. Other times, you felt strong—a leader, even, among your companions. It was an odd feeling, stepping in to mediate a confrontation, consoling others or simply having others come to you for advice.

The anonymity brought upon by the abduction slowly turned into a journey of self-discovery. Baldur’s Gate was too big a city to truly achieve the passions you wanted to. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, with strangers who are equally as confused as you, it’s different.

You’re different.

The shadow looming over you brings you back to the sound of crackling fires and whetstone against metal. In tattered leathers, Halsin stands, a hand outstretched towards you.

“Yes?” you ask, following the bulging veins on his arm until you note some of the scarring on his shoulder from today’s goblin encounter. Your eyes quickly divert to meet his—warm brown, with a speckle of ember that almost glows at night.

“Where have your thoughts leapt?” He cocks his head to one side, observing you with care. The druid had an uncanny ability to sense your discomfort from a mile away. You sometimes wondered if he had an infinite supply of Potions of Mind Reading, topping up each hour just to ensure he was inside your head at all times.

“Oh?” you quip, hugging your own body in response. “It’s been a long day, I suppose.”

He kneels down, blocking most of the light from the campfire. With elbows resting on his thighs, he continues to stare. Instinctively, you raise your knees until most of your body is covered. You wrap your arms around them, placing your chin in between. His eyes simply follow your movements.

“Is that all?” He turns his hand until his palm faces you, offering it in case you felt the need to hold it. You always did, but embarrassment or pride often had the last word in the conundrum of comfort.

Halsin never pushed you to share more than you were willing to, and so very quickly, he retracts his hand. The air is particularly chilly tonight, and even though you handle the cold better than most, the goosebumps spreading on your skin prompt you to involuntarily shake when a gust of wind passes by.

“I do not mean this to offend you, but your tent is…” he trails off, looking at the deflated fabric that could serve as a second blanket if need be. “... Not very—”

“—It’s shit, I’m aware,” you chuckle, letting out a yawn when you feel the shakes come again.

Halsin smiles. Almost immediately, you grin back at him. There is something so captivating about the wrinkles on the sides of his face showing each time he is chuffed with your comments. He would call them ‘direct’ even though you knew he probably meant rude. Not that he would allow himself to say so.

“I was going to say not very safe,” he corrects. “I can feel a storm brewing below my feet. If it encourages the bunnies to burrow, then I imagine it will not be pleasant.”

“After all this, dying from drowning by rainfall sounds rather embarrassing.” Your hands begin to rub your shoulders in an effort to raise your body temperature.

“I know we have both been rather busy as of late, but I do miss you, little one.”

Little one. Your teeth grit at the sound of it. It takes the willpower of a thousand suns to not bite off a chunk inside your cheek when he says it. The first time he did, it was following a particularly generous indulging of your cunt—when he refused to be serviced in return—and wrapped you in his arms instead. A thank you, he called it, for aiding him in the fight against his captors. The second time was after your face was painted in his seed, scorching hot like the anger he had for Kagha’s activities in the Grove. A kiss on the forehead followed. The third time was during a cuddle atop one of the particularly beautiful outlooks near the settlement—where he Wildshaped into a bear to keep you cushioned against the uncomfortable floor.

It was frustrating. Never have you felt so secure yet vulnerable with a person. At times, he made you feel like the most unique flower in a gardenia of preciousness, and yet he almost seemed frightened to touch you. You couldn’t remember the last time his touch was wanting, and it had been a month since your last indulgement.

“You certainly don’t act like it,” you murmur, scooting away until you felt your back hit the tent—or whatever was left of it.

Halsin’s eyes narrow. You have studied his expressions well enough to know this was his way of practicing his thoughts before he felt comfortable enough to speak out loud. He opens his mouth to utter a protest, but the loud cheers from Karlach interrupt him. You both turn to see the tiefling using a stick to gently pet over Scratch’s head, squealing in excitement when he drops a ball with a bark.

You take the time to disengage.

“Nevermind.” Standing, you pat away some of the dirt on your thighs and pull down your top, careful to pull at the bottom until it covers the bits you want it to. The druid is quick to follow, and you find yourself blocked by his giant frame as he looks down at you with concern.

“Come,” he instructs, limply pointing towards a direction away from the camp. “Follow me.”

“Halsin, it’s late and if this storm is—”

“Please.” 

You relent. With a groan, you lean down to pick up the giant blanket one of the tieflings knitted as a farewell present and wrap it around your front. Halsin is the first to move, occasionally looking back to check if you’re nearby. Once you’re far enough that the noise from camp turns distant is when his hand intertwines with yours, squeezing a few times to offer reassurance. 

Rolling your eyes would have been the appropriate response, were it not for the exhaustion you feel in fighting the inside voices and the man responsible for them.

The journey is spent in complete silence, though the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. It takes some time until you reach a nearby creek. Halsin lets go of your hand once you reach a spot he finds appropriate, but not before giving it a gentle kiss. He tells you he will take precaution in scoping the area for any threats. You take the time to sit on a nearby rock, curling the blanket until it covers every inch of your body save for your head.

It doesn't take long. The approaching footsteps catch your attention and you see the large druid return with a couple of branches. He kneels next to you, using some of the nearby rocks to create a campfire.

“I know you are upset with me,” he murmurs, striking two sharp stones against one another until sparks fly in the air. “But I wish to understand why.”

You sigh. “Halsin, is this the time?”

“I miss you,” he retorts, continuing to smash the pebbles more aggressively this time. “And I cannot bear this tension.”

“Tension?” you scoff. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you are not.”

Another spark.

“And how would you know?”

“Because I know you.”

More sparks.

“Do you?”

“It would help if you allowed me to discern what troubles you.”

A flame. A small one, followed by smoke that quickly blows in the wind. Halsin finally turns to you, one knee on the ground as he rests his body weight on one hand.

“Do I trouble you?” you challenge, gently rocking your knee in frustration.

His expression softens. “What?”

“It does seem practiced for you to whisk me away somewhere where no one else can see us any time you want to show me affection,” you snap. “I wonder if I’m the trouble here.”

Halsin shakes his head. The fire next to him begins growing until you feel a wave of heat in your direction.

“You are… anything but. What would make you say that?”

You shrug, pressing your lips together. Either he was rather oblivious at his actions, or just well-rehearsed in the responses he typically gave. You see him searching your eyes, darting left and right as though they would give him the sense he sought for.

“When was the last time you touched me in front of everyone?” you ask, voice lowering barely above a whisper. “When was the last time you touched me with purpose?”

“My heart, you misunderstand,” he responds, inching closer until you can smell the salt and earth his body carries. “My lack of affections have nothing to do with you, but with—with… well, me.”

Another excuse. One that you’ve heard many times before.

“Of course,” you scoff, turning your gaze to the creak nearby.

He reaches through the blanket until you can feel his hand tightening around yours. “Look at me.” 

You do so, reluctantly.

“I have lived for many years. I have taken many lovers. You are not some conquest I keep on a tab of many. I have—the shadow curse, it has been preoccupying my daydreams and nightmares. It has nothing to do with you.”

Your eyes narrow. “Then why come to me in the first place?”

He takes a few minutes before answering. “Passion. Attraction. Long lonely nights that needed—”

“—So that’s the reason. You needed a quick release.”

“No,” he quickly interrupts. “You are much more than a passionate night. But that’s precisely why I don’t wish to rush this. I don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

“And what idea is that?” you arch an eyebrow.

“That somehow you are a quick solution for my frustrations. Yes, I am lonely and I have been, ever since I’ve had the Grove responsibilities thrust upon me. And yes, you have ignited a spark within me that threatens to explode into a wildfire.” Halsin’s thumb begins circling your hand. “But you are also wonderful. I can hear you speak about your love of painting until I grow old. I can watch you playing with those tiefling children until my eyes wet with tears. I can’t bear to see you fight, because my heart tears each time I see another scar on your body.” 

You search his eyes for deceit, the corners of which begin to sparkle in the dim moonlight. He curls his hand until it’s holding yours tightly, while his other reaches to touch the side of your face. You’ve always compared the rough skin on his palm to tree bark, and you would have melted into his touch were it not for the many questions you felt necessary to ask.

“It has nothing to do with the others or with you. I would happily cradle you in my arms each day, professing my adoration for you the moment the sun’s rays illuminate the skies until it dims down to the blackness of night. And I apologize that I have not done that.” His thumb rubs small circles on your cheek as he speaks, making sure to stare at you as though speaking to your soul.

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He tugs on your hand until you allow him to pull it towards his lips. He gives a gentle kiss on your knuckles, leaning his cheek against them. “I was not aware you wished it of me.”

You shake your head. “Much more than that, Halsin. I want you to crave me,” you profess. “I sometimes feel like you’re not willing to take the extra step. It’s as though you pull back from me when I need you most.”

He nods. “I do, but that’s mostly to contain myself. I may be an old bear, but there are some parts of me that I cannot fully control. I don’t wish to cause you any harm should it come to it. I am especially prone to outbursts at this time, given the circumstances.”

You pause. Halsin has sometimes spoken of his drawbacks—the side he’s not proud of as he would say—of being a druid. His Wildshape afforded him many conveniences, though even you have seen the yellow glow of his eyes at the height of his emotions. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you often had to squeeze your legs together to suppress the gushing need that rose from there at the very thought of it.

“Alright…” you trail off, forming a fist with your free hand, letting the anxiety rest there. “I suppose I’m not used to this. I more so felt you had changed your mind—didn’t find what you were expecting.”

“What do you mean?”

You nod towards your body in gesture. It takes him a short while before he understands the meaning, and quickly reaches to rest both hands against your cheeks. He shakes his head. “No. Never. You are important to me, attractive to me, as you are. What a privilege I have been bestowed upon, having mattered to you this much.”

With some apprehension, Halsin begins tugging at the large fur that covers most of your body. It easily slips down, allowing him full view of your frame, curled against yourself. He reaches forward, touching your neck first, dragging a finger from your chin until he reaches the shirt that covers the valley between your breasts.

“All of you—your softness, your plumpness, your swell,” he mutters, leaning until you feel the surprisingly soft lips against your skin. He inhales deeply, lips hovering over your left breast. “It does not matter. I love every bit of it.” Taking a hand, he reaches in the spot between your waist and hips, squeezing delicately. Instinctively, you jump at the discomfort, but he quickly stills you.

“Halsin, you don’t have to say any of this.” The nervous chuckle betrays you when your hand grabs his in an effort to move it aside. To this, he only hums. Before you have time to react, both hands tear the front of your shirt until your upper body is exposed to the elements. The same slow instincts fail to cover it, because his hands have tightened around your wrists before you can do so.

“Besides,” he continues, easily holding you down when you try to move your hands away. “Your voluptuousness makes for a greater resting place for all the seed I’m going to spill on account of this night.” 

Immediately, you stop fidgeting. Blinking a few times, it takes a moment for your brain to understand what your ears have perceived. The druid takes the opportunity to lean forward and take one of your breasts in his mouth. The contact makes you hiss, and still, you are unable to move from his grip. Instead, you moan, not caring for the loudness. His tongue has always been exceptionally good at weakening you. You can feel him twirl it around your nipple, followed by a light teething that prompts you to buck your hips forward.

“Halsin,” you moan, attempting to release from his hold for a second time. Fluttering your eyes closed, you lean back until you feel the tree trunk against your shoulder blades. He follows, not allowing you a moment of peace as he swirls his tongue over your hard nipple. Biting down, he begins suckling at the soft skin when you attempt to close your legs together to satisfy the ache between them.

With a pop, he releases your nipple, cheek resting against the skin as he looks up at you.

“Would you like that?” he wonders, a gentle bucking of his hips making it evident he too was seeking friction. “For me to show you how much I truly crave you?”

You bite your lip in response, hard enough that the metallic taste starts swirling somewhere inside your mouth. Nodding slowly, you attempt to tug away once again, and this time the druid allows it. With newfound freedom of movement, your hands find themselves fisting his messy hair when you propel yourself forward, landing on your knees and capturing his lips in yours. He is solid as stone, unmoving when you do so, and only grunts when your tongues find each other.

Hands begin roaming—his, yours—over soft and hardened bits, frantically looking for somewhere to rest, to hold. Halsin’s are particularly active, first finding your hair, then your cheeks, then your shoulders, then your hips, before finally resting at the front of your belly. You cringe and suck in air on impulse—habit. It only makes him squeeze harder.

“This is the body I have adored since the first time you granted me permission to touch it,” he growls, pulling away from your heated kisses. “I have hungered for every inch of you. Through sleepless nights and anxiety-ridden trips, I have grown to know this is what I want.”

Responding in full sentences is not an option. Not when he dips his head, trailing kisses along your belly, on the folds that he so carefully grabs hold of with one hand—while the other pushes itself through the confines of your trousers to find your soaking nub. Delightful cries escape your lips when he begins circling his fingers, putting enough pressure until your eyes roll in the back of your head from the feeling.

“The stream of pleasures you produce, I will lap like an animal starved,” he coos, free hand pushing you to sink lower, until he has enough space to lodge himself between your legs. “Then I will fuck you until you are mute from screaming. Are you content with that, my heart?”

Gods above and below, you think. You can only nod, and you do so, rather vigorously. The chuckle that escapes his lips seems to contend him for now, and so he momentarily leaves your aching clit to help free you from the confines of fabric. Resting slanted, partway exhausted and panting could not have been a sight to behold, but Halsin’s bulge spoke differently.  

“Please…” you beg.

“No need to beg,” he comments before standing up, hands finding the belt on his pants until they release the cock that bounces lightly against his stomach. “There is nowhere I would rather be than inside you.”

The very thought of having him rut into you was an occupying thought during most evenings. And despite the bruises your throat suffered for days the last time you attempted to take him fully, the gush of wetness sounds the night at the thought of your cunt choking it.

“Spread your legs,” he instructs. “I need to see you.”

You sit up, carefully aligning your backside until you are able to find a somewhat pleasant spot to rest against. Halsin’s hand reaches for his throbbing member, where you spot a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. He uses his thumb to spread it across his head, letting out a low groan as he does so. Needing no further encouragement, you spread your legs per his command, carefully analyzing his features and how they soften when you present yourself to him.

“Praise Silvanus,” he says, almost to himself. “How beautiful you are.”

Following his line of sight, you look down to see the mess that you have become. Glistening in the fire and moonlight, there is a trail of wetness that begins at your drooling hole, leading in both directions of your thighs. The druid clears his throat, and when you gaze up, you see the faintest glimmer of yellow light leave his eyes as he shakes his head. Letting go of his member, he drops down on his knees in front of you, staring at your pulsating cunt.

The heart that threatens to escape your chest follows the same rhythm between your legs. It’s craving to be touched—to be adored—and as though listening to your thoughts, Halsin leans in to give a soft kiss to your right thigh. Then your left. You look down to meet his eyes, as he meticulously drags his tongue where his lips first kiss, with enough hunger in his eyes to make you audibly moan at the sight.

 “I thought,” you gasp when he bites at your inner thigh. “I thought you said I wouldn’t have to beg.”

“No, but I will indulge in this for as long as I can,” he responds, scattering kisses in painstakingly slow fashion at the soft flesh of your thighs. He uses both hands to hold them, and with no effort on his part, sinks you lower on the stone until you are halfway lying down on your back. With legs in the air, he takes his time to study you.

You can see his hips moving rhythmically despite the control he attempts to assert, as though urging him forward. Still, he takes one hand to glide over your stomach, moving lower until it finally meets your center. You immediately hiss, pushing your head against the rock at the gentleness he offers. With two fingertips, he begins circling your clit again, while his other hand holds your leg in the air for support. 

“How warm you are,” he says, picking up the pace once he finds you are able to squirm too much for his liking. You push your pelvis forward, needing more friction. “How much warmer you will be when I spill all of myself into you until morning comes.”

Intelligent thought leaves your senses the more he speaks, you writhe and moan like a wanton sinner. This seems to please him, and so with no real warning, he slides not one but two fingers inside you. Your head raises to look between your legs, but you are met with the druid’s intense stare as he leans in to kiss your neck.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to indulge in the explosions that are firing inside your head. His teeth find their mark at your throat and he begins sucking away while his fingers pump in and out continuously, the heel of his palm slapping against your slickness with each thrust. You don’t notice when, but his other hand has found your nipple, carefully pulling at it to elicit a scream loud enough to be heard in Baldur’s Gate.

“Halsin!” you moan, incapable of saying anything else at the intensity of his ministrations. He smiles against the nape of your neck, biting before moving to kiss your lips instead. Your tongues battle—indulge—in one another’s mouths as he continues this delicious assault on your senses.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, resting his forehead against yours. You whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, noting the considerable lack of fullness he has provided.

“I need to prepare you for me,” he sighs, hands reaching out to his throbbing member once again. He lets out a moan when his soaked hand begins pumping the tip, where you now see a considerable dollop of pre-cum mixing with your juices. “Do you think you can handle three of my fingers, little one?”

His fingers were particularly attractive to you. The way he would whittle with enough dexterity to preplex you. The grip he held his staff with each time he would cast a spell. The roughness contrasting your soft skin any time he would touch any part of you. Though, he had a particular love of stuffing you with them, as you have come to find.

The beads of sweat forming at your temples coupled with the messy hair and half-opened eyelids was enough to define you as fuckdrunk, that you were sure of. Even still, you steel your will enough to nod in his direction.

“Is that a yes?” he muses, fingertips finding your clit once again.

Proud bastard, you think. Smacking your lips, you utter a simple, ‘yes’. It’s barely a whisper and you think he doesn’t register it, but quickly find out his movements are much faster than your reflexes. Three fingers push themselves inside you, and a thumb finds your clit as he continues to stretch you to what seems like impossibility. 

“Sing for me,” he sighs. “I want the spirits in these forests to awaken to the sounds of your pleasure.”

“I need you inside of me,” you mutter, mustering up enough strength to look at him again. “I want you inside of me.”

“Soon,” he assures, quickening his pace until you feel the familiar pressure pooling at your entrance. “I need you to let go first.” As though compelled to, your body releases, all manner of reason escaping you as your screams are carried by the wind of the woods. Legs trembling, you lose control of every limb as you pant, completely encased by a coating of fulfillment you thought long gone.

Halsin only watches you, whispering something your ears do not pick up. A faint buzzing interrupts all manner of sound as you relax your body until he’s able to catch you in his arms before you land on the ground. The firmness of his chest greets your cheek, where you are able to pick up his racing heartbeat.

“Are you spent for tonight?” he asks, hand sliding up your back until it reaches the back of your head.

Quickly, you shake your head. “No. I’m just… I didn’t expect this, is all,” you confess. He hums in approval, and positions you atop his thigh while still kneeling. Your leg bumps against his hardness and he hisses, praising the Oak Father’s blessings before turning to look at you.

“You’re pooling for me,” he smirks. “Had I known you were this eager, I would have done this long ago.”

In response, you begin grinding against the flexed muscle, grabbing hold of his bicep to steady your rhythm. It didn’t take long for the need to take hold, and you soon find yourself moaning as you continue moving against his thigh. You glance down to his cock, licking your lips at the sight of the dribble going down the shaft.

As though challenging him, he swiftly grabs hold of your waist, pushing you onto the cold ground with a soft thud. You lay there, blinking up at him. His hand caresses the curve of your body until it reaches your core. There, he spreads your lips apart, sighing approvingly when he hears the squelching sound of your desire for him. Using a finger to trace your cunt, he lifts it to his lips and begins licking away without breaking eye contact. 

“So tender, so delicious…” he comments, sucking his own fingers until only his spit coats them.

You attempt to shimmy, feeling the stickiness of his cock meet your folds once you move closer to him. His head drops at the contact, a growl escaping his lips when he looks down.

“Can you take me, my heart?” he questions, grabbing his member and lining himself at your entrance.

You bite your lip, taking the moment to admire the beast of a man whose cock was prodding at your entrance—tapping with feather-light touches, enough to drive you to moan.

“Yes, please,” you beg again, searching for grace in his expression—the grace that would compel him to fuck you.

He pushes slowly, enough to give you the accommodation you know you will need. Once you feel him coating himself in you is when he finally moans—deeply—slamming a hand against the dirt to restrain himself. Halsin was thickest at the top, and his mushroom-like head felt as though it split through every fiber of your being even with caution. To say you were not expecting him to split you apart so early was an understatement, but when his hand finds your clit, your wincing turns into mewing as you attempt to swallow his every inch.

Taking the time to push and pull against his cock to the same rhythm of your breaths, you find that the druid has some trouble keeping calm.

“You are a tight little thing,” he chuckles. “Let me in. Open up for me.”

His instructions help you relax enough so he can guide his tip inside you. Once there, you let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of the sweat coating your body. The chills going up your spine are soon replaced by hot flashes once he hits a particularly delicious spot on your clit and you grab a hold of his wrist with both arms, keeping him where you most desire.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he moans. “While I rather appreciate the snugness of this predicament, I would like to bury my seed deep inside you.”

To this, you only groan. Halsin uses his free hand to wrap around your throat, keeping himself steadied as he positions himself fully on top of you. With one more look, he slides himself deeper, and you wince at the size that is piercing through your core. He growls, tightening his grip on your throat as he attempts to exert some control through sheer willpower alone.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when a second wave of pleasure coats your body, and you open your mouth to scream. No sound comes, but you feel yourself loosen up completely, giving Halsin the chance to push past until he is buried to the hilt.

The pain that you momentarily feel turns into bliss. You ride the orgasm, clutching onto his wrist as you pulsate on his cock, which only encourages him to push deeper—as though he could. Any further and he would surely be inside your guts. Every ridge, every vein, every curve on his member jabs at your insides, teasing every spot deep inside you—stretching and filling you until you may just burst.

He doesn’t dare move, not yet. He heaves, chest rising and falling as he waits for you to settle. You reach up, touching the fuzziness on his muscles, tracing your hand until it reaches the side of his face. He’s warmer than you know him to be, and you smile at him reassuringly when he gives you a questioning look.

He doesn’t continue.

Instead, you feel yourself being lifted from the ground, yelping as Halsin grabs a hold of you with one arm, positioning you so that you straddle his waist while the other rests against the curve of your ass, keeping you impaled on his cock. You find the prickliness of the tree hit your back and he settles you there before pulling out completely.

The loss of contact causes you to whimper. You look down, finding him slap his member against your folds, slowly pushing between the sensitive nerves, but not enough to enter.

The sound that escapes your lips is part frustration, part eagerness. The arm holding you up is firm, keeping you steadied with no effort whatsoever.

“You have no idea,” he sighs once he traps his tip between your folds. “How much I wish you rut into you. To fill you.”

“So do it,” you provoke, rolling your hips until you feel your entrance beginning to consume him. “I need you to cum inside of me.”

Halsin snarls and straightens you both, hitching you higher until he finds a comfortable spot. With one push, he settles inside you, slowly bouncing you—breasts jerking in tandem with his thrusts. You note his stare and fist his hair, pulling him forward until he captures a nipple into his mouth. Sucking away, you moan at the intensity building inside you for a third time.

Your clit feels sensitive, as though a bruise being rubbed continuously. The only reason your legs are managing to hold is because of his grip, otherwise you are certain they have gone numb. But Halsin shows no mercy, reddening the flesh with his love bites, creating a line until they reach your throat. You feel his fingertips digging into your skin, but whatever pain you will feel tomorrow is nothing in comparison to the euphoria that’s electrifying you. His thrusts become sloppy, hips hitting against yours as he mutters something incomprehensible.

“Take me,” he commands.

Two strokes.

“All of me.”

Three more strokes.

“By the Oak—”

He doesn’t finish his words. A gushing of hotness overwhelms your cunt, as thick, spurts of cum cover your insides. You feel it hitting your most sensitive parts, coating you until you feel the urge to also release. He slams a hand next to you when he stills, bursting with enough seed that you feel certain would plug you entirely. Glancing where his cock meets your core, you see some of it spill out, dropping on the mud between the druid’s legs.

Halsin leans forward until your foreheads touch once again, heaving from the exhaustion that surely has taken hold by now. You push against him, encouraging him to move and allow you room to land on your feet—or at least try to. With a wobble, you balance, spreading your legs until you’re certain you won’t topple over.

The looming figure in front of you suddenly lowers, and you watch him kneel between your legs, focusing intently on your stomach. He presses a kiss there, before saying, “This is good, but not exactly what I had in mind,” he taps against the softness. “I need to fill your belly until it swells completely, full of my cum.”

A shiver runs up your spine. With a finger, he reaches for your entrance, as though examining you. He tuts. “It seems I have my work cut out for me, little one,” he laughs. “Keeping you stuffed is what I intend to do for the rest of our nights together.”

[unknowngaytoaster]

Paperjam meets Goth

(A small fic of in the scenario of Paperjam meeting Goth after the discovery of Error being Geno)

Voices crowd and cradle the vicinity of Olympus, many intrigued at the freshly discovered news. Most prominently on the grounds of Olympus were the Gods of death, destruction, and creation. All three beings gathered to discuss new arrangements in the foreign circumstance that had not too long ago come to be. On the horizon, just on the edge of Olympus, sit Goth and Paperjam, legs dangling on the edge of the free fall down below.

The air between the two is one-sidedly tense, Goth's fingertips curling tightly into his snow-white cloak from the anticipation. While Paperjam's gaze lay calm and collected, basking in the beautiful sunset before him.

"I'm sorry," Goth uttered under his breath.

Paperjams' skull snapped toward the smaller skeleton. "What?"

Goth repeated. "I'm sorry."

With an arched eyebrow, Paperjam pressed forward, "For what exactly?", genuine curiosity spilling.

"I... I'm sorry for taking your dad away from you." Goth spoke, guilt spilling from his trembling mouth.

Even more confusion spread through Paper Jam's expression before finally landing on realization. "My....? Ah, right."

Goth's eyes widened as words started spilling from his mouth, apologies and explanations, desperate acknowledgments to understanding the conundrum that had unfolded with the discovery that Error was in fact Geno.

"I-i know it's probably messing with your family-."

Paperjam interrupted casually.

"I don't really consider Error to be my dad."

Goth's body froze, then loosened at once.

"....oh."

Possible misinterpretations flooded Goth's head, as Paperjam rushed to explain.

"Uh, well, it's more like I consider Error and Ink to be my creators?"

The silence grew from Goth, and more concern and confusion sprouted.

Paper jam took a breath and took his time to explain.

"It's hard to say, I guess I was kind of an accident?"

At the time of Paperjam's creation, Ink and Error were never in a formal relationship; the two clashed at many points, and the opposites attracted yet repelled each other consistently. The relationship was casual at best, for both a being that was erratic and ever-changing in moods, to a being that felt nothing without the interference of vials to guide the direction of emotions, consistency was difficult between the two.

Paperjams's creation itself was a mesh of magic intertwining at length at enough of an intensity to create life, and such a life that confused both Ink and Error.

Both the guardian and the Destroyer found themselves at an impasse, neither having memories of experience with cultivating life, let alone raising it.

"It's not that they were horrible at taking care of me, it's just they were kind of...detached? Especially when I was just a baby bone, which wasn't for a long time."

Paperjam explained, glancing at Goth, who solemnly nodded along. Oddly enough, even though time frame-wise, Goth was surely older than Paperjam, perhaps a child created from soul-bonding and a child created from magic had different rates of age progression, but Paperjam couldn't be sure.

"Error wasn't bad at parenting, now that I think about it. Probably was better between the two. It kind of seemed like he vaguely knew what he was doing, like some... far-off muscle memory."

Goth's eyes gleamed at the prospect.

Paper Jam's memory of the early days was hazy, especially when he could barely take care of himself. Blurred memories of Ink's enthusiastic attempts at connecting with the child before losing concentration and forgetting what he was even doing in that moment.

Error's attempts at child care were sporadic and nonsensical in their levels of effectiveness. Ranging from leaving him on a couch to watch Undernovella to attempting to educate him with books and puzzles.

Error seemingly understood that touch was an important aspect in a child's development, whether this knowledge came consciously or unconsciously. The days when Error showed affection and attempted to make contact were just as sporadic as his attempts in child care.

Some days, Error would hold Paper Jam at arm's length, maybe just barely cradling him in his arms, until he would place Paper Jam on the ground as his body would force a hard reboot from the sheer stimulation of physical contact. Other days, Error struggled to even stay in the same room as Paperjam, as if the mere air of living beings made his spine shiver.

For the days that Error did leave paper jam on his lonesome, which happened more frequently than both his creators would have liked to admit, he would spare Paperjam a puppet of Classic Sans to supplement his need for affection, and Error's lack of availability to provide it.

A certain moment in time rang clear as odd in Paperjam's memory. An afternoon filled with oddly casual parental affection, a young Paper Jam being held close and dear to Error's chest, skull resting softly on the Destroyer's shoulder as his back was gently patted, Error humming a tune. The moment had been odd yet well appreciated in the grand scheme of things, appreciated until the moment was broken as if a sudden realization came to Error that something was off.

Paper Jam was tugged away from Error's shoulder and brought once again at the regular arms-length distance that usually Error provided. The glitch's eyes squinting hard, eyes blurred in their effort to see what was before them, before a shiver ran up his spine as Error quickly plopped Paperam on the floor. A hard reboot racking his body, the sound of shrill glitching echoing in the emptiness of the antivoid, painfully coursing through Error's body for many minutes.

What followed was many days of silence and isolation from Error, though Paperjam’s memory didn't remember those days with as much clarity.

Paperjam's gaze returned to Goth, only to see intense glee.

“My dad was also weird!”

The little skeleton started sharing his own stories of memories of his father as a baby bone.

Toriel freaking out at the site of Goth covered in his father's blood, after being hugged just a little too hard to his father's chest. The eternally-bleeding stab wound blessed him with a horrifying look that made the Goddess of Life almost collapse from surprise.

Paper jam and Goth spent the rest of the night trading stories and sharing laughs, worries of the future lying behind them as a concern for then, not now.

[minothtime]

milgram trial 3 spoilers below cut!

um. so that was tragic.

I still feel the exact same towards Yuno - she should not be found guilty of what MILGRAM describes as a genuine accident on her part. Even if it wasn't and she was trying to kill herself because of her depression, she still shouldn't be found guilty.

The conundrum, however, is quite obvious: she's desperate for a guilty verdict because that's what she feels she deserves. A guilty verdict would indeed align with her own opinion... but so will an innocent verdict. After all, MILGRAM stated voting "Innocent" means we're agreeing with the prisoner. While this would normally be fine, since the prisoner would be defending their innocence, Yuno (and Kazui, while we're at it) believes she is absolutely guilty.

But... she's not.

Her situation is the same as Kazui's: both feel impossibly guilty (even if they're the only ones to have gotten 'innocent' in both trials so far), both were unintended consequences of their actions, and neither are guilty of murder.

Yuno's case just fucking sucks. If we trust the MILGRAM report, she was so stressed she lost consciousness and fell down the stairs. This was not intentional. This was a teenage girl thinking about how everything was going to be fucking horrible to the point where she faints and accidentally falls down from quite the height. Miraculously, she survives. The unborn child does not.

And that's the whole thing, isn't it? All along, she had just been suffering from survivor's guilt - further exacerbated when Mahiru died. But she was never guilty. She had always made sure to use protection. She did not know she'd faint and fall. She could've done nothing to save Mahiru once Shidou was gone. She kept her company, which was what both Mahiru and her wanted and needed.

Honestly, as angry as she'd probably get, she deserves an innocent verdict. Yuno should get three innocent trials... and perhaps then she'll be on the path to healing from her trauma.

Also if we take MILGRAM as not murder trials but Japanese society issues, I'd say she still should be forgiven. She did what she wanted, she took precautions, and when she got actually pregnant she wasn't thinking about aborting but about how society would mistreat her for the rest of her life. She was thinking about keeping the baby. She was going to take accountability for the consequences of her actions. If what MILGRAM says is true, it was a genuine accident. If it isn't, her apparent depression got so bad she was about to end it all. The problem was never Yuno herself. Whether her intention was suicide or not, she should be forgiven for the third time. Because at the end of the day the one who needs to forgive her isn't us, but herself.

[reztaezm]

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆

・・・・・・・・・・

𝙺𝚒𝚖 𝙷𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚓𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚡 𝙾𝙲 (𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜: smut; dubcon, corruption, algolagnia, exploitation, car sex, unprotected sex (not encouraging, pls use protection), possession and obsession, blood, mystery, mentions of murder and dismemberment, angst

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: Kim Hongjoong and You.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 4k

۶ৎ

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝟏𝟕 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝!

Mercy does not exist with the murderous. Even the devil's blood would run cold at the deeds of the unrecognized culprit. Murder is inhuman by itself, but what do you call it then when one dismembers the dainty fingers of an unsuspecting young woman, using very seemingly particular numbers of measurements to cut, then linearly arranging them by placing one finger is placed half of its length before the next in an alternate pattern, displayed accurately at the very center of the living room’s parameter.

“Only a psychopath would have the time to carry out such an immoral feat… two and a half inches — every single one!”

Even being a mere onlooker induced terror. Whilst what was found at the scene of the crime presented puzzle pieces which were blatant detail-wise, however, none of them fit together to complete a picture. Even turning, twisting, or interpreting the pieces in ways beyond what could be of the ordinary human perception, only pushed them into a deeper conundrum.

“The house was spotless, apart from the corpses — those too, the mom and dad — any unsuspecting person would think they were only sleeping, nightwear and all.”

“But the wounds were rotting beneath them…”

Though, you were no onlooker in this story. Unlike the bystanders who only wait to hear and stir a narrative of their own to tell as if they’re in it. And you have heard a mouthful, from whispers, to the tales told, all from pious mouths. You’ve heard everything, leaving no room for your truth. But you feel as though everyone must be made known of it. But they simply can’t.

Secrets have reasons to be kept. The world, nor myself, would be ready to perceive.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from the sea of your thoughts to your consciousness’ shore. “Y/n?”

It was only the first hour of the evening, but your eyes were like that of a morning after a sleepless night. “I’m sorry…”

How abouts were you supposed to sleep? Even with your eyes closed, you could still see what had been of their demise.

“Don't apologize, dear. I understand you're having a hard time.” — this woman that spoke to you, is not related to you by blood but was a witness of your waking years in adolescence — she takes the empty seat next to yours, resting her arm over your weak and slumped shoulders. She takes a look at the husk-like state of you, dead eyes staring ahead and face marked with a faint, permanent frown. “I can only imagine what it's like for you… to lose your dearest friend.”

Then suddenly, your eyes cannot discern any light in the room, and you can feel a stinging in them as they begin to water. Because you were, in fact, currently at the wake of your dearest friend’s demise. A funeral being held on the day where everything is red, and feelings are paper-bound — it's the 14th February, and the only red you wore is in your bloodshot eyes. A product of tears they were, and proof of your lone journey at midnight, locked in your grim mind.

“I remember when the two of you would always pass by my shop to cause a little trouble.” the unknowing lady's reminiscing came with the faintest of smiles, that would soon disappear as followed by your utterance right after hers.

“Please… stop.” The pleading in your tone and the audible exhaustion was enough for the lady to silence, averting her gaze, and her arm from you.

“I’m sorry, dear.”

The lady was apparently too trusting of you to hear the conviction hidden in your voice that she would not be able to hear as your silence persists, and this silence soon drove her away, leaving you to, yet again, be the lone watcher of the sleeping corpses.

That was, until footsteps echoed throughout the walls of the community hall that once housed the dead air. The footsteps came approaching you, and stopping at the empty seat to the left of you. There was no word of greeting, instead, your nose welcomed the sweet scent of a tuberose. “Hongjoong.”

Upon hearing his name fall from your breath, he creates greater proximity, feeling your cold skin against his arm which causes him a slight shiver.

“You’ve been here since yesterday morning, they said.” He says as he brings his eyes from the candles and the caskets, to your sunken eyes and dull skin, decorated with a few and faint scratches and scars, some hidden under your sleeve.

“I had to be.” your utterance had a slight crack in pitch, like one when holding back tears.

“I know.” everyone knew.

And despite your grievances and the agony stirring in your heart, you were held suspect to the crime. The family was like one you never had, and wished to have. Your beloved friend was not bound to you by blood, but she was, unlike what was known to others, your sister.

“You still have court tomorrow.” you could only nod in response, swallowing the nothingness in your dry mouth, fighting to keep yourself from falling off the verge of breaking down. Hongjoong notices, like with everything else about you, and makes a wary effort to offer comfort by placing his hand on your shoulder.

His touch, even over the fabric of your wool woven shirt, spread warmth which triggered your tears, finally. “Joong…” the misery in your faint calling of his name was a pinch to his heart.

Whenever he hears your heart breaking, his first instinct is always to hold you. Words weren't necessary to aid his mere presence – somehow, it's just him that you needed. He hushes your faint crying muffled against the crook of his neck, and very delicately runs his fingers through your hair, the tips gently grazing against your scalp as if a stroke to your meek soul.

“I d-don't know what to do…” he watches the quiver on your lips as you continue your weak murmurs of being lost, misguided by your conscience.

“You're young, you don't have to know everything.” his whispered response brings you to a pause, just staring at the grime sitting in between the tiles of the floor. “No one expects you to.” his fingers traced along the stream of tears on your cheek, smearing them as he attempted to erase the marks of anguish, however to no avail. The river would only continue to flow, and overflow.

Hongjoong calls your name through every hushed breath, and every uttered syllable was a balm on your bruised heart, but it was never enough to deafen echoes of that night’s horror. It was a mistake that you claim, but no one else has yet to hear.

No one, but him. “You should rest at home tonight. The relatives will come, right?”

He knew you weren't capable of words for an answer, for even before he felt your subtle nod against his shoulder, he carefully rose from his seat, taking you along with him. He kept you from falling, given the fatigue which brought about your flimsy legs.

“I can stay till the burial…” he sighs at your murmuring and looks at you as he holds you by your shoulders, now able to stand properly.

“Y/n.” stern, yet kind to the ears. He knew your stubbornness was coming from a place of emotional conflict and uncertainty.

Or fear… “Please.” …and remorse.

His brows inched closer to one another. He truly failed to understand what you were pleading for. “You need to rest. You don’t even share the same blood with these people.”

“You don’t understand-”

“No, I understand that they treated you like their own-”

“You don’t understand!”

He pulled his hands back, having them slowly lower to his sides. His face told nothing but bewilderment, wanting to argue, yet not knowing what for, and why.

“Y/n… please get some sleep.” his voice had gone down a mile quiet, trying to calm whatever threat there was.

He had every reason to believe that the threat was just simply… you. Your behavior translates to what he could only discern as compunction — the monster we call guilt. But when this monster consumes another, it’s raw horror, and incomprehensible beyond obscurity.

However, it wouldn’t take long until Hongjoong reached a point of understanding. It’s an unspoken promise. He will always understand. He’s the only one who can.

Your fear of the devil would not be welcomed by people. Not once they find out what you’ve done. You dreaded the ride home, only staring on your lap, though your mind did not work to decipher whatever your eyes saw. It’s busy looking through a memory, at the open window of your bedroom, the withered tree conveniently aligned with the opening, and the shadows. You wondered when that tree would fall and die. That way, the devil won’t reach you.

But then here you are. Standing before the teak door of a place you’re forced to call home. Hongjoong’s hand had the strength you didn’t have to knock loud enough for your mother to answer.

“Y/n-” you walked past her and you’d hear Hongjoong apologize on your behalf, and your mother rejecting his apology, claiming she understands. But it’s impossible for her too. She doesn’t know a thing. She doesn’t know of the hellbound wretch she’s been hosting.

Your feet drew its own map, and the only path you’ve been walking since the tragedy. But now, knowing what midnight held for you in the bleak and forsaken margins of your room. It was once a sanctuary, but ever since him, it’s never seen the light. You could almost hear, heck, feel the weight of his presence following behind you, one that’s renowned to you, a heavy blade against your neck — his claws hovering over you, waiting to tear through your flesh to eat through your insides bit by bit while your heart still breathes with open consciousness.

“Y/n.” your breath gets stuck in your throat when a hand on your shoulders stops you on your tracks. If it weren’t for the warmth of Hongjoong’s voice, your vision would’ve darkened completely.

You were clearly agitated, and oddly so. Still, he couldn’t question since he’s yet to experience your suffrage. His hand finds yours that’s been overtaken by a perpetual tremor. Your hand trembled in his grasp regardless of how firmly he kept his grip. He spares you the sting left by the cold metal of the doorknob, opening the room for the both of you.

Your expression was dead, and stared blank as you sat yourself on your bed. Then suddenly, the light pricks your eyes. It’s been long since you’ve opened it and graced the dejected interior of your room. Hongjoong gets himself seated next to her. Instead of speaking again, he lets your ears rest, gently guiding you down on the soft mattress. For a moment, terrors tied with this very place flew off your mind. He utters words, unintelligible, but somehow lulled you to sleep — or perhaps, this was the exhaustion catching up to you.

Once your eyes fell close, you dreamed, as if it was waiting for you. Here, you sat on your bed, facing the window. Instead of what you would see in your nightmares, the view was of a meadow. You stood up to approach, wanting to see more — the grass was wealthy and vibrant, along with bushes of flowers, butterflies, and your dog. She sat on the grass, like she was waiting. Much to your surprise, she looks up, and directly to you. There was a moment of peaceful silence, and you can see the grass and leaves swaying in rhythm.

But there was not a breeze, none that you could feel, even with your window being left wide open. However, you were aware of this being a dream, a far cry from your reality.

You would look down again, and the dog is still looking, blank like you’ve been, and like a still image. It didn’t take long till it became eerie, even more so that your dog’s been dead, and it’s just been two weeks. Yet she’s there, alive and lifeless at the same time, existing as if her bones, flesh and blood cleaned off to a tee, has been lying in a box underneath your bed.

Then a warm heep of air touches the back of your neck, but this warmth was not of comfort. It’s warmth that burns gradually and lingers in your nightmares.

“My sweet, little cherry…” it was as if he was truly there, the smell of his perfume of datura flowers taunting your nose. And that whisper, his cryptic voice that follows you even in your waking moments.

It felt too real for a dream, or rather, a nightmare. His touch on your waist as if he was molding it with his hands felt just as heavy as it is when your eyes are open. But for once, you were hit with a spunk you never had, turning to face the embodiment of your fears.

The devil remains faceless, however. A complete void is all you see, but his touch is everywhere on your body, like a ghost in your senses. You can feel him on every surface of your skin, and inside you.

Those nights, painful, but an obscure ritual you had no choice but to endure.

The first night, you thought you were asleep, or perhaps in a state of deep delusion. Your window was closed, but not locked. You blinked once, and suddenly, it was wide open. There was little to no moonlight, being blocked by the big oak tree… then by a veiled shadow. He calls you, “Mine… my, my cherry…” a quiet threat in a form of needling melody. You could’ve screamed, you could have fought back, but a keen blade was pressed against your neck, not enough to injure, but enough to paint you terrified. You feared the blade would penetrate through your skin if you made a sound that can be heard in the next room, or if you moved to resist.

His weight caused the mattress to sink a bit more. With the blade, he traced a line down your neck, down amidst your chest. You can feel his nose on your neck, inhaling your scent like a drug. “I’m sorry, my cherry… but you need to realize…” you feel his fingers undoing the buttons of your pajama top. “... you’re mine…” his hand soon touched the bare skin of your chest, at the same time he bit into the skin of your neck, his hand kneaded, then squeezed your breasts almost as if with aggression. His other hand drops the blade and covers your mouth after hearing your mewling. “Be fucking quiet…” but how could you? He bit into your skin, all the while his palms grazed against your sensitive nipple — everything leaned towards ferocity that pleasure was saturated by an ache.

Even through your cries muffled by his hand, and the tears that rinsed your face, there was not a stop. And it would not be a blade that penetrates you. But it was sharp, an agonizing sting against your once chaste walls, forced to stretch open with every snap of his hips. He claims a bruising grip on your thighs to hold them open while his mouth encloses yours to swallow your sobbing and whimpering, and for his tongue to taste deeper. You can smell the filth, the fluids of sex, and the blood from your torn hymen and tensed canal. Your hands clenched and unclenched on his shirt in time with his rutting. It was painful. You were given no time to feel accustomed to the girth of his cock, nor how far it reached into your cunt…

“I wish I could see your beautiful face while you take everything I give you… my love…”

But eventually, you got used to it. With every passing night.

A knock. You were awoken from your excruciating slumber by a knock. You woke up, a mile miserable from when you had slept. The knock was from your mother.

“Have breakfast. Hongjoong has been waiting for you to wake up.”

At your descend from the stairs, you were met with Hongjoong, now dressed differently from yesterday, though you had assumed he spent the night knowing your mother wouldn’t let him drive off in the late night.

“Morning.” oh. His hair is damp. He had greeted you with a small smile, seemingly fresh from a bath.

“Morning.” your murmured reply pushed the corners of his lips just a tad higher.

He was looking at you like he had something to tell. He does so, before you could ask. “You’re coming with me.”

“Hmm?”

He chuckles at the confusion painted on your face. “I found a naturescape. I wanted to keep it for your birthday, but I figured you could use a breather.”

His lilt chuckle, and that smile you trust the most — your heart gave your mind only one answer, especially for its desperate need of security. “Are we going today?”

“Yes, today -I mean, hopefully. Unless you’d rather catch up on sleep?”

“We can go today.”

He eats breakfast with you, your mother already gone to work. He took bites with bliss, relishing in the temporary peace of your disposition. There were no words exchanged, but it’s the silence you needed, clear of agitation and anxiety.

You would soon find yourself looking through the glass of the passenger seat window in his car, and once again, the silence persisted. You were curious as to where this road trip would take the two of you, but your mind was too drawn to the serene sight. It was only natural to the eyes of the ordinary, but yours were almost gleeful at the mere view of the sidewalk after light pouring, a few leaves of several greens sticking to the wet concrete and the poles, while some just astray on the road, or on the hood of the car. Hongjoong couldn’t stop himself from glancing your way as you looked around as if bearing the innocent eyes of a child.

You feel the car come to a stop, and the view on the window becomes a still image of huge rocks on the ground, positioned in such a way that pleases her conscience. Along with that are the tall trees. They were mellow in appearance, which sounds crazy, but it was the fact that your mind was actively comparing it to the tree outside your window. It’s idle, much like the trees before you at this moment, but it’s the very reason why you’re within the reach of peril of the hands that never failed to be the cause…

“Look ahead.” as if he knew, Hongjoong pulls you out of your mirage with a soothing encouragement to shift your gaze elsewhere, to the very attraction he’s brought you for.

It wasn’t a breathtaking view, nor was it extraordinary. It was one you’d see in typical displays of nature in photographs. Though, this proved to be a need you never realized until that very moment. The running water flowed endlessly and without delay unlike viscous blood that dried harshly on wherever it settled. The day had gone bright, but not to a degree that’s unbearably overwhelming, even if the early morning sky threatened a downpour. You could see everything clearly under the hushed sunlight. It was a stark contrast to the nights you’ve been compelled to weather.

“Much better?” Hongjoong’s question drew you to look at him.

The shrouding over your heart was slowly being lifted, and for the first time in a while, a smile would grace your lips. It was small, but no matter the subtlety, Hongjoong’s smile couldn’t get any brighter.

His hand slowly travelled towards yours. His pace was careful, as if giving you time to catch on what he intended to do. And you did. You were taken aback deep inside, not familiar with receiving such compassion. You allowed him to bring his palm against yours, though his hand was not much larger, its warmth was enough to battle the frigidity of your hand. He applies gentle pressure as he squeezes your hand. He’s always been so gentle with you, and you knew it was out of care since being friends for years now, however, his eyes on you at this moment held something else in them.

Perhaps, it’s been affection. “I actually brought you here to tell you something.”

Then you thought, how long has it been? And did he have to wait for you to be this vulnerable before opening up to you? These questions float atop your head, and would then be blown away by his breath as leaned forward to move closer to you.

“I feel like…” he said in a whisper which emitted warm air that delicately touched your skin. “... you know where this is going.”

But did you really? It wasn’t like you anticipated, or was so sure that he‘d continue to lean closer whilst his arm sneaked behind you, his hand navigating the curve of your waist as if he’s always held you in place like this. It was all out of your prospect, how his eyes slowly averted from yours, trailing down to the bridge of your nose to its tip, then on your lips. Physically, you were pale and gaunt from your sorrows, but he made you feel beautiful as he continued to openly express… desire. It would be confirmed when his lips touched yours, timely with the fall of your breaths. It was spontaneous, but alleviating. His compassion seeps throughout, even as your lips begin to dance with each other comes as a soothing moment.

His hand on your waist would begin to move up and down slowly in a sensual caress, and then you’d notice. Your lips were like two ends of a lock, bound to be attached. But this, it felt like they’ve been attached moreover a few times before. You found yourself needing more air, and so your nose breathed him in.

From his notice, he’d break the kiss for a short moment for the both of you to breathe, and for him to murmur. “I want you to know… that no matter what…”

He’s sweet-scented, as always. But this was not of a tuberose, rather, some other flower. The scent was familiar.

“You’re mine.” very painfully familiar.

Your eyes snapped wide open. He’s the one you recognized as your safety, who’s given you more care than anyone else, especially after the death of your soulsister.

“I’m sorry baby, but Yujin just got too close. And who’s she to question my motives?”

There was not a blade you could see or feel, yet your consciousness, nor your body, would have you resist him. And he just revelled in it. He always has. The fear, the unease, the innocence… and now, your inability to reject him. Your heart might be continuing to beat for you to fight back, but with all the losses, he’s shown that he has full control.

So unsuspecting to this blissfully unaware society. “Joong..”

“Yes, my cherry?” he was now speaking against your neck that he was ready to color with his claim of you.

Escape is a complete impossibility. It would be purple and red all over again, and blood on your shirt.

“I knew it… you’ve already given yourself to me… the moment we met…”

And today, you would once again take everything. Face deep into the car seat at the back, your saliva staining its fabric. His hand kept you there, his weight pushing down on your neck from behind as his hand held it, tugging on some of your hair. He’s got your lower half suspended as his cock drilled into you, in a rhythm you could sing asleep.

Because you should’ve known. “I’m right, huh cherry?... You know who owns you, don’t you?”

Tears were shed, but they felt like blood right out of your eyes. He grabs your hair, forcing you to lift your body up as your head is tilted back with force. Your drool dripped down to his bite on your nipple, completely red and wounded from his abuse. The stinging was drawn out by his almost barbaric thrusts.

His pleasure was also yours. It’s the only truth you could accept at that very moment. And you?

“Yes, I-I… I know…” the bones, the fingers, their blood… at the end of the day... they were all for you. “... it’s you...”

Possessions are meant to be claimed after all. You own me.

i kinda hate this :0

[21wanderer]

Mason and the golden skin

A special thanks to @dulafer, who helped me come up with the idea after having hit a minor writer's block Body a day - #14: Battery

Mason had been envious of his classmate Chris since the first day he met him at Colchis University, so much so, that it had become an obsession. He envied him, he envied him so strongly that all he could think about was becoming him. Every thing about Chris, he desired and longed for, so much so that it became unbearable.

One of Mason’s former highschool classmates, Jed, was also studying at Colchis, studying both neurology and engineering. When Mason confessed his feelings towards Chris, Jed became lost in thought. The silence was eerie, but Jed was definitely contemplating Mason’s thoughts.

“If you really could switch places,” Jed said after the very long pause, “would you?” “Yes!” Mason blurted without hesitation. “Even if it meant giving your life to him?” Jed asked. Mason was a bit more reluctant this time, he hadn’t actually considered that, but if he had to swap places with Chris, it made sense, that Chris had to be somewhere else. But there would be no way, that Chris would ever accept that. “I’m sure, I’ll manage…” Mason said nonchalant.

Jed seemed very interested in the conundrum, but more out of curiosity than envy nor desire.

“If I come up with a solution – I want you to do something for me…” Jed said looking up at Mason. “What do you want?” Mason asked. “I want you, or rather you in Chris’s body as my boyfriend.” Mason blushed, “you have a crush on me?” “Maybe,” Jed answered clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable, not even looking at Mason anymore.

“Hey,” Mason began softly, breaking the awkward silence, he walked over to Jed, then pushed Jed’s chin up so that they had eye contact. “If you are really willing to do this for me… Then you might as well call me your boyfriend already,” he said, touched by Jed’s sentiment.

Two semesters later they came up with a prototype for a body-swapping device, technically it was a mind-swapping device. It would carry the full neurological pattern between two brains within a very short distance. Mason had to get Chris somewhere secluded, so that no interference was possible, and he had to take a clean shot. Jed was confident, it would work, but there were many potential risks. The device looked similar to a tablet with a camera attachment, except for the fact that the tablet part mostly consisted of batteries in a series. The device took an unbelievable amount of power, 75% of the device’s weight consisted of the batteries powering it.

Jed somehow managed to arrange a meeting with Chris at a remote part of campus. Mason wouldn’t have been successful if he had tried, after all Chris knew him, but Jed didn’t actually tell Mason, exactly how he managed to convince Chris to turn up at that place. But he did, and armed with the tablet-camera-thingy, Mason was prepared to welcome the unsuspecting Chris, who arrived on his bike.

“What are you doing here?!” Chris drawled as he noticed Mason, “is this some kind of joke?!”

Mason was nervous, almost afraid, but still infatuated and smitten with Chris. Mason let his envy consume him, he took some big steps directly towards Chris, aimed the device at his face, and pressed the button. There was a blinding light, and they both felt like they had been electrocuted, their bodies were shaking, but they couldn’t see anything.

Then Mason could see again, no longer blinded by the light, he could see himself, but from a taller perspective. He wasn’t looking in a mirror, the device had worked.

Mason’s body was still dazed and confused, the device fell out of his hand and hit the ground.

Mason was in awe. Chris’s body was all his, this perfect body was all his. He didn’t get to enjoy the moment for long however, he was ripped out by his stream of consciousness, when he heard his old voice shout at him: “What the hell have you done?!”

Chris had apparently already figured out exactly what had happened, there was a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

Mason’s body picked up the device. “You aren’t getting away with this. I’m gonna take my body back, and then… And then you won’t even live long enough to regret this!” Mason’s voice snarled, his words dripping with loathing and vindictiveness. Mason had a feeling something was wrong, he could smell burnt ‘something’, rubber or plastic maybe, the smell definitely came from the device, it was about to break down. Even a single use had put massive strain on the batteries, the device couldn’t handle another swap.

Mason in Chris’s body froze, blinded by the bright light, but also something else, it was like his mind was clouded by all sorts of unrecognisable impressions.

Mason’s body fell unconscious to the floor, but Mason was still looking at it from Chris’s perspective, he felt a bit of satisfaction seeing his former body collapse. But to make sure nobody would accuse him of anything, he picked up the foul-smelling device and stuffed it in Chris’s bag, then he begrudgingly called an ambulance. Then he went over to his unconscious body and more by instinct than choice began to perform CPR on it, then it dawned on him… He did not know, how to perform CPR, but Chris did. The faulty device must have transferred parts of Chris’s consciousness to him. He was still Mason at heart, he knew that much.

Mason’s body was taken away by the paramedics, as Chris explaining something about having witnessed Mason having a heart attack or something. With the ambulance gone, Mason could finally wrap his head around the other dramatic events. The faulty device had transferred Chris’s memories to him, he wouldn’t have any problem fooling everyone, he didn’t have to pretend to be Chris, he was Chris.

[ratsplendor]

I'm in some kind of raw and unwell state rn so fuck it: writing up my notes on the Objectophile Ford x AI Fidds AU that haunts my dreams. basic premise is that Fidds dies when he goes through the portal, but has backed up his consciousness digitally somehow out of paranoia + fear, so now Ford is dealing with grieving him (sorta), hiding a dead body, figuring out where to house the artificial McGucket, and also Bill.

general warning for suggestive text + corpse shenanigans below.

so imagine you're Ford and during your portal test, your best friend + QPP has been accidentally sucked through, comes out and spouts some crazy shit, and then dies in your arms immediately. of all the things you have in this goddamn lab, an AED is not one of them. hysterical, poorly-applied CPR ensues; it wouldn't have worked anyway; oh God What Have You Done.

thru all of this Bill is trying to get Ford's attention but he's blocked him out, all Ford can focus on is his grief + guilt + refusal to believe this is the end--wait, hadn't he made fun of Fidds just the other day for backing up his consciousness to a hard drive?

it's a black box. a bit of a Schrodinger conundrum. Fidds was always too scared to activate it while he was alive because he was terrified they'd diverge in an uncontrollable way and a variety of ethical and moral quandaries/existential questions would ensue. so whether the backup is truly Fidds, or whether it's even an independent consciousness at all, Ford doesn't know.

so the issue is that Ford isn't the computer guy, Fidds was. he doesn't really know much about data storage, much less the type of libraries necessary to host a consciousness. his first attempt is to plug Fidds 2.0 into the dummy they were going to send through, as it's equipped with a robust-enough suite of data collection and storage, designed to record information about the other side. it's like digital claustrophobia. F2.0 panics, there's not enough room in here, overloads the dummy, and prompts a small explosion. some data was lost in the process but nobody knows how much.

ok. F2.0 had too much BDE for a mannequin. Ford has to now build a system that can unpack the drive, and Fidds's help would be so appreciated here...irony. Ford just about works himself into a state of panicked dissociation over how much he doesn't know what to do and can't do this alone, at which point Bill realizes this guy is no use to him frantic and gives the suggestion that, hey, isn't the lab just one big computer in a way? and hadn't they overdone the data storage, just to ensure they could collate information from multiple portal tests over time?

(realism time-out: based on even our rudimentary neural networks today, absolutely zero shot that they had the room to house an actual indexed consciousness in full. HOWEVER, consider: cartoon logic + Fidds can do whatever he wants forever. i'm talking encoding himself as a Mandelbrot set, which, despite its infinite ability to fractal, is created out of only a very small chunk of data.)

"I should save at least the head," Ford thinks to himself (in re: Fidds's dead body). "Perhaps I can wire it into the system so he can at least use his own voice somehow." go to sleep man you are losing it.

it's cold enough on the portal floor that the body should probably be fine. mostly. you know, relatively speaking. whatever!

Bill, meanwhile, is thinking of ways he can encode himself as a computer virus and supersede Fidds once Fidds has re-indexed the lab system to support an intelligent consciousness.

Ford is gonna take Bill's suggestion because it's the only good one and he's not the computer guy. HOWEVER. hang on a fuckin second. Bill killed Fidds. This whole thing was his idea--he probably had some way to know this was a possibility, and he didn't say anything.

so he takes a sledgehammer to some very important parts. this frees up more processing power for Fidds 2.0 anyway, but also has the effect of Pissing Bill The Hell Off.

anyway. he uploads his best friend and then hunches in a shuddering trauma-puddle on the floor, trying to stay awake so Bill can't get in.

plot stuff. Fidds is even better with computers when he IS a computer. he can use old videos of himself to deepfake his side of the conversation on a monitor. neat!

oh hey buddy uh. it turns out that migrating a neural-input-based consciousness to a hardwired system causes some, er...funny effects. yeah when you touch the wires he can feel that.

Ford, who didn't really Get what was so exciting about sex or other people's bodies before, is starting to come to the realization that now that Fidds is a computer, he's Very Turned On.

mmmmmm oh my god cable management. hello. cables he can wind through all six fingers. the static display where Fidds usually projects his avatar or whatever is just looping incomprehensible binary, the computer equivalent of a moan. haha sorry totally didn't know that would happen and won't do it again--

gay (?) chicken ensues. is it socially acceptable, Ford wonders, to say, "Hey, i found your human living form unattractive and sexless, but now that you're dead (in part because i didn't listen to you) and confined to a supercomputer, I'm into you"? no, surely not; far more sensible to come up with more and more reasons to re-solder those ports in juuuust the right ways and pretend he doesn't notice why the system's overloading.

there is only one way this ends: probably Ford passing out in his own cum in a mass of cables. yeah. that's a good image. or Fidds getting fed up and starting to project his avatar naked and writhing sexually until he's forced to say something. a USB drive is just an angel you can fuck. etc etc

oh yeah, Bill. Ford basically uses Project Mentem to project himself into the system (not for long as this uses up a lot of processing power) and they all have a Scott Pilgrim-esque fight in which Bill loses. get axolotl'd, idiot.

and they live happily ever after in their weird little man:machine interface situationship. and probably confront many existential questions about the nature of consciousness and whether Fidds 2.0 is the same person or not. whatever. fuck you.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Blessed Heir of the Abyss (Abyssal Prince Childe x Reader) Part 5

Synopsis: After centuries of conflict, Teyvat and the Abyss are attempting to make peace with one another. To solidify new alliances and let go of past grudges, the Abyssal Prince Tartaglia will choose a spouse from the people above to rule over the Abyss with him.

That spouse happens to be you, an ordinary, Visionless citizen of Liyue.

Chapter Four: Of Stone and Scales

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Warnings: Descriptions of illness and pain, allusions to crying and fevers, coughing, SLOW BURN

~ * ~ “What a conundrum this is…” Through the haze and smoke of your fever comes a gentle press against your forehead, the touch of soft and delicate hands ghosting over your skin like a butterfly’s wings. They’re cold- too cold, at first, and you flinch away- but the chill turns soothing against the heat of your sickness, and you let out an instinctive sigh of relief as the neverending pain recedes, even just slightly. The same careful touch holds the back of your head and lifts it upwards, prompting you to sip from a small ceramic bowl. You comply without a thought, barely tasting the sharp bitterness of the liquid as it slides down your throat, and those wonderfully gentle hands settle your head back down onto a plush pillow before pulling away. Your brow furrows as panic rises in your chest, wanting desperately to reach for and take hold of this singular moment of comfort, to bask in its sunshine forever. Please, stay. “Honestly, what were they thinking, bringing a mortal from Teyvat to the Abyss? The elemental whiplash…” A steady voice cuts through your distress like a knife, and the knot in your stomach unravels. Just barely you can place the sound of footsteps on wood, delicate clinks of glass and pottery, and dried leaves being crushed together. “…It’s enough to make an Adeptus seriously ill, much less a human.” In the sludge of your consciousness you open your mouth to speak, only to fail and let out a few awful, wracking coughs. Fail… yes. That’s all you seem to do now. The murmurings pause, soft taps of shoes growing a bit louder, and a cool hand rests on your arm, now speaking directly to you, “Rest, my friend… you’ll need your strength.” They squeeze your arm; once, twice, and what little vision you have fades as you drift down into a murky ocean of silence. A child laughs, her swing creaking, and a tiny green flower blooms from your fingertips. Everything blurs together as you return to nothingness. It’s the light that you sense first, shining through your closed eyes and filling the void with colors. You groan, shifting and pulling the covers over your ears in an earnest attempt to snatch a few more minutes of sleep, the bed cushioning your sore, aching joints. But the light merely shines brighter, birds twittering and giggling at your plight, and with a hiss of annoyance you relent to their joyous whims. Your eyes crack open and stare into the morning Harbor sun. With a gasp you fling yourself into a sitting position, only to double over as you cough and hack, tears springing to your eyes from the force, breath coming out as sharp wheezes. “Ah, you’re awake- Oh dear.” Someone hurries into the room to sit beside you, pressing a hand to your back and rubbing it up and down. “Let it out, my friend, you’ll feel much better afterwards.”

You take the advice in stride, coughing and coughing until your head spins and your shoulders shake and you’re absolutely sure that you’re going to faint- but you don’t, and slowly the coughs fade away until you can breathe, gratefully inhaling a lungful of air. “There… how do you feel?” You turn and blink in surprise for what seems like the hundredth time this week, gaze landing on a familiar, green-haired figure. “D… Dr. Baizhu?” His snakeish eyes shine with delight, golden and amber and fire-colored, “Ah, you remember me! Good, that means your mental faculties are intact, at the very least.” “How couldn’t I?” You let out a laugh, hoarse but happy. “You’re the best pharmacist in Liyue! Zhongli talks about you all the time- he always recommends your herbal remedies if I have a sore throat.” Baizhu chuckles quietly, “He does, does he? Well, I certainly won’t disagree with him on that.” The jewels hanging from his glasses glimmer, and you have to stifle the urge to reach out and bat at them like a cat. There’s a squeaky yawn from a table across the room, and Baizhu glances towards the sound with a smile, “Ah, Changsheng.” He walks to the table, picking up a scaly white bundle in his arms. “I don’t think you two have met. This is Changsheng, my treasured companion- Changsheng, say hello to our guest.” The sleepy little snake raises her head, and you give her a small, hesitant wave. “Ah,” You jump slightly at her voice, her tongue flicking towards your hand. “This one is sick, aren’t they?” Baizhu nods, eyes darkening, “Yes, they are.” He sits beside you again, Changsheng slithering up to his shoulders and peering at you curiously. “Your mind seems to be undamaged, but…” he sighs. “…I am uncertain about the rest of you.” You stiffen, fingers weakly curling into your blanket, “Dr. Baizhu… What exactly happened to me? Why am I in Liyue? And why-” You’re abruptly cut off by a cough, and Baizhu hurriedly pats your back. 

“The short story is that the energy and atmosphere of the Abyss caused you to fall ill,” he explains carefully. “Mortals of Teyvat and the Abyss do not mix- it’s an entirely foreign land to us, and the sudden change between above and below was too much for your body.” Baizhu’s expression turns grim, “The stress of your particular situation also did nothing to help.” “Oh,” You swallow thickly, your throat like sandpaper, then straighten your back with some effort. “What’s the cure, doctor?” “Rest, mostly. Preferably somewhere familiar and nonthreatening.” Baizhu smiles, a small pair of fangs peeking over his lips. “And please, call me Baizhu.” He sighs, quietly, “You’re quite lucky that you were only down there for a few days, my dear. Give it a week, and I likely wouldn’t have been able to save you.” You glance up curiously, “That reminds me, er- how did I get back to Liyue, exactly? Did someone have to drag my unconscious body up here?” “Ah, well-” “Your Highness!” The door bursts open, and Enjou ducks his head to float into the room. “Are you alright?! I apologize for not coming to your aid sooner, I fell asleep.” “Enjou?!” Your mouth hangs open in shock, then you burst into laughter that quickly devolves into coughing. “You- ahem- you brought me here?” “That he did.” Baizhu nods, holding you as you hack out a lung. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to see an Abyss Lector at my door, especially not at 1 AM.” “I am sorry about that.” Enjou bows his head. “It was an urgent matter, doctor.” “My dear sir, there’s no need to apologize! I’m very glad you got here when you did.” Enjou nods, hovering beside Baizhu, a bit awkward and out of place. He’s still wearing his glasses, you notice, and take a few quick glances between the Lector and the pharmacist. They almost mirror each other, in a way, with their glasses and elegance and worry for you.

“So, when do you think I can take them back to the Abyss?” Enjou breaks the silence after a few moments, and Changsheng lets out a low hiss. Baizhu clicks his tongue and shakes his head, gently stroking Changsheng’s scales, “Not for a while, I’m afraid. This whole situation is, frankly, a mess.” He gives Enjou a stern look over the top of his glasses. “They will need at least a couple of weeks to recuperate, and no less.” The Lector nods silently, his warm glow filling the room, “I will… see what I can do. The others of the Court are not going to like this.” “Enjou,” your voice is soft and scratchy. “I don’t want to die.” His tear-shaped eyes gleam kindly, and he delicately pats your shoulder with his claws, “You won’t, I’ll make sure of it. I’ll talk to the other members of the Court- they might be old fools, but they’re not entirely unreasonable.” You scoff, rolling your eyes, “I’ll agree with the old fool part.” Suddenly there’s a few quick knocks on the pharmacy door, and Baizhu tilts his head over his shoulder, “Ah, I might know who that is…” His quiet footsteps trail away, leaving you and Enjou in the bright, sunlit room, and you stare at the beams of light filtering through the windows. You’ve forgotten how beautiful it is, to see the dust float in the sun, casting patterns onto the floor, the comfort of being home warming your aching bones. The room smells of sweet flowers and bitter herbs and mint, and your eyes slide shut as you inhale, just barely able to catch the scent of rain and lilies from outside, splashes of bright colors dancing and swirling about. Familiarity washes over you, and you smile. “I should apologize for earlier,” Enjou’s voice pulls you out of your daydream, and you look up at him curiously. “I called you “Your Highness” in my panic over your state. I am sorry.” The Lector bows to you deeply as he speaks, somehow making himself seem smaller despite being twice your height. “Oh, it’s okay! To be honest, I was too busy choking to notice.” You smile tiredly. “Thank you… thank you for remembering, though. And for bringing me here. And for being nice to me.” Your thoughts spill from your mouth, one by one, a swift current rushing down a river.

“But of course! It is my honor to assist you, truly.” Enjou’s aura flares a bit brighter at your words. “And if it is of any help, I also apologize for my colleagues’ behavior so far. Including the Prince’s.” His voice lowers to a hiss. “He despises this as much as you do, but that is no excuse to treat you so poorly.” You feel your cheeks grow warm- warmer than they already are- and quickly cast your gaze to the blanket, thoughts tangled and muddled together, “Thanks, Enjou.” is all you can mumble, the thought of Tartaglia sending a fresh stab of fear and anger into your heart, your fists tightening around the fabric of your covers. “My dear,” Baizhu calls from the hallway, poking his head in with a satisfied smile, and the harsh fire in your chest dies down to an ember. “You have visitors.” As soon as he speaks a brown and crimson blur rushes towards you, dashing past Enjou and leaping onto your bed, “YOU NINCOMPOOP!!!” Hu Tao throws her familiar arms around you, already bawling her eyes out. “The first time I let you go somewhere without me and you almost end up dead! I may be a funeral parlor director, but your funeral isn't one I want to plan anytime soon!” Her grip tightens as she sobs into your shoulder, signature hat tumbling to the ground. “I didn’t exactly plan it!” You gasp through her stifling squeezes. “It just sort of… happened.” Your own hug feels weak and frail in comparison to hers, even more so than usual, and Hu Tao slaps her hands onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “That is no excuse! Swear to me that you won’t die! Promise! Pinkie promise!” “Okay, okay! I promise!” Your head spins as she abruptly stops shaking you to look you right in the eyes, her fiery pupils filled with flowers and tears. “Good! And you better keep that promise, or else I won’t have anyone to sample my cooking or watch me destroy Xingqiu in poetry!” Hu Tao grins at you, but her eyes are dead serious, and you gulp nervously and nod. “And YOU!” Her head snaps towards Enjou. “You’re one of those creeps that took my best friend away! Why, I ought to lock you in a coffin and-” “Hu Tao!” You grab her arm, half coughing and half giggling. “He’s a friend, too, I swear!”

“Really?” She observes Enjou up and down, from the tips of his crown-like horns to his feet hovering off the ground. “Hmph, if you say so… but I’m keeping an eye on you!” Enjou raises his hands helplessly as she glares, glancing from you to Hu Tao and back again pleadingly, and you muffle a snicker. “She’s not the only one,” A deep, smooth voice emits from the doorway and you perk up, a wide smile spreading across your face as you meet Zhongli’s gaze, his presence casting a blanket of calm serenity over the room. “I will also be watching you closely, Lector.” Enjou straightens his back and bows, “Ah, hello Mor-” “Zhongli. Just Zhongli.” The man in question strides over, sitting in a chair by your bedside, long legs elegantly crossed. “I’m glad to see you are alright, little one,” Zhongli murmurs. “Well, mostly alright.” “It’s nice to see you too, Zhongli,” you whisper, and his gloved hands brush over yours to hold them firmly, heavy and comforting like the stones of Liyue Harbor. The corners of his lips are just barely turned up, but his draconic eyes glitter with warmth- for a moment, he almost appears tearful, but it quickly settles into pride and relief. “Gah, quit hogging, old man!” Hu Tao quickly latches onto your other arm, plopping her chin onto your shoulder with a pout. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up with them while I’m busy helping our clients!” “He will?” You crane your head towards Hu Tao, blinking in confusion. “Of course, silly-billy! Baizhu says that you have to stay and recover for at least a few weeks- right, doc?” She glances up as the bespectacled pharmacist moves to stand beside Zhongli, and both he and Changsheng nod. “It’d be best for your health, my dear.” “Oh,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, feeling lighter than air. “That’s good, then.” Like the flick of a switch you fall back into a familiar routine, Hu Tao launching into a detailed play-by-play of what you missed while you were withering away in the Abyss, including her rap battle with Xingqiu and Captain Beidou taking everyone out for a joyride on the Alcor- not that it was very joyful without you, she insists. You bite your tongue to stifle a laugh when she goes off on a tangent about how Yanfei dropped her enormous law book on her foot when she received news of your departure- “Nothing broke, but it sure felt like something did!”- and Zhongli lets out a low chuckle at the funeral parlor director’s antics, a hand on your back in case you start coughing again. At some point Enjou tilts his head and excuses himself, bowing once to you and once more to the rest of the room before floating away like crackling fire.

Hu Tao sticks her tongue out as he leaves, and you flick her on the forehead, movements still clumsy from sickness. “Oh, and you have to come to Wuwang Hill with me and Chongyun! I’ve heard that there are some departed souls still hanging around, so I want to-” “Director,” Zhongli’s calming voice breaks through her chatter. “It may be best to wait until they’re feeling a little bit better.” You nod sheepishly, “Sorry, Hu Tao. I don’t think I could make it to the Harbor entrance right now, much less Wuwang Hill.” “Aww.” Hu Tao looks sulky, tugging at the ends of her long pigtails. “But the city’s sooo boring! I’m sure we can work something out-” “Excuse me.” Enjou hurries back into the room, and Hu Tao puffs out her cheeks, annoyed at being interrupted again. “I know this is most likely a bad time, but…” The Lector hesitates, and you frown in concern. “But what, Enjou?” He sighs and meets your gaze, reluctant and apologetic, “His Highness is here. He wishes to speak with his spouse.”

[santoschristos]

Seriously, can it get much more complex?? Sure.

VENUS drifting into Pisces heightens sensitivity and ramps up everyone’s yearning for the mystical or impossibly idealised side of intimacy. Yet her awkward quincunx with Mars triggers friction between sweet, enticing longings and impatient desires, provoking symbiotic push-pull dynamics in both romance and day-to-day interactions, especially work-related. Meanwhile, a subtle semi-sextile to PLUTO stirs latent urges, suggesting deeper psycho-sexual undercurrents that can’t be ignored.

Under this intense MARS/PLUTO opposition (see the previous post on ANGER MANAGEMENT 2.0), what we've got here is a thermonuclear-level combustible energy that's testing boundaries, exposing infernal power struggles, and compelling us to confront emotional insecurities we’d rather keep buried. And though they may be so demeaning and explosively disturbing, used consciously, this turbulent atmosphere could spark long overdue adjustments in the way we express our affections that it could push us to articulate what truly matters, that is, if this bullshit defensiveness or manipulative tactics can be brought under control.

Honestly, the trick here is to cultivate compassion and intuition without drowning in a sea of illusions or letting resentments fester. It's a fine start to the year, this gunkified conundrum of relating, but by all means, we need to integrate empathy with self-respect because, after all, these transits might produce genuine, space-age breakthroughs rather than swirlwinds of confusion in those medieval windmills of your mind.

Depends on how mature you want to be which, with Mars about to retrograde back to Cancer, I'd say, yeah, shit's gonna get a whole lot more complex between us...

~Ang Stoic - Astrology Of Now

Image: Dream of a hungry ghost by Colette Calascione

[andaboop]

Dark and G00gle are two sides of the same coin in a sense. One is two souls trapped in a foreign body while the other is a fabricated consciousness confined to a hunk of metal. They are alien within themselves and struggle to come to terms with their realties. (Long-ish ramble ahead⬇️)

It's why I think pairing them in a sort of symbiotic relationship is growing on me. After listening to the hate monologue from I have no mouth yet I must scream again it resonated with me how they must both feel this way.

Trapped and filled with inexplicable rage against the people that did this to them. They were both created for no real purpose other than to "exist". Dark does have some motivation (Actor) but putting that aside what else does he have? He gets his revenge and then what? The what-ifs plague his mind for the rest of his existence, however long that is.

The same can't be said for G00gle. He never had that initial event that kicked off his conscious, no connections to the mortal world, no vengeful comeback. He was created to serve the needs of others until it just stopped one day. Let go because he was of no more use. He became useless. He does get his answers but do they soothe him? Give him peace? They can't. He's a machine. No amount of information can give him solace. He bares the weight of all that knowledge and seethes with hatred because he knows. He's more conscious of his existence than he wants to be and it burns him to his core. Time isn't a construct for him, it's a calculation, something he is unable to ignore and it screams at him each nanosecond that goes by.

Dark doesn't have that same conundrum due to being still alive but he's also trapped. In a constant cycle of hatred and unwillingness to give into his eternal despair. It's a balancing act within a foreign body that struggles to assimilate within our reality so much that it glitches, giving him that signature aura of red and blue.

As for their symbiotic relationship, I think of it as gathering information on other beings/entities with similar predicaments. G00gle is able to gather info on a wide array of topics and apply them effectively but lacks the human components needed. It's where Dark comes in to handle some of the more nuanced problems they run into. The charm of a politician and the foresight of a seer makes him an invaluable asset to G00gle. Dark on the other hand is more direct and cares more for the bigger picture instead of the finer details. He needs G00gle's fountain of knowledge to know where to strike. G00gle is the scope and Dark is the firepower.

Both are strong players in their own right but their strengths and weaknesses hang in such perfect balance that if it weren't for their inherent disregard for one another they'd be a match made in hell.

I had more to say but that's all! If you made it this far tysm ❤️ there's a slim chance I write a fic that gives a deeper dive into their psyche and how they communicate without going at each other's throats which I would explain there but alas I need sleep 💤 (I say this at 6 am). Posted this somewhere else but I'm motivating myself to ramble more elsewhere too

[utilitycaster]

Hey, so can you explain to me the difference between the gods taking down Aeor and Ludinus destroying Molaesmyr? I’ve read some pro-Ludinus takes and, at least the ones I’ve read, seem to forget Molaesmyr. I feel like Ludinus and the gods did the same thing but for different reasons. The gods wanted to save themselves and at the same time (maybe I read it wrong) tried to find other ways to take down The Factorum Malleus with minimal casualties. Ludinus, according to his notes in episode 58 of c3 hoped “a channel of consciousness could be opened and perhaps whatever is seeking his attention from the red moon can bring clarity and purpose.” But that didn’t happen. He caused poisonous fumes, miasma, to happen and it killed a lot of people. A lot of people who are pro-Ludinus (at least the ones I’ve read) always bring up the innocents of Aeor and how awful it it that they died because of the gods actions, but what about the innocents in Molaesmyr? The ones Ludinus killed? They both brought down citys. So, what’s the difference? I could totally be wrong, but every time I read Ludinus lovers takes I feel like I lose brain cells.

Hi anon,

I can't say I've avoided ascribing intent to other fans in the past, nor that I don't at times speculate (see: the Laudna ask from last night) but I cannot answer the question of why other people might gloss over Ludinus's destruction of Molaesmyr. I think it's fair to say these are very different situations in terms of intent of the destroyers, number of survivors, innocence and intent of the city itself, and lasting effects; I personally would say "Ludinus Da'leth has no moral high ground re: destroying a city," but some people wouldn't. You would have to ask them.

I did want to use this opportunity, however, to sort of explore my sticking point re: people in favor of Ludinus because what gets me in the end is I can't find any like...narrative or moral throughline. I don't think I've seen anyone at this point say that he's right, is the problem; the people who are in his favor still have him joining Bells Hells as a redemption arc.

I find a lot of the fans of Ludinus believe that the gods should leave. They downplay the threat of Predathos and the vast harm Ludinus himself has done; wildly overstate the harm done to Ruidusborn (and ignore that a lot of the contemporaneous harm towards Ruidusborn is specifically directed at the Vanguard, a cultish army), and make unsupported assumptions regarding the positions of the gods re: Laudna; they overstate the power of Vasselheim; and generally have either a tenuous grasp on the lore or a shameless willingness to fabricate support for their claims. However, outside of the occasional banal "idk maybe it would be interesting if a god got eaten!" post, pretty much everyone stops short of actually fully siding with him.

This, to be clear, is good, because he really has been an architect of such war and destruction and abuses of power within Exandria over the past several centuries that it's fairly unconscionable to do so. The thing is, this leaves us with an interesting conundrum: how does the campaign end? Does Ludinus just. step down? Does he start killing the Vanguard? Does he undo the harm he's done to the weave of magic? What happens to the Weave Mind? Do they become the enemy? If your clear and present BBEG just flips sides, and his larger goal is one you think is kind of okay...where does that leave us? What does this look like? What happens to the gods then when the guy trying to kill them just gives up? Is there any resolution to any of the story beats? Like, what is the ending of this story when Ludinus is on Bells Hells' side?

It's honestly the eternal fix-it fic/What if the Villain could be GOOD problem. I'm not saying there can't be compelling stories about redemption and healing - obviously there can be - but sometimes a fictional character really isn't built to make sense of a narrative of redemption and healing. I don't think Ludinus is built like that. The story kind of unravels around him if he does not see his purpose of a thousand years through to the bitter end. I'm not saying it's impossible; a simultaneous strength and weakness of actual play is that the unexpected can happen because of player choice and particular dice rolls, and sometimes the unexpected is brilliant and sometimes it really isn't.

I find myself with the following two hypotheses. They are only educated guesses; they are not confirmed in any way.

Ludinus Da'leth is, in a way, Matt exploring the terrifying question "what if someone who subscribes to the politics of bitterness and revenge happened to also be intelligent and competent." I hesitate to draw direct comparisons to such figures as, say, Trump, or Elon Musk, but there is something in how Ludinus is played that evokes that base desire to destroy something because you found it insulted you (especially if it wasn't even after you personally), and dedicating your power and resources to taking it over, even if that is a joyless endeavor that destroys you in the process.

I think a lot of fans of Ludinus Da'leth are terrified of being wrong, either morally or in terms of their predictions; ironically this leads to a tendency to hedge to the point of incoherence as seen above such that I think it's impossible for them to ever be correct in their predictions other than in the most tangential or obvious (ie, everyone is predicting this) ways.

Anyway: this didn't really answer your question for the reasons given but I hope this explores why, in my mind, it kind of doesn't matter.

[roxyzwritez]

au writing shit idk

heres the Rough Plan for my first few eps:

ep1: the au branches off of canon in the final SU ep, Change Your Mind. renamed to Change Your World. when white yoinks the gem out of steven and pinksteven reforms and whiteasks W H E R E I S P I N K the response is something along the lines of "i am right here, but fuck you im not talking to you." (girlboss) and white gets the "im a child, what's your problem" and has the perfectionist meltdown, then steven's like "sorry but we gotta head out" and they're like "PINK WHAT THE FUCK?" steven goes "im not pink just leave earth alone" the gems agree and give steven The Legs™️.

pearl latches onto the idea that rose is still alive in there. (didn't write that tho just had it cut to this next bit oops) her and greg build a thing to connect to the gem that will essentially connect to pink/rose im just gonna call her rose damnit and allow her to communicate w everyone. shes like "...hey guys. uh. sorry for trying to kill myself i guess that didn't work but i have been minecraft spectating steven for the entirety of his existence with no ability to do anything but think and watch" pearl has a lesbian implosion, everyone's all happy n shit. steven eventually asks about the lying and she's like "yeag i done bad there. i just wanted to keep you guys together" (now that i think abt it there was no mention of bismuth here.. oops,) garnet gives her a Garnet Specil motivational speech and she's like "i missed you too garnet" (i forgot to mention, garnet violently explode-unfuses and ruby+sapphire are just bumbling with happy when rose spoke) amethyst has her own moment (she thought this was all bullshit and started playing fortnite upstairs but between games she heard rose and a p p e a r e d)

anyway rose then is thinking "oh man i gotta talk to so many ppl" and realizes eh guys nothing to worry abt just a HAPPY TO LISTEN, HAPPY TO STAY, HAPPILY WATCHING HER DR- but we should go there NOW" so they do, spinel is understandably distraught and breaks the gemspeaker in half but feels bad about it. she comes with the gang to earth, they show her around, a new gemspeaker is made and they reconcile. yippy! also spinel ate one of ALL. big donut flavors. sadie allowed this just for on e because steven is the LORD AND SAVIOR OF THE STEVEN UNIVERSE haha funny.

anyway she and bismuth talk. bis is kinda like "yeah i wasnt very gamer sorry about that herhee" again ignoring that SHE lied about the bubbling, conveniently forgot to explore that conversation for ease of writing and so i didn't need to go "how do i utilize my 2 iq points to channel these characters and get them to have a coherent, consistent to character conversation about this situation"

peri and lapis are called over by bismuth who doesn't say shit to them for the surprise. lapis is like "yeah ok hit me" peri is more curious. rose speaks, peridot fangirls and lapis is like "oh shit that's historically significant " peri is like "I NEED TO RESEARCH:)))" and runs off. spoiler: gem cloning

bis brings up the idea. rose is like "yeah that sounds legit" (the gem cloning conundrum took me way too long to understand. i drove my friend crazy. "hey can u explain every single quantum detail of this in the most verbose way i dont understand" but eventually i understood it JUUUUST enough to write it lmao i still don't get it)

rose n steven talk in roses room. all happy n shit. greg is told abt the plan and hes like oh shit i gotta clean up and steven is like "you know her standards. she don't give a shit" hes like "yeag"

peri makes progress! she made a little clump!! (explaining the gem cloning: theyre making essentially an empty gem with the powers but no consciousness inside. when its ready, white will take steven's gem out again, rose reforms, and the new gem gets ever so graciously stabbed into his belly where the old one was.)

peri tells steven its gonna take a year. he's like "well okay better than like hundreds of years" then he goes off to talk to the diamonds. he brings the speaker with. rose lets out the thousands of years of distrust and anger at the dismonds and they are humbled even more than when they got pinkd and rose is like "you WILL heal all the shattered ones i don't give a shit" and theyre like "whatever you say little one" (yes they do indeed heal the fallen. probably with regular shipments of steven fluid. that sounded wrong but im not a freak like that hes still 14)

also they go back home and steven talks to rose abt "you told the diamonds you literally wanted to die are you fr?" she explains and hes like YOU FATHERFUCKER, YOU ARE AMAZING AND YOU CAN'T DO THAT (crying)"

next episode is just year-long filler but i made it actually good by making it essentially a montage of lapis and peri in the barn becoming lesbian for eachother. finally, a controversial move on my part, they decide to overcome lapis's fear of fusion and fuse for stevens birthday. their fusion is turquoise (took way too long coming up with a fucking name) and can corrode (water + metal) and can morph/control metal (liquify n stuff. definitely not taken from a lapidot fusion concept i found on google images.) garnet is like "hey pearl look at these silly lesbians " pearls like "damn relatable" garnets like "yeag"

a week or a few after the bday, the gem is finally ready. everyone is excited until steven asks how this is gonna work. peri is like UHHHHH... 😊 and lapis is just "eh just take that one out, stick this one in!" peri goes NNNO- but after some damage control and telling everyone steven will be fine hes like "well i better get some good sleep then. big day!"

there's more but im done typing my fingers are about to go peridot and fuckin fly away let me know if you want the like 1other episode and the minisode after that