#and I'd rather just be aware and of sound mind instead

[kittlyns]

I keep jolting awake and every time I do there is so much fear in my heart and I honestly don't know why

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[iamespecter]

TADC OCs: "The Die Quartet"!

"Oh but Ziku, who are these very handsome die?"

Well I'm glad nobody asked, because that would ruin the joke!

The Die Quartet are OCs of mine that I created for TADC, and for what purpose? Well, they're the minds behind show's music!

Hidden just behind a corner or two, or four, These obliviously mischievous and enthusiastic quartet play whatever music they can, one that certainly matches the current "mood" of what the cast is going through. Meet Cuba, Dodeca, Tetra, and Octa, The Amazing Musical Performers, for The Amazing Digital Circus!

LORE AND BOUNDARIES UNDERNEATH THE CUT!

When the Circus was initially created, it was feeling too barren for a place that's meant to be "lively". And so, Caine went and copy-pasted himself four times, while replacing the heads with some die props he found on the floor, retexturing and adjusting their bodies, to fit their new roles.

A little bit of a code rewrite to make them able of producing any sounds all on their own to be musically intertwined, and the quartet was basically ready to go: but there's only one problem.

Caine completely forgot to remove the admin privileges from their code.

So once the four spawned, they immediately began floating around, dancing and creating the main theme for the circus, and did it all perfectly. So Caine decided that as long as they don't interfere with anything major in the circus and did their job as the musical minds behind the show/game's soundtracks, he doesn't really care about fixing this error and would rather let these four run rampant to create more songs.

Ever since then, the Die Quartet has been messing with every circus members, most of the time playing obnoxious music that fits the "current mood". You'll even see their canes dance to the tempo they've set, like some backup dancers.

Think of it like: You now have x4 Caines with dice heads, flying and snooping around, so that they can "improve the mood" with their music! Ain't that swell??

(But really, all they do is just annoy the Circus members just like Caine does, for the better or the worse. Probably the latter.)

Fun facts about the Die Quartet!

Even though they've all been created at the same time and share the features of a die, they do not consider themselves as "brothers", and only see one another as colleagues instead.

Their names are related to the type of their die: Tetra (yellow), Dodeca (purple), Cuba (red), and Octa (green).

Despite being reused assets of Caine himself, they have distinct personalities that separate them from each other: Tetra is more joyful and playful, Dodeca is a more dramatic/theatric and over the top, Cuba is the natural lead and more stern than anybody, and Octa is the more closed off of the gang but willing to provide his best.

Yet, they all still lack awareness of personal space and boundaries just like Caine, and WILL be intrusive towards anyone they set their sights on, with the intent of predicting their mood and setting the current situation perfectly in musical form. (ex. if a character is sneaking, all four will follow "cautiously" behind while one imitates/pulls out a tiny piano playing to the theme of "tip-toeing". You know, like a cartoon gag.)

Although they can perfectly imitate ANY sound or instrument imaginable, They'll still pull out a "physical" instrument if the gag calls for it.

BOUNDARIES!

You can pretty much draw fanart of them! In fact I would REALLY love to see it and I encourage it! Really, just don't claim them as your own, or steal their designs.

NSFW of them is accepted, but please keep in mind that I have an SFW blog. Which means THERE ARE MINORS. Show them to me privately instead, I'd still love to see it <3

While NSFW is accepted (privately), please make it a morally decent one, because I don't really wanna see some disgusting stuff. This pretty much includes: non-con, scat, etc.

Aside from that though, I hope you all enjoyed these four! I really love how they turned out, and would love to draw them more. I was initially hesitant on showing my TADC OCs because I don't think people would like 'em, but fuck it.

My boys, they deserve to be seen even if just by a few people on the internet.

[billthebullfrogs]

sure thing.

“Hey, firecracker,” a voice—unmistakable, to you, at least —calls from behind, and you instantly knew who it was. “Need to talk to you.”

There was only one person that would call you that nickname. Luke Castellan, the bane of your existence, thought it was extremely funny to remind you of that one time you almost burnt down the pavilion. The moment they figured out it was you; you had earned the nickname you dreaded so much. He loved reminding you of embarrassing stuff you did. You desperately wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face. What did he even want? Didn’t he have something better to do than to bother you?

He leaned against one of the posts in the arena, eyebrows raised expectantly. He just needed a change from training the newbies. He wanted to go all out, and the best person to do that with was sadly you. Well, at least the satisfaction he’d get from beating you—because he would beat you, obviously, was totally worth it.

You sighed, “What?”

“Need a sparring partner, that's all,” he said, a smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips, now accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “And I'd rather have you than anyone in this camp.”

“That sounded too nice for your standards... Are you that desperate?” Your eyes narrowed; you were skeptical.

“Desperate to beat your ass, yes," he said, an easy laugh breaking past the steely look on his face. Luke was aware of the fact that he often annoyed you, and maybe he liked it just a little. "Besides, I wanna try some new sword techniques I came up with. So, whaddya say? Pretty please?" His head tilted a little when he said that, he was giving you that look.

You were silent, biting your lips just like you always did when you were focused. After a moment, you gave in. “Fine,” you said. Maybe you’d benefit from this, too.

"That’s my girl," he said as he casually walked toward you. "I promise not to go easy on you. If you feel like you're gonna trip and impale yourself with my sword, just say the word, alright?" A smirk flitted past his lips, though his words seemed genuine enough. Luke knew you would never stop being rivals. But the feeling of respect he had for you was real. He trusted you and even cared for you, but he’d rather commit war crimes than admit that.

“Fuck you,” you spat as you got into your signature fighting stance. Maybe this was a mistake, but if you gave up already, he’d think you’d gotten cold feet.

“If you ask nicely.”

That smug bastard. You hated him with all your heart. You hated his stupid smile and the way he made everyone around him feel comfortable, even you. You hated the butterflies he gave you. You hated his guts.

With a smooth slashing motion towards his torso, you started the fight. He blocked it with ease. Without a further word, Luke went in towards you with a quick and precise strike, sword arm extended forward in a tight grip with the tip aimed towards your sternum. He wanted to overwhelm you, thinking you hadn’t improved since the last time you sparred. But oh, was he wrong.

You’ve been watching him, his rather aggressive style of fighting, and the look in his eyes when he tried a certain move for a long time now. You’ve fought him many times before, and you were getting the hang of it. You’ve been training a lot, and while he was busy with the new campers, you had developed your own, unique fighting style. He knew you as a pretty good fighter, who could almost keep up with him on a good day. Almost. But now, you’d surpass his expectations. You blocked his hit, your body moving smoothly like liquid. Instead of using all your strength to try and withstand his attacks, you just gave in. Let loose. You used the force of his hit and channeled it, transferring it into your own with ease. He did not see that coming.

You'd always had a strong sense of intuition and your body would respond accordingly, as if it had a mind of its own. Luke was quick to counter, his body leaning back with a fluid motion to avoid any of your quick strikes, all the while trying to find an opening. The back-and-forth movement that was once just a spar has now become a deadly dance of swords, the two of you constantly in motion, no pause in sight. There is a certain excitement in the air, almost a spark that has ignited your mutual hostility and aggression.

Your movements were fluid as if you could predict all of Luke's moves in advance. You were a master of timing, of anticipating all of the demigod's strikes. Not once could he match your fluidity, his movements jerky compared to your graceful flow. There was something about the way you both fought so elegantly that made you feel like you were part of an agile performance, each of you matching the other's movements perfectly. It felt less like a fight and more like an art.

Yet even as you moved with effortless ease, the clash of swords kept you both on your toes, your bodies moving in such perfect sync that neither could find a flaw in the other's defense. Your movements almost appeared as if you were both working together, but this was not the case—in fact, Luke was becoming more frustrated by the second as he strained to find a way to slip past your guard.

“You’ve improved,” he breathed out while you fought. “I like it.” The way he said that sent shivers up your spine. It was embarrassing how these words affected you so hard that you made a small mistake. It was a mistake that could happen to even the best swordsmen in history, but a mistake nonetheless. And it led to his sword held at your throat. You fucked up. And he made you feel it, the cold tip of his sword gently tapping your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You prayed that he didn’t notice the color on your cheeks.

“You're distracted too easily.” He looked serious for once, that glint of smugness had left his eyes for just a moment. “I win again.” And there it was again, that stupid smile of his. He dropped his sword and held out a hand to help you up. You let him pull you up, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Did you get what you wanted out of this fight?” You asked, and he nodded. “Much better than trying to teach the newbies not to drop their swords while fighting.”

“Good,” you turned to walk away, but he grabbed your wrist. “Same time tomorrow?”

You could’ve said no, could’ve walked away, could’ve done ANYTHING, but instead, you looked at him and said, “Sure thing.”

[midnightsun-if]

How would ROs react to a Mc who is off in their own little world just playing with the ROs' hand before slotting both their hands together and holding it, just looking happy with themselves and not noticing the ROs watching them?

Koda: "I like this."

The soft statement, pulls you from your thoughts, causing you to meet gentle whiskey brown as Koda offers you a broad grin, his large hand encapsulating your own. You hadn't even noticed that he had turned to you and, from the looks of the darkened screen, had shut off his movie in order to give you his attention.

"Like what?" Your mind finally catches up on the sudden conversation, tightening your grip on his hand. "Me zoning out during one of your favorite movies?"

His grin widens further. "No," he replies, the rumbling sound of his laugh reminded you of the bear that lurked within him. "I like that you feel comfortable enough around me to do so. It makes me feel good knowing that I can bring you that much peace."

Surging forward, you press a gentle kiss to his cheek, enjoying the way he takes the opportunity to turn into a hug. "Even if I should be paying attention?" You lay your head against his broad shoulder. "Turn the move back on, Koda. I know how much you enjoy this movie and I promised I'd give it a chance."

"I'd rather watch you any day."

Scarlett: You're startled from your thoughts when a delicate kiss is pressed to the inside of your wrist, you hadn't realized that you had zoned out that much, wherein you hadn't even been able to notice that Scarlett had shifted closer. Though that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Scarlett made you feel more serene than you had ever felt before, a steady rock in the whirling storm, welcoming arms after years at sea, the feeling of home all wrapped up in one person-- all of this ensured that you ended up drifting off to the whims of your mind, surrounded by the presence of the woman you love.

"Penny for your thoughts, my heart?"

The raspy chuckle intertwined with the question, coupled with the sparkling glint within viridescent eyes, causes your face to heat up in slight embarrassment. "Wasn't really thinking," you admit, rubbing the back of your neck ruefully. "Was just off in my own little world, I suppose." You angle your head to get a better look at her, well aware that she hadn't let go of your hand, choosing to rub her thumb across your knuckles soothingly instead, and it causes a warm feeling to settle within your chest. "What were you doing?"

"Staring at mine."

Cyrus/Cyra: It's not one singular thing that pulled you from your thoughts, nor was it anything super apparent, but something had been tugging at your mind in order to get you back into the present, to become aware of your surroundings once more. It's only when you turn your head and meet gentle golden eyes that the reason became apparent, the loving smile curling their lips filled you with warmth and a familiar tug of affection at your heartstrings.

"Were you just going to continue staring at me as I played with your fingers?" You ask, a teasing note in your tone. "Or would you have stopped me at some point?"

They tilt their head, pale blonde hair shimmering in the light. "Why would I do that, my flame? You're quite the bewitching sight to behold. I don't see why I would deprive myself from something so beautiful?"

You roll your eyes, fondness settling within your body like a soothing balm to your soul. "One of these days you're going to get bored of staring at me, Cy."

"I don't think that could ever happen; I was made to look at you like the Sun was meant to look upon the Moon."

Quinn: "Having fun there?"

You shouldn't be as startled as you were, if you're being honest, as Quinn's presence hadn't exactly slipped your mind, but your body still gave a light jolt regardless. Something that elicits a gentle chuckle from the wolf at your side, sapphire blue eyes watching you with utmost affection. It's only now, as their familiar warmth spreads up your arm, that you realize you had intertwined their hand with your own.

"Sorry," you apologize, angling your head to look at them better on the couch. "Didn't realize I zoned out that much."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Quinn soothes. "Do I look like someone that needs one? I'm quite content where I am."

"Are you sure?" It's something you can't help but ask, to make sure that Quinn didn't mind simply sitting back and relaxing on the couch -- not when you knew that they had planned to go for a hike through the forest. "I don't want to keep you from where you wish to be."

"The only way you'd be able to do that is if you left my side."

Caden: "I-I should p-put on some gloves."

It's a statement so out of left field that you're instantly aware of your surroundings, and the panicking phantom that was looking down at your intertwined hands with growing concern.

"W--" You clear your throat. "What? Why would you need to put on gloves?"

Pale silver eyes look almost doe-like in their worry. "I don't wish for you to get cold. I know it can't be the most comfortable thing to be touching me for this long." Caden dips their head, dark curls falling across their forehead haphazardly. "I should put on some gloves."

You flex your fingers around theirs, fully aware at the cool feeling against your own skin, but it wasn't overall unpleasant, especially not when you could feel Caden skin-to-skin. "I don't mind it, Caden," you soothe, a gentle smile on your lips. "But if you'd like to let me go then I won't hold it against you."

"That's the last thing I could ever want."

Sloane: Their hand tightens around your own, pulling you from your thoughts, as you suddenly find yourself tugged into their side, the smell of smoke and something inherently them surrounding you, as they settle back into their own spot; either completely oblivious, or ignoring, your confused stare. However, as you knew they would, Sloane soon broke as they had never enjoyed being stared at.

"Why are you starin' at me?" They huff, finally leveling you with a look. "Do I have something on my face?"

A smile upturns your lips. "No. I'm just curious why you decided to cuddle." You smooth a hand over their abdomen, crinkling the fabric of their old band-tee slightly, as their own arm tightens around your shoulders. "Since we're in the living room, out in the open, don't you have a rep to protect?"

It's an old joke, one borne from finally getting them to watch Grease 2 with you, but Sloane simply peers down at you with an undecipherable expression, before they lean forward to press a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

"The only thing that I have to protect is in my arms right now."

Blake: You almost jump out of your skin when Blake settles firmly into your side, their arm wrapped snugly around your waist, head firmly planted on your shoulder. "You're too cute, angel." They poke your cheek, violet eyes peering up at you through thick lashes. "Don't you know that I can't keep my hands off of you when you act like that?"

Having known Blake for as long as you have, although getting used to the romantic aspect of your relationship was still new, you were well versed in the confusion they could cause, but even this took that cake. Something that must have shown clearly on your face as Blake's smirk only broadens further.

"What are you on about, Herrera?" You shake your head, careful not to dislodge them all the same. "Act like what?"

"Like I'm someone worth holding onto."

Reginald/Regina: "Do you want to watch something else?"

A gentle tug to your hand brings you from your thoughts, the sounds of fighting becoming more apparent as the movie played on, but gentle blue-green eyes held you captive: the easy way they hadn't let go of your hand, simply interweaving your fingers together more firmly, or the depth of the affection within the turbulent waves of their gaze, causes your breath to catch.

"If this isn't your cup of tea, I'll be more than happy to watch something else." They incline their head towards the television, a wry smile on their lips. "Cause if you're not enjoying this movie, I don't think you'll enjoy it when we get to the prequels."

You shake your head. "No, I want to keep watching." Even if it was only to see the passionate gleam in your favorite pair of eyes as they watched the screen. "Just got caught up in my own head for a bit, but I'm good." Attempting to lighten the mood, you tease. "I'm surprised you were able to notice, I know how involved you get with these movies."

"Never to the point where I wouldn't notice you."

[adh-d2]

Lil' Obimaul fic snippet

Summary

In which a disastrous attempt at ambush and subterfuge on both sides leaves Obi-Wan and Maul trapped on the ruins of Dathomir. Maul needs Obi-Wan alive for his lightsaber and his intel. Obi-Wan needs Maul alive to teach him what the hell to feed this abandoned baby he's found...

Word count: 570 | WIP | SFW | Dividers by @xurengu0

Maul gives a sidelong glance to the bundle that hasn’t even stirred in Obi-Wan’s arms.

“Perhaps there is a reason it was left for dead. It has no survival instincts to have slept through all that.”

Obi-Wan bristles, torn between a twinge of shame at his own actions and the strangest instinct to defend the child’s honor.

“I told you, he’s hungry. He cries the entire time he’s conscious. I-I’m enlisting a little help from the Force to keep him asleep for now. I don’t want him to suffer unnecessarily.”

“Then you should smother it before it wakes.” Maul doesn’t even break his stride, his eyes still scanning their surroundings like the predator he is. “Even if we find something to feed it, it will hunger again. It will be cold. It will cry for its mother, and she will remain too dead to soothe it.” His voice is low, conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “To live is to suffer.”

Obi-Wan is silent for a long moment. The wave of contempt he braces himself to feel, then release into the Force, never comes. Instead he simply observes Maul. He watches the way the zabrak’s body moves as if on autopilot; as if hunting for food with nothing but his wits and his bare hands was so mundane to him as to become instinct. His horned head shifts in response to a near-imperceptible sound, and as his eyes catch the light his pupils seem to disappear in a flash of refracted glow. ‘He can see in the dark’ Obi-Wan thinks, a dormant memory of his studies of zabrak physiology returning to him. There was a time, not long after Naboo, when he’d obsessively trawled the archives for any information he could find on Dathomirian zabraks. ‘Well, the adult ones at least’ his mind ruefully supplies, aware of the weight of the infant in his arms. He’d hidden those long nights of research from everyone at the temple, knowing the mind healers wouldn’t approve. Something about unhealthy coping strategies. Even now he couldn’t explain exactly why he did it beyond the fact that he’d needed to know. if he’d just had the information, was there any weakness he could have exploited, anything else he could have done…Obi-Wan wrenches his thoughts away from the past. The man before him looks every bit the nightmare that has haunted Obi-Wan’s dreams for the past decade. For all of the countless hours that Darth Maul had consumed his thoughts in the years since Qui-Gon’s death, for all of the agonizing and analyzing and ruminating, Obi-Wan still finds himself unprepared for the reality that the Sith is walking right beside him.

 ‘But he is,’ the whisper of a thought sounds just like his old master. Obi-Wan takes a steadying breath, relaxes his shoulders, and centers himself on the present. On the living force. For perhaps the first time since their fateful duel all those years ago, Obi-Wan looks at Maul and allows himself to simply be curious.

To live is to suffer, he’d said.

“You’ve fought awfully hard to stay alive, for someone who believes that.”

Maul’s head swivels to face him, the hunt forgotten, and Obi-Wan finds himself pinned by the intensity of his stare. It is impossible to focus on anything but the weight of the Sith’s undivided attention.

Maul opens his mouth to speak-

and the infant begins to wail.

Yo, I figured I'd put this at the bottom rather than the top, but this is the first piece of fanfic I've posted. Like, ever. Anywhere. I guess I'm a writing blog now? It feels weird to make any kind of fuss about it, but just as fucking weird to post it without context.

Anyway, I'm hoping to keep writing this and turn it into a properly fleshed out AU, but just in case the mice in my brain move on to other things, I wanted to put this snippet out in the universe.

[bellaxgiornata]

Ask the boys! What are Mikey and/or Matt's favourite comforting ways to decompress (with reader)?

Ohhhh, thank you for this one!! I had to sit them down for this little dialogue! As always, I'll throw everything under the cut because this'll be longer. But please enjoy this gif depicting Matt's enthusiasm levels today at me being distracted from a particular fic update he wants.

Bella, dramatically shouting: So who's ready to play ASK THE BOYS?!

Mikey, cringing a little on the couch: D'ya really need to say it like that, pet?

Matt, raising a brow: Yeah, we're not exactly on an episode of Family Feud. This isn't a game show.

Bella: No, but could you imagine if you were? Maybe Fog could be the fourth player. And you know what? I'd actually pay good money to see that because it'd be hilarious. But now that you say that, I think I want to play Ask the Boys like it is a game show every time someone asks for it. So thank's for that, Matty!

[Matt dramatically sighs loudly on the couch beside Mikey]

Frank, shouting from the kitchen as he makes coffee: Can you just let the lady have some fun? Play along, dammit. Don't you know better than to argue with a pregnant woman, anyway?

Mikey, settling into the couch: He has a point. Best not to argue.

Matt, reluctantly: Fine. What's the question?

Bella: Okay, since you're being a sourpuss I'm asking Mikey first. What's your favorite comforting way to decompress with Reader/a significant other?

Mikey, scratching his beard in thought: Suppose I'd say...somethin' calming. Like takin' a walk, just holdin' hands and enjoyin' each others' company. Or maybe cuddlin' up in bed or on the sofa with a book and just readin' together, not even sayin' a word. I deal with enough excitement with my family, don't exactly need anymore outside o' that, y'know? I'd rather just...slow things down for a bit together. Be able to hold them and just be with them.

Bella: Ohh, I like that. You definitely do need less stress and a slower paced environment with some of the stuff your family puts you through constantly. Or like...an entire change of scenery that isn't Dublin.

Mikey, humming in agreement: Ya can say that again.

Bella, focusing on Matt: Now Matt, same question.

Matt, growing a sheepish smile: I'd have to say...in my bed with both of us not wearing clothing--[quickly holding up a hand to quiet everyone before they interject] solely because it's far too irritating if I'm trying to decompress and relax with too much outside stimulation, not for any other reasons. I'd rather just feel them over anything else. Because I'd prefer to focus in on their heartbeat and their breathing, listening to the sound of their voice as they talked. Sometimes outside stimulation just gets to be too much with my senses, and that's where I'd feel the most comfortable with a partner while trying to decompress. Somewhere without some of that extra stimulation. And uh...I wouldn't mind being the one who was being cuddled instead of doing the cuddling, I guess, too...

Bella, nodding: Makes sense. I think we're all well aware of how touch starved you tend to be--especially for a touch that isn't someone punching you in the face for once. Obviously for you to decompress with a partner, you'd want them doing the comforting. Though I highly doubt you'd ever just, you know, ask for what you wanted, so you'd need a partner that already could intuit that. But you know, there's nothing wrong with asking for what you need, Matt.

Matt, abruptly rising from the couch: Okay, I wasn't expecting this to turn into a therapy session. Are we done now?

Bella, rolling her eyes: If it was a therapy session with all of you, we'd be here for months. But yes, that does answer the question for this round of Ask the Boys!

Matt, grinning: Great, now maybe you can get back to that thing you're almost finished writing for me. You know the one.

Bella, sighing: Fine, fine. I'll let you three get back to pre-baby panicking in here for now while I finish it.

(Bella's Follower Celebration Post for those who want to join in the fun!)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting someone stream a movie in a server?

So I (27M) moderate a server for fans of a video game who wanna RP together. It's not small but I'd call it cozy, and there are several mods and it's understood things have to stay like... Pg-13/T. We don't mind if you say fuck but we're also in a fandom that appeals to minors.

There are minors in the server. Minors are welcome to join the server.

This is simply context for what follows.

A member (32F) joins the server, and broke a rule here or there, and I am the mod that was most active so I was the one that usually corrected her. It was nothing personal, she just broke minor rules and needed to be corrected, or asked for something the mod team disagreed with, and I answered the question.

One day, this member comes in and announces she will be streaming a movie in the server soon for anyone that wants to join. Specifically she's going to stream Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.

So, on one hand, this might be our bad. We didn't really have streaming rules? Because no one really streamed. Ever. Server's years old and it's only ever been a few art streams.

So the mods quickly huddle up and make up rules about what we do and don't allow to be streamed, and all agree that streaming R rated movies in a server with kids under 18 is a bad idea.

I let her know we have to ask she doesn't stream this movie in here, and announce to the server our new streaming rules. (Which are "no streaming games above T, no movies about PG-13. If you think it's fine anyway, please ask us for permission first instead. If you want to watch something someone is streaming but might be triggered, please ask either the person streaming or consult 'Does the Dog Die'")

She immediately write a several paragraph response informing me that I'm the reason they're leaving the server, that she's tried to extend the olive branch to me several times but every time I've been condescending and rude. But she was having a bad day and wanted to stream this beautiful movie and share it with people but because of me she can't so she's leaving.

I legitimately don't know what events she's even talking about? I try to sound professional, which I guess could make me sound aloof but I also run all my responses past the other mods??? Who all okayed them? None of this happened in DMs, it's not like I could've been hiding it from them or gone rogue to do this, the other mods were aware of any rebukes given to this person, and I honestly don't know what olive branches she thinks she offered. Unless she means that time she asked us if she could be made a mod?

I'm just baffled, and a bit worried because I try to be fair to all members in the group and honestly, we just didn't want a movie with like, rather explicit stuff shown in our server? Where minors might see it? But I guess I really hurt her feelings and made her feel like she had to leave, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[onestepbackwards]

Imagine how different the Sinnoh storyline would be if self aware Cyllene, Kamado, Volo and Cogita kept a journal and it was passed down until their descendents have it. I'd imagine Cyrus reading about cyllene's life and starts looking for the player rather than go through the extra steps of finding the lake trio, getting the red chain and summoning gods on a random mountain to make a wish. I can't imagine what Rowan would think of kamado's paranoid rantings about the main character and us (although i spent hours just feeding random wildlife).

Hdksjdkd imagine if like, some of them had pictures of the Hero saved and kept in those journals too. How the Hero fell from the sky, and claimed to be from a future where pokemon and humans work and live together.

How they talk about things, such a ‘tee-vees’, or ‘microwaves’.

Rowan finds the book when digging through some old stuff in his attic. He ends up flipping through it, and catching a picture that falls out of someone.

After some investigation, Rowan declares his ancestor must have been hit in the head to be obsessed with someone and so paranoid. Though he does pity the man for losing his village as a kid, he wonders if that event caused too much stress for the man.

He does find some ideas interesting though, and decides to look into Sinnoh’s history later.

Imagine his surprise when he later sees someone who looks like a carbon copy of the person in the journals, and how well they use a starter pokemon.

Rowan decides then and there is fate is real, he will do what he can and give this person a pokemon. Especially since they seem to get along so well with the partner they choose. They’ll definitely need the experience…

Meanwhile, in an alternate timeline, Cyrus finds the well kept journal of his ancestor Cyllene when collecting things from his family’s old home that was left behind after a move.

As much as he dislikes the memories, he remembered a few journals he saw as a kid he wanted to find. Thankfully, they were left behind as junk in the attic.

He flips through them, curious if he remembered correctly how bizarre they were. Stories of people falling from the sky, and time travel, to literal pokemon gods.

At first, it sounds like crazy talk. If it wasnt for the clear cur way his ancestor wrote her journal, he’d have waved it off.

Until things such as planes and cars are mentioned. Some of those things specifically not having existed yet in that period of time. His interest is piqued.

Were they not ramblings of someone who lost their mind to stress after all?

Cyrus then comes across photos delicately sewn into the pages to help preserve them. His ancestor sitting with someone.

That would seem normal, though his eyes widen just a fraction when he sees several legendary pokemon behind them in some photos, like they are having a picnic of some sort with a few other people.

The same person besides Cyllene pops up though, labeled with a name, how they are from the future.

Cyrus then takes note how this Hero mentions how they battled someone named Cynthia. A name he is well familiar with.

Packing the journal into a case he brought with him, he decides then and there to change the course of action.

He would hold off on finding Giratina. That would be a plan he’s keep on a back burning if things didn’t work out.

Instead, he decides to search for you.

[iamthat-iam]

"In order for me to diminish a circumstance in the reality of my character, I must stop paying it attention and start paying attention to the things I feel like experiencing." what you reblogged from vesora. how to know the difference between ego ignoring/avoiding a circumstance and then daydreaming of a preferred circumstance with no change ocurring because ego can't change things, and then self not paying attention and instead paying attention to the circumstance that it wants to experience? also that means that i couldn't just say a circumstance isn't real for it to cease existing, i'd have to actively imagine something new by using mind of me/ego? "If I notice the character desires something, I do not try to fulfill her as that would be trying to fit a puzzle piece where it doesn’t belong. Instead, I start becoming aware of a person who has the things I wish to experience. Everything is at my disposal. I am at peace. I crave nothing, I fear nothing." i think vesora explains it here, but it sounds to me like LOA just in different words. if they talk about both on their blog, sorry, i haven't had time to check but that specific post was tagged with nd. also whenever things do change, i trace it back and it feels to me that ego's action (using thoughts, mental images, deciding something is) made the change, not something else. i then think that maybe i am using LOA, but if I were to think about ND, i made LOA up. it is a made up belief and practice. but also if i were to believe that i am consciousness and create everything, or in other words, have that assumption - i am practicing LOA. i know that in the end it doesn't actually matter - but thinking loops like that knock me out of things sometimes.

'how to know the difference between ego ignoring circumstances vs self not paying attention and being aware of something new'

The difference is expecting something out of focusing your awareness elsewhere. When you do it from ego, you're doing it with the intention to change what ego sees. So for example you do a visualization technique and then wait for something to happen after you're done. Doing it from Self is knowing you were never ego and the circumstances aren't yours. You're *being* this new person, focusing entirely on the present moment, not waiting for anything to happen because you are it, now.

'it sounds like LOA with different words'

In LOA you are fulfilling ego by reassuring it that it already has what it wants through techniques. In ND you're giving up the ego identity and merely choosing between different characters/experiences. That's why it's not the same.

If you want the circumstance to go away you can absolutely say it's not real. The situation will sort itself out on its own. You don't have to 'imagine' anything with the mind. I think what Sora meant you have the option of focusing on a specific scenario you felt like experiencing, rather than the circumstances. Its not required, taking your attention away from the problem and just not identifying with it is enough.

At the end of the day all concepts are made up, created by Self, so you are right in saying that LOA is a made up practice.

If I didn't interpret your post correctly @vesora feel free to correct me and clarify things for this anon!

[antiradqueerguy]

Hi. I'm antiradqueerreally. I was very badly spiraling (I have very severe hormonal issues that cause a myriad of problems if I'm not medicated, which I wasn't due to it not being a good time for taking them) throughout that entire account's run. The scene aesthetics thing is mainly because I have trauma towards the subculture because I'm mainly from twitter spaces. Most of my exposure to it comes from people like 4lung, Sparkledogcore, and other pro-para sparkledog artists who who either offended or are at the very least contact-neu. Seeing it reminds me those people period.

As for the "cleansing" thing, I realize how fashy that sounds, but that's not what I meant. I am not a conservative. I'm an autistic genderfucked nonhuman. I meant that I firmly believe that paraphiles need to stay away from anything that is associated with the queer community and vice-versa for the safety of the queer community, which is kind of in dire straits right now. I'd rather that the queer community be louder and more upfront that people who abuse children do not belong in the community. Like imagine if someone like that Chayah cunt or whatever found out about the pro-para community. If Republicans saw a whole gaggle of queers publicly beat the shit (metaphorically or literally) out of child rapists, it could potentially change some minds. "Oh… maybe not ALL of them are groomers." - Basically, I wanna boil frogs into nicer frogs.

As for my "anti-kink" stance, yes, I am aware of petplay not being inherently zoophilic (I think I just said that to be a dick idk, I say weird shit when spiralling). I think it's weird, and I think people who are zoos shouldn't engage it in because it could potentially feed into desires - Actually, yeah, I don't think feeding into harmful desires in any way is the right solution. I do think cold turkey should be an eventual solution. The end-goal should be to not have to worry about these thoughts. I also firmly believe that POCD/ZOCD isn't the same as being pro-para. Intrusive thoughts are INTRUSIVE, UNWANTED, DO NOT WANT, while I find that most pro-paras are like "Oh… dogdiddle thoughts… nice, gonna make a cute flag for it and make it part of my edgy vibe :)" which… I dunno, I would rather be around someone with the former mindset than the latter, because that tells me they have way more of a moral compass.

I am extremely adverse to ageplay because I am a purely SFW age regressor. I do not think having the mindset of a child, childish things, etc, should ever EVER be associated with anything sexual. I am a baby regressor, I do not want anything sexual associated with being baby. Hell, I only just started recently drawing diapers in my regression art because I was so fucking scared of people who sexualized them - I was groomed to shiiiit by AB/DLs when I was a kid. I made an f-list years ago, since at the time age regression communities were not a thing (I'm old) and i wanted innocent scenarios where I was a smol lil' thing. Nope. Got weirdos into cub porn instead. Fucked me up and it's a major reason I hate pro-fic people.

So yeah, I do not think being "pro-para" is the way to self-improvement. I understand that a majority of the community are just people trying to heal, but I don't think festering in fantasies that feed into bad thoughts is a healthy way to go. I'm not going to change these stances, but I will apologize for being a major cunt. I am simply traumatized by weirdo fucks and I shouldn't be engaging with people who make me see red.

👴

[pastelclownkitty]

COMPASS GOD BLAST!! (aka i'm assuming you'll get at least one Trio question and *I* wanna know about Tempest)

The Four Compass Gods (even... eugh... Atlas...)

4, 9, 24, 25 :]

fair warning that ciaran and aeros are not built on much so most of this is made up on the spot. ok thanks stuff like this helps

4. What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

Aeros - Their immaturity. They try so hard to be cold and professional, he really does, but at the end of the day he's still rather childish and doesn't think things through as much as he likes to make it seem like he does. He is aware of this, he's been constantly reminded of it. It's why he tries so hard to fix it, or at least stop it from showing.

Ciaran - Their numbness. The way it causes them to stop taking things seriously and be apathetic in the face of consequences. They are well aware of it, but make no effort to fix it.

Atlas - Their temper. Atlas's anger quickly causes them to stop thinking rationally, instead exposing her impulsive and reckless side. Many people have told them to work on this, but Atlas refuses to accept that it is an issue.

Tempest - Their inability to move on. The way they cling to every past grudge, never allowing themselves to forget. They are aware of this but don't see it as a flaw.

9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote that you associate with your oc?

Aeros - "And then she smiled, and that's what I'm after, the smile in her eyes, the sound of her laughter."/"Next time you're praying, you'll be praying for me."/"Mother Earth's love whispered to me (and it wasn't her fault)."/"Look at the stars, in the big black ink. Tell me what you feel and tell me what you think. Is it cold outside? Is it cold?"

Ciaran - "Kind of like an addict, I let you win."/"Now I'm King, like you wanted me to be."/"I did what I had to do to survive, then I did a bunch of other shit I felt like doing."/"You became so focused on running the rat race and getting to that cheese, you didn't even think to look for the cracks. And I don't blame you! I'm just disappointed."/"Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back."/"It's a quality of the gods to see a creature with its back broken and be unmoved."

Atlas - "'Cause you lost when your puppets reclaimed their lives!"/"I've been waiting for my lover to relieve me, but they're outside swinging from the oak tree!"/"Do not pray. Whatever the fuck you do, do not pray. Because the ones that are listening, you do not want them to answer."/"Everyone is a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced I am yours, I will be it."

Tempest - "There's a plan for us lunatics and liars, we have faulty gears and wires, they can't save us but they'll do the best they can!"/"I'd kill myself to get away from you, too."/"It was nice to know 'ya! We've all been damned, cmon!"/"Stop the peace and keep the violence!"/"I think I'll lose my mind in hysteria!"

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

Assuming they all didn't become god and continued their lives like normal:

Aeros - Would have ended up completely alone and aimless, with absolutely nothing to their name. There was nothing for them besides his Fate.

Ciaran - Honestly, he would have wound up in jail had they not become a god. They would not have kept getting away with everything for much longer.

Atlas - He and Venus planned on moving far away together. Atlas most likely would've gotten a job as a gravedigger, and Venus would have loved to work at a flower shop or as a fashion designer. Venus could have kept him out of jail long enough for them to live happily.

Tempest - Most likely also would have wound up in jail. Either that or a psych ward, which is probably the more realistic option. Though I could also see them ending up kidnapped by some unfortunate enemies they happened to make. No matter what, it wouldn't have gone well for them. Not that anything in Scilita's life ever went well.

25. What is your favorite thing about your OC?

Aeros - Silly deer guy!!! Silly anxious deer guy!!! Serious answer, his temper. I love pissed-off Aeros. Pissed-off Aeros my beloved. He deserves it.

Ciaran - How intelligent she really is, and how silly she acts not despite it but because of it. That smug, playful attitude of theirs. God, in another universe they and Eucharis would be best friends.

Atlas - His emptiness. His longing to feel whole again. How childish he really is. Everything that godly, untouchable attitude is protecting. Everything he does to distract himself from it.

Tempest - Their bitchy attitude, how little filter they have (while also having an extremely strong filter), the moment where that mask slips and they're left unbelievably vulnerable in their rage.

[cat-astro-pick]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝐸𝑧𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

There are all kinds of people in the world. If I could pick and choose people like the flavoured jellybeans in Harry Potter, I would. Contrary to what an elderly first-rate novelist once told me, my youth was not beautiful. There was no youth. And so, with a cigarette that tasted the bitterness of the world on my tongue instead of the sweetness of the jelly, I made my way to the basement. The stiff iron door wouldn't open with my hands, so I pressed my body against it and let the familiar music I'd heard so many times before blare through my ears and earbuds. With the door open, the next thing I did was put out my cigarette. I knew that if I didn't put out the cigarette, Sett or Kayn would argue.

If someone asked me if a flower garden that is neither fresh nor fragrant exists, I would say yes, of course it does. Because that barren, miserable flower garden was right here. If someone can passion were a flower, even these would be flowers. But as it turns out, passion doesn't bloom like a flower unless it's lucky. I hated the fact that I had a few stupid friends who were full of enthusiasm, full of things to do, but who couldn't shine, who were playing electronic instruments.

Actually, I didn't hate that fact; I hated myself for taking comfort in it, for seeing them as water. Their misfortune had become my good fortune. I leaned back on the couch, the worn leather sagging, yellow sponges protruding in spots. The floor was gleaming and shiny from daily oil mopping. When the soles of my shoes touched the floor and made an unpleasant squeak that sounded like a toddler's shoe, Yone stopped drumming and looked at me.

"What are you looking at?"

It was …suck. But it wasn't my feelings for Yone, it was my feelings for me. Yone raised an eyebrow at the harsh words that came out of my mouth. Yone reacted as if she was used to such harsh words. It wasn't just for Sett or Kayn's words. Nothing that came out of my mouth was what the Heartsteel members would consider soft and gentle. Maybe it's better to admit it, the words that came out of my mouth didn't go through my brain. It's only now, years later, that those around me have come to the conclusion that "she doesn't think when she speaks," but there was more going on in between. I hated being rough. So I'm always the one who loses when I play nice. I didn't want to lose, so I became more aggressive.

"...Where's Ez?"

"He's in there."

Yone's tone was gentle. Even those thin, fine fingers pointing across the room. Someone had said. People who have been through all kinds of winds and trials have rather rounded personalities. Friction and grinding make them more rounded. Yone might be one of those people, too. A gentle nature. It was an ideal I had been striving for all along, but I couldn't hope for it, it was too much of an…ideal.

"...Thank you."

I just wanted to mimic them, to think about what they would say in a situation like this. I always have a hard time saying thank you, I don't even have the strength to think of good words, so I just bowed my head to show my gratitude. I was so envious and jealous of people with such docile personalities. I didn't know if someone had put drugs in my cigarette filter or if I had finally lost my mind that day.

Even on a freezing cold day, Ezreal's voice was warm. As far as I can remember, Ezreal was always that way. He was playful, liked to flirt with girls, and was sensitive to other people's feelings. Timid, or worse, nerdy. I didn't think anything of him then. Well, I certainly didn't think anything of him now, too.

"Ez."

Even when I didn't speak loudly, Ezreal always heard me. I attributed it to his thin, light ears. To be honest, I projected myself onto him as I watched him hit the big time and then crash. Actually, I crashed before I could achieve anything called success. After my edpair, he was more aware of my moods than anyone else. It was the first time I cried in front of others, which I had always thought of as having a proud and stoic personality. Staying friends with Ezreal wasn't just because I liked him. It was because I don't trust people. Because if I turned my back on this stupid kid, he might unlock my past, and I'd be a stupid idiot again. Ezreal's soft-spoken nature was a disadvantage.

"You're early, aren't you?"

I hated his flirtatious smirk, the way his handsome face. Even the way he seemed to know he was handsome. I reached out and tugged futilely at a strand of green hair.

"Ack! What's wrong?"

"Nice job dyeing your hair. It's pretty."

"Really?"

Ezreal was always silly. Even now, when he sees me doing something rude like tugging on his hair, he smiles innocently at a compliment. His attitude made me feel like a stack of books was pressing against my heart behind my laughter. I couldn't tell what it was. It seemed to be something like guilt. My throbbing heart hurt more than my throbbing head. The heart reacts honestly. My head analyses my emotions coldly, but my heart beats faster. So, if we're being really honest, I am afraid of Ezreal's, my one and only friend's success.

I was afraid being pathetic of myself, and I was afraid of him. I was unhappy with my life, with a trashy personality that saw my friends' successes as my own misfortune, and I was unhappy with the fact that I would never show it. I didn't feel like a real friend, and that's why I was afraid of Kayn, and that's why I was afraid of Yone. I was afraid of Sett, I was afraid of K'sante, I was afraid of Aphelios. I was afraid of them all. It seemed that knowing that my feelings for Ezreal were not love, not friendship, but a crude mixture of envy and jealousy, would naturally tear me apart.

"So, Ez."

"When's your debut?"

In times like these, it's good to cover your mind with words.

"Next week? Since I'm so busy, I feel like I can get something done."

"My heart is beating really fast, touch it."

I was disgusted by the heat I felt between my hands, by the passion that radiated through his thin T-shirt as I held it to his heart. In hindsight, that feeling of disgust was not a disparagement of his passion; it was a disgust at my fear of it.

"...It's real."

"You must really like singing."

That doesn't mean I was faking my love of music. If anyone told me that my failure was simply due to a lack of passion for singing, I was prepared to smash them over the head with a porcelain water bottle.

"...Well...I envy you."

I whispered it without thinking. At this point, I might as well have been a shaman, foretelling Ezreal's success. Ezreal laughed softly. But what I noticed more than the laugh was the awkwardly lowered eyebrow and the sympathetic twinkle in his eye.

"I want you to see my show from the front row."

"You're my bestie, right?"

I nodded. I knew it was lip service. Friends, I didn't know if our relationship could really be defined as friends. Though if you truly consider me a friend, I would consider you a friend. Ezreal was social butterfly. He had a lot of good connections, and in those connections there would be people whose tastes overlapped with his own. In the midst of that wide, wide circle of relationships, he found me, the most insignificant of them all.

"Sure. Who else is going to put up with all your stupid behaviour?"

I reached out. Ezreal's hair was soft between my thin fingers. It felt puppyishly soft, and I wanted to tickle his chin, to touch him, to hold him, and that stupid feeling tickled my chest, swelling and bursting. It felt like I was darting a dart through my swollen heart like an advertising balloon. A shiver ran down my spine, from my heart to my shoulders and down to my lower abdomen. It was an irritatingly awkward feeling.

"...Ez."

"Huh?"

"...nothing."

How can I love you when you're so stupid?

[sburbian-sage]

Hi skepticArbiter!

I don't know how long it's been on your end since you posted that GristTorrent ask, but your offhanded proposal of a Universal Grist Bank has driven my ADHD to heights of hyperfixation that have never been seen before. It has been months. Being a native Smith of Coins that's about what you'd expect, lol. Anyway! I bring it up because the session I'm currently in is serendipitously about the absolute best group I could ask for in making the idea a reality. It really feels like the Shine itself legitimately just manifested itself and forced whatever the infinitesimally small chance of something like this actually happening I swear to dog.

Thirteen of us, all have made it through at least ten sessions (with CERTAIN PEOPLE at significantly more than that-- 32 if she's to be believed and I've seen no evidence to the contrary and lots of proof that it's true) and managed to naturally reroll our native classpects. All of us. Not a lick of vagabouncy. It's insane. Both of our cardinal aspects’ first playthroughs were duet sessions. There's public proof several places on the replayernet going back timestamps that our Bane of Stage, Page of Mist, and Rouge of Sand have been sessionmates before. The Bane of Stage hunts Azurites for Fun and Him Time, 12 confirmed PK kills that I am aware of. Our Waste of Law(aforementioned 32 session legend) is awesometier. Several of us are pre-replayernet loose veterans. Our tactician classes, Flux player, and Mind player have been freaking out like ants when their trail gets stepped on. No major glitches or bugs so far, knock on wood. It feels too good to be true but in discussing it all of us dealt with capital-b-Bullshit scenarios with Light players in our last runs so I'm just trying to enjoy it without ruining it worrying.

I'm sending this message primarily to let you know that this is actually happening, and to thank you for coming up with the UGB in the first place. But also, I have come with some questions. I have never had to deal with the Others before (miraculous in it's own right tbh) and thus have absolutely no idea what to expect. I'm not part of the side that's doing the bartering, but I've known a good chunk of this group over the replayernet for a pretty long time and consider many dear friends(another insane thing to actually happen- us ending up together) and I am. Concerned. Everyone says “oh they do impossible bargins” and “will take parts of your soul” but I've never seen anyone actually SPECIFY what the terms for their deals are. It's not that I don't believe it's really that bad, it's just I'd much rather know than not know, you know? Is it a faux pas I'm not aware of to talk about it? Since you had to do it yourself for your ring journey I figured you'd be as good a place as any to ask and since it's over text it might not be as impactful for you as asking my friends face to face potentially could be for them, I apologize if that's incredibly insensitive of me.

For further context, the group is split so some of us are working on bartering with the others (Rouge of Sand, Guide of Void, Maid of Rage), some of us are actually making the physical server and programming the necessary software (myself, Witch of Time, Sage of Dreams, Heir of Sound), some are doing both (Waste of Law, Ward of Mind, Sylph of Flux), and our Seer of Space, Bane of Stage, and Page of Mist are covering taking care of session stuff where they can for now so the rest of us can focus on getting everything together for the bank.

Thank you again, and in advance for any insight you are willing to share,

snugglySocialist

Holy shit! I'm glad that an offhanded statement I meant mostly as a joke finally led to good things happening, instead of just getting me in trouble. Though that could still happen if I endorse this and it turns into an All Or Nothing situation, so pull through if you can. I said it before and I'll say it again, if you pull this off then not only will you have the eternal of gamebreakers, people who accidentally break their game, and anyone in a Ring Journey, but your handles will be put in the history books right next to the guy who figured out the Alimentator hack.

As for your question, I'm afraid I'm not a good firsthand source of information on this topic. I did not make the bargain for the Ring Journey I'm on, someone else did it. You are right that information is hard to come by, but "it's difficult to talk about" is only one reason out of three. Some people hide the nature of their bargains for protection. Especially if it's a larger operation like a Ring Server, if the presence of the server hinges upon X condition being fulfilled, and some malefactor wants to take down the site, best not to let them know which conditions to break. The third reason is that "not disclosing details of the bargain to other people" may itself be a condition of the bargain. It is, in fact, as annoying as it sounds, and all of these combined (not to mention the fact that writing down anything about the Others is a passive source of corruption) makes this topic a bitch to gain any information about.

For your purposes, the institution of a Ring Server isn't that big of an ask, so I don't think the price will be literally impossible or metaphorically impossible (like "consume the hearts of all of your friends and set yourself on fire", that's basically their catty way of saying "we're not giving you a deal"). However, something like a Universal Grist Bank has significantly more "oomph" behind it than an online archive, social media page, or weirdass elitist bookclub. Standard bargaining practice is to respond to any price they give you with "that is too much", in which case they'll either lower the price, or solidify that the price is set.

As for the actual prices, it varies. The Transamphibian founders can't use their real names anymore. CorpseParty got shut down because someone used the server to try and scry cross-session, which apparently violated the deal. In general though, the prices set seem almost spiteful. "They take bits of your soul" is more metaphorical than literal, like really fond memories, your reputation, relationship with someone important, and in the worst cases your ability to engage in a hobby that you consider fundamental to your sense of being. I think there's at least one case where someone's condition was that they can't use any Replayer Network, which effectively unpersons them (this information was shared secondhand for obvious reasons and thus couldn't be verified). It's impossible to tell what the deal is until you have it, and all of your efforts to establish the UGB are basically bottlenecked into dealing with those guys, who can make or break the entire project. And they know this. And you have no power over them, only than knowing that they will not do anything to you unless you ask them to do it. There's really no further advice I can give you other than...

Lawyer up. Read the fine print, argue for fairness as much as possible, and don't let yourself get worked over any more than is necessary.

Once you accept a deal, stick with it. There are no "grace periods", take-backs, or hiding an infraction. If the terms of the deal are broken, the UGB goes up in flames basically forever (unless you make another deal to "recover it").

Genuinely, genuinely, don't chew off more than you can swallow. If the terms of the contract are unlivable to any of the people undertaking it, don't do it.

There is one other aspect I should mention, which is that if the conditions of the deal only concern one person, the deal will still be upheld once that person dies. So if the condition is "nobody can upload Build Grist" and someone uploads Build Grist, then the website is kill. But if the condition is "none of the founders can alchemize anything anymore, and all of the founders end up dying, then the site will stay up. Though it'll obviously need new administrators. Sorry for the macabre example, but this is a little-known facet of Other bargains that not a lot of people know about, and it's why a lot of the older servers and networks are still up.

[ploffskinpluffskin]

Title: Your Cousin Six Times Removed, Who Lives in the Silvervine Kingdom Rating: G Characters: Natori, Natoru, with glimpses and mentions of Louise, the Cat King, and Persephone. If you squint, you'll see Lune, too Ships: Persephone/Cat King by obligation, with a kind of Assumed Persephone/Louise in the background and one dirty joke regarding Natori and the king Summary: No cat in their right mind would pretend to be a royal if not for some less-than-noble purposes. Notes: Written for this year’s birthday bash for the prompt Long Lost Relative. I’ve written on this idea before, I’m pretty sure, or if not, I’ve definitely posted headcanons related to it, just because I’m so enamored with the idea of past shenanigans between the Cat King, Persephone, Louise, and Natori. This is just a short snippet of those ideas but I hope it’s at least a little enjoyable nonetheless. I'd love to write companion pieces for interactions between the other characters ....also I effed up, bc per headcanons Natoru should not be around at this time but I'm throwing my hands up in the air about that and going along with it

“What are you looking for, sir?”

To himself, Natori thinks distantly that Natoru sounds gratingly more chipper than what is appropriate for the situation, but, then, she almost always radiates an enviable air of absent equinimity. Even the times he has stumbled across her lording her ostensible authority over the servants has seen her remain relatively affable. However, here, now, when he is just about hip-deep in dust, cobwebs, and old records, he has precious little of his usual patience for it.

“I thought there was a detailed account of the royal lineage stashed away in here somewhere,” he responds, and as he does so suddenly realizes this old, notoriously congested storage closet should have been the very last place he’d kept the thing. He flips over a curiously modern file folder in order to read the label, spies the large spider he has disturbed by doing so clinging to the back of it, and swiftly flips it back over again, gingerly putting it back in its place with the strictly controlled poise he’s known for. Albeit stretched over a brimming pool of anxiety just yearning to spill over.

Such an old document wouldn’t have been stored in a place like that, anyway, he reassures himself.

“Oh, that old thing.”

Natori sighs. “Yes, that old thing.”

“Probably should have kept it in a more orderly place.”

Natori’s sigh this time has more than a touch of exasperation; granted, with some directed at himself for having no other response to vent his frustration than to sigh a little harder.

“I am already aware.”

Then, silence aside from the rustling of the older of the two rifling through what looks to be a series of much earlier childhood drawings made by one charcoal-colored prince and slowing rather noticeably.

The guest had arrived just recently, bereft of an entourage or any other expected accoutrements befitting a cat of her supposed status. In fact, she had all but crashed through the stained glass ceiling of the ballroom like a furry comet, unfurling from her protective huddle and shaking off the colorful shards of broken glass before noticing she had a captive, horrified audience.

It was then, and only then, Natori was too happy to remind everyone, that she had bowed and introduced herself as the Countess Affenpinscher, distant and thrice-removed but most assuredly illustrious cousin of a well-off aunt. She offered no explanation for the mysterious spectacle of her arrival, even as slivers of colored glass upon her shoulders made the burgundy of her dress sparkle.

When Natori had shrewdly remarked he'd never heard of such a relative, she had laughed and waved it off— oh, we're a private bunch, lovely, I'm not surprised— and when she'd started to falter upon naming the kingdom she supposedly hailed from, and Natori had felt they were all on the verge of revealing her opaque secret, the king had spoken up obliviously instead, one paw curled against his cheek as he lounged contently on his throne.

I think it's gotta be the Silvervine Kingdom, babe, he'd claimed with a familiar charmed sparkle in his eyes. She's got that sphinx-y luster.

The Countess Affenpinscher had smiled winsomely upon him, a slow expression which spread across her face in a fashion that had read as uncomfortably knowing, indulgent, to the royal advisor.

Clever man, Your Majesty. It's a rare cat who can see us for the royalty we are. Perhaps you have some of that shimmering sphinx lineage yourself.

And that had settled it really. The king would hear no words to the contrary, and neither, to Natori’s confused dismay, would the Queen Persephone, smiling from behind her fan with an almost sheepish amusement which he couldn’t quite parse. But there was still one cat in the king’s court she’d yet to win over, and he was currently adjusting his glasses and squinting upon what he was starting to suspect was an unsavory doodle on an ancient manuscript, and with such intensity he might very well set it ablaze.

“I think you’re worrying over nothing,” Natoru says after a long moment of that silence.

"It may very well be nothing," Natori starts in that loud but measured tone of voice that tells her he's winding himself up for a lecture. "And she may very well mean entirely no harm to the kingdom, but it's quite conspicuous all the same and is due at least some vigilance! She must have an end goal of some sort. No one pretends to be a royal just for fun."

"The king does." Spoken with a hapless shrug and a content smile, as if she isn't exquisitely aware of the magnitude of what she's just said, but Natori most certainly is.

"...Sometimes I think you delight in being thrown out the window," he finally manages in slumped resignation after nearly a full minute of opening and closing his mouth, lost on how to respond. There’s almost a sense of pity in the way he looks at her.

"Sometimes it does liven things up a bit," Natoru answers, unbothered.

"Well! I'll not entertain your bad behavior and join you for the inevitable consequences. If I'm to be taught how to fly, I refuse to do so under an instructor utilizing sink-or-swim methods."

“You’d definitely be under him.”

Natori gleans the meaning behind her facetious comment much faster than she planned for, and retribution is regrettably swift. She doesn’t have time to dodge the rolled up sheaf of papers he’d been straightening that comes down on her head, and the suddenness of it has her head spinning a little, despite the lack of sincere enmity in Natori’s reprisal.

“Oh. I forgot you don’t appreciate good humor,” she laments with a wounded, haughty sniff.

For his part, she does catch him looking upon her with a strange kind of expression, though he soon after carries on as if nothing had happened.

“Natoru,” he begins with a great sigh, exasperated but soft, lacking the usual sharpness he employs when he is in the mood to reprove,“I do not see the humor in being characterized as an unscrupulous homewrecker, no. No doubt one day you’ll engage in some manner of mummery that manages to amuse me, but as of this present moment I’m afraid it has me quite weary.”

“Oh, that’s not ‘cause of my bad jokes, it’s because you’re always suffering twice.”

“...what?”

She pats his arm. "You worry too much, sir."

Natori doesn’t answer for a long moment, but then, after a noncommittal noise of absent disgruntlement, he murmurs, "So I've been told."

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Good luck.”

To that, he doesn’t respond at all, absorbed once again in a different stack of papers and scrolls, and she takes her leave. It's really a shame he's so distracted with finding the record. Otherwise, he might have seen the conspicuously modern file folder he'd disregarded earlier tucked under her arm as she departs.

[deputy-buck]

Well now you gotta let us know your thoughts on Hawk/Tim puppyplay

!!! love you anon, so much !!! here's Tim's lamb + some other items and photos

Is it a way for Hawk to take more control? yeah, a bit. But is it more so about Tim letting go and being more comfortable with himself? Abso-fuckin-lutely.

I project a little onto Tim, and I HC him being very unsure and over-conscious of his movements, like his physical bodily movements, he's over-aware of anyone's eyes on him to the point he thinks "Am I walking normal? what do I do with my hands? is this a weird way to stand?" It's super fun- I've settled on "Skip" being Tim's pup name :3

Also I'd like to say a super special THANK YOU to @lispenard-street for beta-reading this fic for me!!! Literally every piece of input you had was gold and the absolute correct thing to do, not to mention all the super kind words you had for me even though the draft was in shambles when you first saw it lmfao- So thank you, Gem💚

-

Fetch

Hawk was consumed in drafting a small speech for a function Senator Smith had organized —something about acknowledging McCarthy's threat to the State Department but encouraging diplomacy— when Tim showed up on his doorstep looking like a kicked puppy. His boy promised that he would be quiet and that all he needed was to be somewhere safe while he felt this way. With a beat of hesitance, Hawk let him in, slightly worried no work would get done. Hawk really has no clue how telling a bunch of grown men and women to essentially stand down will do any good for the department, but he'd rather chop off his own hand than go against Senator Smith. 

Tim’s head feels light and full of syrup-damp cotton. He’s quite familiar with this feeling, having been experiencing it for some years; the swirling, strangling, suffocating need to serve and submit. But it’s all different now, knowing that he has someone he can relinquish himself to. Knowing he can let his mind float away and still be safe regardless of whatever may happen around him.

His tongue is wet and heavy behind his teeth, forcing him to swallow the excess spit before it drips past his stress-chewed lips. A warm buzz tingles across every inch of his skin and radiates through his insides; the feeling settles somewhere in his hips and weakens his knees, joints threatening to buckle beneath his weight. The urge to sink to the floor right on Hawk’s doorstep nearly wins but he has just enough sense left in him to know that it would get the door shut in his face.

Instead, he takes a couple wobbly steps across the threshold and into the foyer before giving in to the downward pull and sinking to his knees on the hearth rug that poses as a welcome mat. Tim struggles with bumbling, pawing hands to strip himself of his clothes, only managing to shake out of his coat and claw at the already loose knot of his tie before he lets his hands drop to his lap in defeat. Head swimming, lungs unable to draw in enough air, he looks up to the man standing in front of him, asking —begging— for help with watery eyes, throat resistant to form any sound other than a pitiful whine. 

Hawk smiles and gently peels away the layers of Tim’s human facade: tweed, cotton, tortoiseshell, and gold all in turn. Replacing it with leather and brass, unbinding his pup from responsibility and expectation, letting him be raw and sensitive here where Hawk can protect him—can be the soothing balm to all his scrapes and burns caused by the world.

With a finger hooked in the D-ring of Tim’s collar, Hawk leads his pup into the living room. A little bit of fussing over Tim’s blanket, a brief pitstop at his desk to fetch Tim’s little white lamb, and a soft yet firm command of “Down. Settle, Skip,” later; Hawk redirects his attention back to his speech —leaving his little pup to play at his feet—  intent on making good progress tonight. So he's got a pencil in his hand and three sheets of paper —two already full of his scrawling, thankfully— on an old book in his lap. He's not sitting at his desk for this —his back hurts too damn much— but instead is reclining on the low couch on the opposite wall. 

                                                          ===

Tim nudges his little white lamb into Hawk's lap, propping his chin on the older man's robe-covered knee, huffing and whining when his handler doesn't immediately look at him. The sweet noise catches Hawk's attention immediately, quickly switching his focus to Tim's pouting lips and glimmering eyes instead of the stark white pages.

Those big doe eyes shine with a playfulness that has Hawk's heart seized with warmth and affection for the young man. 

He’s just a boy, Hawk marvels.

Tim had been quietly playing by himself on his rust orange tartan blanket at his handler's socked feet, manipulating the soft toy with his hands and rubbing his cheek against the fluff of its fur, nipping at the tiny ears and tail. But that gets boring after a while, and Hawk hasn’t so much as reached down to pet him in the last twenty minutes. 

A break might do Hawk some good— his eyes are starting to sting anyway.

"Wanna play, huh?" Hawk sets the pencil and makeshift writing pad aside, picking up the small plush and shaking it in front of Tim's face. A laugh bubbles up from his chest as Tim presses his chest forward against Hawk's shin and snaps at the toy, teeth clacking together when a soft, felt hoof gets close to his nose. Maybe he'll catch it one day but today isn't that day.

"Get it, boy." With one last flick of the toy in Tim's face, Hawk tosses the cotton-stuffed lamb across the living room and into the kitchen hall; he had moved the chair that usually sits in the center of the room over, giving his pup room to play while he worked. Hawk is thinking of making this furniture configuration permanent, always allowing Tim to slip down to the floor and be 'Skip' with nothing in his way when his boy’s mind starts to shift and slide to one more canid.

This is a fairly new addition to their play, fetch. It still feels odd to crawl on the floor in nothing but his briefs and collar; bright sconces of the kitchen hall leaving him nowhere to hide. Tim feels a bit exposed, as though his most vulnerable parts are bared for Hawk to scrutinize from his comfortable perch. The skin of his face, chest, and back flush a rosy shade of pink knowing Hawk is watching him.

Hawk rakes his eyes down Tim's body, a ball of heat beginning to wind and coil low in his belly. With a slight readjustment of his robe and briefs, Hawk makes sure to conceal his growing erection, knowing that's not what his puppy needs right now.

Tim clambers his way across the living room, palms and knees softly thumping on the hardwood floor as he chases his lamb. The nickel tag clipped to his collar jingles with each plodding step. He's not going to humiliate himself by trying to trot after it —he knows he'll fall flat on his face— but he's learned that Hawk wants him to crawl instead of get up and walk. Dogs don't walk upright, Skip. Down, boy. 

Once Tim reaches his beloved lamb, he dips down to grab it between blunt teeth. Jaws clamped down on the soft fabric, Tim shakes it side to side like a terrier with a rat or a Beagle with a rabbit: mauling it before bringing it back to his owner for a reward. His hair falls into his eyes as he does so, obscuring his glasses-less vision even more when he turns his attention to Hawk, panting softly, searching for that warm smile he's always trying to draw out of his handler. The one that lets Tim know he's doing good.

He gets it, a sharp show of teeth, the highest value reward Hawk could ever give.

"Bring it here, Skip. Come on." Hawk encourages, patting the top of his thigh to beckon his pup back to him. He loves when his boy turns into his pup, the thorns of defiance and questioning stripped away to sweet, silent submission. Hawk wouldn't change Tim's inquisitive mind and crashing emotions for anything, but it's nice not having to be on his toes, waiting to be thrown off-kilter by a question he hasn't allowed himself to think about. 

Tim ducks his head as he crawls back to Hawk, still a bit too aware of the position his body is in. Hawk had said he likes the way Tim's shoulders flex and strain as he lumbers across the floor on all fours. The memory of Hawk growling those words in his ear while the older man's hands squeezed and kneaded the muscle in Tim's arms prompts Tim to pause once his hands hit the scratchy circular rug. He slides them forward to stretch out in front of himself, chest nearly brushing the floor, fingers clawing at the rug, intentionally tensing his shoulders to make the muscles ripple and cord beneath his skin. Arching his back like a dog who just woke up. His collar tightens around his throat as he does so, biting into his skin, leaving the faintest mark for later.

Satisfied with the shaky sigh and chuckle Hawk lets out, Tim straightens back up to finally bring the toy back to his handler, a little more confidence in his stride. His tag jingles a little louder now. Depositing the lamb in Hawk's open palm, Tim sits back on his haunches, ready to chase and retrieve the toy again, willing to bare himself for as long as Hawk will grant.

"Good boy, Skip." Hawk praises, free hand ruffling through Tim's hair, pausing to gently scratch behind his pup's ear the way Tim loves. "Always such a good puppy for me." 

-

Again thank you so SO much for beta-reading this for me, Gem, you're the best!!