#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

Two Men and a Baby Zabrak AU

[Part 2 here]

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.

[Link to Part 2]

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!

[shadowphoenixrider]

Wake Up Call

(Inspired from a particular Gambit line from the '92 TAS, what was going to be Shadow and Gambit goofing and flirting turned into something a little more. Hopefully it's enjoyable either way! ^^)

"Hey there, handsome~..." I purred sensually into Gambit's ear, wrapping my arms around his neck as he lounged on the couch.

"Hello chère." He rumbled enticingly, smiling as I nuzzled against him, turning to plant a kiss on my cheek. "Hate to disappoint ya, mon ombre, but Gambit needed in a coupla minutes fer de Danger Room."

"Just my luck." I grumbled, pulling back so he could look me in the eye. "What's the plan?"

"Jus' teamwork sims. Wanna figure out how best to work wit ya friends." A grin pulled at his lips. "Be interestin' to work with ya brother, see if he can use dose jumpscare powers to help out instead of scaring de daylights outta us."

"You boys play nice in there, alright?" I said, folding my arms and arching an eyebrow. "I don't want to have to work out wrenches or playing cards from places they shouldn't be entering."

"Gambit be on his best behaviour," he said, rising from his seat and flashing me a winning smile. I rolled my eyes.

"Mmhmm, sure. I'll believe it when I see it." Stepping closer, I looped a finger into one of the necklaces dangling from his neck. "Oh, and Cajun?"

"Oui, ma chère?" He arched a dark eyebrow at me.

I tugged his head down to me, grinning against his lips.

"Hurry back to me when your business is done, big boy. I'll be in my room waiting..." I cooed, delighting in the way his pupils swelled, his red irises vanishing into the black void.

"Gambit'll back as soon as he can, chère." He murmured back, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to my lips. "Try not to have too much fun without him."

---

Our luck was definitely lacking, as the training overran. Hopefully because they were deeply engaged, and not because Gambit and Ebak had infuriated one another to the point of coming to blows.

I laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my bored mind chewing voraciously at me, begging for stimulation. I had resisted getting absorbed into a book, as well taking the edge off the need that hummed just under my skin, but that left few other things to keep myself occupied as I waited, aside from clock-watching. And I'd rather not bring that spectre back from my old work.

So I did the next best thing; I closed my eyes, and dozed.

I'm not sure if I actually fell asleep at some point, but I was definitely aware when I heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. The grumbling of incomprehensible Cajun that accompanied them confirmed that Gambit had finally been released. My heart skipped with excitement, yet for reasons I'm not exactly sure about, I decided to continue to pretend to be asleep. Probably had something to do with 'teasing' or 'shits and giggles', if I really thought about it.

Gambit gave his signature of two quick knocks before he opened the door, a floorboard creaking as he stepped inside.

"Ah..." He sighed, his voice low and soft, wrapping around me like a blanket. "Look like I keep you waitin' too long."

I tried to keep a neutral face, curious to find out what he'd do, resisting the temptation to tap into my powers to sharpen my senses in case it gave me away.

There was a short pause of nothing. No sound, no movement, only the feeling of Gambit's gaze on my body. I battled with myself to keep the illusion up. It felt like he was waiting for something. Did he...know?

Something imperceptible changed, and floorboard sighed as the Cajun's weight shifted.

"Or maybe," there was a grin in his voice, the timbre becoming sensual as he began to approach the bed, "you just wan' me to wake you up with a kisss?"

Something about the way he hissed the last word sent a shiver straight up my spine, and I prayed it hadn't showed. I felt his presence lean over me, breathing in his heady, hot, masculine scent. The bed dipped slightly as he placed a hand next to me, before his warm breath tickled my face, and then his soft lips met mine.

I kissed him back, and he made a grunt at the back of his throat, smiling against me.

"Thought so, petite brigand." He purred. I opened my eyes to see him settling onto the bed, straddling my hips yet keeping all his weight on his legs.

"How did you know I wasn't asleep?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Don' have dat good of a poker face, chère." Gambit smirked. "Caught a li'l smile when I came in, an' the corner of ya mouth kept twitchin'. Figured things weren't all dey seemed. Dat..." His smirk widened into a shit-eating grin. "An' ya drool in ya sleep."

"Hey!" I cried, the Cajun hopping away with a laugh as I swiped at him.

"But in serious, chère," he moved back in, reaching out for my hands, "sorry fer makin' ya wait. Control room had to figure a solution to monitor ya brother without lockin' out his powers." His smile was small. "Took a while."

"Yeah, hadn't considered that might've been an issue." I mused, letting him take my hands and step closer. "And I guess I gotta apologise for faking sleep. I wanted to know how you'd react, but I shouldn't have pulled that on you."

"Don' think we ever talked 'bout it." Gambit said, rubbing my hands with his thumbs. "How'd you feel 'bout bein' woken up like dat? Wit a kiss or...more?"

I pursed my lips thoughtfully.

"Not really thought about that, in truth. I definitely don't mind you waking me with a kiss." I frowned, parsing through the possible scenarios in my head. "When you say 'more', we're talking about fooling around when one of us is asleep, right?"

"Mmhmm." Gambit nodded, moving to sit next to me. "Touchin', feelin' up, all de way up to makin' love." He raised a hand. "Now don' think 'cos we brought de subject up dat we need to do anythin'. Jus' think if it gonna come up, we better get de boundaries sorted now, d'accord?"

"Oh yeah, of course." I nodded. "It's not something Tom and I did - what's your feel about it?"

Something flickered across Gambit's face at the mention of my ex's name, but it was too fast and faint for me to read.

"Gambit don' want his opinions to influence yours," he said. "'Specially if it ain't a thing ya done before. Go on what ya feel, an' Gambit will follow dat." A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. "Not to say we can always change it later, or try it a night, non?"

"True." Chewing my lip, I weighed the thoughts against my heart like Anubis. "I...I think I might enjoy it. The feeling me up especially. But...I dunno, I feel like it'd be super situational." I reached over to put my hand on his. "And the last thing I'd want to have happen is to wake up mad or upset at you."

Gambit nodded, smiling, his thumb reaching up to link with mine.

"Understand completely, chère," he rumbled. "Gambit wouldn't mind if ya woke him up dat way, but he don' wanna make ya uncomfortable 'bout it."

"I'll think about it." I smiled back, scooting closer to him, our knees touching. "So how about this - we'll wake each other up with kisses, but if we want to do anything more in the morning, we'll see what the other says when they're a little more awake. Yeah?"

"Parfait." He replied, the smile spreading across his lips twinkling in his red black eyes before he pressed a kiss to my cheek. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Gambit did notice something interestin', though."

"Oh...?" The Cajun was grinning like a cat that had lapped up all the cream. Uh oh.

"Oui." His voice had taken on a slow, melodious quality, and I got the distinct impression he was toying with me. "Gambit think," he leaned in close, breath stirring the hair over my ears, "his voice give you de shiverss..."

I couldn't control the shudder that raced up my spine, nor my heart's stutter. Or the spark of heat that flash between my thighs. Gambit's self-satisfied chuckle came from deep in his throat, pulling back to look me in the eyes. "Jus' what I thought..."

A blush was boiling in my face, but I straightened my back, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Really? It's taken you this long to notice, Cajun?" I arched an eyebrow at him, yet his grin barely wavered.

"'Course not. Noticed it de first night together." He replied, silky smooth. "Always figured it were jus' what Gambit were sayin' though." His grin widened, and I swore his eyes flashed. "Didn' realize ya like Gambit's voice too..."

Bugger. I felt my blush intensify as my traitorous body betrayed me, and the bastard's grin was almost Chesire-like. I turned my back on him, folding my arms and ignoring his laugh.

"Yeah well, if you're gonna tease me like this, maybe I'll gag you, see how you like it." I grumbled, scowling. I refused to drop my arms even as Gambit scooted closer, curling his long limbs around me.

"Ah chère, but you'd miss me, I think." The Cajun spoke softly into my ear, all traces of teasing gone, only warm affection left. "An' Gambit'd miss bein' able to tell ya how beautiful ya be. How gorgeous ya sound..."

He nuzzled gently into me, and despite myself, I felt myself thaw in his warm embrace. Regardless of how utterly infuriating the man could be, I could never stay mad at him. Not when he knew when to drop the act before it went too far.

I sighed softly, uncrossing my arms, one hand resting on his, the other reaching up to sink into his thick hair.

"Yeah. I would." I smiled as he leant into my caress, a soft breath escaping him. "Miss these little sighs you make when you start to relax. Or that little rumble you make at the back of your throat when you see something you like."

"I do that?" I just about managed to restrain my giggle as his eyes popped open in wide surprise.

"Sure do, Cajun!" I grinned, kissing him on the cheek. "But don't worry, I can keep a secret."

Gambit chuckled.

"No doubt 'bout dat, mon ombre." He murmured, the smile on his lips so warm I felt the heat of it kindle in my heart. "Now, Gambit do believe he owe his lady a li'l somethin', non?"

"Oh yes, so you do." I grinned at him, turning around to wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. "Been waiting for this for a little while."

"Den Gambit give ya a li'l extra as an apology for his lateness," he said, gently laying me down on the bed.

"I appreciate it, but so long as you're here, that's all that matters." I replied, and pulled him into a kiss.

[shmowder]

When I say I've waited all my life for a Pathologic x reader writer to pop up... well maybe not all my life, but I never thought I'd see the day *and* I love your Minthara works too! Might I request some nsfw P2 Victor Kain x reader headcanons please?

Thank you so much <3 I can't believe one of my bg3 readers came here, especially a Minthara fan! My works of her are my pride and joy. I started this as smut hc, but my hand slipped, and now it's a full fic instead? I hope you like it, even if it's not fully the style you had in mind. Do tell me what you think about it.

Mea columba

[Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst, Comfort, Soft, Tender, unstable mentality, Service top, Coddling, Slight infantilisation kink, repressed feelings, lap sitting, possessiveness]

[P2 Victor x GN Reader]

"With every breath, your soul drains slowly away…"

You can't exactly pinpoint when it started.

Maybe it was you who made the first move after a drink or two behind closed curtains, his hardened eyes softening with each kiss you trailed up his collarbone.

Or was it him who proposed the idea over the dinner date he invited you to out of the blue, his hand resting atop your thigh, inching upwards with every word leaving his lips on why this would be a beneficial arrangement for the both of you.

Frankly, it doesn't matter how.

Ever since that first taste, you've rekindled a feeling inside Victor, which he thought was long gone.

A fire long snuffed out brought back to life with every breathy moan of his name you've graced his ears with.

From how delicately he handles this arrangement, easing you into it each time with a dinner invitation and the offer of sweets and wine, it's as if he's cautious of scaring you off.

Sitting next you on the large dinner table rather than on the opposite end, a clear display of his intimate intentions by blatantly disregarding etiquette.

Sometimes, he takes the initiative to cut your own food for you without you asking. Topping your glass, be it wine or water, before it's empty.

Was it merely a show of good faith or a deeper urge to prove his usefulness to you? Like handling a stray cat, he's aware there is nothing binding you to him or this place.

No concrete promise for you to warm his bed and drive away the suffocating loneliness each night.

He doesn't want to entertain the idea of you finding your solace in others' beside him, It stings.

Alas, it's still at the front of his mind, a factual possibility each time you're even a minute late to his invitation.

Staring at his empty plate, he doesn't need to glance up at the ticking clock by the wall. Time flows through him smoother than it slides between the turning metal gears. An acute awareness of every passing second, every minute reset, every hour before the church bells collide to make a single sound.

Each time the smile doesn't quite reach your eyes when he pulls the chair for you, slowly pushing it in after you sit down.

He enquires about your day, politely adding a comment of acknowledgement as you expose your soul to him.

It paints a different atmosphere, a more domestic one of two lovers, newly betrothed, seeking comfort in each other after a long day.

Rather than two people–almost strangers to add–having a casual affair.

What would've been a scandalous prospect for Victor's reputation in any other place, is, however, as mundane as the changing of the seasons in this town.

The people here are vastly more open-minded, at least the people that look up to the Kains tend to be. Some others, not so much, but they know to keep their opinions to themselves.

You're free to come and go to his wing of the crucible in broad daylight as much as you please.

“Please, do make yourself at home” is what he'd tell you each time, making an effort to greet you at the door and hang your coat for you.

Whatever thing he was busy with is immediately discarded in your presence. Whatever guest meeting he had planned is rearranged to accommodate you.

As if he'd throw everything away just for the chance to play house with you again, spending time together in the same room, be it while talking or staying comfortably silent, Victor doesn't mind either.

However, at the end of each one of those visits, you find yourself being coaxed into his bedroom.

He's really cunning when he needs to be. At times he makes it feel like it was your own idea, at others he openly states his desires, honeyed words flooding your brain, his lips against the underside of your wrist feel nothing short of electrifying.

You're suddenly aware of how little layers he wears, a single buttoned shirt. Contrasting to the style of the upper-class families in this town, Victor manages to achieve elegance solely through simplicity.

How sinful he looks with just the top buttons undone, exposing his bare flesh underneath. Peering down at you from above, eyes wordlessly begging you to follow him, his firm hold around your waist, ordering your body towards him.

How easily you fold each time.

After the long song and dance he prepares each day. The faux domestic fantasy you graciously indulge him in, such an innocent act sending arousal scorching through his veins.

Having you to himself all morning to look after in his own home, eating his own food, letting him provide for you without argument or fuss, allowing him to coddle you in the safety of these four walls.

You're going to be the death of him.

Having you sit on his lap, all by yourself. Victor's breathing halted for a moment the first time you pulled that move, afraid that the air movement through his lungs could disturb you.

He's quick to let you sink back into his chest, one arm secured around you, hand pressed comfortably against your stomach, warming you up. Your head tucked into his neck, your whole being surrendered to him at that moment, entrusting him to hold you.

Part of him is ashamed of how quickly this act can lead to him giving into the growing excitement in his libido, feeling his cock hardening below your soft body, even the most subtle of squirming and swaying you make sends intense pleasure straight to his core, wearing his resolve thin.

Are you teasing him on purpose? Rubbing it into his face how much he gets off on you relying on him, on making yourself small in his lap. How cruel you can be, yet he always lets things slide when it comes to you.

his usually steady hands trembling as they hover over your hips, ghosting over your skin. As if you're a mirage that might fizzle out the second that he reaches towards you, illusory sand slipping through his fingers.

He stretches out this beautiful lie as much as he's allowed to, gradually getting you accustomed to spending more and more time with him, to leaving your responsibilities behind, trading the weight on your shoulders for the bite marks and hickeys he adorns you with.

You're slowly breaking him, taunting his depravity out from under the carpet.

And he takes it, all of that which you give him.

Swallows it whole, the sweet and bitter, the pleasure and pain. He takes and takes like you're the cure for his morose soul.

Admires your sprawled figure on the bed, vulnerable and raw. The reward he's granted after peeling each piece of your clothes off for you, like unravelling a work of art, he never lets you lift a finger.

It's borderline self-flagellation how much he stalls the main event, preferring to kiss up your fragile ankles, mouthing at your calves, whispering tender words just under your knee, digging his teeth into your thighs with calculated pressure that never breaks the skin nor leaves a scratch behind.

What a beautiful sacrificial lamb you've allowed yourself to become, give your body up to him for a night.

Don't you know that it's a facade? His gentle manners are nothing short of a social lubricant, oil to ease the turning of people's cogs, and make their spindles turn favourably towards his direction.

Make them think that their visions aligned with his all along, that they'd be serving themselves by serving him, serving the Kains.

Have them turn an illusion into a reality from the sheer power of belief alone.

But you already know all of that, don't you?

Felt the sharp claws from underneath the clasped hands hidden behind his back, glimpsed the predatory gaze behind the gloss of his eyes, the authority rooted in every polite please and thank you he threw around.

Yet you offer yourself up all the same, indulge his lies, and birth them into half-truths.

Make him dig into his own flesh, test his endurance and devotion time after time. Obedient to please you no matter the cost.

He especially enjoys it when he's on top, when you're pliant beneath him on the soft bed.

Finally, his mouth makes its way between your spread thighs, running his tongue over your heat, losing himself in your taste. Swallowing down all that you have to offer, licking and sucking your sensitive parts while his eyes stay focused on your expression, noticing every twitch of your lips, figuring out what you're the most sensitive to before abusing that until you have no option but to finish down his throat.

Victor continues afterwards, delicately this time to not over-exert you, taking full responsibility for cleaning up the mess you've made.

You don't have to worry about a single thing. Even if you ruin his sheets over and over again, he'll take care of it all.

Here, hug his hand to your chest, hold it with both of your arms, and know that you're safe and secure. Dig your fingers into his flesh if he ever goes overboard or the pleasure is too much, he will notice, he always notices.

Would you prefer his mouth on your chest, too? You don't have to speak. He can guess what's going on in your precious brain.

His tongue is soft against your nipples, barely tugging at them as he takes them into his mouth. Victor drinks in your expression, serene satisfaction washing over him, fueling the desire growing inside his chest, squeezing his heart deliciously tight with every whimper you sound out.

Treating you like you're made out of glass, obsidian to be more precise. Sharp enough to cut through his skin like paper, yet fragile enough to shatter from being turned around too fast.

Only someone like him knows how to handle something as precious as you.

Only someone like him has both the mental strength and self-restraint required to never falter, to walk the precise thin line of right and wrong.

Tethering on the edges of your reality, just shy away from bringing your sky falling down, yet never quite pulling you falling off of that cliff alongside him.

He won't.

He refuses to.

He can't lose you too. He can't lose his little dove.

His family may never touch you. His brother's preaching may never reach you, and his legacy may never hurt you.

And he may never have you, for if he does, he fears your wings being plucked off.

How many feathers were stolen for Icarus to fashion his waxy wings with? How many birds left with wings broken just to sate his curiosity?

How many precious doves paid for the price of humanity's pride. Robbed out of their innocence so his may never die, so humanity may someday finally fly and soar through the sky.

Victor disagrees, you don't belong to humanity, you belong to him.

He holds you with the knowledge that you will not escape death, with the acute awareness of your finite life, that your soul will never be reborn.

That when you're gone, you're gone indefinitely.

He worships you like a dying man praying to a merciless, cold-eyed god.

You're already leaking again just from him mouthing against your chest, listening to the beating of your heart as his tongue flicks against your nipples. Memorising the sweet taste of your skin, etching the sounds you make into his soul, hoping he'll still recall them when he is anew.

How could immortality taste so cruel?

You're breathless by the time he lets go, eyes glossy and lips parted as you look at him. The flush on his face reaches his ears, pupils dilated, although his expression barely scratches the surface of the emotional turmoil he's going through.

At least he thinks his face looks the same as it always does, unaware of the softness erasing the clenching of his jaw, dissipating the tightness in his eyebrows, easing the wrinkles on his forehead.

You lean in and watch his eyes immediately glance at your lips, eyelashes fluttering shut as you press your mouth against his. Victor melts into you without any objection, doesn't pretend for a second that this simple kiss is anything less than cathartic to experience.

Doesn't pull away until you do, even when his air runs out and lungs burn in protest, he lets you drag him along to the edge of suffocation before granting him mercy and allowing him to breathe.

A part of him is aware of how little he'd resist if you never allowed him to take another breath ever again, how this kiss of death would spell his doom if you wished it to be.

Eventually, after he had his fill, completely overindulging in the taste of your body to his heart's content, does he move on to the main event.

Sitting with his back against the bed headboard, he coaxed you into his lap. His leaking cock twitching as your body rests on top of it, you're fully facing him as his fingers work you open.

Soft in texture with a clear past of being calloused–courtesy of being a clocksmith no doubt–his fingertips drag against the silky walls of your insides. Getting you used to the feeling of his own fingers inside you, encouraging your insides to remember the shape and texture of his hand.

Experimentally pressing against every rough patch of skin he feels inside, studying your reaction as he searches and buries his fingers deep down to the knuckles.

Having you squirm and grind yourself down onto his cock, caging it tightly between your weight and his own lap, making it harder for him to remain collected the more and more his mask of civility slips down.

Your lovely voice calling his name, drenched in lust and sin, making his head spin. Tugging at his arm, urging him to hurry up and swap his fingers for his cock, asking him to completely bury himself inside you, to give you what you want.

Crossing the point of no return, Victor's words are stuck to his throat, tongue numb in his mouth as he merely nods along to your request, a quiet word of agreement forced out afterwards.

He starts slowly, never one to rush into things, he keeps his pace and whatever remains of his dignity as he rubs the head of his cock alongside your entrance, circling your hole and smearing pre-cum against it.

Easing it inside, carefully watching your reaction for any signs of discomfort. Pulling out a little bit each time you attempt to suppress any sign of pain no matter how trivial or small. He can wait. He will wait for all of eternity if he has to.

The drawn-out process grants him the strength to collect himself, finding his voice again as he praises you for taking him inside so well, for never making a fuss and being such a good dove for him.

Look at yourself, how sweet you're being for him. What a lovely little thing you are to place yourself on his lap and listen to what he tells you. You've been so patient, shown great self-control so far, and you're making him proud.

Just a little more, little dove, bear with him a little more and you'll get his cock soon. Hug him and tuck yourself against his body, he'll hide you from the world and everything dangerous outside. He'll protect and take care of you.

Halfway down his cock, you're wonderful. It's almost all in, look how full you're getting from having him inside of you. Do you feel full? Can you feel the wetness going down your thighs? That's your doing, all of it. Your own mess and his pre-cum mixing together and making you all wet, making your thighs sticky.

What a sweet thing you are. Look, you've taken it all inside.

Victor's palm presses against your lower navel, imagining the length of his cock inside, engulfed in your warm walls. You, the same person who was sitting next to him on the dinner table mere hours ago, letting him cut the food he made for you, allowing him to coddle and look after you just to end up being filled to the brim with his aching cock at the end of the day.

Can't you see how good of a husband he is? What a doting partner he makes? He mastered it into an art, loving you.

For a moment, he simply basks in the feeling of your body, the soothing pleasure akin to simmering water, evaporating into mist while barely making a sound. The pulsing of your insides clenching and releasing around him, body accommodating the foreign big object spreading it wide, confused whether to push it out or suck it deeper inside.

Murmurs of how heavenly you feel inside breath out against your skin, his steady hold on your hips starting to slowly sway you back and forth, inching his cock in and out of you at a snail's pace.

You're barely aware of the movement, only of the pleasure gradually building up, tightening the knot inside you before it snaps out of nowhere. Clinging to Victor's chest as the spasm of your insides makes your brain haywire, the intense orgasm contrasting the gentle lovemaking he's been putting you through.

He holds you through it, one hand wrapped around you buries you deeper into his chest, the other still moving your hips ever so agonisingly slow up and down. Lightly rocking his cock in and out of you. Not even taking it halfway out before pushing inside again.

You're tenderly fucked through your climax, simple touches become enough to set your whole body on fire, making you more and more sensitive to the most little of pleasures.

It's nothing and everything at the same time. Even the softest of water streams end up eroding the largest of boulders in its way with enough time. And the Kains have nothing if not all the time in the world.

As he builds up the pace, the passage of time slips your mind. With no one to keep track of it, it swirls and bends around itself, letting Victor mould it to his heart's content.

It feels like hours have gone past, and yet the lack of any numbness in your legs makes you doubt it's been more than a couple of minutes. So why does your brain feel like it's melting? You've forgone thinking and laid helpless against his chest.

He can do the thinking of two. You don't have to worry your head about a single thing.

Just like a glass-doll, he careful pace didn't falter, milking another orgasm out of you as the seconds ticked away. Painting his lap with your cum and wetness, sweaty skin sticking against his own.

How obedient you are, opening your mouth when his thumb traces your lips, taking it inside all by yourself and nursing against it. Sucking his finger while calculated eyes watch your every move, swirling his finger around your tongue, rubbing the roof of your mouth, making droll seep from the corners of your lips as you try to take more of his thumb inside. Victor mercifully does not let you gag on it by pulling it away the deeper you try to force it. No amount of whining changes his mind.

Raw, vulnerable, and sitting on his lap. Not a thought inside that pretty head of yours, what a lovely dove you make, what a pretty little bird that's practically begging him to eat you, flaunting your beautiful wings and soft feathers in front of the single predator who swore off the delicious taste of your flesh.

What a beautiful, brilliant mind, what a sensitive fragile heart, what a lovely soul that will only shine brighter with time. Immortality calls your name. It was designed specifically to preserve people like you.

But this time around, Victor will let his selfishness win. Stealing you from the future of mankind, they will understand. They must.

You are once in a century experience, and he will make sure it stays that way. His little dove can't stray too far from this gold gilded town. He will feed and coddle you. He'll bring you pleasure and give you purpose. He swears.

For the best way to ensure an animal stays locked inside a cage is to never let them know which way the bars are facing.

After what felt like an eternity, Victor's delayed gratification came crashing down. One thrust, then another, and he's spilling himself inside of you. Filling you up with his cum, feeling the sticky liquid being pulled down by gravity, forming a ring of white at the base of his cock as it trickles down in droplets.

He entertains the idea of keeping it inside, of putting you to bed like this. His cum trapped inside with his cock preventing any more from spilling out, maybe if he believes hard enough, a part of his soul will seep into your overnight as you warm his cock.

It's late into the night, 11:28pm to be precise. Even now, he still can tell without the help of a clock. Victor usually walks you back home exactly two hours and ten minutes before the current time. Your prolonged stay in his residence was noticed by the townsfolk without a single doubt.

Weighing the consequences of having you stay overnight and scaling it against the other factors, he makes up his mind in 45 seconds.

Your heartbeat is already slowing down, and your breathing is developing a rhythm as your eyes close down. You're drifting off to sleep against his chest.

He's careful as he lowers his body to lay down onto the bed, yours on top of him still. Already planning the schedule for tomorrow’s morning, how he'll help you shower and wash your body before drying you off. Breakfast should come afterwards, too, then he'll just have enough time to deal with the sheets before the town wakes up and his responsibilities start queuing in front of the door.

"So just keep your mouth shut, and don't let it slip out."

[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.