#business entity concept

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

"It's a mouse," Aldryx says out loud before realizing how obvious that is. "That is... I ran into—"

"Jen!" Psychic swiftly bends down, scooping the mouse into his cupped hands. "I see you've met my little companion."

"It's your mouse." Aldryx is very good at contributing to conversations when he's not flabbergasted.

"She," Psychic corrects, eyes narrowing. "And... I... suppose you could say that. I felt her presence around here, but then that begs the question, why here, why now and not with us when we first ended up in this house."

"Maybe... as a reward?" Aldryx suggests, then grimaces. Psychic mirrors the expression. "I mean. We've been playing this game for a while now. The letters from people outside... our belongings that keep showing up from time to time? Maybe this is like that."

"Maybe it's an incentive," Psychic picks up his train of thought. He glances back down at Jen, curled up in his palms. "Let's get you upstairs, Jen. It's freezing down here."

[echthr0s]

I used to trip up on the "your body knows what it's doing, trust it" part of intuitive eating. I was thinking of the body as some kind of mindless creature that just blithely reaches for whatever good-sounding thing was in sight, and it was the mind's responsibility to corral these impulses and steer this soft animal in the right direction

and I think a good practice is to type out (or write out) the things that you think and then read them to yourself a few times because either they'll just continue to make sense or they'll... well, they'll look like what I just typed up there :V

because that doesn't make any sense at all. the Mind™ as this rational paternalistic construct that's keeping us civilised and healthy? that's a pretty nonsensical illusion. to say nothing of that reductionist and ecologically unsound view of both this body and animals in general. it's like that whole "nonhuman animals operate purely on instinct" business -- misguided at best, insulting at worst.

because I kept seeing the "your body knows what it's doing, trust it" rhetoric, I went, oh for the love of-- fine. what the hey. let's get radical. let's trust every signal the body gives. and you know what happened? sometimes I ate a whole sleeve of ritz crackers. it didn't kill me. sometimes I ate four different vegetables in a day. this is neutral and all that mattered in the end was that I enjoyed it. some days I ate so much I thought, surely there's something disordered about this. nope. just livin life, enjoying being food-secure after a decade of being the opposite. the body does know what it's doing. trusting it may be radical, but now I think it's necessary.

the body is a microcosm of the greater ecosystem of the planet. all the organisms that make up the body, they all have their needs. all these organisms joined together and something interesting emerged from them -- this mind. and this mind is doing something interesting in return -- turning back towards those organisms, recognising their importance, recognising its own part in maintaining this ecosystem. not to lord over it, or tame it, or beat it into submission. but to care for it, in the way that it requires. I, as an emergent entity, am at root simply a fairly clever steward.

[lilac-gold]

your bossman design is so scrunkly i love him

This is canon.. Me thinks...

[fleapit]

hi. why is nobody talking about the porn ban in north carolina? the PAVE act is a bill that was passed back in september 2023 (came into law january 1st 2024) that effectively bans users from viewing websites hosting adult content without age verification. (link to the bill)

"-the act legally requires commercial ventures to verify users’ ages if a company “knowingly and intentionally publishes or distributes material harmful to minors on the internet from a website that contains a substantial portion of such material.”

In order to do so, North Carolina requires these sites to either use “a commercially available database that is regularly used by businesses or governmental entities for the purpose of age and identity verification,” or utilize “another commercially reasonable method of age and identity verification.” Companies are not allowed to hold records on any personally identifying information used to confirm users’ ages.

Additionally, North Carolina offers residents the right to a lawsuit if a site is found to record user identifying information, or if a minor’s parent or guardian finds that a website allowed their child to access a site purposefully hosting material “harmful to minors.”" obviously we don't want these websites having our IDs, but sites like e621 and pornhub just straight up aren't asking for them either- blocking their service to the state in it's entirety instead. even beyond the restriction of adult websites, obviously as the 'queerest place on the net' we can see how "material that is harmful to minors" is not just intentional vague wording, but a massive red flag. even if you dont care about the porn- which you should, this is a massive rights violation. how long until 'harmful material' is expanded to include transgender people? same-sex relationships? anything lgbtq? this is a serious fucking problem and it opens the door to hundreds of potentially worse bills that extrapolate on the same concept.

i have no idea what to do to fight it, but if someone smarter than me could add links to representatives or something, that would be awesome.

i'm also going to tag a few people to get this post out: @polyamorouspunk @safety-pin-punk @doggirlbreasts (i have no idea who else to tag, if any of you can think of someone who can help this post get out there, please tag them!)

[sunderwight]

SV scenario where Shen Jiu is also Shen Yuan's Meimei.

Trans egg SJ never got to examine her gender identity very much in her first life. What with all the enslavement, abuse (given as well as received), misunderstandings, betrayals, dismemberment, and death, there was far too much for her to ever come to terms with a set of concepts she'd never really had the luxury to entertain. By the time Shen Jiu was a peak lord, the Shen Qingqiu persona was locked in, and any dreams of a different life or inclinations to the contrary of her role were ruthlessly quashed by SJ herself.

But when SJ finally dies and her soul is free to reincarnate (taking a few more memories than usual along for the ride), she has mixed feelings about being born as the youngest daughter of a wealthy family.

The mixed feelings don't actually last long, though after a while she starts to wonder why the fates would grant her a reprieve? Maybe remembering her past life is her punishment, because it's certainly the worst part of her new situation. Her parents are indulgent, her older brothers all dote on her and spoil her, and when she tests limits she's only gently rebuked if she gets rebuked at all. Not only is she allowed to wear fine dresses and look pretty, she's expected to (actually the expectation does chafe, a bit). But even when she uses foul language, skips classes, reads controversial books, and commits myriad other tiny rebellions, no real retribution ever comes of it.

Even despite everything, after some years Shen Jiu starts to become... not complacent, but perhaps calmer would be a better description. She has a stable future handed to her on a silver platter. Very few things remind her of her past, either. She can read books about snotty highborn lords getting railed by werewolves as readily as classics of literature or academic papers on science, business, culture, politics, or whatever else takes her fancy. Her family doesn't even put demands on her to marry, despite some of her mother's hints in that direction. For the first time, Shen Jiu has a life where it seems like she can't fail, she can only succeed however much she wants to. It's like having nowhere to go but up, except without the part about hitting rock bottom.

A foolish set of assumptions, in the end. There's always something to lose.

When Shen Yuan suddenly dies, Shen Jiu recognizes the sinister hand of the same entity which oversaw her own reincarnation. One which had visited her dreams quite recently, trying to tempt her back to her first life with offers of being able to change the past. It wasn't even difficult to deny it. Shen Jiu doesn't believe she could change what happened, and she doesn't really want to try. Her one regret is what happened to that person, the one who died so horribly while rushing to her rescue, and even that, she doesn't know how she would change (because she still doesn't know why he bothered in the first place).

But how dare the System God take the silliest and softest of her brothers to try and fix her accursed first life?! Luo Binghe will eat him alive! Cang Qiong will mistake him for a demon or a madman or worse, and throw him into some cell somewhere, if they don't just kill him outright!

Shen Meimei tries to negotiate with the System, but it tells her the window of opportunity for her to go back instead has passed. Smarmy piece of shit. There's nothing she can do without supernatural help, however, except bide her time and wait for another "window of opportunity". It's in the midst of this that she discovers PIDW, and its (terrible) account not only of the broad strokes of her first life and death, but of what came afterwards. That little beast really wrecked the world, huh? And all those women, too. She's never been more grateful to have not figured herself out in her first life. But at least with access to this information, she can try and prepare more. (She's suspicious of who actually wrote this account as well -- is Luo Binghe himself in this world? Better to leave it now, in that case, before he inevitably makes another bid for power and destroys everything in his wake all over again!)

When the System finally gives her an opportunity to go back (as herself, or rather "Bonus Epilogue Side Character -- Shen Qingqiu's Mysterious Little Sister!") she is braced for any number of outcomes. Shen Yuan could be dead. He could be imprisoned. He could have had his limbs all cut off. He could be stuffed into a pickle jar. He could be hiding or on the run somewhere. Hopefully, he'll be hiding behind that person, confused and distraught but still intact thanks to the sect leader's guilt-driven sense of obligation. Most likely if the same number of years have passed since Shen Yuan "left", he's already been destroyed by Luo Binghe and all Shen Jiu will be able to do is avenge him. But she has some ideas of how to kill the beast, so, she will.

Of course, what she finds is nothing she expected, and almost even worse.

Luo Binghe married her brother?!

Death is too good for him! Shen Jiu's going to skin him alive!!!

[creatureheart]

Made an updated version of this with a bit more info on things and a few tweaks, so go check out that version here!

I've made a few posts talking about things in the nonhuman and alterhuman communities recently, mostly just brief looks into them, so I thought I would share this one.

The info may not be all that much, and could easily be expanded upon, but I did my best for a simple bit of info for certain things.

All pictures have ALT text included, but I shall post the text also here, under a cut, cause it's a bit long, lol

Nonhuman as an identity: To identify as not human either fully or partially. (hate/trolls will be reported and deleted)

Reminder: These are all personal identities and why someone identifies as nonhuman and what term someone decides to use for themself is exclusively their business. In the end it is what makes the most sense to the individual and not up to others. Now, onto some of the communities that are included under the nonhuman identity:

Otherkin: from the term "otherkind" - an identity which typically encompasses being wholly or partially a nonhuman entity. Usually understood to cover those who identify as mythical creatures and other fantastical things. Also covers those that fall outside of beings and creatures.

Examples of non-being or creature based identities: Conceptkin: an identity where one identifies as a concept such as the concept of night or fire. Objectkin: and identity where one identifies as an object. Songkin: an identity where one identifies as a song.

Examples of being and creature based identities: Therianthropy: usually shortened to therian - where one identifies AS a nonhuman animal. Some will say that this term refers to only earthen animals, living or extinct, but it has never only encompassed earthly animals. The community's language came from those who identify as werecreatures. Theriomythic: an alternate identity term for one who identifies in some intrinsic was as a mythical creature. Paleotherian: an identity term for one who identifies as a now extinct earthly animal, like a dinosaur or mammoth.

Cladotherian or Cladokin: an identity term for one who does not identify as a distinct species, but a broader identity encompassing an entire genus or larger grouping. Cladomythic: an identity term for one who identifies as a group (clade) of animalistic mythical creatures.

Fictionkin: an identity term that covers all things fictional. For those who identify as something fictional like characters, animals, species, objects, etc. These can be from books, shows, video games, etc, but not always! Original fictional characters and such are also possible.

There are many other identities that fall under the nonhuman umbrella which is why it's important to do your own research to figure out if a certain term works for you. All these identities share the trait of being involuntary. You cannot choose to be therian, otherkin, or the other mentioned identities.

While the already mentioned identities are involuntary, there are some identities that fall under being voluntary. Otherlink: an identity where one voluntarily identifies as nonhuman. Copinglink: an identity where one voluntarily identifies as nonhuman to copes with things such as trauma, stress, etc.

A lot of people may also say that it is impossible to become a therian, otherkin, etc. While the identity is involuntary, things like trauma and neurodivergence can cause an individual to take on a nonhuman identity when they had not had one previously.

Most will usually see people explain that these identities are spiritual or psychological, but these are only some of the ways that individuals may experience them. Some other experiences of nonhumanity: Symbolic Metaphorical Ancestral Physical (Yes this is an actual reason for some and they are just as much a part of the community as anyone else. Physical and Ancestral nonhumans are part of the community's history and some of its founders.)

For those looking for more information, and community places, here are some places to check out! Werelist Nonhuman National Park Alterhuman Archive The Chimera's Library. The above are forums and archives of information on the community. Most archived information is thanks to who-is-page, liongoatsnake and frameacloud on tumblr.

While this is a brief look into the nonhuman identity that I could share, I do hope it has been helpful in some way. Remember to be true to yourself, and don't let anyone tell you how to feel. Ignore, report, delete and block the haters!

Yeen out~

[tanoraqui]

D&D 5e Adventure Concept: Wild Magic Siblings Dungeon Crawl Unwilling Reunion

Plot/Party Backstory: Four siblings whose mother (gender-neutral) is some sort of inhuman entity who is a font of wild magic, who serially has children then promptly abandons them with their dad (gender-neutral), who is basically a normal guy, well-adjusted except for his unceasing dedication to this objectively Not Great relationship.

The siblings all have at least 1 level in Wild Magic Sorcerer, innate (and causing problems!) from birth. But they’ve all coped with this familial situation and the struggles of their magic in different ways, often at odds with one another. They’ve all gone totally separate ways in life, some may not even be on speaking terms…until they’re all drawn back together because their mother has somehow gotten Dad into real trouble this time, not just the ongoing struggle of uncontrollable bursts of magic from four kids in about ten years. She hasn’t left him with a new baby in years, in fact—hasn’t so much as dropped by since the youngest was like six!* But he’s truly stupid about this woman, so even two decades* later, he agreed to go on a romantic trip with her…and now he’s trapped at the center of some deadly dungeon because their flighty bitch mother just left him there.

*years based on human lifespans; modify as appropriate for other races

So now it’s up to these four siblings! All together again for the first time in years, can they get along for long enough to survive this dungeon and rescue their (generally agreed upon) one good & beloved parent?

The Party:

(May or may not be in descending order of age; it’s up to you.)

The Wizard (lv 1 Wild Magic Sorc, lv ?? Abjuration Wizard): Specializes in negating magic (first tutelage from their Dad, who picked up stray tricks while raising this lot). Has been in academia since they left home, probably no adventuring experience. Roll 1d20 with disadvantage for potential wild magic surge on any spells that are on Sorc list as well as Wizard.

The Sorcerer (lv ??+1 Wild Magic Sorc): The only one still in contact with their mother, who has served as somewhat of a mentor on their adventures. Primary business is adventuring! Uses Tides of Chaos and has wild magic surges CONSTANTLY.

The Barbarian (lv 1 Wild Magic Sorc, lv ?? Wild Magic Barbarian): Prefers to just not use magic! Vents it a little through cantrips, and has figured out how to focus it into a limited range of effects when it slips out when they loses their temper in battle (rages). Sometimes risks Mage Armor (stacked with Unarmored Defense!). Has definitely been adventuring, though maybe not as primary occupation.

The Cleric (lv 1 Wild Magic Sorc, lv ?? Arcane Cleric): Turned to a god NOT associated with their mother for help. Has worked in a temple since they left home, may have some adventuring experience. Roll 1d20 with disadvantage for potential wild magic surge on any spells that are on Sorc list as well as Cleric/domain spells.

Party Level: They should all be an odd-numbered level, so the Sorcerer’s sticking with their birth class has paid off in granting them higher level spells than the Cleric or Wizard. (Cleric and Wizard do both have access to 1 of those higher-level spell slots, but they can only upcast into it.) I suggest at least level 7, so all PCs can be at least two steps down their subclass paths, and no higher than 13, so the Sorcerer still has no control over their wild magic surge.

The Dungeon: Any level-suitable pre-made dungeon will do!

[merakiui]

long-distance love.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, phone sex, obsession, power imbalance, kidnapping, implied (cyber)stalking, non-con touching, characters written as 18+ note - sea witch, the magicord mod you've had intimate online relations with, is closer than you thought.

Sea Witch is a busy man.

His weekly schedules are almost always packed to bursting, each event meticulously arranged into open slots as if aiming to form a perfect puzzle. Times never conflict; he’s particular about how he spends his hours, and very rarely does he allow himself a break. It has always been work, work, work. He’s one of the city’s most affluent, eligible bachelors and yet he’s married to his business. Those who lust after him think it’s a wasteful shame. Azul finds it to be a relief far greater than any he’s ever known. He will never compromise the enterprise he’s built from the ground up just because of some flimsy, fickle feelings.

Originally, he had no interest in Magicord, a messaging platform that grants people from all over the world the chance to congregate on specific servers for mutual interests like anime and gaming. He only downloaded it because Idia Shroud, a fellow friend and business partner, lived and breathed the app, his online presence so profound it was almost like a second home. He’d swipe away notifications from his actual messaging app, too busy in a voice call with his group of dungeon raiders to bother answering important calls.

So he resolved to get on Idia’s level in hopes of improving communication. Although Idia’s level, as Azul often noted, was not exactly a place he wanted to be. While Magicord could be used for business purposes, that wasn’t what drew people in. Azul of all people knew very well which target audiences were being reached with apps like Magicord, and he was not one of them.

“To think I’d stoop as low as this,” Azul had once groused over a phone call with Idia, who was giving him quite a lengthy, not-very-needed-but-also-very-much-needed rundown on Magicord’s inner workings. “I hardly have time to play games, let alone socialize on this…app.”

“Aren’t you always going on about how adaptable you are?” Idia sniped back, not in the mood for normie criticism. The sound of clacking keys could be heard on his end. “And you’re the one who asked. Kinda defeats the purpose of learning if you’re just gonna complain.”

Azul rolled his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in downloading another app just to ensure my messages reach you. Honestly, you ought to start checking your email. Or, at the very least, go through your missed call and text logs.”

Alas, Idia had been stubbornly adamant about his preferences and so, much to his displeasure, Azul was forced to undergo something of a Magicord Training Camp until he emerged a pro. And being a pro meant knowing how to navigate his own profile and toggle between that and Idia’s, which was really the only tip he needed because that was all he’d use the app for.

But Azul has always had an innate itch for wanting to know something from top to bottom, inside-out, and the idea of not knowing every little detail about Magicord drove him insane. If there was an opportunity he could capitalize on, why should he risk squandering it with his elementary-level knowledge? So he spent his rare slivers of free time playing around in there, creating a server and wondering who could ever become so attached to an app when the world beyond the screen was filled with just as many, if not more, social encounters.

His introverted side understood the appeal. In fact, he loved the idea of hiding behind a manufactured persona online. He didn’t have to be Azul Ashengrotto on Magicord. Rather, he could rid himself of his dislikable traits and become an entity—an idea or a concept—rather than a flawed man who others might scrutinize ruthlessly.

So he became Sea Witch, and within just a week he’d constructed quite the comfortable server. The invite link was spread throughout the various branches of Mostro. It would provide employees with an online sanctuary, where they could easily connect should doing so in person prove complicated (as had been the case regarding Idia, which was the sole reason he’d even poured so much time into this effort). Most of all, it gave Azul the chance to keep watch from afar, silently sitting in wait and curating a collection of mostly unimportant intel. Mere gossip, if anything.

But gossip is just as good as the next scandal. He likes to be prepared, a razored edge on all sides.

As far as the company was concerned, no one knew who this Sea Witch character was and no one knew who spread the link. And as far as individual employees knew, this was likely just some overworked intern’s labor of love—a well-crafted server intended to function as a digital gathering place for those exhausted after a long day. And that was mostly true, but all of the potential blackmail he could gather, the information he could glean, and even the people he could keep a closer eye on in an online setting—all of that paled in comparison to the real prize he’d attained. This was of great importance. It was something that altered the course of his life, opened his eyes to the brilliant beauty of a first love.

It was there in that undersea-themed haven where he met you, the one who would add flavorful spice to the once bland, boring meal that was his life. And just after a few weeks of simple, cordial conversation, he realized a single taste of your kind companionship wouldn’t be enough to sate him.

Greedy to a fault, Azul wanted you in your entirety.

Which brings him to the present, where he’s currently leaning back into the expensive leather of his driver’s seat. He’s parked on a silent strip of road, in a more residential part of the city. It’s not very busy here, and his windows are tinted to avoid immediate recognition. Rush hour won’t hit until later, and he’s not due for any conferences. He has time. Plenty of it to spare on this little excursion.

“I wanna meet you, Sea Witch,” you admit, nearly whining through the phone. “Where’re you from? Maybe we’re in the same area.”

Azul smiles at your impatience. You just can’t get enough of him, can you?

Every weekend, you hop into a VC with him and chat for hours on end. At first he simply provided a listening ear when you wished to rant through text or call. You’d voice all sorts of complaints. Azul filed them away in the event that they might be useful in the future, initially intending to use such information to ruin you should you prove to be someone worth ruining. But the more he spent listening and scrawling notes on blank paper, the more he realized you were just overworked and struggling financially.

Upon making these connections and learning all sorts of facts from you regarding your life beyond Magicord, he felt compelled to help. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course, ever the benevolent saint. And you weren’t complaining when he offered to pay you for your time. In exchange for two hours of conversation, he’d provide you with the funds you needed to afford your necessities.

Somehow, throughout many months of give and take—with his giving being on the jaw-droppingly exorbitant side, always one to top his own ludicrous generosity—your hours-long conversations would sink beneath the surface of mere companionship. It was one-sided intimacy. Azul was careful with what he shared, building a mostly secretive profile for himself. He didn’t want to risk tarnishing your fondness for Sea Witch by sharing details that felt more like Azul and less like the effortlessly funny, charming, and eloquent Magicord mod you’d originally made contact with.

You didn’t seem to worry about compromising your own privacy, easily divulging a variety of fun tidbits about your life. You’d share the tiniest of details and he’d eat it up every time, hungering for more than just crumbs. That time you sent him a photo of the octopus macarons you’d bought from a local bakery because you were thinking of him? He remembers it well, and he’s constantly reminded of it when you text him about things you did over the weekend or hobbies you basked in. Sending photos of your houseplants, asking him for his opinion on clothes you were hoping to buy (which he was always more than willing to sponsor; all you needed to do was send the link and he’d purchase it), and even trusting him enough to fall asleep in the VC with him (arguably one of his favorite things about your unique relationship).

And he called it unique not because it was a bad sort of strange. Rather, it was unique in the refreshing sense. He’d never had an online friend before, let alone someone who would so willingly and readily indulge him. Granted, this willingness stemmed from the deal he’d cut with you and so you were really only doing these things for your own gain. But then so was he. It was a relationship built upon necessity. You needed money to survive, and he needed you.

So it was okay to fall into sleazy fantasies. It was all an act anyway, and it wasn’t like you judged him or his preferences. At least, not outright. If you did, it was silent. You were considerate and sweet; and you really did consider him a friend. Or so he hoped. If your casual conversations were any proof, it was obvious there was some sort of enjoyment and trust there.

Friendship or something more, he would have you. Whether that meant in the safety of his pocket, enclosed within his mobile phone forever, or in his penthouse, tucked away in his bedroom—he’d have you.

“I’m from a city, yes,” he answers, purposely cryptic.

“Obviously. Come onnn, Witchy. Don’t you wanna meet me, too?”

“I do, and one day we’ll meet. I promise.”

He listens to your irritated groan and his cock twitches in his slacks. Good god, your voice is a blessing—more heavenly than a cherubic choir.

“One day isn’t today, though.”

“Perhaps not.” He speaks to distract you from the rustling fabric of his pressed suit as his hand strays further. He spies his reflection in the rearview mirror, notes the flash in his irises. If only you were here, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. If only he could slide his own seat as far back as it would go, lie still and serene, and let you climb into his lap to spear yourself on his erection. Genuine leather be damned. He wanted your scent, your essence, your everything engraved into the very interior. “Humor me—if we were to meet right now, what would you like to do?”

“Mm, I’d want to get a good look at the man I’ve been talking to for nine months now.”

“Oh, you’ve kept track?”

“You haven’t?” Your laughter is fluffy and light—authentic amusement. “And I’d want to memorize your face so that I’ll never forget it.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m so curious! You know what I look like—”

“Not entirely,” he interjects, sly and silver-tongued. “You’re a portrait half-finished in my mind. Not yet sketched to completion.”

And it’s true. From your shoulders down, you are a faceless beauty. He’s seen you nearly naked and fully clothed, in frills and lace, in latex and ribbons, in satin and chiffon. And yet, for all of the skin you’ve shown, he can’t place a face (or a real name, for that matter) to your body.

“Okay, poet,” you tease, and he’s already palming himself through the fine fabric of his trousers. “But I’ve still never seen an inch of you. You’ve never even sent a dick pic.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Can I have one now?”

“Nice try.”

“Asshole!” you gripe, clicking your tongue in disappointment. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” he hums, squeezing himself, his breath coming out faint and haggard.

Yeah, he’s the worst. But then you’re the best at eliciting these sorts of reactions from him. The effect you have on him is utterly enthralling. Your ability to reduce him to a pliable puddle in just a few words—a mere few lighthearted, hollow insults—is truly impressive. He’d feel ashamed of himself if it wasn’t so good.

“You’re probably not even that big.”

“Would you like an exact measurement?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to measure it in person? See how many inches I could fit inside. I’ve been practicing with that dildo you sent me—the one shaped like a tentacle,” you purr, frustratingly coy. He wants your sinful lips wrapped around his dick right now—wants to fuck your throat sore and raw. Wants nothing more than to spill heavy and hot on your tongue so you’ll taste him for days. “If we met up, we could make that happen. Sooo, where’s my Sea Witch from? What part of the world?”

“Patience, angelfish.”

Even though he says so, he’s practically vibrating with excitement as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Soon. So soon. Very, very soon.

And then…

He imagines you rolling your eyes with your next words. “Fine, fine. I’ll be patient. But that’s not gonna stop me from fantasizing.”

“Well, what do you think I look like?”

“Now isn’t that a fun question?” You mull it over. He can tell because you mutter a variety of ums and hmms in that soft, sweet voice of yours. “I think you’re tall and you have a handsome face that matches your equally handsome voice.”

“Yeah?” he encourages, undoing the belt, button, and zip on his pants one-handed. “What else?”

Your giggles filter into his ears, seeming closer than they actually are due to the wireless earbuds he’s wearing. “From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have expensive tastes.”

Sitting in his lavish, one-of-a-kind, custom-made sports car, Azul thinks you would be correct.

“I wonder what gave it away…” he drawls, his voice creeping an octave lower.

He places his phone in the cup holder, reaching to open the glove compartment and retrieving a tiny bottle of lube. Squirting a scant amount on his palm, he fishes himself, throbbing and pathetically hard, out of his boxers. His slick hand is a warm, welcome embrace around his silky-smooth shaft. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Mhm, I wonder. It’s not the fact that you told me I should just buy a designer bag for work when I asked for recommendations. And it’s certainly not your ability to get me lots of nice gifts as if it’s nothing. So maybe it’s just your excessive generosity that makes you seem so rich?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Speaking of that, what do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious… Um… Hm. I think you’re a pilot.”

The whiplash that assumption brings is so seismically jarring he thinks he might go flaccid. Gripping himself with renewed vigor, he slides his fist along his length, slow and perfunctory, picturing you under his desk, your mouth open wide to receive him…

“A pilot… Mm, no, not quite.”

“Aw. My second guess was gonna be a contract killer. They make lots of money.”

“You have quite the wild imagination, angelfish. Even if I was one, do you think I’d admit that to you?”

“Maybe,” you tease. He pictures your smirk as it twists your perfect, pretty lips into something wicked. “For the right price, yeah?”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

Please. Please keep going. Don’t stop talking. I need to hear you, closer, louder, clearer… More.

“What sort of price would I have to pay to get Sea Witch to spill his secrets?” you muse, your voice a tantalizing curl of syllables, but he suspects you already know the answer to your hypothetical. “I can’t offer you money, so you’d have to settle for something a little more…physical.”

He shivers, nodding his agreement even though you can’t see it. “Physical’s good,” he mumbles, foregoing eloquence in favor of filth. “Much better than—mm—than money…”

“Yeah? All right. Let’s see… You’re well-off and you might or might not be a contract killer. Do you wear suits?”

“I do.”

“Ooh, so you’re one of those contract killers.”

Azul can’t help it; he laughs, the sound tumbling out in a breathy gasp. “I prefer looking nice at all times.”

Languidly, his hand continues its idle pumping. He cracks his eyes open to peer at the pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Even if you’re just going to get messy?”

“Explicate the situation that’s leading me to soil my clothes. Details, angelfish.”

“Well, if you’re a killer who wears suits, you wouldn’t like even the smallest stain. It ruins your image, but if it was me…” You pause, probably for effect, and it works. His back arches with anticipation, fingers closing tighter. “You’d make an exception.”

“I would,” he admits far too quickly. “Always.”

“So you really would out yourself as a killer if I spread my legs for you?”

“No, but I’d let you dirty my suits.”

“Good. They’ll look better on the floor anyway.”

His breath hitches. Fuck, your every word is a siren’s song, leading him deeper into mist-clouded waters. He’d keep you pinned on his cock all day if he could. Why should you continue to work your mundane job when you could spend your precious hours with him instead? He’ll be your job. Seven days a week, during each of the breaks he’ll pencil into his schedules, you can visit him and he can empty all of his stress into you. And you’ll take it because you’re such an obedient sweetheart for him, always so ready to please your master.

He prays you can’t hear the salacious squelch of skin on skin as he works himself towards the edge, but a nastier part of him wants you to listen in so you’ll be reminded that this is your fault. No one else can possibly make him this messy. No one else is capable of rendering him a clumsy, lovestruck fool. You’re probably well aware of these facts, having brought him to this same edge numerous times in the past. Sometimes you would reach that tipping point alongside him, your gasps and groans joining his in an obscene duet.

Neither of you decided upon today’s development, but he thinks—knows—you’re intentionally stringing him along. You want this as much as he does.

“So was I right? You’re totally a contract killer?”

“I’m a businessman, angelfish,” he corrects, a silly, drunken smile softening his jaw. You make him feel so stupid, so warm and fond.

“So basically the same thing. Just as ruthless, no?”

“Please, you wound me. I’m always kind.”

“Ah, so there are others who get this treatment? And I thought I was the only one…”

“You are. No one could ever compare to you.”

He intends to tack my love onto the sentence’s end, but he stops himself. You’re not his love. Not really. You’re his angelfish, sure, but that’s different. That’s just a pet name befitting the aquatic theme he masquerades behind. And you’re not really Azul’s. You’re Sea Witch’s.

It’s Sea Witch you know and love. Beyond that, Azul is just Azul. And he’s nothing like the ideal he’s cultivated on Magicord.

He sighs and forces himself out of the turbulent trenches of his withering self-esteem. Now is not the time to contemplate which version of himself you’d be more preferential to.

You’ll have no choice but to love the real him. Soon.

“Really? I feel so special.” Impressed, you whistle and add, “I’ve gotta make you feel special, too.”

“You already have—”

“Not inside the VC. Come on, Sea Witch, don’t you wanna meet me?”

“I do. I really do,” he babbles dumbly, grinding his thumb into his slit and smearing pre-cum. He grits his teeth and tamps down a colorful word. How he yearns for this to be your hand wrapped around his length, tugging him to that far-off finish line. “I want nothing more than to—t-than to see you, all of you, in person…”

“So what’s stopping you? I could do a lot more in person than I can over the phone.” He has a smart reply for that, but it sticks in his throat. Pitifully, like the rightful debauched mess he is, he groans, low and guttural. “Let me turn the question on you, Sea Witch. If we were to meet today, what would you like to do to me?”

So many things, he thinks, a litany of smutty imagery flickering through his head.

But Sea Witch is classy (most days) and today is one of those instances. Or at least he’s going to make an attempt, however weak it may be.

“Take you to dinner,” he mumbles, executing jerky, quick motions in a daze, his cock weeping for release. He throws his head back, peers up at the interior roof of his car, and inhales sharply. “Take you all over the city if it pleases… I’d spoil you with so much finery—dress you up and then tear every article off…”

“And then?”

“And—god, fuck—wanna be inside you, angelfish… So badly—need you so badly. I wanna feel you and kiss you and hold you.”

He’s unraveling, strings pulled taut and fraying to extremity. Azul bucks into his hand and imagines it’s you, tight and warm, a sweet, snug embrace. He opens and closes his mouth, intending to beg you for more, but all that slips out are the tiniest huffs and grunts. He’s so wrapped up in his own ardor that he almost misses your quiet pants, every breath squeezed out of you as if you’re struggling to withhold your gratuitous moans. And it’s deplorable, really, the way his ears prick at these muffled sounds, the way his cock stands rigidly at attention, the way he’s falling through fragments of filthy fantasies, each one so close and yet impossibly far.

“I want you, too,” you mewl, tone wavering between shameless thrill and some sort of seventh heaven.

He wonders what you’re using to pleasure yourself. Are your fingers, slick and curled, rubbing up against those perfect, pretty spots that have you seeing stars? Or are you using the toys he purchased for your enjoyment? Maybe you’re lowering yourself onto the dildo right now, gummy walls clenching around girthy silicone. And maybe you’re tugging at your nipples, massaging them between the pads of your fingers, or maybe you’ve swapped skin-to-skin for a bullet vibrator instead.

Maybe—just maybe—it’s the mere thought of him that sets your flesh aflame with an intoxicating desire.

“And I want you—” you gasp, and his mind travels to all of the risqué photos you’ve sent, each one saved in a password-protected album on his phone— “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I want you to show me that no one else can compare to you. I want you to—mmh, hah—to hold me down in bed and fuck me until my legs are sore and I can’t walk.”

I will, he thinks, lashes fluttering on his cheekbones. He strokes himself quickly, chest heaving, tongue near-lolling out of his mouth as he pants like a hound in heat. I’ll do all of that and so much more. I’ll fuck every coherent thought out of your pretty head, keep you just smart enough to rely on me, turn you into the prettiest sea flower who’ll only blossom for me.

“I promise, angelfish. I promise I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he vows, his nerves alight with lustful delight, “and you’ll never know misfortune again.”

“I—oh! I’m close, so close! Please, Sea Witch! Please don’t stop. Please fill me up and make me yours!”

The sheer vulgarity twined through amatory vehemence, coupled with his own hurried pace, has him tumbling down the slope, arousal peaking and spilling over in thick, creamy spurts. He has half a mind to catch his spend before it can ruin the pristine interior of his car, and he blinks down at the semen sullying his palm. Idly, he rubs his fingers together to test the viscosity, wondering how his fluids would look on your face, your stomach, your ass—or even pooling out of your hole in plentiful amounts.

That fantasy is enough to send blood rushing right back to his softening cock, and he wills those thoughts away with logic—complex calculations and the financial forecast for Mostro. There will be plenty of time to indulge in sexual cravings later. He reminds himself of this while he tamps down his zeal, his heart relaxing in his ribs as he sits with the slowly ebbing aftershocks of orgasm.

You seem to be doing much the same, for you’ve gone perfectly quiet.

“Everything all right, angelfish?” he whispers after a few minutes, his breath now evened out.

“Mm, yeah. All good over here. Messy, but good.”

“I’m comforted knowing we’re in the same boat.” He chuckles while fumbling to dig a cotton handkerchief from the depths of his suit jacket. He cleans the cum and residual lube from off his hands and dick before neatly tucking himself away. Soon, there will be no need for this charade. Soon, he can adore all of you from beyond the screen. “Angelfish, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s up?” you murmur, your own voice settling into its usual cheery cadence. He suspects you’re just putting on an act to sound happier. That will change when you’re reunited in person because it will be real. Because there will be no point in pretending through the phone.

“Well…” Azul smiles, folds and unfolds the sodden handkerchief, and then straightens his posture. He should be on his way now. “Ah, it’s nothing. Never mind it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Whaaat? But you’ve made me so curious now. Don’t just leave me in suspense!”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to remain in that suspense indefinitely.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying sometimes.”

He knows you don’t mean that.

“I’ll tell you soon, angelfish. Exercise a little patience. There’s no rush.”

“Easy for you to say. You know what it is.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, considering his next words. “Would it help if I left you with a word of advice?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Hit me. What’s your advice?”

Azul buckles himself in, starting his car via push button. It rumbles to life, smooth and steady. “Don’t fight so much, my dear.”

“Don’t what? Sea Witch, what are you talking—”

Your words are interrupted with a startled yelp. Azul listens to the struggle as if it’s a podcast enjoyed at sunrise. Things are toppled in the chaos; something shatters. He catches the beginnings of a blood-curdling shriek before it’s swiftly silenced. There’s more muffled scuffling before, eventually, absolute peace.

It’s broken by Floyd’s petulant whine. “Maaan, Shrimpy was so difficult. Thought you said they were easy, Azul.”

“Understandably so,” comes Jade’s astute reply. “We did catch them when they were most vulnerable.”

Floyd hums his agreement. “Y’know, Jade, Shrimpy’s kinda cute…”

“They are, aren’t they, Floyd?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, perish it right now,” Azul hisses, features twisting into something dark. “Keep your slimy mitts off of my angelfish.”

There’s an unsettling silence. Azul rolls his eyes. They’re fishing for a reaction he refuses to give.

“Clean up whatever mess you’ve made.” He takes his car out of park and eases into drive. “And don’t let anyone see you. It’ll be a hell of a pain if neighbors make unnecessary reports.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard ya loud and clear.”

“Very well. Farewell for now.”

The call is cut. Azul grips the steering wheel, smug.

Soon waits for him on the horizon. He will not be a minute late.

You wake on a bed, in a spacious bedroom with exquisite floor-to-ceiling windows, many stories up in the clouds. A brightly lit cityscape sprawls beyond the confines of this room, illuminated with the deceptive shine of promise and success. At first it looks foreign. But then you recognize notable buildings, each standing tall and proud amidst the rest, and it occurs to you that you’re in a stranger’s home, in the heart of the big city.

The room itself is plainly colored; it reminds you of a hotel or a room you might find in a real estate catalogue. Perplexed, you sit up and take pause as your unfamiliar surroundings prove to be more frightful than your own confusion.

Pasted to the walls are various printed screenshots from Magicord, each one detailing a conversation of sorts. You stare at the wall behind you, the one in which the bed is currently pushed against, and peer closer at the contents of these messages.

They’re all from you.

Endearing terms you’ve called him in passing. Gentle insults. Lewd flirts. Vents and rants. Photos you’ve sent of very insignificant things—houseplants, meals, clothes. And then there are the photos of your body in skimpy lingerie and cosplay, all taped to the wall like this is some abstract museum of the digital you. The you who, despite being honest most of the time, took solace in the world of Magicord. The you who’d grown close with the mod from that whimsical ocean-themed server. The you who is now trapped, your ankle enclosed in a cuff. There’s a lead that only allows you to meander into the attached bathroom if you so please, and you suspect it’ll pull taut if you try to leave the room.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, your stomach twisting with disgust.

You look down at your clothes—you’re in someone’s collared shirt, intentionally designed to be oversized so that it drapes like a nightgown—and horror prickles your skin.

And then he arrives.

He’s dressed casually in black slacks and a simple white dress shirt, primly tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You stare for a long moment, studying his features as his familiarity dawns. Your mouth falls open in a muted scream.

He smiles sweetly, stepping further into the amber glow from the bedside lamps. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Sea Witch.”

But that’s not what’s shocking about this. The real shock—the thing that has your brain stumbling in an effort to put the pieces together before the picture can crumble—is far more jarring than the kidnapping and the captivity. You find your voice then, and before you can stop yourself the words are falling out in a hurry.

“CEO Ashengrotto?!”

Sea Witch—CEO Ashengrotto—stiffens, his brows furrowing immediately. He gives you a sharp, dangerous look. A look that seems to radiate one unspoken question: Where did you hear that name?

“You… You’re A-Azul Ashengrotto,” you continue, swallowing thick trepidation. “CEO of Mostro. You opened a new restaurant last year—Crave, right? And the menu features celebrity favorites—celebrities like Vil Schoenheit and Neige LeBlanche.”

He laughs his disbelief, carding a hand through soft, silvery locks. “How…do you know this?”

“I work there. You visited once with your secretary for quality checks. We even crossed paths.”

Azul gawks, realizes he’s gawking, and clears his throat. “I… I see. Well.” He inhales, holds his breath for three seconds, and exhales. “This makes things rather…awkward.”

“When you said businessman, I didn’t think… I mean, how was I supposed to know? Your voice sounds so different over call than it does in interviews.”

“Of course it does! I never use the same inflection for those things.”

This cannot be real, you think, watching him flounder anxiously. Azul Ashengrotto is Sea Witch. This whole time… Nine entire months… I was talking to the CEO—to the city’s most popular bachelor—and I didn’t even know it. They write articles about this guy! He’s all over the TV! How did I never realize?

And then a very mortifying thought worms its way in: Oh my God. We both know each other’s preferences. He saw so much of me—more than I’d ever want him to see—and I heard too many private things during our calls…

“Let’s just…” You rub circles into your temples to quell the incoming migraine. “Let’s never talk about this again. You can buy my silence and I’ll move on with my life. I’ll even forget all of…” You glance at the Magicord conversations stuck to the wall and then the chain binding your ankle. “All of this…stuff. We’ll agree to call it a misunderstanding and life will be good, yeah?”

The bargain doesn’t seem to reach him. He continues to stare at you, his eyes glazed with an emotion you can’t place. Whatever it is, it’s stormy and dark. You don’t like it, and you shrink away when he steps closer.

“All this time you were right under my nose…”

Azul climbs onto the bed with you, the mattress depressing under the additional weight. Framed by the hypnotic radiance of the skyscrapers climbing heavenward, he’s certainly earned his place in every celebrity gossip magazine you’ve ever read. Articles debating whether he’s secretly committed to a relationship. Articles theorizing what his life plans may have in store for him. Articles discussing whether he’ll ever get married, if he’ll remain single for the rest of his life, if he’ll ever open his heart to the many people who hope to earn his romantic affections.

No one knows it—how could they when he’s so tight-lipped with the paparazzi?—but you are the secret variable the articles have yet to discover. You are the covert partner, the one who has won his heart, the one who now sits shackled on his bed.

What sort of tabloid journalist could ever spin this story?

You scoot further up the bed, your back pressing against the ornately extravagant headboard. Your knees are pulled into your chest, a futile attempt at protection.

“All this time you were so close to me…” He marvels at this, his baby blue hues locked permanently on you. “And neither of us knew. I could’ve had you much sooner had I just realized…”

You blink at him, your heart sinking with every passing second. “Mr. Ashengrotto, what do you mean by that?”

A pout tugs at perfect, pretty lips. “Why so formal, angelfish? We’re much closer than that, surely.” His hands settle upon your knees, gently pulling them apart. Your blood curdles with fear. “There’s no need to be so tense. It’s only me.”

“No… Please wait. Hold on!”

“Hm? If I’m not mistaken, this is what you want. You were rather vocal about your desires. You’ve always been. So why are you looking at me like that? I’m not scary, am I?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Please let me go…”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, his tone patient despite the subject. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you… You kidnapped me! Y-You had those guys hiding in my home and they…” You shake your head, unable to describe the sheer terror that had overwhelmed you when those creepy twins descended. Hopeless, you open your eyes to give him your most despairing look. Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest prodding.

“Oh, my dear, did they scare you? They’re brutes who know nothing of how to treat a person with adequate care. You needn’t worry anymore. I’m here for you.” He cups your face in a fond hold, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. “Don’t cry, angelfish. You’re in good hands—my hands. And have they not been the most generous?”

“You’re crazy. Obsessed! How can you think any of this is okay? Look around at the walls! You’ve pasted our conversations everywhere—they’re practically the wallpaper!”

“What of it?” His hand slides down to grip your chin, forcing you to meet him at eye level. “I love you. I have for months now. And if those are the ways you choose to classify my care, so be it.”

Tear trails trace down your face. He leans in to kiss the rivers away, but they morph into the saltiest of seas.

“You may not approve of my affections right this very moment. You may hate me, think I’m monstrous, a culmination of all things foul, but you will love me. In due time, my dear. And when you do, the world will open and the chain will come off and you will know freedom under my roof.”

He has the gall to worship you with a loving smile. It poisons you with newly brewing abhorrence.

“So cry your heart out. Scream and kick up a fit. Do what you must. And when the floods subside, we can learn to love one another. Both at our best and our worst, within and beyond Magicord.”

[krashlite]

Design concepts for Grian!

basically, completely overhauling how I draw him!

Design notes under the cut!

Animal: Sphinx

He's one of two people that try to hide that he has a motif (the other being Scott, but I'll get to him), so his animal traits are a lot more subtle. We only see more overt traits like his wings and big teeth through his hallucinations.

FACE/HEAD

Wide face! Very rectangular.

Generally, he has more reserved expressions that are based off his eyes.

His face/head shape is meant to resemble that of a lion, with a broad nose, round ears, and a lazy, catlike smile.

The shape of his hair is meant to resemble a bird with tucked wings, though I'm not sure how well I pulled that off!

He has lowlights in his hair that, when pulled into the "wings," makes the light and dark strands crisscross into that waffle pattern.

He doesn't have irises! It's a genetic disorder called aniridia, which affects his sight. During/before EVO he still had ~75% of his irises and wore contacts, but now he's fully reliant on his watcher abilities to see (though bright lights still affect him!).

BODY TYPE

Even mix of soft muscle and body fat. Reads as soft but can absolutely pack a punch!

Most of his bulk is around his abdomen and biceps, with a bit of overhanging fat in both areas (though we don't really see this).

Legs are fairly skinny to give a more birdlike appearance to his shape.

CLOTHES

An adapted version of business casual! Adventure casual? Business adventure?

The leather vest is mostly there for weight. It's there to help ground him when he's experiencing the wing hallucinations. Most of the weight for it lands on his back, where said wings would otherwise sit.

Leather patches on his elbows and the toes of his shoes from wear and tear (though the left one is starting to tear off again...) as well as a messy stitch on the side of his pant leg.

This outfit doesn't actually fit, but he works with it! This is his favorite outfit and he's going to make it work goddamnit!

Doesn't generally button the top button on his undershirt.

ADDITIONAL

He's the only one that sees the wings/eyes/teeth in his hallucinations! He does also see more overt versions of other motifs (so hare ears on Etho, or antlers on BigB, for example). This isn't all he sees, and episodes can induce nausea in the same way looking at a magic eye painting can make you dizzy.

He doesn't show any physical signs of injury or aging, nor does he have the ability to make lasting changes to his appearance (such as tanning, gaining/losing muscle mass, haircuts, tattoos, etc.) with the exception to this rule being, ironically, his eye bags.

Final note is that with the life series, I'm approaching the watchers through a complex trauma lens. In my interpretation, they are otherworldly and incomprehensible entities that can damage the human psyche just through small, direct interactions. Grian, after being changed into one against his will for an extended period of time and then changed back, has a very difficult time separating that experience from his own identity. The watchers themselves ARE NOT a current part of the games, but Grian uses the abilities gained from them in order to run the games. It's his way of both reconnecting with his humanity and reclaiming that trauma.

Once again, the watchers ARE NOT a part of the games in my version. References to them through Grian are either flashbacks or hallucinations.

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Spirit Work II

Spiritual Imposters

Before committing yourself to a deity or spirit one must communicate by learning about the entity in question, making certain they are who they say they are. Discovery of a spirit you thought you were working with is something else that leaves one feeling betrayed, upset, and oftentimes empty. Knowing the signs can really help discern things.

Mental Sock Puppets

A mental sock puppet is the result of talking to yourself and concluding self-talks as something else. The ego talks, you listen to yourself. Not a spirit. Or you establish contact but are incredibly biased hearing your thoughts. Not theirs.

It acts in accordance to your expectations.

You received no new information.

It’s only as knowledgeable as you are.

It only abides by your will. No one else.

It gives no signs unless you’re looking for them.

These are easy to get rid of if you identify the problem, recognize the problem, and let the narrative and ego go. No one needs to hear it. No one wants too either. You only end up hurting yourself and other people if things get too out of hand.

Lying Spirits

Some spirits are opportunists. They can portray an illusion pretending to be someone they’re not in order to gain loyalty and trust. They can take the form of a deity, guide, companion, or anything else that you would be most receptive to. This is why it’s good to know the basics to energy work and magick. Remember to learn different energies and how they feel to you. Remember to analyze the situation, yourself, the spirit, the environment, and working before proceeding forward. A lot of these malevolent entities like to feed off you or cause more drama that’s not necessarily needed.

Spirit Work and Continued Relationships

Veneration and Practice

This is about worshipping the deities or spirits you work with and highly depends on your practices and influences you choose to use and construct.

Most times there will be an altar setup or shrine dedicated to these spirits. Offerings of food, drink, incense, and trinkets would be a way of showing your dedication and interests of the spirits. There are other forms of interaction I have seen before.

Connection through art, music, nature, and meditation are just some of these other mediums. You don’t have to make this complex, and sometimes people have busy schedules making veneration hard to come by.

Try to keep things simple and remember it’s always okay to take a break due to circumstances. Spirits understand life comes first.

Patrons and Matrons

A Patron and Matron are deities that a devotee has a connection to. Its beyond standard devotional relations and is the main contact point for guidance and protection. It’s important to recognize that these types of relationships are built. They are not assigned.

Wicca is known for the patron and matron concept where duo theistic practices entail encouraging practitioners to seek out two divinities. The patron and matron would represent the divine masculine and divine feminine.

This is not a requirement in most practices, but in Wicca it is recognized in many circles.

Fallow Times

There are times where communication between you and the spirits can be difficult, and that’s okay. It happens with everyone. It doesn’t mean a spirit has left or that you’ve lost your ability to communicate. This feeling is temporary, and it’s a reminder that whenever this does happen, you need to take care of yourself first. Get the rest you deserve and try again later. Remember, this is normal due to circumstances – including stress, environmental factors, and any sort of disturbances one may have.

Oaths and Vows

There are many reasons why an individual would take an oath and vow. That’s between the practitioner and the spirit. This promise can come about for many different reasons, and even sometimes at the request of the spirit. However, this isn’t required if you are just working with them. It doesn’t mean control or status either. You can’t parade this around to get your way in certain situations. It doesn’t look good or help. Be aware of that. Remember why you did this, and what does it mean for you. That’s the most important part.

Displeasing Spirits

Those that are new to Spirit Work sometimes worry about displeasing the spirits. Repeat after me, deities and spirits who choose to work with you won’t get mad at you for being a human.

They will know there will be shortcomings, quirks, and variations.

You have NO obligation to listen to ANY person on this subject otherwise.

IF you do upset a spirit or make it angry question yourself as to why. Remember, communication is the key, and sometimes frictions can happen.

IF the behavior seems off and out of place, you may be dealing with an imposter. Check your sources and confirmation methods before determining the circumstances.

[ddarker-dreams]

A Chance Encounter.

Yan Scaramouche x Reader.

Loosely based on this concept.

Warnings: Only light yandere themes since Reader doesn't know about Scara's Harbinger affiliation. Word count: 1.1k.

Scaramouche could succinctly describe this assignment as a pain.

Some whistleblower whose conscience got the better of her in retirement, realizing now that she’s living off a measly pension instead of a steady stream of income that perhaps experimentation on unwitting subjects is actually not so dandy. How convenient. Moral epiphanies have the best timing. Or in the Harbinger’s case, the worst timing, since this trip to Mondstadt was supposed to be for pleasure, not business. 

He occupies a space beneath a sizable canopy. Shadows swallow him, occasionally chased off by shy sunlight wriggling through interstices born from the steady wind. The weather is fair compared to the everlasting winter that wrings all life from Snezhnaya. This nation is perfectly idyllic, perfectly boring, save for a single inhabitant who is notably exempt from his criticism. 

If it weren’t for the invisible yet no less present Fatui agents slinking about, he’d give in to the urge to quirk his lips upward. 

At least when this is wrapped up, he can see you. 

The matter shouldn’t take much longer. In written correspondence with the would-be traitor, he played the role of a bleeding heart, successfully blindsiding her into thinking he shares her plight. Now all that remains is to meet up with her and discern if the supposedly damning documents hold any weight or not. The rest can be left to his lackeys, he’d rather not waste any more time when he could be engaging in far more enjoyable activities. 

This is about as cut and dry as it gets. 

Except… 

Rapid footsteps approach. 

Foliage crunches beneath the heel of an exuberant individual, smothering leaves and snapping twigs. 

“Kuuuuuniiiiiii!” A voice he knows very well calls out. 

There is but a single entity throughout all of Teyvat who actively runs toward him, not away from him, and this entity so happens to be you. The concept of shame is a foreign one, you’re far too concerned with utilizing various flourishes to capture his attention. The fanfare is without reason. The instant you enter the scene, Scaramouche scarcely remembers the rest of the world exists, it becomes as inconsequential as the ground he treads on. 

You are a fallen star streaming through the sky, an answer to a wish he never had the courage to make. 

Unfortunately, you’ve happened upon him at a tricky juncture. The Fatui swarming like sharks in the water are prepared to tear into you at his command. From their perspective, you are an unknown variable running full force at their Lord Harbinger. Never in their wildest dreams could they fathom the notoriously spiteful Balladeer has a sweet spot for you, this is by his design. He’s painstakingly taken measures to ensure his little ball of sunshine can’t be used by his many enemies. 

The wave he gives serves two purposes — to greet you and signal his men to stand down. 

As if he wasn’t already thrown off-kilter by your abrupt appearance, when you’re at the appropriate distance, you launch at him with arms held wide. He catches you with an ease unfitting of his slender demeanor, his strength far surpassing that of any mortal. You’re content to wrap your arms around his neck while he steadies you. 

“I knew it was you! The hat gave it away. It always does,” you explain in between breaths. “And here I was thinking that you wouldn’t be in for a few more days.” 

Slowly, he helps ease you back down. You sway a bit, clutching his shoulders to maintain your balance, to which he snickers. “Were you so desperate to see me that running at a reasonable pace slipped your mind?” 

“I thought if I exerted more force, I might be able to tackle you to the ground this time… so much for that.” 

“Hah. As if. What strange fantasies you entertain without me around. The loneliness must rot your brain.” 

“Who says I’m lonely?” You challenge, tilting your head to the side. “I’m more than capable of making and maintaining friendships. That’s what happens when you’re a likable person.” 

He’s quick to reply so as not to betray his irritation at the idea. “You? Likable? The mental deterioration is worse than I feared. I hope it isn’t irreversible at this stage.” 

You shrug. “I dunno, you seem to like me well enough. I consider that my crowning achievement. If I can win you over I’m capable of anything. Maybe I’ll aim for world peace next.” 

Scaramouche is so quick to be swept up in the wild tide that is you that his bumbling underlings temporarily slipped his mind. Lately, there’s been one in particular who seems keen on proving himself worthy of a promotion. He goes out of his way to do extra work Scaramouche never tasked him with. It’s been a minor nuisance yet nothing major has come from it. 

However, in his purview, he senses this sycophant taking a position that’d be advantageous to strike at you from. 

Scaramouche’s retaliation is immediate. On a perfectly sunny day, a vicious bolt of lightning strikes mere inches from the spot he occupies, effectively communicating his lord’s displeasure. The white-hot flash earns your attention. You turn your head in the direction it came from, then shoot him an inquisitive glance. 

“... What did that bush ever do wrong?” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

The warning must’ve made it through the agent’s thick head, for he backs off like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

“Hey. I have some business I need to finish, then I’ll treat you to dinner,” Scaramouche knows you well enough to be confident that the idea of delicious food will successfully distract you. It’s as he predicted — he can practically hear the gears turning in your head as you form plans. He can only hope he doesn’t have to encounter that slovenly excuse of a god who once serenaded you with the story of an abandoned doll, claiming it to be a ‘cautionary tale’. The self-restraint he exercised that day is second to none. 

“Alright, but try to leave some nature standing, this is a trail I enjoy walking. I’d rather you don’t eviscerate it.” 

You begin to part ways, before loudly proclaiming ‘oh!’, like you’d forgotten something important. Then you’re back by his side. He processes the feeling before anything else, the soft sensation of your lips on his cheek renders him speechless. A crimson hue dusts against his pale cheeks as he subconsciously raises his hand to touch the still-tingling spot. Content with yourself, you depart, waving as enthusiastically as you had earlier. 

When his coherency returns, he sighs. That was a bit more than he’d prefer any Fatui-aligned person to see.

He’ll have to get creative to explain the deaths of all his men on such a low-stakes mission. Before that, however, he needs to ask one to hand the appropriate forms over, lest it disintegrate to ash as they’re fated to. 

It’s a pain, truly, but you’re worth the extra effort. 

[colourstreakgryffin]

Oh, my God, of course you can, dear. And to make it interesting to read, make sure that Alastor makes a deal with Bill (that is, with us) 👏

Awesome! Thanks, love! I’m on it. Alastor x Bill Cipher! Reader/Us, genderneutral! I know I’ve been busy but sadly, life gets in the way as much as writer block does. Sorry that this is bad, Bill and Alastor being the best toxic ‘partners’ go brrrrr~

Alastor- the Weirdmageddon

Alastor is infamously known as the strongest, the greatest, the most influential Overlord in Hell’s history… but his power is much more artificial than people ever suspected, yet. He also refuses to accept that as a fact, he wants to believe his power is his. It was only boosted by the figure who owns him, not granted by the figure who owns him

Sadly… that’s not the case. He’s only overwhelmingly authoritative because of you, called under the simple name ‘Cipher’. Making a deal with you, you granted him a alternately-sourced chunk of your immense power in exchange for him serving you as you please

As mutual give and take partners in crime

Alastor despises it… he despises being chained. He despises being the servant of a demonic entity so above him that they can turn him into a decoration banner with a snap of their fingers. Said demonic entity, being you, is a multidimensional threat that Hell had never seen

Often shaped in the form of a big limbed floating one eyed triangle, you’ve never shown your true form. It makes you terrifying in reality; nobody, not even Alastor knows your power’s true vast limits. Alastor always remembers the day he had sold his soul to you so fluently

In 1937, deep within Hell almost four years after his earth-life death, where Alastor barely had any position, any power, any recognition, any influence within this agitating city full of prissy high-ranks. He had to figure out a way to get what he wanted so he stumbled his way upon a library that had a eyecatching journal consisting a number of odd concepts, unknown mysteries but he only cares about one thing

Cipher

A extremely powerful demonic entity, it’s unknown if they are a human soul or a hellborn manifested by Lucifer himself. Either way, they are so strong that a number of this thick dark old journal has urgent warnings of the following ‘do NOT summon at all causes’. Alastor had never been a man to follow the rules, he follows himself so he took that journal and under the cover of the blackish-red night

The soon-to-be-Radio Demon had set up a summoning ritual, consisting of a picture of a victim of choice with crossed out eyes, 8 lit candles placed in a circle as well as the incantation: "Triangulum, entangulum. meteforis dominus ventium”. Alastor knew this was pathetic, a waste of time but if he could possibly steal this Cipher’s power

He’d be unstoppable

As soon as he had finished the incantation, it felt like something had possessed him in that split second of a breath and forced him to mindlessly but passionately repeat another unknown backwards message repetitively dropped down onto a knee by a invisible force

Over and over in a menacing manner until the realm around him turned a slate gray, time slowed down instantaneously and a fiery-ringed triangle-shaped black portal manifested in the space above. Out popped you with a malicious insane laugh upon manifesting properly into existence

It actually worked! In like a blink, Alastor had successfully summoned his new victim! Cipher or you, in your triangle shapeshifted demonic form, floating down before him with an invisible grin. You speak up with a strong charming smooth tone of telepathy, you’re much smaller than he suspected. Whilst he snapped out of the weird brief ‘possession’ trance to gain back his composure and grace as a gentleman

“Wow. It’s been a while since I’ve even seen Hell! Hey, you’re a new face. Name’s Cipher. Tell me, are you the brand new dinner? Haha! I’m just kidding. I know who you are, Alastor”

You chime out with a cheerful almost child-like glee despite your obvious insanity, tipping off your cute tophat to him in a charming hats-off style bow. Floating before him effortlessly and your single huge eye following his every movements. Alastor may not be under the position he desires but he doesn’t fear you, he will take you out

He genuinely believes he has a chance to manipulate you into serving him… how up his ass he was to think so

“Enough, ‘dream demon’. I don’t have time to play your games when time is tight. I need you to work for me. As partners in crime, perhaps. A beneficial deal, we grant each other power and influence as well as find victims”

Alastor is very sharp-tongued, witty. He’s a good talker, he knows how to trick even the most suspicious people into believing him and siding him and he plans to exploit you and your immense power to take for his own. You’re an old smudge of the past, he deserves that power more than you do

“Ah. I’ve never had such a companion to rule this Realm with. I suppose, I can give your offer a chance if you help me with my something too”

You are not that easily tricked at all, you’re pretending to be. Pretending to be persuaded by Alastor’s charms, with only a few seconds of thinking beforehand. Since you’re equally as good at tricking and sly-talk, you can see the way the deer demon’s blood red eyes shine with delight from under his demeanour. You know he believes you’re more of a joke than that journal says you are

You can hear his thoughts clear as the next day… you know what he truly wants from you and he won’t get it. He won’t get it since you’ll take his soul as you do to everybody who summons you

“Deer teeth! Enjoy, my dear gentleman”

Where the Heaven did you get those? He had looked down at his own radio microphone for like a few seconds as to internally compose his next statement to subtly pressure you further into doing as he needs. Suddenly, you have a pile of freshly removed but in-that hell deer teeth in your soft smaller hands and you offer the pile to Alastor without even asking him or even letting him speak in response

Alastor doesn’t flinch at the fact he’s holding the teeth of a innocent yet cannibalistic doe or buck but the fact you dare to think he even has use with this so he glares right at you, cracking his infamous sharp yet dapper toothy grin and drops the pile on the floor. He’s bold enough to disrespect you since he believes you are now under him

You don’t even respond, just calmly and quietly floating before him with your big eye blinking sparsely at his rather harsh choice. You don’t mind that, it makes you laugh in-fact. You laugh almost a bit immaturely at him rejecting your ‘friendly gift’. You just know that he is a damn fool for thinking the way he is, you can see EVERYTHING

“I’m looking forward to playing with a pretty little face like yours~ hey? Is that skin natural or do you use face cream~”

Was… that your attempt at flirting? It seemed like it, pitiful. Your tone shifted briefly to a flirty smoother one and you leant your hand on your own… uh, triangle flat ‘cheek’. You’re doing it to amuse yourself, you don’t have much opinions of your new soul and only desire to get a reaction. However, you won’t deny… Alastor is a handsome man~

“Nonsense. What I may have is nothing compared to your radiant beauty. Look at you, so unique and important that this city fears you~ it’s my honour to work with you”

Alastor is using more subtle but fake flirting as to entice you, make you associate him with the concept of ‘reliable’ and a ‘friend’ piece by piece. He needs it, he needs to ensure you’re under his charms so you’ll give up your power to him and work for him as his owned soul

He was too clouded by his own confidence over his capabilities to realise you weren’t manipulated into being trapped under his thumb… even when he made that darn deal. He didn’t realise the deal you and him shook hands on that night wasn’t for your soul, it was for his… until too late. You gave him significant amount of power that he became the most powerful Overlord ever known in Hell, and he became your servant

The advantages and the disadvantages of being owned by you, Cipher

Leading him to where he is now, the current year. Parked up in the Hazbin Hotel to seek his own entertainment further. Alastor is on top of Pentagram City, everybody fears him, he owns several other demons, he’s incredibly infamous and terrifying but he had to give up his own soul and he had to rely on you to become so great…

He’s ashamed. He’s humiliated. But he won’t let anybody know the truth about him. Alastor may regret ever picking up that hastily-written mess of a journal almost eighty years ago but he doesn’t really regret what you’ve done for him

You’ve given him a vastly powerful position by just handing over a flame of your supremacy, you’ve given him the afterlife he desired and he supposes with honestly, little payment in return. Just his soul… you’ve let him stand where he is now, up in his Radio Tower. On the air but inbetween a commercial break, as to check over his script

The silence sends him back to that night so long ago, reminding him almost painfully what becoming your partner in crime has befallen on him… it’s bad but it’s good. It’s torturous yet therapeutic. He doesn’t truly know how to feel about his situation— he should be focusing on his show

You could be so much worse to deal with on a monthly basis. You are kinda charming. He KINDA likes you

[amourdivine]

୨ ♡ ୧︰ TAROT 101: developing your intuition.

Hello lovelies, welcome to the first post of my Tarot 101 series! After receiving a few questions, I decided to incorporate a series of tips and tutorials for other self-taught readers. Today, I'm answering a follower's asks sent in my DM's. I'm tackling it separately, so it makes more sense to other people to read it. PS: Since this is a major work in progress and I'm not an all-knowing, almighty entity, please provide feedback, comments or concerns you might have! Thank you.

☁️ ˚ NAVIGATE ༉ ‧

INSTAGRAM ୭ YOUTUBE ୭ MASTERLIST ୭ PAYHIP

How you develop your intuition and psychic abilities while reading tarot?

There is not one size fits all. While many readers recommend connecting to oneself, that's just the basis of it, really, but the main concept is to look at yourself, compassionately. Without the judgment of our everyday lives and the chaos of getting things right in the first attempt. You cannot be honest with yourself (or your intuition), if self-denial is the state you're living in. Or worse: if you view the truth as punishment.

It's always going to be a journey of discovery, and the first thing about spirituality is that you need to keep an open heart to the magic. Skepticism may get you far ahead in your career or financial matters, but when it comes to intuition, you can't grasp onto logic all the time.

With tarot, it's a little more practical: learn and lean into the cards. Notice I didn't say memorize, because many of us are busy enough with our everyday schedules. Just tap into them. Look at them. What does The Lovers remind you of? Maybe it takes you to the story about the Garden of Eden. Or- maybe it reminds you of your parents, their golden youth before marrying.

Again. No judgement. Let your stream of consciousness free. A huge part of reading tarot is allowing your imagination to run wild. Although the Devil card can symbolize obsession or addiction at first, take into account the spread, the topic. The context. What is your body telling you about the images you see?

We often underestimate the symbolism behind the cards. Without considering the traditional meanings,take one card out of your deck and just look at it. What colors are prominent? What do these colors represent in modern society? Do these people look happy? Are there any people at all? Where are they? Let your mind weave a story.

As a tarot reader, what you do on daily basis for intuition and tarot reading? What practices, book, or some kind of information which help you for tarot readings?

There are many things that have helped me, personally, but I'm going to mention some of the best practices I've seen, both for myself and for others.

› Stay creative. If it means drawing, writing, or painting, then stay creative. Find whatever little (or big) ways you can express your creativity. Remember you don't have to be "good". You can just be. Creativity exists in a lot of ways.

› Engage with other readers. Observe them. You can find a tarot reader that deeply resonates with you and watch how they read. Test if it works for you. Remember this is your practice, it's your sacred space, so you don't have to follow someone else's rules.

› Read, if and when you can. I personally recommend the book "History of Tarot" by Isabelle Nadolny, but not everyone can afford books or the time to read them. There are plenty of Youtube tutorials and free guidebooks on Biddy Tarot, for example. I also love Servant of The Fates' blog. They're both different and great, reliable sources.

› Start small. You can pull one card a day. Get a journal, write its meaning (or what it means to you) and record your progress. In a few months, when you return to it, you might find it surprising.

› Let yourself not know everything. No one does. Sometimes, you'll need to pause, go back to a guidebook and read the meaning all over again. Other times, you'll look at the spread and feel nothing. That's okay too. We're not meant to know all the answers.

Is meditation really important for reading tarot? Why? How much time do you spend daily for tarot readings and spiritual practices?

Since this is more of a personal matter, I'll be talking about myself. I don't meditate as often as most readers. Three times a month, maybe? I have a busy schedule and I can only meditate before bed, if I'm not too sleepy. Many people find that meditation makes them anxious or they're not able to fully let go. Other people find it that being in silence or taking a walk is more useful to them. Relaxation and meditation come in many, many forms. The important thing is to nurture your body and soul more than to adhere to rigid rules.

However, when it comes to saving time for readings or spiritual practices, I don't set rules for myself. It never works for me.

I let it flow. Sometimes, I go weeks on end without really consuming tarot content and I bond with my decks occasionally. And other times, I'm reading daily, journaling and trying to improve my skills. Since I have a billion other things to care for, I'm not always able to prioritize tarot as much as I'd like, but the important thing is to stay passionate, stay curious and get back to it. Better late than never.

When you're getting started, let yourself try. If you get it wrong, at least you'll be one step closer to getting it right.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

[gilbirda]

Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 28

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

First chapter || << Previous chapter || Next chapter >>

---

Danny landed on the rooftop without making any sound. There was soft thud and air displacement when Batman landed next to him, but Danny ignored him.

They have kept it civil because they really wanted to get this done before he was called back to the Realms, but Danny wasn’t very keen on seeing the old man’s face right now.

After all, he hurt his sister.

Jason was very open about Bruce’s involvement in the whole debacle, and explained as well who exactly was Barbara in this equation and how he could find her. Danny had given the other man a hard time during the unplanned shovel talk, but he could easily tell Jason was as pissed as he was for Bruce’s treatment of Jazz, and he respected that.

He was still on probation for the whole “making her cry and making her spill her secrets at gunpoint” business, but for now the guy was making up for it very well. The shine in his eyes as he explained in detail what exactly Danny should and could do for payback was exactly what Danny needed to feel encouraged to start an impromptu prank war on Batman, which he promptly decided to do.

Jazz arrived after work and found them still in the Batburger, plotting machinations that she disapproved of at first, but quickly caved and added her two cents with her observations about Bruce.

Jazz wasn’t a stranger to prank wars. She was a Fenton after all.

Terrorizing the old man had been fun and a great way to blow off some steam, which he desperately needed. He had slipped with his chat with Jason, and he was fearing he went too far with the whole eldritch thing, but the guy was just fine and not traumatized so it couldn’t have been that bad.

He still refused to talk to Batman if he could help it. Weird thing, the man didn’t seem surprised by the development.

Good.

He should be very aware he did something very wrong and was on thin ice.

His only saving grace was new intel Jazz shared at the Batburger — she had struck a deal with Bruce, and apparently the man was going to help her launch her reform programs that the management at Arkham kept shutting down. Of course his sister saw this as an opportunity for her work, but if it made her happy, he was fine with it.

He was still going to mess with the man for a bit longer, though, even when they were on their way to meet The Spirit.

They didn’t have a set destination, but Danny instinctively followed the flow of ectoplasm to where it was the most concentrated, and where he knew she’d be a bit more stable to have this kind of interaction.

Gotham Spirit wasn’t like your regular ghost — she was born after a dream, an idea, a concept. She had never been human and existed in every brick and every tree and every person within the city. Manifesting as a one singular form took a lot of power and ability, something that an entity as old and experienced as Gotham certainly had, but required a lot of ectoplasm.

Danny watched Red Hood land on the other side of the rooftop with his sister in his arms. He scoffed. Jazz hadn’t looked apologetic when she told him she wanted to make the trip with her boyfriend instead of flying with him as usual.

Sure. Let her live her dreams of being swept away by her knight in shining tights or whatever. By the way her face had a slight blush up to her ears, she was enjoying every minute of this.

Danny scoffed and looked away, watching Batman instead. The man was openly staring at the couple being disgustingly cute with that neutral expression of his. Batman was liminal just enough that Danny could sense the underlying sadness he had every time he looked at Jason.

He didn’t know the full story, but had guessed from context that both had a complex relationship he didn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole, thank you very much.

Batman made a grunt type of sound and finally looked away from the other. Danny glanced and found them kissing, Jazz grabbing Jason’s jacket to pull him down and he had a hand on her waist.

“When do you think The Spirit will show up?”

Danny could see the attempt to distract himself away from the happy couple, but he felt a little evil and pretended he didn’t hear him, turning to look at the city skyline.

Gotham was a beautiful city — not exactly his taste, but he could appreciate the charm of such an urban metropolis with grotesques on every other rooftop and overall dark aesthetics. Sam would love the place, for sure. Maybe he should bring her the next time he comes over for a visit.

Batman grunted again, displeased with being ignored.

Good.

“Tomorrow—”

Whatever the man wanted to call his attention for was forgotten the second a colony of bats appeared out of nowhere, screeching and screaming as they rushed in towards Jazz and Jason’s direction.

Danny knew they weren’t dealing with normal animals when the bats ripped Jazz away from her boyfriend and threw her over the edge of the rooftop.

“Jazz!” Jason screamed, running after the cloud of darkness that took the woman.

Danny flew to see what was going on, finding his sister suspended mid-air, already drawing her staff and trying to fight off the bats off her body that were biting and scratching the skin that wasn’t covered by her armor.

“HOW COULD YOU!” A disembodied voice growled, distorted with rage and tell-tale static undertones that ghosts usually had.

Gotham, the Spirit, had arrived.

“I HAD ONE RULE!”

Oh boy.

The dark cloud carried Jazz towards a nearby building, through the wall and again upwards towards the sky, landing on the roof. It was a good thing that Jazz's physical abilities were enhanced with her armor on, because blasting through brick walls really, really hurt. He knew from experience.

The Bats immediately grappled closer to the fight, but didn’t dare intervene just yet — the murderous colony of bats seemingly multiplied and flew in a storm around Jazz, making it impossible to get closer or help the woman without risking injury.

Jazz shook her head to clear the debris from her face and hair as much as she could, and started flipping her staff around in practiced moves. She knew how to move with a staff, it was her main weapon after all, so she didn’t find a lot of trouble with at least keeping the worst of it out of her personal bubble.

“Do something!”

Danny’s head whipped away from the fight. “Like what!” He shouted back at Jason.

“I don’t know! You are the King! Stop this!”

Jazz screamed in pain, and they turned to watch as the bats finally overwhelmed her, sinking their teeth on her skin and taking flight with her, body and all. Her staff was useless in the air, and the higher they flew, the more she risked falling and hurting herself.

“Danny!” Jason growled, demanding answers.

The young King wished he could do what he was asked. It was his sister fighting for her life right there, but—

“I can’t.”

“What!”

“I can’t intervene! Could be perceived as a power move and make things worse.”

“Power move? What the fuck are you talking about? It's trying to kill her!”

Did they have time to discuss the intricacies of ghost politics, haunt protocol and unspoken rules of courtesy? No, they didn’t.

“Just trust me, dude!”

Also, technically, Gotham was within her rights here. Jazz broke a promise made with a ghost more ancient than her. She was not supposed to get close to the city’s beloved crime fighters.

Jazz activated the electrical tip of her staff and shocked the cloud of bats surrounding her. She screamed, probably because she shocked herself in the process, but it served its purpose — the electrocuted bats finally let go of her and started nosediving back down, freeing her.

She didn’t waste time and repositioned her body to dive back as well, her long red hair flapping wildly on her back, eyes fixed on her objective, hands tensed around her staff.

They watched the colony recover mid descent, flying back up to meet her halfway. Jazz placed one arm forward, activating the ghost shield of her arm guards, using the opportunity to cushion her fall back to the rooftop. She landed safely and flipped backwards a good distance away from the bats to regain her breath.

“Get over here!” The voice screamed again, less distorted and more human-like.

Black smoke manifested around the bats as the cloud changed course, preparing to rush towards Jazz. She was ready for them. She had put away her collapsed staff back on her waist and lifted both arms, making a bigger shield that hopefully could withstand the onslaught of the very pissed off ancient Spirit.

When they made contact they heard Jazz gasp as she was pushed back from the sheer force of impact, but she held her ground. Her legs trembled a little bit, and one collapsed until she had one knee on the ground.

Finally, it was too much and the woman was launched again over the edge, but this time something else caught her fall.

Batman’s cape was gigantic, and Danny could understand how it became a symbol for the city. It was like Jazz had been enveloped in the night itself and nothing could go through the protecting barrier as she was carried into safety by the vigilante.

The cloud of smoke and screeching bats followed, but froze the moment they realized who exactly had their arms around their target.

The moment Jazz was on her own feet she drew her weapon again, breathing hard and glaring at the murderous cloud.

“My Knight.” The voice whispered, static gone, rage gone.

Jason had rushed towards Jazz’s side and started checking her wounds, but stopped to watch as the bats and the smoke started to coalesce into human form. It was reminiscent of the visual effect when the Bats manifested from the shadows, as if the void itself suddenly had eyes, then a shape and at last a three dimensional form.

“My Son.” Gotham, the Spirit, breathed with newly formed lips.

“Holy shit.” Jason murmured under his breath.

Danny watched as both Batman and Red Hood froze in the presence of the personification of their beloved city. It was the woman of the painting back at the Manor, Danny confirmed, so it must be the face of Bruce’s mom. She was wearing a long deep black cocktail dress, darker than a moonless sky, that hung down to her feet and blended with the shadows she was formed from, almost as if she remained tethered to the essence of the city even with her humanoid manifestation.

What was the name of Bruce’s mother? Martha? Yeah, Danny was sure the name was Martha.

He was still going to call her Spirit or Gotham, just in case. Anything else could lead to confusion.

The Spirit approached the masked vigilante and touched his face with a delicate pale hand, face contorting in what could be called a maternal worried expression.

Batman didn’t move, frozen in place, letting the strange and yet familiar woman touch him.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but hesitated, and then the moment was gone.

The Spirit withdrew her hand and turned to glare at Jazz, ignoring everyone else standing on the rooftop.

“You promised.” She growled with a static-y edge to her voice.

Jazz had regained her breath. “I know. I’m sorry.” She collapsed her staff and slowly put it on the holder at her hip.

“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Jason responded for Jazz, stepping forward to place his body between the angry ghost and his girlfriend. Danny thought it was cute.

The Spirit’s face softened at the gesture, floating closer to the pair. “My Knight.” She didn’t stop even when Jason tensed at her approach. “Would you protect her from me?”

He stood still even if it was clear he didn’t want that woman touching him. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, just a domino mask, so he was caressed on one cheek just like Bruce has been.

“Yes. Without question.”

The Spirit purred, considering. The shadows at her feet trembled and morphed as she thought, rivulets of pure darkness floating up until they dissolved like smoke.

“Very well.” Danny breathed in relief. “But you can’t expect me to be happy with you and the young King flaunting your power like this is your own haunt, girl.”

Jazz cleared her throat. “Actually, we wanted to talk about that topic.”

Gotham’s form shook and her shape blurred for a moment, her mouth curving in an impossible smile. “You dare make demands?”

“Not… Not demands,” Jazz tried to laugh the tension off. It didn’t work. “We wanted to discuss the possibility of letting me— letting us operate freely in the city—”

“HOW DARE YOU!”

The human form exploded in a cloud of bats, but this time they didn’t hurt anybody, they just flew around the group, screeching.

“If you could give me a minute—”

“You come into my city and dare—!”

“Listen to me.”

“ — prance around like it belongs to you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a look.

Jason stepped closer to Jazz, watching the flying cloud of murderous bats.

“B, do something. She likes you.”

Batman didn’t hesitate and moved closer to the pair, positioning on the other side of the young woman. Jazz ended up protected, sandwiched between the two vigilantes.

“There’s a threat coming.” The Dark Knight said. The bats slowed down, listening. “And only these two can help us. Hear what they have to say.”

The colony screeched one more time before they gathered again into the shape of Martha Wayne. She stood there observing the Princess, unblinking and unmoving, with one hand on the pearl necklace resting on her chest.

“A threat?”

“You don’t know them. They call themselves the Ghost Investigation Ward, and are after anyone that has been death touched.” The Spirit’s eyes sharpened, glowing with power. “Yes. Anyone. Including your Knights.”

“I can stop them.”

Danny intervened. “Vlad Plasmius may show up as well.”

The smoke cracked like a bonfire, and a strong smell of burning rubber and chemicals filled their noses.

“Plasmius?”

“You know him?”

She turned towards Danny, her eyes glowing red and dangerous. “I know of him. I don’t want that… man,” she twisted her mouth in distaste, “in my city.”

The siblings looked at each other and nodded. “We’ll deal with him. If—”

“No.”

“No?”

She floated away, the horrible smell followed her. “I don’t want any of you in my city either. You have caused enough harm as it is. Leave.”

She made a dismissive gesture and turned away, deeming the conversation over.

“What?” Danny heard Jason whisper.

“I’m sorry, my Lady, but I just can’t accept that.” Jazz stepped forward.

The burned rubber smell was back. Gotham looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“You have done enough. Leave.” This time, the word had an added Command to it. Jazz stumbled but held her ground. This made the Spirit fully turn around to face her.

“No.”

The Spirit’s eyes glowed brighter as she stared down the Princess.

“Leave. My. City.”

“I won’t leave this city—” Jazz lifted her staff just in time to parry some kind of projectile Gotham threw at her. It vanished in a cloud of dark smoke that smelled like car exhaust. “I won’t leave this city, and I won’t leave its people. What’s coming is dangerous and we want to help you.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes you do! How can I stand by and watch how they take all the death-touched that are under your protection? How can you?”

“I can protect them.”

“Can you?”

The Spirit didn’t like her comment, her body starting to lose its shape again. But didn’t respond.

“Let me help you protect them. You know I can. You know who I am.” She stepped closer to the Spirit, eyes fixed on the powerful ghost, unflinching. The fiery tips of her mask ignited with determination, fire extending to make a perfect circle of flames above her head. “You know I can protect what matters the most to us.”

Gotham’s red eyes briefly found the quiet figures of the vigilantes behind Jazz, who were watching the exchange with bated breath. Maybe they understood the importance of the situation, the gravity of what was happening. Openly challenging an ancient ghost like Gotham, in her own haunt, was a highly frowned upon offense. If the Spirit wanted to smite Jazz there was nothing Danny could do.

He watched his sister, stomping down the impulse to jump in and protect her. He had seen her square up against big threats, against a whole army, but he wasn’t used to seeing her dive headfirst into a fight she couldn’t win.

She really wanted to stay, huh.

Danny looked at Jason, the reason why they were in this mess in the first place. That man better understood how much his sister was risking with this confrontation.

“You are a child.” Danny cringed at the condescending tone. By ghost standards, it was technically true. He knew Jazz hated it almost as much as he did.

But she wasn’t fazed.

Jazz did a flourish with her staff and slammed it against the concrete roof, releasing a wave of power, her power, amplified by the magical properties of her armor. Danny and Gotham were unaffected, but he saw the vigilantes take a slight step back.

Huh. Interesting.

“I am Crown Princess Jasmine. I’ve protected the Keep against invading forces for seven days and seven nights straight. I’ve battled alongside the Ancient Pandora, and trained by the Amazons residing in the Infinite Realms.” She slammed her staff again, another wave of raw power coursing through the city skyline. Her hair was lifted by the stream of energy, flowing around her body like a fiery halo. “I’m not a mere child, my Lady, and I’m ready to risk my own life, my own blood, to protect this city. I will stay.” She marched closer, extending her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Gotham made a face, barely giving Jazz’s hand a spared glance. Instead, she turned around and floated closer to the edge as if she was getting ready to jump.

Danny wanted to scoff. What a stubborn ghost. Just like its protectors.

“Very well,” she said, words carried by the wind. “You can stay. But,” she looked over her shoulder, “you must do one thing for me, if you are so fixated on ‘helping me’.”

“Anything.”

Danny’s eyebrows went to his hairline. That was a very, very dangerous thing to say. You just don’t promise “anything” to a ghost, even less to someone like the Gotham Spirit.

“There’s a vortex of corrupted ectoplasm hidden in my city. Find it, neutralize it, and I will be forever in your debt, Princess. Good night and—

“ — good luck.”

The last parting words were lost in the sound of flapping wings of the flurry of bats Gotham finally surrendered to. The colony flew up to the sky, vanishing among the dark clouds.

“Whew!” Jazz whistled. “That could have gone better.”

Danny turned away from the sky to look at his sister in disbelief. “What the fuck, Jazz?”

“What?

“What do you mean ‘what’?” He lifted his hands. Unbelievable. “You just— That was such— Why?”

She chuckled, her voice weak. “I… don’t know? It just happened.”

Danny wanted to get the bottom of how could his sister, always so obsessed with following protocol and rules, do a stand off with a whole freaking city just like that; but said sister was whisked away by two hundred pounds of vigilante.

Jason was laughing without caring who may listen, holding Jazz by her waist up in the air, spinning in place with her in his arms.

“That was amazing!”

Jazz laughed with him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her cheeks were colored, probably from embarrassment at being at the center of such a spectacle.

“Oh, well.”

Jason stopped spinning and placed her on her feet, but immediately captured her and flushed her against his chest instead, reaching for a deep kiss that dipped Jazz backwards.

Danny looked away from such a cheesy moment.

Batman ignored the show and had already approached the point from where Gotham disappeared. He placed one knee on the roof and reached for the concrete, but there was nothing on it. No stain or mark that there had ever been a ghost formed from soot and smoke.

“It really was her.” He murmured under his breath.

Danny knew he wasn’t supposed to hear that, but the alternative of engaging with Batman was watching his sister exchange bodily fluids with her boyfriend and hmmm no thanks.

He sighed.

“It’s not your mother.”

“I know.” Danny didn’t flinch at the tone. “I know.”

Danny crouched beside the man. “Was she what you expected?”

He thought about the question for a second. “I don’t know. She looked like my mother, but there was nothing of her. She was hurt and distrustful. Cautious.”

Danny hoped the man could see the similarities between the city and its protector, but chose to bite his tongue and not comment on it.

“The corrupted vortex of ectoplasm.” Batman said out of the blue, standing back up. “I think I know what she was talking about.”

Just like that, the man was all business and no fun. Almost made Danny want to go back to giving him the cold shoulder and ignore him the rest of his stay in Gotham.

“What do you mean?” Jazz asked, tuning into the conversation. Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were still flushed.

“I’ve had my suspicions but I never had enough proof to investigate.”

“What?”

He looked at his son. “There’s a Lazarus Pit here, in Gotham.” He looked at Jazz. “And I think I know where it is.”

---

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[tornrose24]

A ghostly theory that connects Gravity Falls and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee.

There’s a huge part of me that wants to believe that Gravity Falls and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee take place within the same universe, and I came upon some interesting ideas that support just how close that could be, as well as what could happen if Scratch (as a ghost) ever came to Gravity Falls.

So let’s get the obvious out of the way–the way ghosts are depicted in the shows are completely different. GF ghosts retain a somewhat human appearance, while TGAMM ghosts only have slight elements of their original human forms.

So there’s no way they could be in the same universe, correct?

Well, I want to add another factor into this–the Haunted Mansion.

The Haunted Mansion is not only confirmed to exist in TGAMM thanks to Ollie mentioning it in the season 2 premiere episode but in a Disney’s Random Rings short, Scratch is shown to be calling the residents in the mansion in an attempt to secure a place of residency.

But here’s the thing–HM ghosts don’t resemble the TGAMM ghosts. Much like the GF ghosts, they retain a human appearance (Constance) or at least keep a humanoid appearance (The Hat Box Ghost).

(Notice how Constance looks a tad closer to the ghostly couple from Gravity Falls in retaining a more human form, compared to Scratch. You only have a few clues to what he looked like as a human).

This begs the question as to why the hell is that possible.

So here is my theory.

Gravity Falls has already been established as a ‘weirdness magnet’ thanks to a history of paranormal events–a sort of gateway between dimensions even–and was a place that Bill Cipher (a very powerful, dangerous entity) was especially attracted to. Unsurprisingly, it would be a magnet for ghosts.

As for the Haunted Mansion, its main location (New Orleans, Louisiana) has had a long supernatural history to begin with. It’s likely that all the ghosts gathering at this one mansion (combined with its own history) turned it into a weirdness magnet, like Gravity Falls. However, the mansion is NOT as powerful as Gravity Falls given that the land around the town has been attracting a lot of strangeness ever since the time of the dinosaurs and a UFO crashed into the area.

Now recall when I said that the ghosts in that HM short and the GF ghosts retain a somewhat human appearance? Well here’s my theory–

The amount of paranormal energy in Gravity Falls and the Haunted Mansion is what allows their ghosts to keep a more human form, compared to the TGMM ghosts. Not even the Ghost World has whatever this energy is. It’s also likely that these places are safe havens from the Ghost World since having to work for The Chairman binds you to an eternal job that you cannot get out of due to the eternal consequence of getting sent to the Flow of Failed Phantoms if you screw up.

Furthering the connection, GF also has concepts of corrupted ghosts, unfinished business, and even wraiths. (By the way, this took a bit of rewatching and looking through the books to confirm some things).

The most obvious corrupted ghost with unfinished business? None other than the ghost lumberjack Archibald Courderoy (who may be Wendy’s ancestor). A ghost who (along with his men) was screwed over by the family they bought a house for and even placed a curse upon them that could only be lifted if one of their own allowed the common folk to enter the mansion during one of their parties. Does any of that sound slightly familiar? Especially the curse bit? Dipper categorized this kind of ghost as a Category 11: Demonic Vengeance Specter in Journal 3. Someone even more dangerous than a category 10 (where the Grim Reaper is placed).

The convenience store ghosts? Again, supernatural powers, the ability to curse people, etc. As for their unfinished business…. Did Dipper dancing in that costume count? I don’t know on this one. In one of the GF books, Dipper talks about the concept of unfinished business when discussing that incident and he does mention that this is when a ghost is obsessed with something that they were unable to accomplish in life. For a TGAMM fan, this makes the lumberjack ghost comparable to Howlin’ Harriet, (who was far into corruption and obsessed over getting new toes) or Blair and Sonya (who were obsessed over an unreturned video and practicing a routine).

Ok, now the big one–as my friend @jackie-gremlin-ghost  and I have discussed, the concept of wraiths (the ghost of a person who is still alive) also applies to GF because Dipper himself became a ghost-like being when Bill took over his still-living body and forced his soul out of it. Bill tells Dipper he’s ‘basically a ghost’ and Dipper himself confirms this in the collection of bedtime stories. And Bill was free to possess Dipper’s body–as well as Ford’s–much like Scratch possessed Molly’s body in the body swap episode of TGAMM.

(Bill posessing Dipper's body while Dipper is basically the GF version of a wraith. However, GF wraiths seem to retain their human coloration to a degree....)

(....Meanwhile, in TGAMM wraiths look no different than regular ghosts. There's no way to spot the difference.)

But wraiths in TGAMM are visible, so why isn’t Dipper? Because Bill didn’t WANT him to be visible and also Bill is far more powerful than a mere ghost. However, Dipper’s spirit is still able to take on a human appearance–more so than the actual ghosts of Gravity Falls. He’s still able to do things like possess objects, but it’s likely Bill would have depowered Dipper severely.

And of course, if Bill succeeded in his plans and killed Dipper’s body, its confirmed that Dipper’s soul would have been still wandering around in some form. Dipper could have also been prone to corruption (as hinted at for one timeline in The Book of Bill). But if Bill kept Dipper’s body alive, and the consequence of staying as a wraith for too long applied to Dipper? Oh Dipper would have been SCREWED big time. (And as shown in The Book of Bill, Ford could have ended up with those same fates too, given how toxic his relationship with Bill was getting).

So now back to Scratch.

My guess is that if he went to Gravity Falls (or the Haunted Mansion), then he’d be subjected to the weird energy that surrounds it. In turn, this could potentially change his appearance from resembling a floating blue ghost to taking on a more human–but still ghostly–appearance. And…. Well… let’s just say that he’d be in for one hell of a surprise if that happened.

[creatureheart]

Decided to update my "a basic look into the nonhuman identity" post.

All of it is basically the same as the old one, but with a few minor tweaks here and there. =D

All pictures have ALT text included, plain text under the cut.

Nonhuman as an identity: To identify as not human either fully or partially. (hate/trolls will be reported and deleted)

Reminder: These are all personal identities and why someone identifies as nonhuman and what term someone decides to use for themself is exclusively their business. In the end it is what makes the most sense to the individual and not up to others. Now, onto some of the communities that are included under the nonhuman identity:

Nonhuman: To identify as not human either fully or partially. Used both as an umbrella term, and a standalone identity. How specific you get with your identity and what terms you use is entirely up to you. Sometimes "nonhuman" is enough.

Otherkin: from the term "otherkind" - an identity which typically encompasses being wholly or partially a nonhuman entity. Usually understood to cover those who identify as mythical creatures and other fantastical things, but these are not the only things otherkin covers. Also encompasses non-creature/being nonhuman identities.

Examples of non-creature/being based identities: Conceptkin: an identity where one identifies as a concept such as the concept of night or fire. Objectkin: and identity where one identifies as an object. Songkin: an identity where one identifies as a song. Phytanthrope or Plantkin: an identity where one identifies as a plant.

Examples of creature/being based identities: Therianthropy: usually shortened to therian - where one identifies AS a nonhuman animal. Some will say that this term refers to only earthen animals, living or extinct, but it has never only encompassed earthly animals. The community's language came from those who identify as werecreatures.

Theriomythic: an alternate identity term for one who identifies in some intrinsic was as a mythical creature, typically refers to those with animalistic characteristics. Paleotherian: an identity term for one who identifies as a now extinct earthly animal, like a dinosaur or mammoth.

Cladotherian or Cladokin: an identity term for one who does not identify as a distinct species, but a broader identity encompassing an entire genus or larger grouping. Cladomythic: an identity term for one who identifies as a group (clade) of animalistic mythical creatures.

Fictionkin: an identity term that covers all things fictional. For those who identify as something fictional like characters, animals, species, objects, etc. These can be from books, shows, video games, etc, but not always! Original fictional characters and such are also possible. No all those who are fictionkin identify as nonhuman.

There are many other identities that fall under the nonhuman umbrella which is why it's important to do your own research to figure out if a certain term works for you. While these identities are experience mostly involuntarily, the line between voluntary and involuntary can sometimes be incredibly blurry and hard to explain and figure out.

While the already mentioned identities are mostly involuntary, here are some identities that fall under being voluntary. Copinglink or Otherlink: an identity where one voluntarily identifies as nonhuman. Able to be changed as need dictates. This could be for a number of reasons, some examples being simply wanting to identify as nonhuman or as a consciously created coping mechanism. Copinglink was coined by Who-is-page, who made an official definition post in 2016, the definition detailing that the term is for all that want to take on a voluntary nonhuman identity, and not just for coping reasons.

A lot of people may also say that it is impossible to become a therian, otherkin, etc. While the identity is mostly involuntary, things like trauma and neurodivergence can cause an individual to take on a nonhuman identity when they had not had one previously.

Most will usually see people explain that these identities are spiritual or psychological, but these are only some of the ways that individuals may experience them. Some other experiences of nonhumanity: Symbolic, Metaphorical, Ancestral, Physical (Yes this is an actual reason for some and they are just as much a part of the community as anyone else. Physical and Ancestral nonhumans are part of the community's history and some of its founders.)

For those looking for more information, and community places, here are some places to check out! Werelist, Nonhuman National Park, Alterhuman Archive, The Chimera's Library. The above are forums and archives of information on the community. Most archived information is thanks to who-is-page, liongoatsnake and frameacloud on tumblr.

While this is a brief look into the nonhuman identity that I could share, I do hope it has been helpful in some way. Remember to be true to yourself, and don't let anyone tell you how to feel. Ignore, report, delete and block the haters! Yeen out~