#i cannot be the only one with this problem

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

the twst pantheon au

I’ve been cooking with this one for a long ass time 🤩

A pantheon refers to “a collective of gods for a particular religion or group” or “a group that is respected, famous, or important”. In this case, the Pantheon AU is a modern day alternate universe in which all of the Twst characters are deities. They are not tied to a certain religion. Rather, they exist as forces of nature and each have dominion over + powers related to whatever concepts they govern.

The gods used to be well known and revered back in ancient times, but they’ve been whittled down to obscurity as the eons pass by. And the gods, well… let’s say that they got caught up in some trouble in their down time, leading to many of them being cast out of the Pantheon. These so-called “Fallen” gods are banished to the mortal realm and forced to walk among humans. However, because they’ve been stripped of most of their power, the Fallen are forced to take up smaller forms in order to conserve what little power they have left… which means we get cute animal forms :))

So the idea is that you/the reader/Yuu are a normal human being going about their day and they happen to run into a god in their animal form. Depending on the form, it could be a wild animal OR (the funnier option, in my opinion) the encounter could be in one of those animal cafés. Whatever the case may be, you end up adopting, fostering, or giving the animal shelter in your home.

The next day, you wake up to find a strange man in robes standing in your bedroom. He so arrogantly informs you that you are now one of his “followers” and demands that you assist him in reclaiming their lost godhood, thereby restoring him to his rightful place in the Pantheon.

As it turns out, gods gain power by gathering followers (not actual people who worship them but rather just people who selflessly love them or believe in and follow their philosophies or the importance of what they govern). Following is quantified by a mystical coin called Faith; the goal is for the Fallen to gather enough Faith to literally “buy” their way back into the Pantheon. Only problem is, it’s hard for gods to gain followers or even influence humans in their weakened state, hence why they’re teaming up with the first human to offer them Faith. (Since adopting/fostering is considered an act of selfless love, it granted the god enough strength to assume a more humanoid form.)

Gods don’t “die” but rather they can “fade”. Think of it like how a star burns for a long time, but they eventually burn through everything they have and cannot go on. Gods can fade one of two ways: 1) their time comes, or 2) there is so little Faith in what they rule over that they cannot sustain their existence anymore! The Faith currency and system is in part inspired by the Heaven Coins (from Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt) and the Tinkerbell and Pixie Hollow lore, the latter of which states that fairies die if children do not believe in them.

Depending on what the god rules over, this would shape the direction their follower (ie you/Yuu) would take to help them. For example, the god of love would benefit from having love spread. I also like to imagine that the non-Fallen gods sometimes come down to mock the Fallen or pose as obstacles since the non-Fallen could theoretically accumulate more power for themselves if there are fewer gods in the Pantheon.

And then!! Maybe at the very end, when the god has collected enough Faith, they’re faced with the daunting decision of getting the thing they started off wanting versus staying on the mortal plane with their human friend (or even lover, if you wanna go the god-human forbidden romance angle), who will entirely forget about them once they ascend. It’d sort of be like the end of Hercules but with an extra little sprinkle of angst 😇

The gods are grouped into Elder, Major, and Minor categories. Elder Gods are the oldest and are tasked with overseeing the younger gods and the governance of humanity itself. Major Gods are those who have accumulated a significant amount of influence for themselves over the years. Minor Gods are young gods and are still in training, humans that ascended to godhood, or lesser gods.

And now, the members of the Pantheon!! I’ve included some headcanons I have for them, but consider this more of a brief overview and not all the lore.

Elder Gods

Crowley — God of stories

Considered to be the ultimate authority and speaker for the Pantheon.

Decides which gods are worthy of walking in the Pantheon. Also determines what the price to return is for the Fallen.

(… Yes, Faith is literally in coins and you have to “buy” your way back in because Crowley, even as an actual GOD, is a greedy ass that accepts bribe money ✨)

Despite his high ranking, he has a whimsical and flippant manner about him, not really acting like an omnipotent being.

It is said he has a number of crow and raven companions that serve as messengers and his eyes/ears. They bring the stories they see and hear back to him.

Keys, mirrors, and coffins are common motifs for him and his shrines; they say that his mirrors are gates to new worlds and that the coffins he unlocks with his skeleton keys give birth to new life/characters to inhabit those worlds.

Be kind to ravens and crows; you never know when that visiting bird is actually Crowley in disguise, traveling the mortal world in search of something new to amuse himself with.

Obviously has a raven/crow form.

Crewel — God of medicine and healing

Looks after the gods and their standing; that kindness, like medicine, can be both a panacea and a poison. Punishes the gods, should they step out of line.

Favors dogs, particularly well-trained ones. His shrines depict Dalmatians guarding the entrances, but the dogs are not seen in the interiors, which are usually caked with incense smoke.

Healers and caretakers look to him for guidance. It used to be common for them to have a singular handkerchief in black and white animal print (a good luck charm) on their persons (or wearing something of those colors/patterns) when treating the sick or injured.

He is skilled at animal taming; it is said that he could get even a great beast to heel at his command.

His animal form is a Dalmatian.

Trein — God of history

Tasked with keeping records for the gods and humans alike. He knows every detail of their existence.

Favors felines. It’s said that, in his youth, he spirited away a cat, which now serves as his emissary.

His wife, the minor goddess of the ashes, faded due to a lack of Faith. Because of this, he perpetually worries for the younger gods meeting the same fate.

Glass is a material that recurs in his shrines and offerings; this is because Trein considers time fragile like glass.

His animal form is a long haired cat.

Vargas — God of champions and heroes

There are many stories of him training humans and demigods, who would later go on to perform impressive acts.

Also trains up-and-coming gods, preparing them to assume their duties.

He is said to have a number of feats under his belt as well, such as slaying a great beast and carrying the world on his back.

Animal pelts and deer antlers are favored offerings. Even better if you hunted and prepared them yourself.

His animal form is a buck.

Sam — God of roads/travel and prophecy

Magically produces anything that may be needed from his hat.

Able to vanish and reappear anywhere else. Never stays in one place for too long.

Seemingly all-knowing. He is said to commune with the shadows for this supernatural level of knowledge. Using his deck of enchanted cards, he can also see into the past, present, and future.

Sam allows for passage between the Pantheon and the mortal plane. He calls the route between them his “backdoor shortcut”.

Takes on a shadow form rather than an animal form.

Lilia — Ex-god of war and protection, god of family and sacrifice

Once a god wielding a frightening cleaver and dripping in blood; his presence on the battlefield marked the enemy’s doom—but if he was on your side, then he is your savior.

He ceded his title and mellowed out after he was tasked with mentoring various younger gods. Still retains a bit of his war god past, as he is willing to go to great lengths aid his charges—even at the cost of his own safety.

Spouses-to-be and expecting mothers pray to Lilia for happy marriages and safe childbirth.

Acorns are left at his shrines; by wishing Lilia a long, healthy life, he returns the favor and grants you the same.

Bats serve has his messengers. If you see one passing the moon, it’s good luck. Likewise, his animal form is a bat.

Major Gods

Riddle — God of law and order

Rules, laws, control—all of these things are under his dominion. He rewards those who obey and punishes those who disobey.

In the days of old, a statue of Riddle would adorn the courtrooms, indicating that trials would be conducted under his scrutiny.

Those seeking his favor or welcoming his spirit into their home would cultivate red and white roses, prepare dried strawberries, and/or drink black tea at designated dates and times.

Displeased with the disorder and unlawfulness of the human world; wishes to get it under control.

Fallen for going on a wrathful rampage; he injured many gods and tore apart the Pantheon in the process.

His animal form is a (smaller than average) hedgehog.

Leona — God of wisdom and destruction

The patron god of scholars. Ironically, intellectuals debate about Leona’s form, finding it difficult to believe that a divine scholar would have the physique of what is that of a pro-athlete.

He represents not only the acquisition of new information and its application, but also the ruin that can be brought about by this knowledge.

He has become bored with the world—he already has all knowledge at his fingertips, so what else is there to learn? Because of that, he is now lazy.

There was an incident in which he, a young god at the time, sanded a vast archive of human knowledge. This earned him ire from the Elder Gods and cast his reputation in a bad light.

Fallen for attempted deicide (of Malleus).

His animal form is a cat. Makes sense; there’s usually golden lion statues in his shrines. Cures meats are a common offering. Can muster a lion with sufficient energy.

Azul — God of commerce and contracts

Anything related to business, money, and deals are under him. Because of this, both swindlers and honest merchants revere Azul and usually have a small anemone plant or flower set up in shop to attract good business.

It was common for people to ask Azul to fulfill their wishes, at the cost of something valuable to themselves. His golden contracts are said to be impossible to break—though there are stories of heroes finding loopholes and triumphing over him.

Those who cross him are said to be dragged into the depths and choked by his tentacles.

Fallen for his impossible greed; he forewent consent to enter an agreement with him and stole humans’ skills and abilities en masse in a big to become the ultimate life form.

His animal form is an octopus, a form he is extremely insecure about. Tends to take on the appearance of a fish with fluttery fins instead.

Kalim — God of wealth, hospitality, and celebration

He is considered a charitable and friendly god, welcoming even humans to gatherings in his domain, serving them nectar and ambrosia. If you wish for wealth or to impress a guest, you are expected to be as kind of a host has he is.

His shrines were opulent, dripping with jewels, gold, and dried coconut flesh + coconut water offered up in his name. Kalim is said to protect people from poisonings, hence the coconut (which historically has healing properties).

He is usually depicted as the sun amid other stars or in parades/amid crowds of servants (which are primarily lesser gods). Never alone, always with people.

According to the stories, he is easy to trick and has been stolen from multiple times—yet he harbors no ill will towards thieves.

Various humans have attempted to end him and claim his vast wealth for themselves.

His animal form is a monkey—a nimble little moodmaker—but he’s capable of turning into others too. A tiger, an elephant, and a parrot, just to name a few. You can say he’s a real “party animal”.

Vil — God of beauty (aesthetics) and poison

Depicted as a mature and sexy beauty, but also sometimes as a robed hag. He is known for his beauty as much as he is known for his envy.

Worshipped in the days of old by women who did not wish for their youth to fade, although Vil was typically described as a being without the concept of the gender binary.

Fallen for an attempt to poison a fellow god (Neige) and steal their beauty to bolster his own.

His animal form is a (male) peacock. If you pluck off on of his feathers, he may curse you—but get away safely, and you can brew a beauty elixir.

Idia — God of innovation and technology

A god that tinkers away and produces new inventions in his lair. He is said to have inspired many famous human inventions or inventors, sparking industrial and technological revolutions the world over.

Has grown increasingly withdrawn, deeming that his inventions are out there doing a god’s work for him; is there a need for him to be involved?

He is said to enjoy games; it is common to find gameboards and game pieces in his shrines. In stories, Idia would use his own to illustrate locations and the heroes in those territories.

His shrines are often gloomy—dimly lit, and filled with bones (representative of the past) and candles (representative of the future, paved by new inventions).

Fallen for an attempt to destroy the current universe and to rewrite it in his own image.

His animal form is a dog, which he laments because be prefers cats.

Malleus — God of stasis and storms (ie nature)

Considered to be an unstoppable force of nature; his moods affect the weather, so people prayed to him for favorable conditions.

Known as one of the most powerful gods to have ever existed. He knows little of humans and their ways, having lived almost entirely in the Pantheon.

Fallen for forsaking the concept of time and attempting to keep the world, humans, and the gods themselves, from facing the future ever again. With his thorn cradles, he sought to force all asleep and kept content in their dreams.

His animal form is a lizard, though he is usually depicted as a fire breathing dragon in stories.

Rollo — God of obsession and judgment

Another important figure often depicted in courtrooms. While Riddle oversees rules and laws, Rollo is the one closely tied to fair judgment and rulings.

The stories depict him as a god so blindly consumed by pursuit of his purpose that he lost sight of all else.

Fallen for an attempt to rid the universe of gods altogether, freeing humans from them. Harbors a particularly strong resentment for the God of Stasis and Storms.

Should a fire occur, it is viewed as Rollo’s wrath or punishing an unjust world. There are stories of guilty criminals who successfully evade the eyes of the law but mysteriously die in house fires.

Often depicted in stained glass windows.

His favored offerings are bread, grapes, and red lilies. The correct way to give them is to toss the offerings into a fire and letting them burn to ashes.

He finds music produced by bells pleasing. Those who run shrines in his name may perform a ceremonial dance using a hand bell.

His animal form is a goat.

Skully — God of holidays and cheer

He arose from the darkness when humans celebrated their first holiday. Though he represents all holidays, his favorite is Halloween. This is why you will find jack ‘o lanterns and candy scattered at his shrines. His followers are especially active during the autumn season.

Fallen for a strange decree that he should dictate how every holiday is celebrated; this cut into other gods’ domains and caused in-fighting among humans.

A god that stole many hearts. He greets humans with a kiss on the back of the hand; these kisses would impart temporary charms.

Oddly does not have an animal form. Assumes a pumpkin form instead.

Fellow — God of vagrants and freedom

A smooth, fast talking god with little respect for restraint. Not very bright but makes up for it in showmanship. He travels wherever he wants whenever he wants and does whatever he wants, easily blending in with mortals.

If you’ve lost a few coins from your wallet, assume Fellow swiped it and considers it a charitable donation.

Fallen for dealing with an evil spirit; he intended to trade human lives to gain more divine power.

Gidel is a titleless Fledgling God that he has taken under his wing. While he does not speak, he is very expressive.

His animal form is a fox.

Minor Gods

Trey — God of temperance and the hearth

Trey encompasses everything that makes the home warm and comfortable: meals, cozy blankets, kind company, etc.

He’s also seen as a caretaker among the gods, especially to Riddle. It’s said he is able to temper his even the most extreme of emotions.

A god that finds himself in the middle of conflicts and having to resolve them; he’d rather be left untroubled by such things.

Baked goods and flowers (specifically violets) are common offerings.

His animal form is a mouse.

Cater — God of theatre and duality

A dramatic god, he lives for performances and attention. Represented by the two comedy masks; he has inspired many famous playwrights.

Typically happy, but when he “flips” to his sad alter ego/mask, his personality is completely different.

He is capable of making replicas of himself. In one story, he performed a one-man play where he was every single character.

… He’s been really into these new human inventions called the “cell phone” and “social media”, but the concepts have yet to take off in the Pantheon.

His animal form is a rabbit.

Deuce — God of passion and dedication

Once an evil spirit, he has since been reformed and become a (tentative) minor god. He dreams of rising to Major God status someday.

As an evil spirit, he was a chaotic being of wind notorious for challenging the other elements to races. (This would often result in hurricanes and other natural disasters.)

It’s said he was originally born from an alchemist’s cauldron when a spell went awry. Perhaps that is why he finds himself drawn to cauldrons.

Chickens are his favored animal; there is a story of how he cried over cracked eggs. This has led to a strange collection of items (including cauldrons and chicken statuettes) in his shrines.

He tries many things, but is seldom successful in any of them.

His animal form is a (blue) chicken. He attempted a pink flamingo form but failed.

Ace — God of fortune (luck) and mischief

A troublemaker in the Pantheon. Frequently being chastised or punished for bothering his fellow gods.

He sneaks off to the mortal realm to prank humans. To the Elder Gods’ dismay, Ace sometimes (what was the human phrase for it again??) “shoots his shot” with humans he finds cute. Might go on a date with them once, then disappear entirely from their lives, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

Preserved cherries and later playing cards are common offerings. Instead of praying, devotees would stay at a shrine and play a card game with something depicting Ace (usually a statue).

His animal form is a flamingo.

Ruggie — God of thieves and the downtrodden

The god for the working class, underserved and marginalized communities, and the common man. They pray to him when they are in need of social change—tearing down a tyrannical king, redistributing the wealth, etc.

While his followers usually don’t have much to give, Ruggie isn’t picky about the gifts he receives. Even hand-me-down items and foragables are accepted at his shrines. Leave a bouquet of dandelions, herbs, used clothes, or a few coins at his altar and he will happily snatch those up.

Closely associated with Leona, often acting as his lackey in various tales.

There’s a story about how he stole the keys to Azul’s enchanted safe and released desire into the world; they say Ruggie has the ability to steal anything from anyone.

His animal form is a raccoon but he can muster a hyena with enough energy.

Jack — God of strength (both physical strength and strength of character)

Often depicted as a massive wolf—strong yet gentle. He appears before those with noble hearts to warn them of coming danger.

Protects children who get lost in the woods. He will fend off the danger and then carry the children to safety in his massive maw.

Warriors donned wolf pelts or the image of a wolf on armor or accessories. This would supposedly grant them strength on the battlefield.

Bottles of pear preserves are commonly left at his shrines.

Jade — God of lies and curiosity

One of the rare gods that frequents the mortal realm, though these excursions are typically excused on account of his identity as the god of curiosity. He returns with strange stories that his fellow gods cannot quite tell are true or not.

In the stories, he is presented as an enabler and instigator. If a mortal finds themselves at a fork in the road, Jade leans into their ear and whispers, influencing them to take the path least treaded.

It’s said that if you catch him speaking a truth, he will grant you a wish. Many mortals have met their doom from believing his web of lies.

Strangely, mushrooms have a tendency to overtake his shrines. You'll find them in the corners and crevices.

Animal form is an eel but if he is very low on energy then he’s a little fish.

Floyd — God of change and chaos

If Jade influences humans by whispering in their ear, then Floyd influences humans by throwing any obstacle imaginable at them. He is the embodiment of anything that can happen at any time.

His following is mainly people who are bored with their lives and wish for something exciting or new to happen.

His followers do not have any particular traditions, as he could react negatively to anything. Rather, the expectation is that you go about your day and not invoke his name for fear of gaining his attention.

If you're one of the foolish few who dare to ask a favor of him, candies of assorted flavors or a new pair of shoes (a luxury, in the days of old) may be a good bet to gain his favor.

Animal form is an eel but if he is very low on energy then he’s a little fish.

Jamil — God of culture and ambition

Companion to Kalim. They often appear as a duo on stories, never straying too far apart from one another.

He represents the mingling of cultures and the sharing of idea and traditions, all the connections and places he can never have for himself. Jamil considers this a great burden, one he cannot be freed from. He also represents those seeking higher goals for themselves.

His shrines are known to be covered in fine tapestries and fabrics. Incense is burned, imparting the insides with a smokey, spicy smell.

Common offerings are bottles of hair oil and ornaments. These are to care for his hair, which is said to be able to transform into living snakes, each capable of speaking in a different ancient language.

Fallen for an attempt to overthrow Kalim and claim his position (via inciting a coup).

His animal form is a snake. Although he is a bright red, he’s not venomous.

Rook — God of the hunt, the arts, and love

If you’re out in the wild and feel like you’re being watched, it’s likely Rook with his eye on you. He enjoys observing humans and the odd ways they act.

Has heightened senses, able to notice visual details from an impressive distance away.

A lover of the arts; most creatives have made at least one work of art in his honor.

His followers tend to follow his philosophy that everything is beautiful in its own way.

Lovers will ask Rook to bless their relationship; it is said that those shot with his Arrows of Love will forever be bound to the first person they see.

Rook represents not just romantic love, but also platonic love. He does not discriminate; all love is beautiful!

His animal form is a rook (bird). He can also do other birds, though mainly predators like hawks.

Epel — God of agriculture and harvest

His favored fruit is the apple. There used to be a festival in which attendees would submit their own apples for judging in his honor; the biggest, reddest, and shiniest would win and the victor would be blessed with a bountiful harvest for that year.

There are many tales of mortals and divine beings alike being deceived by his dainty appearance.

Humans pray to Epel for a good yield from their fields. Apples (at least their peels) are often incorporated into fertilizer, which they return to the earth as an offering to him.

His animal form is a rabbit which is smaller than Cater’s form.

Ortho — God of death and rebirth

Legends say he was originally a mortal that died young while attempting to play the role of a hero. Taking pity on the boy, the gods took his soul and replaced it in the mechanical body (thanks to Idia’s help).

Ortho and his blue flames are said to be the last thing you see before death, for he comes to claim all souls and ferry them to the other side.

In the days of old, it is said that people would become stars after death and watch on from the sky. It is Ortho who brings newborn stars into the sky and places them.

He is said to be close with Idia, the god who granted him his new form.

Appears like a glowing blue flame instead of an animal form; the closest he can achieve is a ghostly apparition of a dog.

Sebek — God of action, lightning, and war

A demigod, much to his dismay. Overeager to prove himself as a result.

Dismisses his mortal father in favor of his divine heritage, but Sebek finds himself visiting anyway. Insists it is out of pity.

Inherited the title of god of war from Lilia. Brags about it (though Lilia warns him to be careful with such a dangerous title). His affinity for lightning is also something he brags about, since it brings him closer to Malleus, who controls storms.

His shrines tend to be built near bodies of water; followers prepare salted salmon from lakes and such for him.

He wields a shield that can guard against anything.

His animal form is a crocodile. He is unfortunately very noticeable wherever he goes.

Silver — God of sleep/dreams, peace, and protection

A human that was adopted by Lilia after his parents were felled in war. He went on to become a hero and achieved godhood by bringing a great war to a peaceful resolution.

Inherited Lilia’s old title as god of protection. Should you gain Silver’s favor, he will shield you from the evils of the world.

Animals of all kinds are drawn to Silver and his shrines. Nuts, berries, leaves, and flowers are left at his altar.

He is usually depicted sleeping under a tree. If you see Silver in your dreams, it is a good omen and something nice will happen to you when you wake up.

He wields a sword that can cut through anything.

His animal form is a horse. In works of art, he is sometimes depicted as a silver owl which glides through dreams.

Grim — (Fledgling) God of the lost

Not fully recognized as a god yet.

Has not accumulated enough strength to assume a human form.

Is considered guardian to the lost and directionless, be it those not knowing where they came from or those not knowing where they want to go in the future.

Leave an open tuna can at his altar or in ramshackle buildings, and the contents will have mysteriously vanished the next day. Presumably, Grim has passed by and eaten the offering. (Rocks are also an acceptable offering; these will also vanish, though there is debate on whether Grim favors rocks or if he also eats them.)

Eventually Falls because he came to become too attached to a human and wished to prevent them from passing on so that he might be with them forever.

Neige — God of innocence and purity/chastity

If Vil is sexy and mature, then Neige is the picture of sweetness and cuteness.

He is seen as a protector and caretaker to children, especially those without parents or guardians. They say if you diligently do your chores, your home will be safe and blessed by Neige.

Also considered the patron god of virgins.

The Seven Dwarves are forest nymphs that hang around him. Each represents an emotion or state of being (uhhh, assume Timmy -> embarrassment, Grum -> angry, Shelpie -> tired??, Hop -> happy, Snick -> surprised, Toby -> confused, Dominic -> confident).

His animal form is a songbird. He can also do a deer.

Cheka — (Fledgling) God of courage and cycles

An inexperienced god; the current God of Courage and Cycles is fading and Cheka is being trained to step up into that role.

Carefree; he has little interest in his duties and would rather play around with the other gods. Sometimes even slips away from his handlers and escapes to the mortal plane to play. Causes many headaches.

Asks many questions about mortals, but nothing which would be relevant to his tasks.

Animal form is a cat (well, more like a kitten), but he can’t really shift well yet.

Chenya — God of riddles and guidance

Chenya helps the lost find their way, be it to a location, loved one, item, or some goal. However, his aid often comes with a heap of cryptic language which you must first decipher.

Has the ability to vanish from sight. It is said that if you hear giggling or feel something brush against your arm or leg, it is Chenya’s blessing.

Loves finding cakes at his shrines, although he tends to steal them right off your plate at celebrations.

Animal form is a cat.

[theladybrownstarot]

𝜗𝜚 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 "𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞" ?

"𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓊𝓏 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉 "

|𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ִֶָ |𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝-𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ִֶָ |𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 ִֶָ |

HOW TO PICK A PILE ? Take a deep breathe , close your eyes after your open them up choose the pile where your sight goes first in calming inner silence . If you are called up by more than one pile you please feel free to choose them. This Pick-A-Card is timeless therefore feel free !

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

❦ The people think that you are the only one because you come at the most vulnerable time people are going through which makes some feel that you are God's most precious person sent for them. It's the way you are so curious and understanding towards people's life and problems which make them feel that they're important to you somehow and you're important for them similarly. It's your empathy and compassion which makes their heart speak and reach for you to embrace you in their arms. You are someone's dream girl or boy because of your looks and brain - Beauty with a brain . I may believe that you are not someone who is patient that is because you cannot bear yourself standing at a point where your growth is hindered and your opportunities are missing instead you will just directly cast your own way which will make people more inspired from you and connected - wanting to connect with you . Your core lessons of forgiveness and acceptance makes people find a new way to their life for which they are grateful to you and love you for but it is not just because of this but because when they are upgraded to an another level of energy they start to resonate or vibrate like you which make the feel to actually want you. You bring colors and peace to someone's life they always wanted to have, you calm the storms of people's life they have been facing for long, you could be the only person who must have helped when no one did for them. People actually feel that they can be themselves with you without any self-Imposed limitation and even if they have you are the first one to actually give a gentle nudge on the shoulder saying , " hey its ok completely to feel like that but don't hold yourself and hide your true self " , "come on chill because just like you don't think a lot about people similarly they don't think about you a lot so be comfortable with yourself" . I wouldn't be surprised if people admitted that they manifested you in their life. In a simple way to tell the reason you are someone who gives healing to others and your wisdom makes them feel more self aware and motivated.

❦ Prominent astrological signs : Scorpio , water signs in moon or rising , Saturn in 9th house /cancer / taurus , Saturn and jupiter conjunction , aquarius sun and revati.

Paid-Readings / Donation-based readings : You can get your personalised readings from me too , I'll be happy to guide and interact with you through readingsss 🫶🏻✨️🪷🦋🍀

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

❦ when people are with you they feel that they have done a very good deed by being born on this earth because you show the gratitude or you should how grateful you are for their presence. You are someone perceived to be cool by other people making them feel more attracted towards you but not only this like what makes you cool is not your sarcasm but the way you live so simply without any need of complexity. Your happy go around person will make people feel that there are at least humans on this earth who are not actually always crying but can see the beauty even in the harsh Times like them - simply doesn't drain people's energy because we know that the more we stay around the low negative energy people the more we are thrown to attract those energy to us. You are not selfish but a well wisher for someone which makes people believe that you are genuine and safe to be around if they want to share their secrets. I really feel that the people who choose this pile are high achievers in any sense possible. To be honest , people feel more attracted to you because you open a gate where they can attract more opportunities or there is a new way of energy being opened for them to come into their life after you meet them -you leave behind something beautiful after you're away . People really trust you a lot because you are not like the majority of people who will take someone's trust and later throw it away - you make yourself feel like a reliable partner . If you were attracted to find pile number one then you should read pile number one from the 7th line. You people teach other people to love themselves through calmness and bring external balance in people's busy lives. Your presence alone can make them come into the present and deal with their unconscious side which they were quite hesitant to deal with it alone. You help people understand how to balance their desired living and their happiness by being themselves without any guilt. Your confidence really makes you shine among people also the way you do not compromise with your standards makes people really chase you. This is very loving but yes people find their home with you and themselves too.

❦ Prominent astrological signs : jupiter , saggitairus , Saturn / in libra , jupiter in Pisces, moon in aquarius and sun in scorpio .

Paid-Readings / Donation-based readings : You can get your personalised readings from me too , I'll be happy to guide and interact with you through readingsss 🫶🏻✨️🪷🦋🍀

𝜗𝜚 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑 ! 𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠:

❦ For some of the people you make up a best family person because you are soft and gentle but too that the people's family know about you and think that you are better for their son or daughter. You keep people happy around and I perceive with most of you have actually sorted out many family problems of other people and in fact of your own too which makes you quite an experienced person to get married with but please be aware that people don't actually push everything on you basically on your shoulders. People feel complete with you. I am getting a strong message that people don't say that you are directly there the one by meeting you without any third party involved but when they meet you by hearing about you or they meet you through someone in part most of a relationship has been brought up by other people only. You're quite a traditional person for sure , like someone who would incorporate traditionality in their life basically in daily life for example worshipping gods, respecting the traditional rituals and etc. I don't want to make you feel that just because you are a traditional person you make yourself directly as a marriage partner but in today's world we can really see that people feel like those who are traditional makeup good marriage partners for their children yk what I'm talking about but really I don't want you to feel like that because being traditional is not being spiritual , it's something that automatically comes under it . I want you to take it as a compliment only rest aside you being spiritual is very beautiful for growth. I really feel that this pile is very very grounded and simple as water. You really make people feel attracted towards you because the way you balance out the things in your own life but the people or be professional you some house show the lessons indirectly to people that they should in corporate in their life finding you as an inspiration or a role model too. People wanna be there with you in your life and connect with your soul . You are really good at balancing your emotion and practicality which is very sensual and desirable for others, the way you carry yourself with the will power makes people feel that what kind of magic are you ? They really want to have babies with you , they really want to be protected and loved by you in your embrace.

❦ Prominent astrological signs : jupiter in Capricorn, mars in Pisces, Venus, taurus & jupiter in 11th house.

Paid-Readings / Donation-based readings : You can get your personalised readings from me too , I'll be happy to guide and interact with you through readingsss 🫶🏻✨️🪷🦋🍀

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

©️ theladybrownstarot 2025 all rights reserved . I do not consent my work to be copied , sold , rephrased or plagiarized on any platform . Any violation shall result to copyright strike .

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

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

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[ooooo-mcyt]

Scar has SUCH a victim complex and we really should talk about it more.

In an average Scar pov of the Life Series, two things are basically guaranteed:

a.) Scar never does anything wrong. Any perceived wrongdoing on Scar's part is simply him being silly and goofy which people keep blowing it out of proportion. Or he really didn't mean to do anything wrong and people are just so paranoid and keep misinterpreting his good intentioned actions. Or he did something bad but it wasn't his idea and some outside force made him and it wasn't that big a deal anyways when you think about it.

b.) Everyone's out to get Scar. People wrongfully don't trust him because they're just blind to his inherent trustworthiness. People are always shooting down his brilliant plans because they hate fun or are just mean. People take advantage of him when he's never done anything wrong to them (if you think he has done anything wrong, see point a). People betray him so much, him, the silliest funnest most trustworthy teammate who only wants friendship.

Now, a lot of this is tactical on Scar's part, to give credit where credit is due! Scar is in fact very intelligent, and most of the time he knows what he's doing! A lot of time Scar plays innocent and dumb because playing innocent and dumb keeps working to get him what he wants and to keep him out of trouble. People buy into the facade with shocking ease. And the really clever thing is that even when people don't buy into the facade, there's no argument. Because it doesn't matter if Scar is as dumb and innocent as he pretends to be (he's not), people can't prove he doesn't believe what he says, so they don't waste energy arguing, and he gets away with a shocking amount because of it. Scar is incredible at playing with tactical facades and twisted narratives. So yes, a lot of Scar's "victim complex" is tactic, not necessarily a genuinely held belief on Scar's end.

That being said, I think sometimes Scar gets so caught up in his own false narratives that he starts to believe them, and I think Scar can be painfully, and ironically, blind to his own faults. When he says he felt abandoned and betrayed by everyone in Last Life, I believe he meant it, though I'd argue he actively pushed people away and was the reason nobody trusted him. When he says he treated Grian right and "built him a panda sanctuary" in Double Life, I think Scar actually means that, though it's factually incorrect. When he says he was "forced" to be alone in Secret Life, I'm sure he meant that too, though again I'd argue Scar had a very active role in self isolating.

While I think Scar is a very intelligent person who very much purposefully crafts narratives that benefit him, I also think Scar is a person who likes to live in those narratives, someone who uses his boundless imagination to integrate himself into the realities he builds so seamlessly that they start to feel real. I think this is a very efficient coping mechanism, in a lot of ways, for Scar to blame any genuine suffering he has entirely on outside persecution and minimize his own responsibility. It's comforting, if nothing else.

But this self imposed hand crafted victim complex doesn't actually help with the ways Scar really struggles the most. Scar consistently struggles with isolation, whether through literal distance from other players or simply emotional inability to connect. And unfortunately, most of it is a result of Scar's own behavior. Scar lies, Scar cheats, Scar pushes people away. Scar is the reason nobody trusts him. Scar is the one who consistently refuses to seek out companionship even when he needs it. This is an agonizingly fixable problem, but it's one Scar cannot see the solution to, because ironically his own cunning and creative mind has spun a web so thick it's trapped him inside, and he can't see past it to realize he has the way out!

Anyways sorry for rambling I'm just insane about Scar, he has such a brilliant mind and the tongue to back it up but his fatal flaw has always been in how his creative mind loses itself in its own false narratives until he cannot see the exit door five feet in front of him. He's sooooooooooooo !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[the-jason-todd-murder-weapon]

details I noticed after rewatching episode five of tadc

0:40 disappearing man watches the gang come back from an adventure

caine is getting darker and darker with his adventure ideas- possibly slowly beginning to downwards spiral because none of the circus members like his adventures (I imagine because he literally cannot perceive what they want because well. he isn't human)

jax is genuinely excited gangle plays along as an "extremist" (although this could be argued that he was just excited to see her blow up)

Bubbles is slowly getting weirder and weirder, to the point even caine is weirded out

It's implied jax also watches anime (he knows the genre they're in based off the first few seconds, and says that it's the worst kind of anime)

jax seems genuinely upset at gangle either 1. hanging out primarily with zooble or (the one I'm personally more inclined to) that she literally can't keep her comedy mask on

It's implied jax tried reaching out to ragatha about how the circus was affecting him, but ended up thinking she was being fake because she was constantly nice and basically refused to show that she was also affected

11:14 we see disappearing man's door, implying that he is, infact, not an npc like the characters seem to think. a second after we see an abstracted character's door with jax running to it, then stopping and just. staring for a moment instead of trying to open the door (which, in my own interpretation, because of the abstraction eyes all around, makes me think jax might've watched his friend abstract, and then possibly tried to talk to ragatha about it but she wouldn't reach to him with any "real" emotion, so he saw her as fake and trying to take advantage of him)

zooble pauses when she hears kinger request something with corn in it- which, while possible that it's just not a real drink, makes me think she knew jax was afraid of corn

Jax doesn't know what the vote is. he votes no because pomni votes no, he has no reason to think it's anything to do with him aside from the fact that he wasn't included in talking about it

jax starts genuinely spiraling about the maid dress, in a way that reminds me almost of dysphoria (ftm jax headcanon go brr)

I think most people already assumed this, but zooble is the one to place the corn

ragatha has genuine problems with pomni being friends with jax, to the point she's almost spiraling, I assume because she's slowly realizing the people pleaser way that worked in real life is causing everybody in the circus to only like her on the surface level, but not want to hang out with her

[pseudowho]

"Gale."

"My dear?"

"About your Counterspells."

"Ah, those. Handy little wotsits. What about them?"

"Well, they're always very...civil."

******

"FLAGRA--"

p-shewww! "Nope."

******

"TE EXECR--"

p-shewww! "No more for me, thanks."

******

"ARDE--"

p-shewww! "Terribly sorry--"

******

"NON MUOVERE--"

p-shewww! "Excuse me-- may I--"

******

"INCENDE--"

p-shewww! "Not today, thank you."

******

A book snaps shut. A shrewd peer upwards, above half-moon spectacles. A clearing of the throat.

"One cannot find it in oneself to be rude when someone has taken such great effort to commit murder. Even...well. Even if I am the planned recipient of such an unsavoury gift."

"Even in the heat of battle, though?"

"Would you prefer me to be un-civil?"

A tut. A sigh. A lowering of oneself, to find a paper-scented underarm in which to snuggle; and another, grateful to receive, whose fingers are calloused only upon the forefinger and thumb.

"I'm not saying that--"

"Halsin is civil. Wyll is civil."

"I didn't mean--"

"--have they been subject to such potty-mouthed scrutiny?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake--"

"No, no, I understand. Point taken." A kiss to the forehead. A squeal, and one tossed over in bed to be embraced from behind. "Alley-oop! Bedtime, oh critical love of mine."

In the silence, and soft breaths, a murmur. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing at all. I would never have such uncivil thoughts."

******

If only time slowed down in the heat of battle, you'd have a chance to think. Instead you ducked, face-scorched, gasping, thrown aside, tossing projectiles which you'd never know whether or not had reached their mark.

And in the maelstrom, with Wyll at your flank and Halsin bearing up before you on great furred hind legs, and blue lightning missing you by an inch, you zero in on a voice; his voice. Searching for you, as you search for him.

"My love-- where are you-- darling--"

Your eyes meet. You take a deep breath, to yell. You feel a shadow chill your shoulder.

An assassin; no time; no chance. "TU EST NIHI--"

But Gale is fast.

p-shewww! "Fuck off."

"ARDE--"

p-shewww! "Suck my dick."

"INCENDE--"

p-shewww! "Shit effort, nought out of ten, fuck off and die."

"TE EXECRO--"

p-shewww! "Dreadful. You fucking donkey."

"Gale!" you squeal, pearl-clutching. Bodies fall around you like dominoes.

Gale looks up through the mayhem, twirls his staff in his hands just once, and grins, boyish. "Problem? One cannot always be a gentleman."

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

You are in your 20s but you don't know what to do with your life...

If you are like me, in your 20s and still unsure of the path for you. I think you should only do two things.

Do incredibly well at what you are currently doing now. This could be school, work, volunteering, writing, dancing, tutoring. It does not really matter whether this is your dream role. It does not matter whether you ought to be in Paris but you're somewhere in Milwaukee teaching 5th graders. All that matters is that you are meticulously doing well. That means you doing 1-5% better than average. You should be meticulous such that even if you don't like what you do, you have on one hand learned a tangible skill and on the other hand you know that putting more effort will not make you fulfilled. This information is necessary to inform your next path. But don't be on the lookout for the next thing without doing this first.

So what if you are doing the first part but something else interests you? Well, I will say to use your leisure time to pursue that. Emphasis on your leisure time. If you are not disciplined enough (I am also guilty of this) then this will not work. You are just wasting your time, claiming you have a secondary interest. If you cannot devote time to pursuing this interest relentlessly then please find something else to do, in this case I will suggest you focus on your current hobby. I also want to make a clear distinction between interest and hobby. I think an interest is something you do not know enough about but attracts your curiosity. For me, it is content creation, tablescaping, design, filming, pastry etc. Hobbies are things that you just enjoy doing through inspiration, instruction, or inclination. I enjoy reading first because my parents made reading a leisure activity and I now find value in it as an adult. And a hobby can become an interest when you add a layer complexity that leads to curiosity. There is a difference between reading books for fun and then picking a genre and spending time going deep to understand the canonical work, the history, the authors, the themes, the historical contexts etc. This is different from simply reading. So, my suggestion is in two folds:

a. Find an interest that is at the intersection of your curiosity, fantasy, and capabilities. I say fantasy because we do have this cherubic desires that stem from our childhood that are still waiting to be unleashed. For me, I had an obsession for glossy magazines. So, the big question is what can I do and still relish in that fantasy today? Let the fantasy get you started, let your capability keep your steady, and let your curiosity take you further. Writing is also an interest of mine that I stopped and it took a toll on me because I failed to honor that part of me that appreciated authors who just expressed themselves in ways that honored my sensibilities. But why did I stop? I had a capability problem, I felt I wasn't good enough and it is a good feeling to have because it signals that I should improve (expand my vocabulary, read more, and write more). Now that I am back, I wonder why I ever stopped. Writing is riveting. b. Expand your hobby until it takes a new form. Whatever your hobby is whether big or small I suggest your double down on it until you get to a different horizon. I enjoy reading like I shared before but I have realized I enjoy reading about women parvenus in history, historical women, the sociology of class, how fashion shapes our identity etc. It is so fun to me. I can read these themes without realizing the passage of time. While this may not be a hobby (I love to hyperfixate on beautifully designed table). I have designed some myself but I have not consistently put effort to enough information on whether to pursue it or not. So, I will classify it as an interest.

My goal with this blog is to find myself. Maybe one day, I share bits about the books I am reading. Maybe I could design a mini magazine. Maybe I will one day host an event with beautiful tablescape. Maybe I will go all in into baking. But for now I will follow my own advice: Do meticulously well in my day job, and unrelentlessly pursue my fantasy through intentional effort during my leisure time. I will be back to share my journey with you.

XOXO

[drdemonprince]

Any advice on getting over fears around getting sluttier when dealing with a visible health problem? I have stage 2 Hidradenitis Suppuritiva, and while active sores can be covered with bandaids, I have a lot of very dark scars from old sores that I'm really self conscious about. Objectively I get that the vast majority of people I would potentially sleep with wouldn't care, and just giving people a heads up that its a non-communicable inflammatory disorder unrelated to hygiene would go a long way. But I'm so self conscious about it that somebody turning me down or being unkind specifically because of my skin problems would be such a huge blow to my self esteem that would take ages to recover from :/

I would say candidly that if you absolutely cannot stand rejection or someone being unkind about this at all, you might not be ready to venture into cruising yet. Some degree of being able to weather negative comments is necessary, and it would be unrealistic for me to say otherwise. Also, if it is a subject you are sensitive about (and very understandably so), you will have interactions that are ambiguous that you will read as rejection, and that's also something you'll have to find some way to cope with.

I would encourage you to go to saunas, nude beaches, showers and locker rooms, and gay bars with backrooms if only to look at the sheer diversity of human bodies on display there, because pretty rapidly you will see people with visible scars and all manner of disabilities, but the queer cruising world is also far from utopic and there are people with superficial body standards as well as folks who will simply be ignorant and say stupid things. There certainly are on the apps, too.

I would suggest, for you, a two-pronged approach: widening your exposure to cruising/slutty areas and apps so that you can gradually get your brain used to the fact that there's lots of different kinds of people who look all kinds of ways, while also slowly ramping up your tolerance for rejection so that one day if someone does make a hurtful comment or throw you a bad look, which you can pretty much assume will happen at least once, you won't fall apart.

Maybe you could start on the apps, where you have more control over what conversations you get into, and what information you put out there? You could mention that you have this condition on your profile, but not share any photos of the sores you have (to prevent thoughtless comments), and then in private conversations with people talk about the subject more and feel out whether you would be comfortable sending them a photo. That way, you can control who you get rejected by -- you cant control rejection itself! -- so that the only people you give the opportunity to turn you down are people who have already proven to you in chats that they can at least be polite about it.

You could also try role-playing these conversations with friends until you have some canned responses you can give without any emotional investment.

I hope people with relevant personal experience share their advice on this too!

[film-in-my-soul]

down-to-earth | 1,140 | Alienu

Summary: It takes less than ten minutes for his door to swing open and the bed to abruptly jostle when Jayce all but collapses onto it face first, groaning. “Remind me never to let Vi take me out to ‘relax’ ever again.” “Clubbing?” Viktor asks, continuing to type without pausing. “Clubbing.” It's said with the exact same tone that one might use to refer to the murder of a child, or something of that degree.

Reasoning | 3,276 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Reasons to kiss Viktor: - can’t stop thinking about it Jayce ennumerates his reasons for and against kissing Viktor.

Deck the Halls Blue (Christmas All Around You!) | 4,121 | gloriousdisco

Summary: Viktor had never been a fan of Christmas. He found it a time of grandiose wastefulness, egregious overspending and exaggerated gestures. His companion in pink cleaning scrubs, however, appeared to be some kind of festive nutcase.

(see more recommendations below!)

survival instincts (and the lack thereof) | 7,058 | hvxtalis (ghcst) / @ghcstao3

Summary: When renting an apartment by himself finally became a viable option for Jayce, he'd been confident in his ability to live alone. But that was before his apartment was blown up, and now, much to his chagrin, he has to look for a roommate. And that's how Jayce meets Viktor.

holding back the years | 12,435 | spqr

Summary: Viktor tells Jayce, over breakfast, “Real life is not like the radio dramas, you know. Shining men from Piltover do not really go around adopting Zaunish orphans and rescuing Zaunish women from lives of whoring themselves for food. You cannot — save me. Not really.” “Well,” Jayce says, shoving the syrup at him, “I can damn well try.”

For All That Is Tender | 9,280 | SunsetPlums / @sunsetplums

Summary: Viktor stumbles across Jayce’s Christmas bucket list—half ridiculous, half indecent, and 100% now his problem to solve because that’s what boyfriends do, apparently.

I'll Be Whatever You Want Me to Be | 9,558 | GreyWingsandDreams

Summary: Jayce is a Beta. Viktor is an Alpha. Finding ways to make himself more "Omega-like" may not be the best plan to woo Viktor, but it's the only one Jayce has. Viktor, meanwhile, has a plan of his own.

Anomaly | 1,021 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: There’s a monster under Jayce’s bed. It’s his fault. Something went wrong in his research. He tapped into something he shouldn’t have, and something that shouldn’t be here slipped through. In the lab, in the daylight, he works, frantically, on fixing it. Reversing the process. Sending it back. At night, he retreats to his bedroom and waits.

Breaking Routine | 1,797 | zillac / @zillac

Summary: Jayce has a specific pre-bedtime routine, but for his husband? He’ll allow an exception. Viktor asks, “You are aware that I could make you come twice, in the time it will take you to finish this?” Jayce caps the toothpaste and stares down at the brush, considering. Then Jayce asks, “Wanna bet?”

Establishment | 2,620 | GenGonGinGun

Summary: “You have to know,” Jayce implored, “how beautiful you are.” Viktor smiled softly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell you. It’s the easiest thing in the world.” “Horrible man,” it came out fond. “I thought you were nervous.” “I am. If we’re both nervous, I think it means we’re doing something right.”

ouvert, fermé | 3,136 | poppyinabreeze / @poppyinabreeze

Summary: “Really?” Jayce asks, sounding surprised. “You like it?” Viktor huffs out a laugh. “Yes, Jayce. I like it very much.” He tilts his head. “Do you like it?” “I…” Jayce flushes, bites his lip. “I think so. But the, uh…” he lowers his voice, leans in as if divulging a scandalous secret. “V, there’s no back. On the…you know.” “The panties?” Viktor says, just to see Jayce’s reaction.

Reasons why Viktor is no longer trusted in the kitchen | 4,496 | finalproject / @finalpr0jects

Summary: Jayce comes home from class to find his roommate standing in front of the stove. Unusual, since he never sees Viktor in the kitchen unless it’s 3 AM the night before a big exam, and he’s eating handfuls of shredded cheese right out of the bag. Today, he’s in the kitchen, standing before a pot and stirring a wooden spoon around in lazy circles. Not just any pot, but the Le Creuset enameled cast iron Dutch oven Jayce’s mother gave him for Christmas last year.

Dive In | 6,000 | haunted_heartsick

Summary: What happens when a curious siren captures a inexperienced city boy from off of a small fishing boat? They get along, of course! Swimmingly, one might say. They're fascinated by each other. A little something for MerMay while I work on other projects.

This ain't goodbye no more, it just began | 7,106 | SirCumference / @sir--cumference

Summary: After he and Viktor save the world, Jayce wakes up in his old bed on the day it all started. Things are different, this time.

Toeing The Line | 7,836 | Rekki

Summary: “You were thinking about exactly what’s in your lap,” Viktor accuses, the slightest smirk curving his mouth, and oh, it is one of Jayce’s favourite expressions on him. But it does little to assuage Jayce’s panic. His hands are still now, frozen on his feet as he looks at Viktor. He feels like taking them away from the situation would make it worse. Viktor breaks the pause, “you were looking at my feet, weren’t you?” Jayce scoffs, feeling his heart kick up a few speeds in his chest. “Well, yeah, I was giving you a massage, of course I was looking at your feet.” “You got an erection from feeling up my toes.”

still life | 8,340 | jayvikling

Summary: Viktor’s sketch showed an embarrassingly blank spot between Jayce’s hips. He had never been such a prude, not even in his first nude drawing course. It was time to be mature and look.

a fixed beacon for a fixed purpose | 8,623 | notsolstice

Summary: Viktor reaches out a hand, unable to stop himself from touching. He intended to rest it on Jayce’s shoulder, to kneel down beside him but before he can do that Jayce lets out a soft exhale and all but throws his head into Viktor’s open palm. He slumps, face pressed into his hand like an obedient dog greeting its master, hungry gaze trained on Viktor’s face.

Part of You | 9,341 | Snoelled

Summary: “Does sex while high feel good?” Jayce and Viktor are laying on the couch in their shared apartment, sprawled over one another in a way that would seem incredibly uncomfortable to any onlooker. But Jayce needs the contact like he needs air - he always does when he’s high. The constant feeling of wishing he could melt right into Viktor and become part of him intensifies to the point of all encompassing. He’s sure that in this state he could do it. If he could just press hard enough, love Viktor enough, make contact with enough of Viktor’s body- “Eh- what?” Oh. Jayce forgot he had asked Viktor something. What had he asked again?

event horizon | 11,784 | WhoTheBuckIsStucky / @kjmsupremacist

Summary: But ambitions be damned—Viktor lifts his eyes surreptitiously, finding the object of his desire (and ire) blurry over the top rim of his glasses and wastes a few more precious seconds just staring at him. He’s tall, his height just on the side of unruly; his shoulders broad, hands practically the same size as the huge books he picks off the shelves. His hair is always gelled perfectly, even last week when it was raining something furious outside. He always wears a large pair of black glasses. He slings his backpack over his right shoulder only. He’s gorgeous. And Viktor, sleep-deprived, overworked, and generally miserable, has, for the first time in his unfortunate life, a fucking crush.

Tide to You | 12,081 | OhNovi

Summary: “All packed?” “Eh, mostly. Thought you could help me carry my bag to your car.” “Mr. Independent letting me carry his bags?” “I am on holiday, I will remind you. Perhaps I am letting loose,” Viktor sniffs. Jayce laughs, and the grin sticks. “Well holiday Viktor, I can’t wait to see all of this ‘letting loose’ you plan to do.” Professor Jayce and Professor Viktor take their marine biology students to Mexico to study coral reef rehabilitation. Jayce gets a private lesson on mermaid anatomy from Viktor.

fruit of eden | 14,184 |  WhoTheBuckIsStucky / @kjmsupremacist

Summary: “If you don’t mind me asking,” Jayce starts, “Academy Systems—that’s a biotech company, isn’t it?” Viktor focuses back on him, blinking in surprise. “Yes,” he says. “I am a scientist. I research skeletal disease. Why do you ask?” “I’m hoping to go into science,” Jayce explains, and Viktor’s belly burns as he watches a faint blush spread from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. “I was just wondering, you know—how you got started, a-and what you studied, and if—if you like it?” If Viktor were a different person, with better self restraint and less interest in pretty teenage boys, he’d say something else, but what comes out is, “Been thinking about me, have you?”

Ask more | 15,611 | Anonymous

Summary: This was something shared, almost exclusively in Piltover, between married couples. Not friends, not colleagues- although neither label could fit what the two of them were to each other. Viktor would have walked up a hundred flights of stairs for Jayce, so in comparison this was nothing. But he was still aware that this was, in theory, a lot to ask of a person. Viktor thought, ask more. I’d give.

AFK for Love | 22,767 | Rohvee / @rohvee

Summary: For months, Jayce has relied on Arcane, an MMORPG, to keep him connected to his friends while he’s away at college. But when a new party member joins their group, Jayce finds himself hooked. To his surprise, it turns out Viktor is closer IRL than he thought—and their connection doesn’t have to stay in-game. Maybe going offline doesn't have to feel so lonely anymore.

Firebringer | 27,835 | LiminalShade

Summary: Jayce is sent to check out a station on a remote planet after its alarm goes off. On the verge of suffocating in a sandstorm, he barely makes it to the station — only to find a stranger inside who is not eager to let him in.

call me by my name | 40,016 | IguessIllchangeitlater

Summary: “This corset.” He would shrug if it weren’t painful. “It is not my medical brace, and after wearing it for the whole night, it is one painful thing.” “Do you… need help taking it off?” Jayce sounds endearing. “I suppose.” Under normal circumstances, Jinx would help him unfasten the laces holding the corset together. Viktor knows what awaits there on his skin by now, under his silky dress shirt, imprinted into his skin. Jinx would tell him he is ridiculous for not taking proper care of himself and he would tell her she doesn’t need to help him, then. But Jinx is not here. There is only his own discomfort and Jayce’s beguiling willingness to help. “So? What are you waiting for?”

You Know Me | 59,919 | Allyria

Summary: “I can’t relax,” Jayce says. “I haven’t gotten anywhere in weeks because someone—” “Yeah, yeah, someone keeps taking your research material,” Vi says. “It’s like they know,” Jayce says, his head in his hands. “They know what books I need and they take them. On purpose.” OR Somehow, someone is taking out all of the books from the campus library that Jayce needs for his (very niche) research. As soon as he finds this person, the only options are murder or falling in love. When Jayce finds out it’s the strange, pretty TA from the lab down the hall, there’s really only one option in the end.

two years of ink and flowers | 73,320 | Archadian_Skies / @archadianskies

Summary: Scattered across all of time and space, Jayce Talis finds himself running a renowned flower shop with his mother. Across the road is The Machine Herald, a tattoo parlour run by a Zaunite artist named Viktor. This Viktor doesn't know him too well, doesn't love him, and so Jayce takes it upon himself to woo him through the unspoken language of flowers.

destabilise by antiparticular /@antiparticular

2 Part Series | Rated M | Total Words: 6,918

Part 1 Summary: Jayce was naked and in Viktor's bed. Don't get him wrong - Viktor had dreamed of this happening, both literally and on slow days in the lab when he was feeling particularly self-indulgent, but for it to manifest outside of his overactive imagination? He was half tempted to pinch himself to check he'd actually awoken. Why was Jayce Talis in Viktor's bed? And more pressingly, why did Viktor not remember?

Salt and Honey by 27dragons /@27dragons

2 Part Series | Rated E | Total Words: 18,340

Part 1 Summary: There's a mole peeking out from underneath, and Jayce nuzzles in even closer to kiss it, and when the cloth shifts, he can see several more moles clustered nearby, in a shape a little smaller than Jayce's palm. They're in the shape of the constellation Cassiopeia. Jayce stops, staring at it. A negative image of the sky, dark stars shining against the pale skin of Viktor's inner left thigh. Viktor tries another shove and Jayce barely even notices it. He can't look away. Viktor's hand loosens in Jayce's hair. "Ah, Jayce? Are you okay?" "Uh. Uh, yeah," Jayce manages. "It's just, you just, uh. You have this little cluster of moles right here?" He brushes his thumb over them. "In the shape of Cassiopeia. The constellation." "Yes?" Viktor props himself up on his elbows to look at Jayce more easily. "I have quite a few, I'm sure you have noticed. They are not harmful. Is it-- Do they bother you?" "What? No! No, no, I just, um. I've seen them before."

Listen for Heaven by yellow813

3 Part Series | Rated E | Total Words: 37,407

Part 1 Summary: "It’s warm, he thinks, floating through the arcane in Jayce’s arms. Somehow here and not, between places, an existence and not at the same time like dust carried on the wind or the precipice between sleep and waking. He’d be satisfied if this was his end. And then, like tumbling from a cliff’s edge, he wakes with a gasp. And the world has not ended." Or; Viktor wakes up in a cabin surrounded by ice. Jayce is there, too.

Blog Info ☆ 2025 Reclists ☆ 2024 Reclists

[eugenedebs1920]

“Oh ‘my’ God” is right….

I’ve tried. Pardon the upcoming pun but, my lord I’ve tied. I’ve tried to correlate the Christian teachings from my youth to the current ones. I’ve tried to equate the similarities between the values I was taught as a kid to what the Christian right states its values to be. I’ve tried to have tolerance for that which I cannot relate, and use the teachings of Christ to find middle ground with the theocratic Christians so prevalent in politics today. And I can’t. I simply can’t.

They have strayed SO FAR from the moral, guidance, and overall values of that the book they claim to adhere to.

I’ve read the bible, probably more than once, but I left the church long ago, mainly due to their stance on homosexuality, and the stifling hypocrisy.

The Christian right has infiltrated top positions of government. A government which was founded on the concept that religion was to be practiced freely without fear of reprise for doing so, and not to be dictated or to be guiding principle in governing. It’s very clearly spelled out in the first amendment. In fact it’s the first words in the first amendment, the first rights of American citizens in what can be called the Bill of Rights.

Now! Now things have gotten so saturated with religion that the lines differentiating church from state are severely blurred. The problem is that the religious doctrine being executed is not that of love thy neighbor, it is not that of be kind to the immigrant, it is not that of bear no false witness (lying), it is not that of do not steal, it is not that of even do not worship false idols.

It is that of hatred, the entitled judgement of others, a self fulfilling prophecy of preparing for the rapture, stealing from the poor to give to the rich, denying healthcare for the sick, the idolization of money, the discrimination of immigrants, these are the actions of the modern evangelical Christian movement.

Hypocrisy is the doctrine that seems to motivate their agenda.

It is a mental illness to think “god” told you that you are Moses, like Mike Johnson. It’s a mental disorder to show reckless abandon for life in pursuit of “the second coming of Christ”, it is a sickness to believe only your beliefs, only your perspective, only your way is the right way.

They try and say being trans is a mental illness, I don’t see any trans people disregarding human life in the hopes of everlasting life. I don’t see gay people pushing an agenda from a book that says the world was created in 7 days, that a man was swallowed by a wale then was just fine days later, that the Red Sea was parted, that we are descendants of just 2 people, then using that mythology to push a narrative of hate and oppression.

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion” the first words in the first amendment to the Constitution.

Maybe Republicans should revisit the Bill of Rights. Perhaps they simply forgot about it….

[bcowlick]

I'm making a mental list of things that would make me jump from a re-telling like if i was jumping from a taxi that just took the wrong direction and was heading me to other place i don't fucking know:

1. Demeter and Persephone having a bad relationship;

I don't mind if they have a rocky relationship thing going on, or if they are working on making it better. Just a mother and daughter having some problems that they can fix its fine!

But i don't like when Persephone hates Demeter or cannot stand her. Or acts like she hates going up to the underworld, because many such cases means that Demeter has been written to be the "evil one" uuuuhg.

This is actually my biggest one. I catch a glimpse of it and its an instant "NOPE!!"

On the same vein, i don't really mind if Hades is absolved from the kidnapping thing from time to time. Its cooler if the writer has the courage to hold him accountable, for sure. But having a silly Hades that stole Persephone on accident (Like the one from Punderworld!) Is also nice and funny tbh jsjdjs.

2. Misogynistic Ares

Ares? Misogynist? Are we talking about the god Father of the Amazons?

Are we talking about the god that fell in love with Aphrodite, the most girly girl in the world?

Are we talking about the god that got captured in a jar for trying to protect his mother and sister?

Are we talking about the god that killed his daughter's abuser?

Are we talking about the god that Marpeza celebrated after a battle with a feast where only the women were allowed; and thus he gained the epithet "Feasted by Woman"?

ARE WE DEADASS?!?!

That's an instant NOPE!

3. Poseidon and Amphitrite being Zeus and Hera 2.0

I didn't realized this one would be such a big one for me but it is apparently? 🤣

Is just, i don't know man.... Zeus and Hera are the ones with the rocky marriage, why make Poseidon and Amphi have a bad one as well?

Like this is not to say one cannot write their marriage as having issues, that's totally valid! Poseidon does have a pretty big wandering eye after all, and that can hurt Amphi, it can be juicy.

The problem is that very much almost nothing supports the idea that Amphi is really hurt by Poseidon's wandering eye 🤣

I was actually shown the other day a passage of Amphitrite helping out one of Poseidon's demi-kids even! It was Theseus!

If you are a son of Zeus, you are lucky if Hera ignores you're existance.

If you are of Poseidon, however, that means Amphitrite is your mom #2.

So yeah, she couldn't care less and i think it is due to the nature of the ocean life in itself. Monogamy is weird in nature and even weirder in the seas! Amphitrite is the literal sea goddess so of course she'll be more familiar with that kind of lifestyle.

I don't know, it sometimes feels like authors are trying so hard to make Amphi's life misserable just as Hera's when "Open Marriage" is just as much of an explanation lol.

I just dislike it when writers try to make of Amphitrite and Poseidon the Zeus/Hera 2.0

Their relationship is not meant to show the complexities of Zeus and Hera. That's why Zeus and Hera already exists.

Poseidon and Amphitrite are meant to be seen as a team. Poseidon makes the waves rowdy, and causes the natural disasters, while Amphitrite stills the waters, and makes everything calm and flourish. They are literally the high and low tides, they need each other for the sea to function properly!

They are not each other's foil like Zeus and Hera! Contrary, they together represent the equilibrium of the marine ecosystems!!

Well i'll stop or this section will get too long xd

4. Dumb-Blonde-Aphrodite

Aphrodite may be a lot of things but she is not DUMB.

This specific representation of her as being the steriotypical air-head girl who only cares about make-up is so BLERGH (and also that steriotype on itself is so fucking misogynistic uuuhg)

"But the golden apple-" HERA AND ATHENA DESTROYED TROY JUST FOR THAT APPLE AS WELL. THEY ARE NOT DUMB FOR IT, ARE THEY?!

They are vain but being vain doesn't mean dumb. Thanks.

Aphrodite is an ancient being, she's still a goddess, and she is goddess of LOVE too, not just beauty! NOT JUST BEAUTY.

Love is such a complex thing and it makes me so mad when Aphrodite is represented as someone who's "Not that Deep"

It also gets me going when people blame Aphrodite for the start of the Troyan war. I thought we were clear that the Troyan war was one of those fated events where there is no guilty people. It was something that would have happened either way.

(Besides, Paris really choose to have Helen when he could have choosen total world domination. Paris was also ALREADY married to another girl by the time he decided he wanted Helen. How the fuck is that Aphrodite's fault??)

This is all for now but the list might grow over time lol

[conclaveyaoi]

tumblr blog conclaveyaoi does not support any type of self-defined AI-generated material in this fandom, images (never to be called art because it isn't art) nor AI-writing (which isn't writing either). I'll never reblog or like it and whenever I see it on the eg. giulio sabbadin tag, I am extremely annoyed this is taking the place of the art from the fantastic artists and writers I have the privilege to see and interact with in this corner of the internet.

by the same token, tumblr blog conclaveyaoi has seen fantastic artists and writers be falsely accused in a witch hunt type of AI-accusation with no proof whatsoever and does not believe this is the efficient way to prevent the AI-generated slop. accusations can only stand with evidence and they have no weight without evidence. yeah, law degree and kafka fan here. a witch hunt leads to hurting the fantastic artists and writers who are then being unfairly accused of something they haven't done. this is not the same as calling out the self-defined AI-generated material (not art because it isn't art), I repeat, going around eg. the giulio sabbadin tag. there is evidence in the self-defined AI-generated images seen in that tag and I don't support any of it.

on the other hand, I've seen an artist I really enjoy being falsely accused based on a random "hunch" which I found very concerning. this is what I mean by witch hunt. if accusations = facts then we might as well leave the fandom because it'll become a battlefield of 'ragebait' people accusing actual artists and writers with no proof. not liking a fellow conclaver who doesn't use AI doesn't give you the right to make false claims without evidence. innocent until proven guilty exists because anyone can be an unfair victim of false accusation, which has always made my blood boil. in the exercise of keeping AI away from creative spaces, we cannot be hurting fellow conclavers, artists and writers because it's simply not fair to actual artists and writers (which needless to say does not include AI-users).

there is no room for AI in creative spaces. there is no room for AI in my blog because I'll never reblog AI-generated images or texts. my reblogs and my art tag are for the fantastic artists I see in this fandom, never AI.

to the person who generated the AI content in the giulio sabbadin tag and anyone in this fandom who uses AI: there's no room for your stuff in my blog. none. I don't want to see AI in the tag of my blorbo either. or in any tag. I am anti-AI for a myriad of reasons and when it comes to creativity it is firstly based on principle. it is in honour of the great Miyazaki and the late David Lynch, two of my heroes. it is in honour of ars longa vita brevis. because you took your time to justify it on conclaveconfessions, I kindly ask you to educate yourself on the tool you're using, on the political scale of the issue (especially in the US at the moment) and on the infuriating environmental damage you're causing in the middle of a climate crisis that affects primarily the most socioeconomically-vulnerable communities around the planet by your senseless AI use. technofascism is here already, it's scary and we are all just one tiny corner of the internet in the middle of a gigantic problem. still, as part of a creative space, we must stand up for art and uplift the actual artists and writers. if we don't have that, we might as well be numbers on an excel spreadsheet.

on behalf of justice, no witch hunt with false claims against actual artists and writers. on behalf of art, let's keep AI away from creative spaces and not support AI-generated material. both? both.

once again for the people in the back: this blog does not support the self-defined AI-generated material that I've been witnessing in the giulio sabbadin tag. of all tags, right in my boy's tag...

[agirlandherquill]

writecamp - day 24, june 24th

rise and shine for day 24 campers! only six days till we're halfway through writecamp!

((p.s i will add the tag list today. i will. i will make sure. i will not get distracted by books today.))

the rules are as follows: choose a prompt (or as many of them as you like) from the list, write something and share your creation with the rest of writeblr, and share the game with others, because as we all know writing is a gift and it deserves to be shared! and of course, tag me in your responses because i cannot wait to see them!

as usual, the prompt list will be under the cut!

The Prompt List

Dialogue Prompts:

"You look as though it's nothing, as if nothing could bother you less - How?"

"There's a slight hitch in our plans. And by hitch I mean a thing that will kill us all."

"We chose the wrong time to do this, didn't we?"

"I've come to realise that I may hate the world, but I hate it less with you in it."

"It was an act of kindness. Not pity."

Setting Prompts:

A room of bodies

A cracking ceiling

A fiery dungeon

A shadowy lair

A field of thorns

Narration Prompts:

She rushed to their side, abandoning her duty, her hope, for the one good thing she could do.

He bled bitter as he suffered for his silence.

The world was not a place to explore alone.

There was once a tale of a monster, and there was a tale of men.

A desperate plea was all they had, the only thing that had not been taken.

Feeling Prompts:

The bruising of goodbyes

The deafening of defeat

The needles of nerves

The image of ignorance

The heaviness of heartache

all the best for day 24, i can't wait to see what you write!

~ A Girl and Her Quill

~ ~ ~

now for the tags! for writecamp, because i have a feeling there's going to be so many of you, i'm going to do tags a little bit differently and instead tag all you lovely campers in the comments! (to hopefully get around any tag limits/difficulties because we all know there's going to be problems, it's inevitable and i'm going to do my best to avoid any issues in that area) (the tag list will also be completed a short while after this post comes out seeing as i unfortunately cannot queue comments, but i'll get there in the end :) )

but of course, if you would like to be tagged in future daily challenges for writecamp, all you've got to do is interact with this post - it'll be monitored throughout the entirety of the challenge to ensure nobody who wants to be tagged misses out!

[coracaodeleao]

NSFW Alphabet — Letters N, O, P & Q | Viktor x GN!Reader

(I think this one is more tame and short, tbh. I got nervous in the O(ral) one because of the fandom’s common perception of Viktor as an Oral God, which I kinda disagree with (I think he’s more of a fingering kinda guy). But anyways, here we have: Viktor telling us "no," a bad review turning into a new scheduled evaluation, me and my analogies on how he fucks, and Viktor suffering through a quickie. Have fun, y’all!)

N - No

Viktor shakes his head at your suggestion. “Absolutely not.”

You pout, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting down the collar and cuffs you’d been teasing him with. “Whyyy, Viktor? What’s the problem with it?”

“The problem?” he echoes, clearly exasperated, running a hand through his hair. “The problem is that I don’t know how long I’d take to come home to you. What if something happens? What if someone breaks in and you don’t even hear them because of the damn blindfold?”

You raise an eyebrow. “We don’t exactly live in a warzone, baby.”

“That’s not the point,” he insists. “You’d be handcuffed. Helpless. What if you get cold? What if you panic and can’t get out? What if I get hit by a car and never make it back and you’re left tied up, waiting for a ghost?”

You blink. “Wow. That escalated.”

He rubs at his temple. “I just— I need to know you’re safe. I like control, yes, but not that kind of power. I don’t want you vulnerable when I’m not there to protect you.”

You smile softly, standing to walk over and wrap your arms around him. “So that’s a no to abandonment play?”

He nods firmly. “A very loud, very anxious no.”

You kiss his cheek. “Okay. No getting left tied up alone.”

He sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“But we can try it while you’re home, watching me squirm from the other side of the room?”

That look returns to his eyes — hungry, focused. “That,” he murmurs, “I can work with.”

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

O - Oral 

You join Viktor in the living room. He’s sitting on the floor, working on something spread across the coffee table. You sit on the couch behind him, legs spread just enough to guide his head between them. He hasn’t looked up yet.

“Viktor,” you say, patting his hair. He hums in response, distracted. “I have some notes on your last performance.”

His hands pause. You've learned that Viktor cannot tolerate a bad review — not in his work, not in his personal projects, and definitely not in your shared activities. He slowly leans his head back against your thigh.

You can’t see his face, but the quiet sigh he gives is full of dread. “What did I do?”

You balance a notebook on his head like a hat. He doesn’t move, even when he hears the pen click. “You used your teeth on me yesterday.”

His head snaps up just slightly, the notebook wobbling. “Are you talking about me giving you head?” His voice already sounds defensive. “Really? Do I need to remind you how bratty you were yesterday?”

“This is not what this is about,” you say simply, still writing. He can feel the pressure of the pen dragging across the paper above his head. “Focus,”

“Yes, it is.” He reaches up and snatches the notebook off his head, throwing a sour look over his shoulder at you before glancing down at the page.

Only to see a giant “69” written across the middle.

He sighs — long, dramatic, and with all the weight of a man who knows he’s being played and can’t even be mad about it. You burst into laughter behind him.

“You should see your face!”

“I should stop giving you the satisfaction,” he mutters, setting the notebook aside. “But no, I won’t. Because I’m good at it.”

You cock your head. “Confident now, are we?”

“I like it,” he says, suddenly sincere. “Giving it. It’s not just the reaction — although, yes, that’s… extremely rewarding.” His voice dips a little. “But there’s something about using my mouth and having you go completely quiet under me. You never shut up, unless it’s that.”

Your smile softens, amused and flattered all at once.

“I don’t need to finish when I’m with you,” he adds. “Not if I can make you feel like that first. That’s enough for me.”

You nudge his shoulder with your knee. “You realize you’re making it very hard to keep this professional tone.”

“I assumed you were never serious in the first place.”

You grab the notebook and pen again, flipping it to a new page. “Fine. Still giving yourself five stars?”

“Four-point-eight,” he says, smug. “Pending another live demonstration.”

You lean forward, brush his hair back, and grin. “Let’s submit more evidence, then.”

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

P - Pace 

Viktor fucks the same way he sketches a project. There’s a certain reverence to it — a kind of quiet dedication that starts long before the first real touch. He observes. Studies. Picks the right pencil to start, arranges his space, adjusts his position. He’s not in a rush, not until he’s sure the foundation is set.

At first, it’s all soft pressure and experimental touches. His mind works too fast for his hands sometimes, full of intention before execution, and it takes him a while to translate what he wants into something physical. But when it clicks — when he understands the shape of your breath, the hitch in your voice, the angle that makes your toes curl — something changes.

Some days, it stays soft. Controlled. He takes his time, exploring you like you’re a blueprint he’s redrawing from memory, each line traced and perfected. Other days, he gets the idea fast — and then faster. And harder. All precision abandoned in favor of raw momentum, his rhythm crashing against you like the final stroke of genius after hours of quiet work.

Your fingers dig into his back, and he breathes against your throat, steady but hungry. “Your hips twitch just slightly when I touch here,” he says softly, pressing in again. “I think we’ve found something.”

And from there, he abandons the slow pace entirely.

He moves with such focus it borders on desperate. Every thrust, every grind of his hips, every groan from his throat — it’s all fueled by how much he feels you, how badly he wants to give you everything. His rhythm is relentless, and you match him without question, both of you spiraling toward something hot and inevitable.

Later, tangled in sweat and skin, your voice is hoarse when you whisper, “You start like a research paper... and end like a train crash.”

Viktor just smirks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pulls you closer. “I prefer to say… consistent in intensity.”

You hum a laugh and let him curl into you. He always goes quiet after, but you know it’s not distance — it’s contentment. His breath slows against your neck, his hand still resting over your chest, steadying both of your pulses. He’s still working, in his way. Still studying.

But with you, it’s not about perfecting the design.

It’s about savoring every part of the process.

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

Q - Quickie 

He takes his vest off and kisses you open-mouthed. “We don’t have time.”

You press your body against him, your hand slipping around his neck to pull him closer. “That’s the whole point of a quickie, silly.”

He groans when your hips roll against his. “I don’t even have time to properly take my pants off,” he mutters against your skin. “Especially with my prosthetic on.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, hunger clear in your eyes. He licks his lips at the sight of it.

“Then don’t take it off,” you whisper, grinning. “I like the look of the uniform on you anyway.”

He exhales sharply, caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You’re making it very hard to be responsible.”

“You love it,” you murmur, fingers already working at the front of his pants. You don’t rush — you’re just precise, getting exactly what you want.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you in. “You know I prefer taking my time.”

You nudge his nose with yours. “You’ll survive ten minutes of chaos, baby.”

“Ten?” he rasps, shuddering slightly when your hand slides lower. “You’re being optimistic.”

You bite back a laugh. “I’m being generous.”

That’s all it takes.

There’s no more arguing — only the rustle of clothes being pushed aside, your back against the wall, his breath caught in your mouth. It’s rushed, a little messy, improvised in the best kind of way. Hands gripping, hips grinding, low groans stifled by kisses that taste like promises for later.

And when it’s done, when your breathing evens out and your clothes are barely adjusted back into place, Viktor gives you that soft, dazed look. The one that says he’s already replaying every second of it in his mind.

“I still prefer when I can worship you properly,” he murmurs, tugging his vest back into place with slightly unsteady hands.

You press a kiss to his flushed cheek. “You’ll have plenty of time for that tonight.”

He hums, a little smug again. “Good. I intend to make up for every second we cut short.”

And from the way his eyes darken, you know he will.

[phaeton-flier]

I am playing through Blue Prince, which I wouldn't do if I didn't on some level enjoy it, but I am quickly running into a common problem with these unlock-based roguelikes: It feels like I'm ending each run not because of any dearth of skill but because the game is balanced around stuff I didn't get to unlock.

And since the speed of unlocking new resources is directly related to how many I start with, it's incredibly frustrating when the various luck-based systems just roll badly. You worked hard to manage dead ends and doors and got the lockpicks but only found one key, so now your run ends here because this door doesn't allow lock picks.

Also fuck the fucking digging minigame having trash. I cannot emphasize enough how fucking irritating it was to get the blessing of the gardener, plot out green rooms, work to unlock items to get the shovel, and then have the majority of my pulls be "LOL GET FUCKED DIRT BOT. WATCH THIS LOADING MOMENT FOR NOTHING" At least give me some metagame resources, something other than a tin can. Your game already has enough juggling of random mechanics, I do not want more!

And the loading, yeah: The game is very clearly going for a tone here, you're meant to enjoy the little moments of walking between places, watching a popup load, etc., but it does take it's toll after awhile. Once I've picked up the wind up key once I do not need a popup telling me what it does again. And all those little moments where you're forced to wait- even for a couple seconds - add up when I want to get to the puzzles and the plot. I don't want to watch the same little nonsense every time!

All of this also grinds on the fact that so much of the game is fucking busywork. The first time I found the security room, it was a cool experience. The tenth time, it's just me mindlessly going through the motions of opening keycard entry system -> set default power loss behavoir -> set to off -> go back -> set secuirty level -> set to high if I've found the the breaker box or low otherwise. All of those steps take a second or two as well, which is exactly enough time to get bored of it while you're doing it.

[hope-to-hell]

An unexpected occurrence. Agent Stone x Ivo Robotnik. Stone dies, but that doesn't stop him. He takes it in stride as he does everything else. Smut, pwp, sounding, anal, tentacles, poltergeists (kinda), object possession, first times, major character death (but the fun kind). Stone bites it, and Robotnik is more than a little stressed out. But in the immortal words of The Princess Bride, death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.

----------

Let’s start from the beginning. No, that would take too long. Let’s start somewhere in the middle, so we can get right to the good stuff and skip the buildup. If it’s important, it’ll come up one way or another. It always does. The scene is this: Doctor Ivo Robotnik’s lab, late morning. The Doctor is returning from taking a piss in his private bathroom, where he spent approximately fourteen and a half seconds thinking about jumping spiders. Specifically, he was thinking about their eyes. His babies could use an upgrade to their peripheral vision. He’s already calculating measurements for optic lenses when he comes around the corner and stops short.

There’s Stone’s lifeless body on the floor. Oops.

Well, shit. That’s Doctor Robotnik with an uncharacteristic display of concern— or almost, anyway. He quickly shifts gears to annoyance. Dying on the clock, unbelievable. He prods Stone with the toe of his boot.

Um. Sorry about that. Stone’s voice is everywhere at once, loud like imploding submersibles are loud, or like jets smacking headlong into the sound barrier. Robotnik does the only reasonable thing in this situation: he shrieks, then faints. Doctor? No answer.

What in the name of Sagan is going on? Robotnik paces with an ice pack held against the back of his skull. It’s head trauma. Definitely. It has to be. He peels himself out of coat and vest, opening his shirt, attaching sensors to his skin. He pulls a wire-studded cap onto his head. Or a brain tumor. Monitors make their beep beep beeps. The readout is disappointingly normal: minor contusions, less than one percent of normal functions affected. Perfect health. Dammit. That’s the most reasonable explanation gone.

Now what?

Um. Maybe you should, er, do something with the body? Tinnitus follows in the wake of Stone’s booming voice. It’s a wonder nobody’s come down to see what the hell is going on.

Of course I should do something with the body, my incorporeal Agent Obvious. What do you expect me to do, drag it down the hall to cryo?

Guess what he ends up doing.

That’ll do. Robotnik stands back, panting a little; dragging a heavily muscled meatsack halfway across the building will do that to a person. He appraises the cryo chamber with its “top secret, do not touch” sign taped to the front. At the bottom is a hastily scrawled face with a massive mustache. Nobody in their right mind would touch the chamber after seeing that, not after what happened to that one guy who stole the Doctor’s sandwich from the breakroom fridge.

Stone’s ghost, or whatever, stays behind in the lab. It’s probably just as well. He’s a problem, or was, or—

Whatever. Fucking useless agent, can’t even die properly— is he a ghost? Before today, Robotnik wouldn’t have believed in such nonsense. But then again, before today Stone was alive and well. Hell, an hour ago he was sitting at the workbench with his feet tucked around the legs of his stool, rewiring something or other deep in the innards of the lab‘s coffee maker. Robotnik didn’t care to ask.

I don’t think I’m a ghost? Judging by the upward inflection at the end there, Stone’s not entirely sure what he is, either. I don’t feel like one, anyway.

Like you’d know what a ghost is supposed to feel like. Can you move stuff? Make yourself visible? Manifest insects or slime? Robotnik wracks his brains for memories of late-night horror movies and largely comes up blank. All he can seem to think of is Alien, which he went into expecting hard sci-fi and came out of with a shellshocked expression and a series of unusually vivid dreams that had him waking with his heart pounding, terrified but still humping desperately into the mattress. But that’s neither here nor there.

At least Stone’s not deafeningly loud anymore. Instead, he sounds as though he’s right up against Robotnik’s ear, soft and private, like he used to do when he’d whisper juicy secrets during interminable meetings: that’s Captain Burns, he’s cheating on his wife with Janice from payroll, but he doesn’t know she’s fucking their marriage counselor. Or sometimes: that’s Miranda, she has three nipples. You know, normal stuff that he totally has legitimate reasons for knowing.

So it turns out Stone can’t figure out how to become visible, and attempting it just makes him sound like a constipated emu, so that’s one ghostly skill crossed off the list. And he can’t manifest anything, though there is a faint smell of ozone and peat that hangs in the air for a while after trying. Robotnik marks that one down as a “maybe.”

Okay, the Doctor orders, tapping the fingertips of his control gloves click-click-click against his teeth. Move something. Not like he’s expecting much. He’s probably hallucinating this whole thing, scans be damned. Maybe there’s a gas leak somewhere. It would be more reassuring than the alternative, which is that his assistant— possibly the only person other than himself worth arguing with, and definitely the only person capable of being in the same room as himself without breaking into a nervous sweat— is deceased. Ejected from this mortal coil. He is an ex-Agent.

What should I move?

Choose something. A pencil. A hammer. Whatever. Could Stone just get a move on already? Robotnik can feel a breakdown creeping up. He’s managing to keep it at bay with the power of scientific pursuit, but it’s lurking there just out of reach. One wrong move, one moment of unoccupied time, and he’ll be stretched out on the floor with his eyes unfocused, cold seeping into his bones, gnawing his fingernails off. He won’t even have the luxury of being carried to the sofa this time. Stone won’t be there to pry the Doctor’s fingers out of his own mouth, or to arrange a blanket over his legs.

Anyway.

It takes considerable effort, but Stone is barely able to wiggle the power cord of the coffee maker that still sits, guts spread out, on the workbench. Satisfaction blooms in the Doctor’s chest, warm and sweet, but it’s not his emotion, exactly. It’s more like slipping under the water in a warm bath. Huh. So minor transfer of feelings is possible. Add that to the list. Okay, Agent. We’ve ruled out specters, demons, ghouls, and trans-dimensional slime beasts. So far you appear to be a poltergeist. Or whatever the real-world equivalent is, anyway.

Good to know, I suppose. Stone seems more bemused than anything. He seems to be taking his demise in stride as he does with most other things. If it isn’t fixable, he finds a way to work around it.

Let’s get out of here. I doubt we’ll get anything else useful done today. Robotnik heads for the door, but is brought up short by Stone’s weak little whine.

Doctor? I don’t think I can. The doorway blocks Stone’s spirit like a rubber sheet, semi-yielding but ultimately impassible. Hurts. Well, shit. Further, somewhat haphazard study suggests that Stone is bound to the lab itself. Guess I live here now.

Live. Right. Robotnik’s got his head cradled in one hand; his voice is muffled but there’s a sourness to his voice that filters out around the edges. What the hell even happened?

I don’t know. I reached over to set down my screwdriver, and the next thing I knew I was like this. Aneurysm, maybe? Massive heart attack? He sounds so chipper, so helpful. It makes Robotnik’s blood itch.

Could be poison. Or blowdarts. Blue-ringed octopus venom. Air embolism. Somehow, the idea that his Agent’s body could have betrayed him is far more repugnant than the thought of murder. Why do I even care?

You like me. One of the lab’s robotic arms wiggles teasingly from its ceiling track. Even like this, he’s a remarkably quick study. Or you tolerate me more than you do anybody else, at least. Which, he supposes, is true. And with Stone gone all ghostly, there’s nothing to stop Walters from assigning someone new— and probably insufferably boring— to be the Doctor’s minder. The arm makes an unnervingly accurate approximation of a shrug. But you should get some rest, Doctor. I’ll be fine here, I promise. I’ll see you in the morning.

I didn’t ask. But it is reassuring nonetheless.

Morning rolls around and there’s Robotnik blustering his way down the hall, shitty gas station coffee in hand. Disgusting. Tastes like old wet feet. At least it’s caffeine. He may well have to switch to energy drinks if this keeps up.

You hate those. They make your teeth squeak. Stone’s voice curls around the shell of his ear again. Robotnik definitely doesn’t feel the hair on his arms standing on end, and he absolutely in no way feels his blood starting to pool south. Why does the man have to sound so fucking intimate? Doctor, watch this. Robotic arms move along their ceiling tracks, their grippers opening and closing rhythmically. I’ve been practicing. Seems like I don’t get tired. I can go all night.

That definitely doesn’t bring up any inappropriate thoughts. Nope. None whatsoever. Robotnik is a professional, for fucksake. Married to his work and all that. But the arms seem to undulate in a come hither motion, sleek and sensual, like tentacles if tentacles were made of carbon fiber and assorted top-secret materials that technically shouldn’t exist. The arms glisten wetly with lubricant that shines between their gleaming plated joints, allowing them to move silently and fluidly. Why did he have to go and make them so… sexy? It’s incredibly distracting. Stone. Knock it off. Robotnik is about three arm wiggles away from having to duck into the bathroom to take care of business.

You’re stressed. You’ve got a knot forming between your shoulders. Your sleep sucked ass. Won’t you let me take care of you, Stone cajoles, his voice low and rich, pitched just so. It’s tempting, far more than it should be. Distantly, Robotnik feels as though he should be grieving, or angry, or something— anything— other than what he’s feeling right now. It’s a feeling he doesn’t experience that often, but when he does, it consumes him.

Doctor Robotnik, much to his horror and annoyance, is horny.

See? C’mere. I’ve got just the thing. Stone knows. Of course he does. He’s already turned into a robot ghost, so why wouldn’t he also be able to sense the Doctor’s thoughts? There’s a low chuckle, a frisson of amusement that tickles at Robotnik’s spine. That part’s nothing new. I know your tells. It’s not specific thoughts, more like a landscape. Eyebrows, shoulders, heart rate, and so on. Just basic physiological responses. Yours are especially distinct, at least to me.

How spectacularly unenlightening, Robotnik grumbles. But he also scoots closer to the robot arms, close enough to feel one of the grippers brush against his cheek. It’s surprisingly gentle; he can’t seem to help leaning into the touch just a little. Stone. His voice is distant, hazy, even to himself. God, he really is a lost cause, isn’t he? How many arms are in that array?

Nine, sir. All fully articulated. Each outfitted with grippers gentle enough to hold an egg without cracking its shell, powerful enough to lift an elephant or crush a grown man’s skull. Your words.

I did say that, didn’t I.

Stone waggles one of the grippers, folding its talons into a smooth ovoid shape, tapered at the far end and swelling smoothly where it meets the arm. How would that feel, slipping inside? If Stone knew what he was doing, he could open it like a flower inside Robotnik’s body, much like a knot of— no. Bad Doctor. Remove that thought. But it’s too late; the image is already seared into his brain.

Mmmhmm. I should also mention that the articulated plating is engineered to guarantee it won’t pinch, not even the most tender flesh. But you know that already, of course.

I— Robotnik swallows thickly. Yes.

When Stone speaks next, he’s practically moaning. Please, Doctor. Let me take care of you.

Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose I should let you try. That’s right, he’ll pretend to be doing Stone a favor. But his breath catches when the gripper slides across his skin, brushing over his lips as if offering him a taste.

The lubricant is tasteless, odorless, and fortunately nontoxic; it smears over Robotnik’s cheek and if he’s inclined to make a comment about the mess he’s completely sidetracked when a pair of arms wind around his chest, ends spreading out to catch his wrists in their grippers; the metal is cold, textured to hold onto even the slipperiest of subjects. Another works to unbutton Robotnik’s fly, but it’s difficult; Robotnik whines, leaning back into the secure hold of Stone’s arms, canting his hips up.

Fuck it, just rip the damn things off.

As you command, sir. The speed with which Stone moves to tear the Doctor’s clothes to shreds suggests he’s been thinking about doing that for some time. I’ve always wanted to do that. The trousers are easy enough to remove once the waistband is obliterated and the thigh seams torn asunder; they fall to the floor in pieces, leaving the Doctor bare to the waist aside from socks and boots. Normally he’d feel embarrassed to be seen in such disarray, but Stone’s panting harshly into his ear now despite no longer needing to actually breathe. It must be reflexive, somehow. May I continue?

Don’t even think of stopping now.

Of course, Doctor. I wouldn’t dream of it. Stone gently pushes Robotnik’s coat off his shoulders, letting it pool at his elbows; shirt and vest are torn open right down the front. Of course Stone knows exactly how much destruction of the Doctor’s wardrobe he can get away with. Robotnik stands with arms wide, leaning back at an angle that would drop him right onto the floor if it weren’t for the arms holding him steady, his coat hanging down like wings. It’s the most exposed he’s ever been, and it is thrilling.

The arm at Robotnik’s face reaches under his chin, tilting his head back; the long pale line of his throat is on full display. For a moment he thinks— hopes, even, in some deeply-buried part of his mind— that the arm is about to curl around his throat, but it holds steady. However, Stone still has six more arms at his disposal, and it seems he really has been practicing. Any other operator would have momentary judders, awkward delays when switching their attention from one arm to another; it’s one of the unfortunate drawbacks of the human mind that true simultaneous multitasking is impossible. But Stone seems fully integrated into the array; the arms move fluidly. Purposefully. It’s beautiful. For a moment Robotnik is lost in admiration, until he is brought up short by the feeling of two more arms wrapping around his legs, lifting him into the air.

This isn’t exactly what I’d envisioned for our first time, Stone murmurs. But then again, you are extraordinary. He’s practically purring, fine vibrations running along his arms.

Flatterer.

Hnn, Stone hums. Doctor. Relax, okay? You’re so stressed. Let me help. He holds Robotnik aloft, limbs spread; the robotic arms are arranged to provide support beneath the Doctor’s shoulders and hips. Another arm trails, cool and slick, down the cleft of Robotnik’s ass to stroke gently over his hole. He can’t help pushing back into it, feeling the bulb of its folded gripper smooth against his skin.

Agent. Would you hurry it up already? Robotnik’s aiming for annoyance but lands somewhere around desperation. He’s opening his mouth to try again, to harden his tone into something a bit more commanding, when Stone pushes in, slow and steady and unyielding. It’s neither painful nor pleasant, merely strange. It’s also a bit cold.

Sorry about that. The arm is metal, after all; it can’t be helped. But soon enough it warms up, absorbing the Doctor’s body heat until it rests blood-warm inside him. Then, and only then, does Stone finally move again. His movements are gentle, testing; he treats Robotnik as though he is a fragile, precious thing.

Won’t break, Robotnik grumbles, annoyed. But he’s not entirely correct; if Stone so chose, he could tear through the Doctor’s body like so much wet tissue, and they both know it. So Stone continues his careful exploration, and Robotnik has to hang there and take it. That is, until he feels Stone brush against something that lights up his nerves. Do that again, he rasps.

With pleasure, Sir. Stone slides the arm in and out, its lubricant smearing everywhere and dripping down from Robotnik’s ass to the floor; distantly the Doctor makes a mental note to re-evaluate the amount needed. For now, though, more is better. Whoever said you can never have too much lube was possibly the most correct person in the history of correctness. With every pass, the gripper presses against Robotnik’s prostate, sparking lightning up his spine. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s making some sort of keening wail but it’s unimportant. His world is rapidly narrowing to that single contact point.

And then, as if he’d heard the Doctor’s earlier thoughts, Stone pauses with the arm pressed deep inside his Doctor’s body. Slowly he opens the gripper, its petals expanding, blooming inside Robotnik’s body until he’s stretched, filled, unable to move, barely able to think. All he can do is feel, breathing ragged and wet, as Stone delicately begins to move again. The stimulation over Robotnik’s prostate is constant and unrelenting; it seems impossible that he should be so utterly overwhelmed to the point of incoherence, but here he is.

How many arms does that make? One for each limb, one at his lips, one deep inside him. Six, sir. Can you take more? If simple arithmetic is beyond you, perhaps you’re at your limit. Stone’s concern trickles over Robotnik’s eardrums, gently mocking. Was this streak always in him? Maybe it’s better if we stop here.

Don’t you fucking dare. Robotnik somehow finds the words, though they’re thick in his mouth, spit-slick and slow; gone are his infamously acid tongue and sharp wit, leaving behind this needy shell. He is filled, yes, barely able to think. But he is not yet gone. He swallows as the arm at his lips begins to move, folding its gripper, prodding at his mouth. He opens instinctively, feeling cool metal stroke over his tongue.

And then the gripper opens. Just a little, just enough to keep Robotnik’s mouth gaping wide. A thin runnel of drool escapes to fall in a silvery thread from the corner of his mouth. One petal of the gripper presses on his tongue in a parody of Stone’s cock. Doctor. If only— there’s regret in his Agent’s voice, sorrow for lost opportunity, but it’s quickly pushed aside. He teases Robotnik’s mouth open just a little more, moving the other arm inside him in tandem. And now Robotnik couldn’t speak even if he wanted to, even if he wasn’t gagged and drooling. His mind is running on emergency power now, extraneous processes disabled.

But there’s one more trick up Stone’s sleeve. One arm was built for the most delicate of tasks, its gripper formed by talons made of narrow bars of long thin metal, mirror-smooth, their curves long and shallow. The jointed portion is thinner than the others and more flexible as well, perfect for what Stone has in mind. The narrow arm winds around Robotnik’s cock, its coolness shocking against the burn of desperate skin; it loops around his balls, cradling, gently compressing.

Doctor? Try not to move. As if he could, as if he would want to. As if there was any possible place he’d want to be apart from this, on the precipice of mindlessness. And then he feels it: one of the talons presses delicately at Robotnik’s glans, cool and smooth. Its tip slips just barely inside, and that’s Robotnik’s cue to let his brain fly south for the winter. Goodbye coherence, see you later. But the talon doesn’t stop until it feels impossibly deep in the Doctor’s cock, stimulating the nerves there with an intensity so strong it registers more as ice than anything, pure and raw and overwhelming.

I’m inside you in every possible way. Stone’s voice is awed, somehow breathless despite no longer having lungs. Doctor. I am selfish. I promised this was to help relax you, but it seems I’m far more affected by it than I’d thought. He sends vibrations down the arms, ripples of sensation that multiply and grow until Robotnik’s body is vibrating from the inside out. Will you fall apart for me?

Of course he will. Robotnik doesn’t shout or curse, though it’s not like he could do the latter even if he wanted to. He comes apart with a sigh, body convulsing and then going lax. He hangs suspended in Stone’s arms, drooling quietly, covered in slick. He whines softly when the impromptu sound is removed from his cock, a rush of semen following in its wake, but he is glazed-over and glassy-eyed. He is absolutely mindless. Stone hums, pleased; he carefully rearranges his arms to cradle the Doctor until he returns to himself.

I wish you could’ve been mine so long ago. I’ve always been yours. Stone’s words are wistful, soft and secret. They brush over Robotnik’s ears and disappear into the air.

Mmmph. Rest now. Robotnik slurs out, brain function slowly coming back online. Give me a couple hours, and then we’ll start work on getting you back into your body. It’ll be a challenge, venturing into totally uncharted territory. But if anyone is capable of fixing Stone, it’s Robotnik. There’s always an explanation, and therefore it follows that there is a solution. His body is suffused with the warmth of Stone’s affection, spangled with hope. And thus, he drifts away to sleep.