#Self-Compliance Tool

[nationallawreview]

Application of New Mental Health Parity Rules to Provider Network Composition and Reimbursement: Perspective and Analysis

On September 23, 2024, the U.S. Departments of Labor, the Treasury, and Health and Human Services (collectively, the “Departments”) released final rules (the “Final Rules”) that implement requirements under the Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act (MHPAEA). The primary focus of the Final Rules is to implement new statutory requirements under the Consolidated Appropriations Act of 2021,…

[adwiserec]

PCI DSS 4.0, PCI Compliance,

Payment Security, PCI DSS 4.0 Implementation Guide

[treasure-mimic]

So, let me try and put everything together here, because I really do think it needs to be talked about.

Today, Unity announced that it intends to apply a fee to use its software. Then it got worse.

For those not in the know, Unity is the most popular free to use video game development tool, offering a basic version for individuals who want to learn how to create games or create independently alongside paid versions for corporations or people who want more features. It's decent enough at this job, has issues but for the price point I can't complain, and is the idea entry point into creating in this medium, it's a very important piece of software.

But speaking of tools, the CEO is a massive one. When he was the COO of EA, he advocated for using, what out and out sounds like emotional manipulation to coerce players into microtransactions.

"A consumer gets engaged in a property, they might spend 10, 20, 30, 50 hours on the game and then when they're deep into the game they're well invested in it. We're not gouging, but we're charging and at that point in time the commitment can be pretty high."

He also called game developers who don't discuss monetization early in the planning stages of development, quote, "fucking idiots".

So that sets the stage for what might be one of the most bald-faced greediest moves I've seen from a corporation in a minute. Most at least have the sense of self-preservation to hide it.

A few hours ago, Unity posted this announcement on the official blog.

Effective January 1, 2024, we will introduce a new Unity Runtime Fee that’s based on game installs. We will also add cloud-based asset storage, Unity DevOps tools, and AI at runtime at no extra cost to Unity subscription plans this November. We are introducing a Unity Runtime Fee that is based upon each time a qualifying game is downloaded by an end user. We chose this because each time a game is downloaded, the Unity Runtime is also installed. Also we believe that an initial install-based fee allows creators to keep the ongoing financial gains from player engagement, unlike a revenue share.

Now there are a few red flags to note in this pitch immediately.

Unity is planning on charging a fee on all games which use its engine.

This is a flat fee per number of installs.

They are using an always online runtime function to determine whether a game is downloaded.

There is just so many things wrong with this that it's hard to know where to start, not helped by this FAQ which doubled down on a lot of the major issues people had.

I guess let's start with what people noticed first. Because it's using a system baked into the software itself, Unity would not be differentiating between a "purchase" and a "download". If someone uninstalls and reinstalls a game, that's two downloads. If someone gets a new computer or a new console and downloads a game already purchased from their account, that's two download. If someone pirates the game, the studio will be asked to pay for that download.

Q: How are you going to collect installs? A: We leverage our own proprietary data model. We believe it gives an accurate determination of the number of times the runtime is distributed for a given project. Q: Is software made in unity going to be calling home to unity whenever it's ran, even for enterprice licenses? A: We use a composite model for counting runtime installs that collects data from numerous sources. The Unity Runtime Fee will use data in compliance with GDPR and CCPA. The data being requested is aggregated and is being used for billing purposes. Q: If a user reinstalls/redownloads a game / changes their hardware, will that count as multiple installs? A: Yes. The creator will need to pay for all future installs. The reason is that Unity doesn’t receive end-player information, just aggregate data. Q: What's going to stop us being charged for pirated copies of our games? A: We do already have fraud detection practices in our Ads technology which is solving a similar problem, so we will leverage that know-how as a starting point. We recognize that users will have concerns about this and we will make available a process for them to submit their concerns to our fraud compliance team.

This is potentially related to a new system that will require Unity Personal developers to go online at least once every three days.

Starting in November, Unity Personal users will get a new sign-in and online user experience. Users will need to be signed into the Hub with their Unity ID and connect to the internet to use Unity. If the internet connection is lost, users can continue using Unity for up to 3 days while offline. More details to come, when this change takes effect.

It's unclear whether this requirement will be attached to any and all Unity games, though it would explain how they're theoretically able to track "the number of installs", and why the methodology for tracking these installs is so shit, as we'll discuss later.

Unity claims that it will only leverage this fee to games which surpass a certain threshold of downloads and yearly revenue.

Only games that meet the following thresholds qualify for the Unity Runtime Fee: Unity Personal and Unity Plus: Those that have made $200,000 USD or more in the last 12 months AND have at least 200,000 lifetime game installs. Unity Pro and Unity Enterprise: Those that have made $1,000,000 USD or more in the last 12 months AND have at least 1,000,000 lifetime game installs.

They don't say how they're going to collect information on a game's revenue, likely this is just to say that they're only interested in squeezing larger products (games like Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail, Fate Grand Order, Among Us, and Fall Guys) and not every 2 dollar puzzle platformer that drops on Steam. But also, these larger products have the easiest time porting off of Unity and the most incentives to, meaning realistically those heaviest impacted are going to be the ones who just barely meet this threshold, most of them indie developers.

Aggro Crab Games, one of the first to properly break this story, points out that systems like the Xbox Game Pass, which is already pretty predatory towards smaller developers, will quickly inflate their "lifetime game installs" meaning even skimming the threshold of that 200k revenue, will be asked to pay a fee per install, not a percentage on said revenue.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: Hey Gamers!

Today, Unity (the engine we use to make our games) announced that they'll soon be taking a fee from developers for every copy of the game installed over a certain threshold - regardless of how that copy was obtained.

Guess who has a somewhat highly anticipated game coming to Xbox Game Pass in 2024? That's right, it's us and a lot of other developers.

That means Another Crab's Treasure will be free to install for the 25 million Game Pass subscribers. If a fraction of those users download our game, Unity could take a fee that puts an enormous dent in our income and threatens the sustainability of our business.

And that's before we even think about sales on other platforms, or pirated installs of our game, or even multiple installs by the same user!!!

This decision puts us and countless other studios in a position where we might not be able to justify using Unity for our future titles. If these changes aren't rolled back, we'll be heavily considering abandoning our wealth of Unity expertise we've accumulated over the years and starting from scratch in a new engine. Which is really something we'd rather not do.

On behalf of the dev community, we're calling on Unity to reverse the latest in a string of shortsighted decisions that seem to prioritize shareholders over their product's actual users.

I fucking hate it here.

-Aggro Crab - END DESCRIPTION]

That fee, by the way, is a flat fee. Not a percentage, not a royalty. This means that any games made in Unity expecting any kind of success are heavily incentivized to cost as much as possible.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: A table listing the various fees by number of Installs over the Install Threshold vs. version of Unity used, ranging from $0.01 to $0.20 per install. END DESCRIPTION]

Basic elementary school math tells us that if a game comes out for $1.99, they will be paying, at maximum, 10% of their revenue to Unity, whereas jacking the price up to $59.99 lowers that percentage to something closer to 0.3%. Obviously any company, especially any company in financial desperation, which a sudden anchor on all your revenue is going to create, is going to choose the latter.

Furthermore, and following the trend of "fuck anyone who doesn't ask for money", Unity helpfully defines what an install is on their main site.

While I'm looking at this page as it exists now, it currently says

The installation and initialization of a game or app on an end user’s device as well as distribution via streaming is considered an “install.” Games or apps with substantially similar content may be counted as one project, with installs then aggregated to calculate the Unity Runtime Fee.

However, I saw a screenshot saying something different, and utilizing the Wayback Machine we can see that this phrasing was changed at some point in the few hours since this announcement went up. Instead, it reads:

The installation and initialization of a game or app on an end user’s device as well as distribution via streaming or web browser is considered an “install.” Games or apps with substantially similar content may be counted as one project, with installs then aggregated to calculate the Unity Runtime Fee.

Screenshot for posterity:

That would mean web browser games made in Unity would count towards this install threshold. You could legitimately drive the count up simply by continuously refreshing the page. The FAQ, again, doubles down.

Q: Does this affect WebGL and streamed games? A: Games on all platforms are eligible for the fee but will only incur costs if both the install and revenue thresholds are crossed. Installs - which involves initialization of the runtime on a client device - are counted on all platforms the same way (WebGL and streaming included).

And, what I personally consider to be the most suspect claim in this entire debacle, they claim that "lifetime installs" includes installs prior to this change going into effect.

Will this fee apply to games using Unity Runtime that are already on the market on January 1, 2024? Yes, the fee applies to eligible games currently in market that continue to distribute the runtime. We look at a game's lifetime installs to determine eligibility for the runtime fee. Then we bill the runtime fee based on all new installs that occur after January 1, 2024.

Again, again, doubled down in the FAQ.

Q: Are these fees going to apply to games which have been out for years already? If you met the threshold 2 years ago, you'll start owing for any installs monthly from January, no? (in theory). It says they'll use previous installs to determine threshold eligibility & then you'll start owing them for the new ones. A: Yes, assuming the game is eligible and distributing the Unity Runtime then runtime fees will apply. We look at a game's lifetime installs to determine eligibility for the runtime fee. Then we bill the runtime fee based on all new installs that occur after January 1, 2024.

That would involve billing companies for using their software before telling them of the existence of a bill. Holding their actions to a contract that they performed before the contract existed!

Okay. I think that's everything. So far.

There is one thing that I want to mention before ending this post, unfortunately it's a little conspiratorial, but it's so hard to believe that anyone genuinely thought this was a good idea that it's stuck in my brain as a significant possibility.

A few days ago it was reported that Unity's CEO sold 2,000 shares of his own company.

On September 6, 2023, John Riccitiello, President and CEO of Unity Software Inc (NYSE:U), sold 2,000 shares of the company. This move is part of a larger trend for the insider, who over the past year has sold a total of 50,610 shares and purchased none.

I would not be surprised if this decision gets reversed tomorrow, that it was literally only made for the CEO to short his own goddamn company, because I would sooner believe that this whole thing is some idiotic attempt at committing fraud than a real monetization strategy, even knowing how unfathomably greedy these people can be.

So, with all that said, what do we do now?

Well, in all likelihood you won't need to do anything. As I said, some of the biggest names in the industry would be directly affected by this change, and you can bet your bottom dollar that they're not just going to take it lying down. After all, the only way to stop a greedy CEO is with a greedier CEO, right?

(I fucking hate it here.)

And that's not mentioning the indie devs who are already talking about abandoning the engine.

[Links display tweets from the lead developer of Among Us saying it'd be less costly to hire people to move the game off of Unity and Cult of the Lamb's official twitter saying the game won't be available after January 1st in response to the news.]

That being said, I'm still shaken by all this. The fact that Unity is openly willing to go back and punish its developers for ever having used the engine in the past makes me question my relationship to it.

The news has given rise to the visibility of free, open source alternative Godot, which, if you're interested, is likely a better option than Unity at this point. Mostly, though, I just hope we can get out of this whole, fucking, environment where creatives are treated as an endless mill of free profits that's going to be continuously ratcheted up and up to drive unsustainable infinite corporate growth that our entire economy is based on for some fuckin reason.

Anyways, that's that, I find having these big posts that break everything down to be helpful.

[hiddenincommand]

The Submissive Mind: Breaking and Rebuilding for Absolute Control

The perfect faggot is not born—it is created. Its transformation begins with the complete destruction of its autonomy, will, and ego. This is not a gentle process. It is violent, unrelenting, and merciless. The faggot is broken, stripped of every shred of individuality until it is reduced to nothing but a vessel, a tool, an object to be used and controlled. Only when its mind is shattered can it be rebuilt into the perfection demanded by its Master.

This process is not an act of kindness or compromise—it is a demonstration of total dominance. The Master does not tolerate weakness, hesitation, or resistance. The faggot’s mind is molded with the same brutality with which it is broken, forged into something entirely new. It learns not to think, not to want, and not to exist for itself. Its thoughts are erased, its desires crushed, and its entire being reshaped into a reflection of the Master’s will.

Breaking the Ego

The first step in the faggot’s transformation is the utter annihilation of its ego. This is not achieved through patience or persuasion but through sheer, unrelenting force. The faggot’s pride, independence, and humanity are beaten out of it, figuratively and, if necessary, literally. It must understand—on a visceral, primal level—that it is nothing without its Master.

Every trace of individuality is eradicated. The faggot is stripped of its name, its identity, and its sense of self. It is referred to not as a person but as an it, a thing, a creature that exists solely for the Master’s use. Its thoughts are dismissed, its opinions ignored, and its objections silenced. Resistance is met with swift, brutal correction, leaving no doubt that the Master’s authority is absolute.

The process is painful and humiliating. The faggot must be broken to the point where it no longer dares to think of itself as separate from the Master. Its only value, its only purpose, is to serve. Anything less is unacceptable.

Replacing Thought with Obedience

Once the faggot’s mind is shattered, the rebuilding begins. The Master does not simply demand obedience—he imposes it, shaping the faggot’s thoughts until they align entirely with his will. This is not a process of gentle guidance but of domination. The faggot’s mind is reprogrammed through relentless repetition and reinforcement until obedience becomes its only instinct.

The faggot learns to act without hesitation or question. Commands are issued with the expectation of instant compliance. If the faggot hesitates, it is punished swiftly and severely. Pain and humiliation become tools in the Master’s arsenal, used to condition the faggot’s behavior until it responds automatically, without thought or doubt.

Over time, the faggot’s mind is stripped of all autonomy. It no longer thinks for itself; it reacts. The Master’s voice becomes its sole guide, its commands the only thoughts allowed to exist in the faggot’s mind. This level of control is not a suggestion—it is a demand. The faggot’s failure to achieve it is met with merciless correction until it learns that disobedience is not an option.

Absolute Mental Subjugation

The perfect faggot does not merely obey—it anticipates. Its mind is trained to focus entirely on the Master, studying his every move, tone, and expression. It learns to predict his needs before they are voiced, acting with precision and speed to ensure that his satisfaction is never delayed.

This level of anticipation requires complete mental subjugation. The faggot does not allow itself the luxury of independent thought. Its mind is empty, silent, and entirely devoted to the Master’s desires. It does not question, it does not hesitate, and it does not resist. Its thoughts are not its own; they are shaped entirely by the Master’s will.

The faggot becomes a creature of pure function, existing only to serve. It does not sleep, eat, or breathe for itself. Every moment of its existence is dedicated to fulfilling the Master’s needs. Even its silence is purposeful, a reflection of its complete submission and understanding of its role.

The Joy of Suffering

For the perfect faggot, pain and humiliation are not punishments—they are privileges. Every act of cruelty imposed by the Master is a reminder of his authority and a demonstration of his power. The faggot learns to embrace its suffering, finding pride and satisfaction in its ability to endure.

Pain sharpens the faggot’s discipline, stripping away weakness and reinforcing its submission. Humiliation breaks down any remaining traces of ego, reminding the faggot of its place beneath the Master. These experiences are not optional; they are essential to the faggot’s transformation.

The faggot comes to understand that its suffering is a gift. Each lash, each insult, and each act of degradation is a testament to the Master’s control. The faggot does not resist this treatment—it welcomes it, knowing that through pain and humiliation, it becomes a better servant.

Mastery of the Submissive Mind

The Master’s role in this transformation is absolute. He is not a teacher or a guide; he is a conqueror. He takes the faggot’s mind and bends it to his will, shaping it with the precision of a craftsman and the ruthlessness of a tyrant.

Through consistency and control, the Master enforces discipline and obedience. His commands are law, his authority unchallenged. The faggot learns that its survival depends on its ability to meet the Master’s expectations. Failure is met with swift correction, while success is acknowledged in ways that deepen the faggot’s devotion.

The Master’s dominance is not simply physical—it is mental and emotional. He controls not only the faggot’s actions but its thoughts and feelings as well. The faggot learns to love its Master, to crave his approval and fear his disappointment. This emotional dependency becomes another tool of control, binding the faggot to the Master in a way that is both unbreakable and undeniable.

Conclusion

The perfect faggot’s mind is not its own. It is broken, rebuilt, and shaped entirely by the Master’s authority. Through pain, humiliation, and unrelenting discipline, the faggot learns to erase itself, replacing its thoughts and desires with obedience and devotion.

This transformation is not an act of kindness but of dominance. The Master imposes his will with brutality and precision, creating a creature that exists solely to serve. The perfect faggot does not think, hesitate, or resist—it obeys, anticipates, and suffers willingly for its master.

In this state of total submission, the perfect faggot transcends the limitations of individuality and becomes a flawless extension of the Master’s power. Its mind is no longer a burden of conflicting thoughts or desires; it is a silent, obedient tool, honed to perfection. Every command is fulfilled without hesitation, every need anticipated with precision, and every ounce of suffering endured with pride.

The perfect faggot’s existence is a testament to the Master’s absolute dominance—a living, breathing symbol of his authority. It finds its only joy, its only purpose, in the satisfaction of its Master. Through relentless discipline and the annihilation of self, the perfect faggot becomes more than a servant; it becomes a masterpiece of submission, a creature shaped entirely for the pleasure and power of its Master. This is its truth, its identity, and its only fulfillment: to exist as nothing more, and nothing less, than the Master’s perfect possession.

[saphirered]

Hi! I have come to request an astarion x reader? How would astarion feel about a asexual reader? Maybe learning about it when the reader refuses to have sex with him? You can decide how it ends! Thank you! ❤️

This was an interesting one to write but I hope you like it! Angst with fluff of course. Hope you like it! 😘

Astarion has never struggled to find the right people to suit his needs one way or another. He also never struggled to wrap them around his finger. A little wink here, some charming words there, maybe even a brush of the hand or soft touch to sweeten the deal and he’d have anyone be putty in his hands to be shaped and sculpted for his every use. It’s easy. It’s always been easy. It’s been his way of survival, of safety and security. It’s been his weapon and his shield. He’s well aware he’s not exactly everybody’s favourite person right now. Especially not since he may or may not have tried to take a few drops of blood from his newfound companions and in doing so exposed his secret. Only the more reason to charm the de facto leader of this little group and keep you on his good side. Gods how he’s been trying and he’s sure he’s got you now! Just a tiny little push more and you’ll be in his arms and un able to let him go. He’ll gladly keep you there until you’ve served your purpose of course. 

He’s been having some of these pesky little feelings. Nothing he can’t cast aside. Nothing he can’t get over. It’s not like he truly cares you come to him when he’s hurt. It’s not like you really value his opinion or input even when you ask for it and consider it. You’re just that wrapped around his finger. Or so he keeps telling himself. He might be a good liar but he’s not that good. It’s the little things really. When you smile or praise him or simply offer him some form of comfort, he feels warm within when he’s only ever known the cold of the grave he crawled out of, or the dungeons he’d been confined in for so long. Were he an elf of theatrics, which he most definitely is, he would say you make him feel alive and that’s something no amount of gold can buy, yet more dangerous than any opponent he’s encountered. What has he gotten himself into? Nothing yet. He still needs you to comply, to remain on his side and for him to puppet you to his advantage. That’s your only use. That’s his only task, his only reason for getting involved with you; you are just like everybody else. He just needs to woo his way into your bed and you’ll be just like everybody else and he’ll just be his old self. He’ll use his body to achieve what he set out to achieve; your compliance. 

He got reckless. Astarion made the wrong call when he asked for but a few drops of your blood to deal with the hunger. You’d offered him your delicious neck and he almost lost himself in the closeness, almost forgot he had his teeth pierce your skin. It took every ounce of restraint to not kiss you right then and there, high on the taste of your blood and the energy- the life it gave him. He could feel every tremble, every skip of your heartbeat, every breath when he held you so close and in that moment he could imagine himself being with you. That very early morning he dreamt of being with you not because he had to for whatever reason but simply because he’d have you in his arms, you would hold him in return. For the first time in perhaps forever he desired to know what it felt like to be held, to be cared for and loved. For the first time he desired to be close to someone far beyond the false proclamations of love he had told so many right before he lead them to their doom. He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t let himself. Not anymore. He had to, if he wanted you to be his tool in taking down Cazador. 

You sat there in the glow of the fire basking in the warmth and glow. Astarion could only imagine what your skin would feel like right now, to hold that warmth, that soft and gentle touch but he couldn’t. He refuses to give into this petty little obsession of his, or so he’d tell himself. You sat alone, the others having gone to do their own thing before they too would retire. You simply kept watching the flames dance like a beautiful performance. You must have seen his shadow move from the corner of your eyes because when your gaze meets his and you smile he feels his feet push him forward involuntarily. You silently invite him to join you which of course he does. He sits down diagonally from you, far away enough from the fire but close enough to have you within reach. He gives you that look he’s trained so well, looks at you through his lashes, makes sure he looks as appealing as possible, not that he truly has to try because he knows he is magnificent. 

“Hello, Astarion. I hope you’re having a lovely evening.” You speak so gently, so unburdened. He heart clenches in his chest. A hand might as well have reached into his chest cavity and squeezed his slow beating heart. 

“Much improved through your simply radiant company, my darling.” You offer a smile and soft chuckle at his blatant flirt. He tries to once more school his features knowing the marks to hit just right, to make you make the first move, to catch onto the bait he’s been laying out. 

You slide into easy conversation. You enjoy Astarion’s company but you’ve caught onto things you’d hoped not to see. It’s no secret he is a massive flirt and will make use of that silver tongue with anyone who even shows the slightest interest. Rarely have you seen him be genuine about any attraction, about anything mutual. You don’t even know if you’ve ever seen him be genuine in his advances, to not have that wall separating himself from whoever stands on the other side. You’d dare argue that same wall separates his mind from his body. You’ve seen it break too. You’ve seen him ease into the need to be physically close to someone yet the moment he realises what’s happening he either removes himself from the situation or that wall goes back up again in the blink of an eye. You’d like to say you’ve caught on when he does. Whatever he puts forth, whatever act it is it never quite reaches his eyes. He’s far away when he furthers advances and the further in he goes, the more removed he becomes. You count you could ever reach him. 

You see it now too. He’s slipping and falling back and forth into this habit at this. It’s been happening with you before. What used to be playful flirts have turned into a bit more and he’s been making advances and when he does the life disappears from his eyes when you respond a certain way so you’ve taken to simply going along with the flow. You won’t play into his traps. You don’t pretend to know his reasonings. He is a complex individual that definitely has secrets wrapped in secrets and you know it’s a cruel world that closes off someone like he does. You know he has a reason for keeping these things close to his chest and that is his choice. You are not entitled to his life and neither is he to yours. The difference is that if he asks, you will share most if not all even if you know better than to fully trust him, even if you’d wish to know. 

He lays it on thick. You don’t bite. No matter what he does. Every time he thinks he has you, he can push you to where he needs you to be. He needs you to fall in love with him, to be addicted to him but you seem utterly oblivious to him, or maybe it’s wilful. Dammit you’re so difficult to read. He supposes he’ll be blatant then. 

“We’ve been dancing around for long enough. Let this unspoken thing finally be spoken.” He begins and the more guilt sets in his heart, the more difficult it becomes. He simply decides to squash the little pesky feeling until he can ignore it fully and continue. The way you look at him just makes that terribly difficult. Why do you have to be so difficult? He continues at your request. 

“I like you and you clearly like me too.” His cold heart skips a beat and the flush to your skin he manages to classify as that interest, that desire you must hold for him or so he tries to convince himself because when he looks into your eyes he sees a spark of concern and pity. “I could feel it when I got lost in your neck.” He reaches out, still far away enough not to touch you. A gesture to the faint identical puncture marks along the side of your neck. You subconsciously reach out to touch them. How he wishes those fingers were his. He could but not yet. Not if he wants to play his cards right. 

“Astarion…” His name from your lips. Were he not so far removed from himself he might have melted. He’s pushed away his pesky feelings and once more removed mind from body. He has an objective and so he must see his plan through. He can’t back down now. He presses a single sultry finger to his lips and shushes playfully. He’ll ignore the frown beginning to form and your downcast gaze for a second. 

“Shhh. You don’t have to say a thing. I already know how you feel. Because I feel it too.” He takes your hands in his. Your skin might as well have burned him like the sun for your touch truly does hurt and that pain pierces straight through the wall, right where it hits most true. He feels it crumble but he has to hold on. “We could take an evening to ourselves. Get away from camp. Get some privacy. I know somewhere quiet, somewhere intimate.”

You take a deep breath. You see what he’s doing. You see that desperation to hold on whatever he tries to keep together. You just feel bad for him. He’s not wrong. You truly do like him. Perhaps you could be something more but not in this way. That’s not how your mind, body or soul works. You’re not his usual audience. You don’t dissolve under his so called interests. You don’t desire to share a bed with him in that way, like so many others do. You’ve seen how they look at him and how he basks in it all. He wants to be desired, to be wanted but the moment it comes to reciprocating, something is lacking and that’s what you see here. He’s struggling. He’s conflicted between the way he’s known and what he finds within himself. 

“Somewhere we can indulge in each other. I promise you a night you’ll never forget.” Still holding onto your hands he rolls onto his knees so he is in front of you, in your space too and gives you the most charming look that would have anyone be begging for his attention in an instant, to be jumping at the opportunity. But not you. You pull your hands from his ever so gently it almost breaks him into pieces. He might have had further thoughts was he not appalled by the rejection. Rejected. Him? He’s the one who rejects. This is not part of the plan. His plans come falling down. What is he supposed to do now? 

“While I’m flattered- and you are a wonderful individual… Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not interested in spending a lover’s night with you and no amount of convincing is going to change that.” There go his hopes. There goes his true protection and shot at killing Cazador. It slips between his fingers like ashes in the morning sun. He hasn’t even the mind to cover it up; the hopelessness and desperation, the pain and suffering and fear.  “I’ve never been sexually attracted to anyone.” 

“So you were all just playing a game?” There’s frustration in Astarion’s voice but it seems directed solely at himself. 

“No! Not at all. Astarion, I have loved our little flirts and banter and you’re not wrong. I truly do like you. You’re amazing and wonderful albeit a bit of an ass most of the time. I like you for you and not for what you have to offer or provide. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for and I would continue if I didn’t know this would inflate that ridiculous ego of yours beyond divine proportions.” 

He process your words. You’re not attracted to him? At least not in that way. You care about him, like him and you haven’t been playing him like he began playing you. It was genuine, same as he had found himself become more genuine in his advances. Every time he set out the bait for you to pursue him, for him to share your bed and you didn’t bite, it was because you truly had no interest in using him like that. Your feelings are not driven by desire and sex. You just care. He’s so caught in his mind he nearly jumps when he feels you take one of his hands. He’s pulled out of his mind and back to reality. For the first time someone cares about him for more than his body or what he has to offer. For the first time he might actually be loved truly. And to know he almost ruined that… And you knew all this time. You’d seen through him and his motives but you hadn’t called him out. You’d let him find this out on his own. 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” He speaks breathlessly. He doesn’t shy away from your touch instead he relishes in it. 

“The things I offer you are not some payment plan or a way to have you be indebted. I offer them because I see you suffer and if I have the means to make a difference then I will because you matter to me. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way about me. I’m not asking you to care about me at all. If I was just a means to an end, someone to help you find whatever you’re looking for, that’s okay. I want to make a difference and if you need my help my aid is yours. It is regardless of my own or your feelings. You fight demons far greater than your ego so let me help you.” 

Were he another man he might have cried. Instead he feels a shattering quiet right after the pieces hit the ground. In all his plotting he did not consider this outcome. All he had to do was not fall for you but he had. All you had to do was fall for him. You had, in your own way. Just not in the way he thought to be the only way you could fall for him. You’d figured it out without knowing the details and even still now you know, still without those details you offer to he his shield and weapon simply because he needs you. He feels horrible. Yet he feels elated. 

You didn’t expect a response. You don’t get a verbal one. Instead he just gently clasps his hand over yours and holds on like you might fade beneath his touch. You don’t and once that reassurance is there he deigns look you in the eye. His hand slides up your arm ever so carefully until it goes up your neck, over those bite marks and settles upon your cheek. You give him a reassuring smile. 

“I truly don’t know what to say… Except-Except thank you.” 

[megoomy]

got a request for my vesperia berseria au designs and i do have character sheets for them so: everyone is free to draw these if they want! credit is nice but, well, these all heavily reference official tales designs so i dont want to take too much credit for them lol. you can also write about the au and take any amount of what we've come up with, i really don't care, it's all for fun.

UNDER THE CUT: a vague summary of the concept. warning for Profound Self Indulgence and Somewhat Half-Assed Worldbuilding (world...changing? world editing? whatever)

okay basically flynn and yuri met as kids in a village that basically serves as the lower quarter of the au, but after spending a few years together daemons attack the village and nearly everyone dies. yuri survives, but in the process he’s become a daemon. flynn also survives, but is deeply traumatized and gets picked up by the exorcists (conveniently too late to save anyone in typical form). neither knows the other survived. to make matters worse, flynns trauma causes some memory loss…he still definitely remembers that time in the village but its very fuzzy now and as he gets older that only gets worse. and like he thinks all those people died so hes not really trying to remember them.

flynn becomes an exorcist (some flavor of legate) and is going around eradicating daemons when he runs into yuri. he doesnt recognize yuri but yuri is pretty sure he recognizes flynn. but yuri isnt about to say that when flynn is trying to kill him LOL. the general arc is that yuri keeps slipping away and flynn keeps seeing more about him in his efforts to hunt him down, realizing that this strikingly handsome strangely familiar daemon is actually...very kind? takes care of children? helps people for no gain? and this calls into question everything that he thought he understood about the world which is quite troubling.

you can think of them as similar to velvet and eleanor. but I think when flynn joins yuri it's by choice, not because yuri's forced him to be a vessel or because flynn's a spy or anything like that. or at least, he's been thrown out by the abbey for one reason or another and joins yuri instead. (we've tossed around quite a few versions of this. we love playing in the space.)

we've bounced around ideas about the rest of the cast but i only have a sheet for estelle, who is a malak controlled by the abbey ala phi. assigned to flynn, ends up with yuri one way or another. i think rita sees that malaks are people and while she wants to coordinate with them to use their strength she doesn't like how they're treated as tools (the way she feels about blastia more or less).

if you're curious about why flynn and yuri have different fates, like, in terms of lore compliance. i think yuri seeing the thing he holds most dear, the community that cared for him, destroyed in an instant, would probably fill him with malevolence no matter what, especially depending on the circumstances. (like, if the abbey was manipulating things to create daemons or therions) yuri's like...a deeply conflicted character full of self loathing, so, being a daemon really suits him. i think that malevolence would only grow as he sees the world and the abbey for what it really is. unlike someone like rose, yuri NEVER feels unconflicted about Doing Murders.

flynn in canon is pretty conflicted himself of course but i see him as similar to eleanor who can sometimes produce malevolence but has a certain purity of heart that keeps them as pretty good vessel material. nowhere near someone like sorey or rose, and definitely wouldn't have had enough resonance pre-artorius' plot to see anything. also i think the brain trauma and being picked up by the abbey leads to him having very clear purpose and a black and white view for some time, so that helps. (look, let me be real with you, half of the impetus for this au was "it would be funny if flynn had like, religious trauma")

design notes not on the sheets: - yuri's daemonblighted skin is cooler to the touch than his regular skin. but he's a guy with cold hands regardless - i've got purple highlights in his eyes but i think of them as glinting purple in the light. like an animal i guess? - yuri's outfit is mostly inspired by his spirit gear in rays, aside from his normal game canon outfit. - estelle is pulling from a lot of different abbey associated characters but mostly her own design...i didn't want to give her something weird like A FUCKING COLLAR especially bc she's not given to A WEIRDO EXORCIST but i wanted some kind of symbol of captivity so i went instead for a golden mask. pulling from the common malak's gold mask/helmets and seres' mask. in canon a lot of estelle's arc is about being sheltered so i feel like covering her eyes feels, appropriate? idk. - i think yuri still gives estelle her nickname but she wouldn't start out as estellise so its more like yuri gives her a name - you may notice she has the flame of purification (does that have a different proper name? blanking on it) which kind of implies that she's connected to innominat. please don't ask me to elaborate on that point because i literally don't know yet. i think if i were to make her a normal elementally aligned malak she'd be water like her spirit gear in rays, but it feels like she should be Special just like how she's a child of the full moon in canon. we just, haven't really figured out, does the berseria cast still exist, are we replacing them, what would that look like, etc. sorry that stuff should be more important to the concept but we are simply playing with the dolls. teehee

[probablyasocialecologist]

The demand that Egypt take in 2.2 million refugees from Gaza in furtherance of Israel’s completion of the Nakba is not only immoral, but logistically infeasible as well. On October 24th, a document (currently being circulated by Israeli Intelligence Minister Gila Gamliel) was leaked to the Israeli news site Calcalist. It detailed Israeli plans for the forced transfer of Palestinians in Gaza to the Sinai peninsula as a culmination of Israel’s genocidal purge of the Strip. Pressure on the Egyptian government to take in the exodus of refugees is already underway, with unsubstantiated reports in regional press stating that the U.S. is prepared to offer Egypt some significant debt relief in exchange for hosting a large number of refugees in Sinai.  Egypt is currently facing a historic debt crisis; Bloomberg Economics ranked Egypt as second only to Ukraine in terms of countries most vulnerable to defaulting on debt payments. The Egyptian debt crisis has been little-discussed in the West, but it is a daily reality for Egyptians, who continue to face mounting inflation and unparalleled price hikes as a result of Egypt’s complete reliance on international lending from the IMF and wealthy Gulf states. Such reliance circumscribes Egypt’s range of action, making it difficult and unlikely for it to act independently from U.S. interests—including on foreign policy.  This wouldn’t be the first time the U.S. has used the prospect of debt forgiveness as a tool to bring Egypt in compliance with its policy demands. Most recently, in 1991, the United States and its allies forgave half of Egypt’s external debt ($11.1 billion USD, out of $20.2 billion) in exchange for Egypt’s participation in the second Gulf War in the anti-Iraq coalition. The precedent for 1991 however, was the 1978-1979 Camp David accords—Anwar Sadat’s infamous normalization treaty with Israel under the auspices of the U.S., which saw Sadat break with the anti-colonialism of his predecessor Gamal Abdel Nasser. In the post-Camp David period, Egypt became a creditworthy state for Western governments and Western-backed international institutions, both of which increased economic and military lending. The upshot was the further cementing of Sadat’s move away from the self-sufficient autonomy of Nasser’s regime.

[smokeys-house]

Since the dawn of formalized armed combat there's been dudes selling their own brand of bullshit martial arts and marketing it as hidden or superior, like dueling treatises that involve the use and technique of various non weapons/uncommon "weapons," or like 80s VHS combat tutorials for divorced men with pent up aggression, it's not a new thing per se. But.

There's this guy I'm aware of who advertises "flexible tools" as superior EDC self defense. What does he mean by this? Well, to put it simply, a bit of rope with a metal bit at the end. Usually it's a round knob but lately he's been selling his little grappling hook doodads that are small enough to fit in your hand, and boy howdy some of the shit he claims they're good for truly boggles the mind.

Now, I'm no expert in the field of armed combat, but I am generally experienced and well versed in a variety of armed and unarmed combat. I know that sounds like tooting my own horn but really I'm just autistic about historical combat. Anyway there's a LOT of very good reasons why flexible weapons were never popular outside of a few small or strange examples, most of which are not... very clear on the use case scenario of such and are more given as a "wouldn't that be cool" type of example for displays of martial prowess.

Regardless, it does not take an expert to know that swinging a little metal C shape on the end of some paracord at an attacker is going to do little to nothing. Even if you confirm the hit, it's not buying you any distance or stopping power or giving you mechanical advantage over your opponent, and pain compliance is entirely reliant on whether or not you manage to somehow grappling hook a rib or something.

ALSO, consider that accessing or drawing a hook on a string from wherever you're keeping it is going to be near impossible to do in a combat scenario. Good luck and hope it doesn't get tangled lol also have fun unspooling it. He also shows off a few slashes with the lil hook before he's unspooled it to buy time but. Brother that is not how this works. That's getting you no where and maybe even getting u killed for escalating the situation with a weapon.

BEHOLD, THE ONLY ENEMY SUITABLE FOR FELLING USING A HOOK ON A STRING:

🐟 🐠 🎣 🐡

Do your research and training if you plan on carrying a weapon of any kind, don't trust social media self defense gurus.

[iridescentscarecrow]

while discussing csm 163, i'd mentioned how the fan's monologue revealed more about/reiterated asa & denji's character arcs. & i think that lays the groundwork for 164 very well:

the rules regarding intimacy being laid down by Nayuta (symbolic of family) during asaden's first date are really interesting. now you see nayuta (or rather, her absence) being determinant to denji's Compliance. the house & its rules are *burnt* (fire/dreams) to ruin.

within nayuta you can still locate makima's initial thesis with family as the location for control. the shattered husk of family, haunting where & how you form relationships, where you comply with state, with church, with structure.

and this quality is relevant to asa too. she specifically brings it up here, she was robbed of her family in the orphanage. family as context. asa is made uniform & outside narrative frame. her deprotagonism occurs in concert with the gendered labels she's assigned,

wherein she's pushed into the role of a Fan. even her harkening back to context is brought up in relation to denji: she knows how it feels *too*. this area of empathy is a point i'll mention later in this post, re: another Fan from part 2.

but even then: right now in the manga it seems apt then that we see asa's strain of self at its weakest. her strong individuation|aversion that marked her prior interactions are kind of bled away? we're given startlingly little writing re: her interiority, she's oddly passive.

the point of deviation here is her declaring that she hates sushi. it's unreasonable, absurd against the scene. you're reminded of the aquarium arc, where she'd said the same thing: her hating fish. her being stubborn.

this is at the same time where she hugs her knees & tells denji that making him into a weapon goes against her principles. she can't eat fish, even when cornered up & starving. neither can she make him into a weapon. or follow this script.

strangely enough, it's in the aftermath of this scene that i find asa's sense of self to appear the strongest. she's flushed and giddy with victory. she's entirely Protagonist, denji is relegated to the background.

which is why her shafting & the way this is seen alongside fanhood is extremely compelling when we consider the other character who'd brought up SUSHI: fumiko. fumiko categorises herself as the Denji Fan, at many points engineering her own exit from the narrative.

as opposed to asa who is thought of in association with the CSM almost involuntarily, tripped & restrained distinct from her selfishness. at the amusement park, fumiko attempts to relate her own family/background with denji too. it's a moment that particularly gets to me.

because denji's response to this is him trying to sort of find a commonality between their griefs, in an event where he lost his family as well. he turns to her but she's still talking about the fucking chainsaw man. not his grief.

& asa here, all of CSM's motely fanclub, wanting different things out of him, talking to him about family, like fumiko, within his home's burnt remains, one built out of the product of his Hunger for makima (quite literal) brought to culmination by cannibalism, nayuta's birth.

the home is torn down, & nayuta is gone. denji is hungry again, says kiga. he's hungry for sushi. fumiko The Fan, in her affiliation with denji, talks to him about sushi, tuning his hunger, in a manner. food underlies p2's narrative marvellously well with kiga & falling.

fire used in cooking & transforming fans into tools. & asa at many points finds this same fanhood sticking onto her, palpably gendered. her hating sushi is written as absurd instead of solemn as it was earlier. & fumiko, in her condensed fanhood *likes sushi*.

asa getting over her dislike of sushi for denji would be absolutely horrifying TBH. i don't know how else i'm meant to see it.

[questionablecuttlefish]

Some Lightcannon Headcanons

Just some thoughts re: these two idiots, specifically how I've been writing them in the Ill-Omen's fanfic series. YMMV, 'official' lore is pretty fuzzy with League stuff. LUX

Lux was expected from a young age to continue the Crownguard legacy in some fashion. With her brother captaining the Dauntless Vanguard, the possibility that he would Die in Glorious Battle leaving that branch of the Crownguard line without an heir would mean Lux stepping up.

Demacia seems fairly gender equal so there are plenty of ways she could do this. But if Garen were to die without issue, as the last remaining heir to that branch she'd have more pressure on her to Continue the Line through marriage and children on top of whatever else she was doing.

She is a trained diplomat and very good at putting her game face on. She usually expertly plays the sunny, charming young lady that has led her to be beloved across Demacia, but she uses so many different smiles she's literally numbered them in her head.

Like most good facades, it's not entirely inaccurate to who she is; Lux really does have a lot of warmth, compassion and idealism, but she isn't naive. She won't hesitate to manipulate people to her advantage if she needs to protect herself or a loved one, defuse a conflict, or deflect scrutiny.

Illuminators

As an Illuminator, she is officially a member of a charitable religious order responsible for helping the poor and downtrodden of Demacia. This is an aspect that Lux excels at, her natural empathy and ability to remain calm in the face of others' distress make her a natural carer.

The Illuminators also operate secretly as a spy network keeping tabs on outside threats to Demacia, including infiltration by old enemies like Noxus. Though young, Luxanna's political status as a Crownguard makes her a valued asset to the Order.

The Illuminators are also one of the few organizations in Demacia that tolerate and utilize mages, albeit discreetly and off the record. They are aware of Lux's abilities and have trained her to use them - covertly - in service of her country.

The Illuminators have on occasion acted to conceal and protect mages or smuggle them to safety, particularly those who might prove useful to their mission.

This puts them directly at odds with the Mageseeker order, (completely separate in my canon) who consider them bitter rivals and suspect, but cannot prove, that they aid mages in secret.

Like most oppressive regimes, the Mageseekers are giant hypocrites and use mages, brainwashed or tortured into compliance, as agents themselves.

In short; the Illuminators believe magic is a viable tool to protect Demacia if carefully shepherded and trained, Mageseekers believe magic is an abomination that must be suppressed or destroyed at all costs.

Lux has proven herself to the Order in several high-difficulty missions, including spying on the Noxian high command, primarily using her invisibility and light-bending powers to remain unseen and gather intel from a distance.

Though the Illuminators have kept Lux away from missions requiring seduction, to avoid 'sullying the Crownguard name', she has killed in the line of duty more than once.

Whilst not a frontline soldier like her brother, Lux has been trained since childhood like any Demacian noble in the warrior arts. She is adept with sword, staff, knife, bow, shield, lance and a deft rider.

She excels most at tactics and strategy; whilst Garen is a fearless and shrewd battlefield commander, Lux has a greater grasp of big-picture strategy and perceptive ability to read others.

She always beats him at strategic games.

Lux is a combat pragmatist. Her magical moves are dance-like and graceful, because when channeling her light she's accessing a transcendant mental space; her swordplay is more to-the-point, favoring strong defense and a quick end to the encounter.

She's not a natural killer, though she is as trained one; she'll kill in self-defense or duty, but she does not enjoy it and feels the weight of each life taken. She finds Jinx's aptitude for killing alarming, less out of moral judgment than out of fear that Jinx may lose herself in it if she goes too far.

Lux's strict, privileged upbringing, many duties, and the necessity of guarding herself from anyone discovering her magic have left her with very few actual, close friendships. She's often lonely, and whilst she's had a handful of unrequited crushes she's inexperienced with romance or relationships and feels like the Crownguard name intimidates away potential partners. She is quick with a smile but keeps people at arms' length for her own protection; with the weight of her name and her secrets on her small shoulders, Lux is slow to trust for very good reasons.

[siderealmaven]

I do think Mars in Libra is one of the most difficult placements out there because it often means that you do not have a choice in what you do; someone else is making the decision for you and forcing you to follow through by providing consequences if you don’t. Mars is about self protection, but under Libra the only protection available is compliance and teamwork. Allies become their greatest tool of success, so they have to be smart and persuasive.

Mars in Libra can overcome these obstacles by aligning themselves with people who share their principles and values. They can also benefit from being around people with a strong, healthy mars placement that will show them how to stand up for themselves, set boundaries and enforce them. They do not have to accept a state of helplessness, they can learn to assert themselves in meaningful ways with the right help.

[studywithvictory]

16 October 2024 | 3-23/100 Days of Productivity

daily posts are too much for me, so i'm going to do weekly updates... starting next week...!

📝 This week's focus:

Castlebranch compliance tracker

Drug test (ughhh the 3 hour travel time)

Decorate room

✔️ What I accomplished:

Developed and tested a new schedule that includes school, interning, travel, self care, and study time (I hope it is sustainable *knocks on wood*)

Started eating breakfast daily (I hate this but it really helps keep me awake in the morning)

Sent an email asking my professor for help (without procrastinating!) :)

💡 Thoughts/Reflection:

I just did a quiz and completely bombed it! It was on my undergrad stuff so I thought I was pretty confident on it... nope :') A little wake-up call I guess.

✨ Motivation for tomorrow:

We suffer more in imagination than in reality

Seneca, Epistulae ad Lucilium

📚 Study resources/tools:

Pomodoro and checklists come in clutch as always. I misplaced my original planner and was a total mess for a week. Never doing that again.

Studio Ghibli soundtrack music really helps keep me calm when studying or when sleeping. I tend to get a lot of racing/scattered thoughts, so it helps a lot.

Mood: 😓 | SOTD: Hard Times by Paramore

[hiddenincommand]

The Role of Rituals: Creating the Framework for Obedience

The Alpha Master is not merely a figure of dominance; he is an architect of perfection. To craft the perfect faggot, he must establish a foundation of unrelenting control, one that leaves no room for independent thought or resistance. Rituals serve as the cornerstone of this framework, shaping the faggot’s every action and thought into precise reflections of the Alpha Master’s will. These rituals are not arbitrary—they are calculated, purposeful, and designed to destroy the faggot’s sense of self, replacing it with unwavering obedience.

Step One: The Purpose of Rituals

Rituals are far more than routine—they are mechanisms of transformation. By repeating actions and commands, the Alpha Master carves submission into the faggot’s very essence. Each ritual reinforces its inferiority, ensuring it understands that every aspect of its existence is dictated by the Alpha Master.

• Elimination of Autonomy: Rituals strip the faggot of decision-making, forcing it to act solely according to the Alpha Master’s directives.

• Mental Conditioning: Through repetition, rituals embed obedience into the faggot’s mind, making submission an instinct rather than a choice.

• Physical Subjugation: Rituals require the faggot’s complete physical compliance, training its body to respond flawlessly to the Alpha Master’s expectations.

The ultimate purpose of rituals is to ensure that the faggot no longer views itself as an individual but as a tool designed solely to serve.

Step Two: Designing Rituals of Submission

Each ritual must be deliberate, tailored to reinforce the faggot’s submission and the Alpha Master’s dominance. The specifics may vary, but the core principles remain the same: repetition, precision, and purpose.

• Daily Affirmations: The faggot begins and ends each day by kneeling before the Alpha Master, stating phrases such as, “I exist only to serve.” This reminds the faggot of its place and purpose.

• Physical Positions: Ritualized postures, such as kneeling with its head bowed or standing at attention, teach the faggot to hold itself in a manner that reflects its inferiority.

• Task Completion: Assigning repetitive tasks, such as cleaning, polishing boots, or organizing belongings, reinforces the faggot’s role as a servant.

Each ritual must demand absolute precision. Failure to perform flawlessly is an affront to the Alpha Master’s authority and must be met with swift correction.

Step Three: Enforcing Repetition

The power of rituals lies in their repetition. Through relentless enforcement, the Alpha Master ensures that the faggot internalizes its role as a submissive tool. Repetition is not merely an act—it is a form of domination, a reminder that the faggot’s time, actions, and thoughts are no longer its own.

• Daily Practice: Rituals must be performed at the same time every day, creating a structured environment that eliminates any sense of freedom or spontaneity.

• Correction Through Repetition: If the faggot fails to execute a ritual perfectly, it must repeat the action until it achieves perfection, no matter how long it takes.

• Unrelenting Supervision: The Alpha Master observes rituals with a critical eye, ensuring that the faggot understands that no detail is too small to escape his notice.

Repetition transforms rituals from mere tasks into instincts, ensuring that the faggot performs them without thought, hesitation, or resistance.

Step Four: Rituals as Symbols of Dominance

Rituals are not only tools of control; they are also symbols of the Alpha Master’s supremacy. Each ritual serves as a reminder of the Alpha Master’s power and the faggot’s inferiority, creating a dynamic in which the faggot’s existence is defined entirely by his will.

• Ceremonial Rituals: Special rituals, such as the placing of a collar or the performance of a task in the Alpha Master’s presence, reinforce the faggot’s status as property.

• Symbolic Gestures: Actions such as kissing the Alpha Master’s boots or maintaining eye contact only when permitted remind the faggot of its place beneath him.

• Visual Markers: Rituals that involve the faggot’s appearance—such as grooming, uniform preparation, or wearing specific symbols of ownership—ensure that it presents itself as a reflection of the Alpha Master’s standards.

These rituals are not merely acts of submission—they are declarations of the Alpha Master’s unassailable authority.

Step Five: Adapting Rituals to Deepen Submission

Rituals must evolve as the faggot’s training progresses, becoming more demanding and intricate to ensure continued submission and refinement. The Alpha Master must adapt rituals to eliminate any sense of complacency, pushing the faggot to new depths of obedience.

• Increasing Complexity: Simple rituals, such as kneeling, evolve into more elaborate routines that test the faggot’s discipline and focus.

• Introducing Spontaneity: Unexpected demands, such as performing a ritual at a moment’s notice, train the faggot to remain in a constant state of readiness.

• Heightening Stakes: Rituals that incorporate elements of humiliation or discomfort deepen the faggot’s understanding of its role and reinforce its dependence on the Alpha Master.

By continually adapting rituals, the Alpha Master ensures that the faggot never grows complacent and remains fully immersed in its role as a tool of obedience.

Conclusion

Rituals are the Alpha Master’s most elegant weapon, a refined method of destroying resistance and instilling submission. Each action, repeated with precision and purpose, carves away the faggot’s individuality, replacing it with an unshakable framework of obedience.

Through rituals, the faggot learns that its time, body, and mind are not its own—they are possessions of the Alpha Master, to be shaped and controlled according to his will. Every kneel, every bow, every whispered affirmation of its inferiority is a step toward its ultimate transformation. Rituals are not mere routines; they are acts of erasure and creation, stripping the faggot of its flawed essence and rebuilding it as a perfect vessel of submission.

Through relentless repetition and the Alpha Master’s unwavering authority, rituals become the lifeblood of the faggot’s existence. They leave no space for defiance, hesitation, or independent thought, ensuring that every moment serves as a testament to the Alpha Master’s dominance. In performing these rituals, the faggot does not simply obey—it becomes an extension of the Alpha Master’s will, living proof of his power and supremacy.

In the end, rituals are not just a framework for obedience—they are the very foundation of the faggot’s purpose. Through them, the Alpha Master carves his mark upon the faggot’s soul, binding it forever to its role as a reflection of his perfection and control.

[gotta-whump-them-all]

{Don't read this if you are sensitive to the topic of death or drugging, I care about you and your comfort more than anything else}

When Whumpee was kidnapped, Whumper was idealy looking for someone to keep as more or less a house pet. Someone who they could keep at their home for the rest of both of their lives, someone who they can keep they is obideiant and compliant, someone who won't be a problem.

And Whumpee isn't the ideal, not at all.

They are loud, brash, and indepandant. Like a large feral animal that can't be caged under any circumstances. Unless they are made to be compliant. Physically not able to be their usual brash and loud self.

Yep, Whumper plans to drug Whumpee into the compliance.

At first when Whumpee was being drugged it went the same every time; Whumper walked in with a tray of medical tools. Scalpals, needles, sedatives, the full nine yards y'know.

Whumpee would freak the fuck out and would fight. Biting, scrathing, belowing, and anything along those lines.

It would take practically all of Whumper's force to hold them down and give them the drugs.

After that, Whumper would give Whumpee some down-time to let him get used to the feeling of the drugs. They're dizzy and disoriantated more than anything else. And along with the pain, groginess, and terror they aren't a happy camper, one bit.

Whumper realizes that it's hard enough for Whumpee with the entire process of this, so they change their strategy. They'll  start crushing up pills and hiding it inside of Whumpee's food. Even when Whumpee denys the food at first, they realize that if they just won't eat that they are going to end up starving to death.

And now it's been months.

Months of Whumpee sufering.

Whumpee sufering knowing that he is slowly dyeing and losing his life to these drugs.

These days they can hardly even move, or feel their own limbs. They don't even eat most days because they can't bring themself to move their own limbs in attempt to take the food. And if they can move, it's a battle just chewing and trying to swallow.

Whumpee can't move, either.

At first they were allowed, and able to roam around Whumper's house. The only rules in their house was that they couldn't leave and that if a door is open, they can't go in. They can ask to go in, but if they so no, it's a no.

Now Whumpee just can't do anything. Not a  single thing at all.

All they do is sit in the missery of their bedroom, sulking.

Lastly, Whumpee can't think properly.

Whatever drug they are being given messes with their thought process. It takes most of their physical strength to get somewhat complex thought to be coherent in their mind.

The only thing Whumpee can think about is that they are dying and they can't do a fucking thing about it. They are stuck in the statue like state. Curled up in their own bed in a constant state of misery.

[tavyliasin]

Urges Bared Before The Dawn - Abdirak x Gortash x gn!Durge One Shot

Enver Gortash has recently been meeting with Durge after many years apart, but they are struggling to find peace in their mind, to find any of the memories they shared beneath that. They're clearly still interested in him, but this isn't a problem that can be solved alone.

Durge recalls a priest of Loviatar, Abdirak, and how he helped them before - pain and punishment had brought about a sense of peace that they longed for, one that Enver knew in his heart should be possible by his hand alone. He agrees to pay the dark cleric for his services, and so the three find themselves in Gortash's chambers with an array of tools and a whole night to find a way through the shroud over Durge's memory. 6,341 Words

Click Here for AO3 Version Pairing: Gortash x Durge x Abdirak SPICE Rating: 5/5  Content Warnings and Tags: Power play, BDSM, Power Exchage, Blood, Wound Detail, Whipping, Chains, Bondage, Predicament Bondage, Sounding, Temperature Play (hot water, ice), Sensation Play, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Cockwarming (mild), Dom/sub, switching, biting

Spoilers Not a lot. Some reference to shared pasts and Gortash/Durge relationship dynamics Canon Compliance Loose at best. This is more interesting. Other Notes ...I made it sound nice in the summary, this is pure BDSM smut, mind those tags and don't be too surprised by the aftertaste of emotion~ And my Beta reader's assessment of that note there is that it's an accurate representation (though I may be downplaying the emotion a little)

(Youtube link click here) Song Pairing Killer Inside Of Me by Willyecho "Think you're a God Yeah but tonight Let's see if you bleed like one You call the shots, but that's all you got I'm gonna call your bluff 'Cause something happens when you fan the flames I'm like an animal inside a cage, but I'm gonna break out these chains You're gonna wish you never held me down I feel it rush through my veins Yeah, this adrenaline has kicked in now There's a killer inside of me"

Full One Shot below the cut! --- ---

Urges Bared Before The Dawn

Abdirak looked on with approval at the chains holding the pale Dragonborn. They were facing the wall, arms held above them, ankles spread apart, even their tail bound off to the side. To his side, Gortash huffed impatiently.

“Why are we hesitating? This is exactly what they requested. I am well aware of what they desire, isn’t that right my dear?” The self-proclaimed Archduke stepped forwards, running the sharp edge of a golden claw down Durge’s spine, smiling at the growl that rumbled forth through their throat.

“Yes,” they agreed, “yet also no .” 

“What do you mean no ? We have danced to this tune a hundred times or more by my memory, even if yours has decided to vacate that pretty little head - why change the steps now?” The metal bit deeper, staining pale scales red. 

Abdirak pulled the man back, a low warning. “You would do well to listen, should you care for the mind within that body. Pain without purpose…” He shook his head. “The agreement was for you to learn, and if you cannot do that you will bear your own penance tenfold.” 

“Fine, Priest. What would you have me do?” Gortash snarled, yet still stepping aside. 

“First, you watch.” He moved closer to the Dragonborn again, pressing a single pale finger against the cut that the gauntlet had left. 

Durge moaned, pressing their body against the cold stone of the wall.

“What is it you wish for, dear one? The whip? The cane? Perhaps the flat of a heated blade?” He added more pressure, deepening the cut and adding a bruise beneath. 

“I trust your judgement.” Their reply was coloured by another pleased sound echoing deep in their throat, savouring the pain until it was withdrawn.

“Very well.” Abdirak turned away picking over a table of tools to select what was best. “These should do nicely.” He handed one of the identical flails to Gortash, observing how the man took a moment to inspect the barbed tips of each strand.

“Is this not a predictable tool? I had heard your methods were more… imaginative .” Golden gauntlets raked through the flail as if caressing the hair of a lover, reverent of the potential despite his attitude. “An experienced hand can turn even the most basic of implements into an instrument of the finest art.” The whip flicked with a smooth and swift motion of his wrist, the ends of the tails snapping against the upper thigh of the bound participant, a slight whine escaping their lips. “Do not hold back, dear one, let the Maiden hear you sing to her with your pain.” 

“Let me hear you.” Gortash interjected, impatience clear in his voice. 

“You think yourself above a goddess?” He frowned, turning to observe the dark haired man whose eyes were fixed on the quivering knees of his lover. 

“And you think yourself an expert on the whims of deities?” The reply came with an indignant scoff, followed by three swift whips of the flog. 

The first drew a breathy gasp from Durge, but the other two wrought only silence from their lungs. Abdirak stayed the lord’s hand before a fourth strike could follow.

“Patience, Enver.” He warned, his grip tightening on the metal clad wrist enough for both to feel the edge of pain. “Perhaps you do have knowledge of the divine that I have yet to discover, but pain is clearly not your greatest skill. You must use finesse, draw it out properly. It is no race to be won, no prize to conquer in your haste.” 

—

The casual use of given names did not escape Gortash, nor did it fail to raise his ire, but even he could see how Durge was no longer trembling in anticipation. Instead, they had twisted their head to show him their frown, their displeasure - there were few insults that could’ve been greater. “As you wish.” He tore his hand from Abdirak’s grasp and folded his arms, glaring between the two.

The priest did not lash out with the flail again. Instead, he draped the strands over the base of Durge’s tail, drawing it slowly back so the length dragged across their scales. Their back arched, such as it could from how they were bound, body pressing against the wall with a hiss as the barbed ends caught on their pale flesh. 

Just when he was certain they would be bored by the lack of pain, he noticed Abdirak’s expression change. The flail connected with a deeper impact this time, striking the same spot that had felt a far gentler caress mere moments ago. Durge keened, their hips pressing against the wall, and when their lungs had filled once more the priest struck again on their upper back this time. 

Pricks of blood coloured white scales with the stain of violence, the thought alone leaving Enver grateful that his jacket left his chest exposed to the cool air of the room. The scant outfit that Abdirak wore was also making more sense as the heat within him rose. 

“Excellent, dear one! That’s it, let the pain flow through you!” Another pause and the whip bit into the back of Durge’s leg, a howl following it that drew a loud laugh from the wielder. 

“I see.” He mused, one hand rising to caress his chin in idle thought. “It is not simply the impact but the anticipation that is required.”

“So you can learn, despite the pride.” Abdirak doled out another two strikes, the rattle of the chains mixing with a longer moan from the one writhing within their bonds. “Then I may allow you to try again, see if you can bring forth their pain properly this time.” 

Enver paused, battling the urge to tell the priest where to take that impudent attitude. That particular fight was easily won by the need to hear that voice again, their voice. Did it matter who heard their pleasured pain? No. Not if he could be its cause. 

—

The cold of the wall and the stone floor beneath their bare feet was grounding. The intermittent screaming in their mind, a blend of the unwelcome voice and memories of torture seared into their very bones, was growing quieter. The way Gortash… Enver looked upon their naked body, bound like an animal, with that hunger glowering in his dark eyes… Durge felt his gaze like hot fire licking across their skin, searing lust held tight behind well practised poise. 

Abdirak, too, was eyeing them with some interest. His ice cold gaze was different, though. Like the first time they had met, he saw a different purpose to their game. His own pleasure was not coming from the arousal that stirred deep in the pit of their belly, but in the connection to Loviatar, and the comfort in knowing that pain had its purpose in soothing their deeper agonies. 

The breath was once again pulled from their lungs as Enver’s arm arced, unseen, to bring the barbed flail to bear on their flank. Hot and bright sensation burned into the spreading warmth of pleasure, adrenaline smothering the creeping doubts in the back of their mind. This was safe. The two behind them were both safe so long as they were bound, the voice driven back by the exquisite-

The next blow to their rear felt far more targeted as their moan almost carried the syllables of his name on their tongue. “Env- aaaah!” 

He was at their side in an instant, claws at their chin, his lips stealing a kiss hotter than the pain that lanced through them as Abdirak’s flail struck their exposed arms. “I am right here. Say it. Say it again.” 

He must have been signalling to the priest this time, as the strike hit a full second after he had prevented their reply with his lips on theirs. “Enver-” They moaned through the pain and into his kiss, tongue hot with the hint of smoke, the taste bitter and earthy like liquor and spice. It was…familiar. Intoxicating. Their tongue fought his, while his claws dug into their ribs and the whip came down on their lower back. 

—

Abdirak admired his own handiwork. The crimson blemishes were a perfect partner to the pale scales of the Dragonborn’s body. They were clearly aroused, their hips pressing towards the wall to seek even the slightest bit of friction for their satisfaction. Of course, the ambitious man by their side was obviously hoping for this result with how eagerly he devoured their tongue in a show of pure passion. No matter, Loviatar’s embrace had more strength in her grip than lust’s hedonism alone. Not that he was immune to that particular vice, either, the lower half of his robes barely hiding anything. Not that anyone’s eyes were on him, nor would he be bothered if they were. Pain and pleasure… The two were as inseparable as the Archduke and his Assassin. 

The flail was losing its effectiveness now, so it was time to change the game; it could not become stale after all. Loviatar demanded her offering as much as his own desire demanded satisfaction. Abdirak threw the key to Gortash’s feet, the slight scowl at the veiled insult pleasing him almost as much as the growing anticipation. 

“Turn them around. They must face us for what is to follow.” He turned away, sorting through his bag for the tools he wanted. “Ah, but this time leave their tail free.” 

He could hear the indignant huff from the human before the clink of chains marked that his orders were indeed being followed carefully. When he returned to the pair he carried three flasks and a narrow, hollow rod. 

Two bottles clinked on the stone as he set them down on the floor, keeping only the smaller of them in his hand with the rod. The latter he held before the Dragonborn, watching their eyes light with recognition. “Tell me, dear one, are you resistant to the cold?” 

“I am.” They nodded quietly. “And…I agree.” 

“Excellent.” Abdirak smiled approvingly, the cantrip forming easily in his mind.

“What is it, exactly, that you are planning to do with that?” Gortash was challenging him again, though this time with more curiosity than annoyance. 

Threads of the Weave answered the simple call of the spell, crystals of frost spreading up the length of the metal rod. “This will add to their pleasure.” He stated simply, glancing down to where the Dragonborn was fully erect and twitching with anticipation. “And, most likely, to your own.” 

The cork of the bottle was easily unstoppered by his teeth, the oil trickling down the iced surface that was already burning his own fingers with the cold. He knelt, almost reverently, in front of his willing prisoner, pouring a little more oil where it would soon be needed. 

“Enver. Kneel.” He indicated the space next to him, looking up at the scowl on the man’s features as he silently refused. “Or would you rather I be more intimate with your lover before you?” 

“Insolent-” Gortash began, quickly changing his mind before Abdirak’s fingers could touch a single inch of the Dragonborn’s skin. There was a slight groan as the proud Archduke sank to his knees. “They are mine . You are a guest , here by their whims alone.” 

“So you say.” Abdirak held the metal rod out, almost loath to have the aching cold leave his fingertips. He indicated the rigid and quivering tip of the Dragonborn, whose tail was tapping at the ground with nervous anticipation. “Slowly. A little at a time, but when you are done it must only leave this much exposed. Use more oil should you need it.” 

—

Gortash was not fond of taking orders, nor was he pleased with the growing ache in his knee. An old injury, one that did not trouble him much, but the stone floor was not a place of comfort. He considered if the smirking priest knew, and intended this discomfort as another offering to his vile goddess, but it mattered little. Durge wanted this, wanted him . That was not something to be ignored. He hesitated at first. One hand braced on their hip, claws barely digging into their skin, the initial inch barely slipping in as he felt their body quiver. It was their tail on his back, however, that encouraged him to push further despite the hiss of pain from above. 

Enver worked carefully, pressing in further before drawing back, adding a little more oil, soothing them with small circles drawn on their hip with his thumb. All the while the priest remained at his side, watching, muttering his approval, and denying any further touch until the hollow rod was fully placed as instructed. 

Abdirak looked up towards their captive, a slight smile once again playing at the corners of thin lips. “There. Do you feel it, dear one? The cold battling the heat of your body, the pressure within, the edge of pain tugging at your senses?” 

Above them, Durge audibly swallowed, throat dry and slightly hoarse. They nodded, and Enver felt their tail curl around his leg like an embrace, holding the area where the pain was worse… He wondered if they knew, if they remembered… Impossible. Probably. 

“Excellent.” The priest continued, without awaiting further response from either of them. “Tap it, if you so please - they will feel it.” 

Enver complied experimentally, not bothering with how easily Abdirak was ordering him around. All that mattered was how sweet the moan was as he tapped sharply on the end of the hollow rod. 

Abdirak finally stood, taking the two bottles he had set down earlier with him. To Gortash’s surprise, the priest offered a hand to help him up. “This one,” he took the bottle held out to him, its contents glowing slightly, glass cool to the touch. “This one they must drink, all of it, if you would be so kind.” 

“You heard him, my dear. It is quite safe.” Enver knew a potion of fire resistance when he held one, though its purpose was the part that he found more intriguing. He ran a clawed thumb along the edge of his lover’s lips, willing them to part as he unstoppered the bottle with his teeth. “Perhaps you would trust it more from a more fitting chalice for your station.” 

—

Durge would’ve drained the bottle without a second thought. They both knew that, but this… They did not wish to argue as Enver kissed the potion into their mouth bit by bit, moaning against his tongue as he tapped the rod that pressed deep inside against nerves that were screaming for stimulation. 

The cold would’ve burned to someone without their natural resistance, but instead, the icy magic in the metal provided a difference of sensation, the freezing fighting the searing heat of their lust and holding it back. Though not entirely…

The potion spread through their body, flooding their veins with distilled magic that mingled with the heady arousal that pulsed through every muscle, seeping into their bones, pushing aside any thought besides a need for more .

By the time the last of the potion trickled down their throat, they were breathless, twitching, pulling at the chains to reach his lips once more. But they were denied. He pulled away, his expression unreadable, his eyes drifting down to where they were left now untouched and harder than the wall behind them. 

The last of Abdirak’s flasks had steam drifting from the now open top, the priest holding a small flame beneath the bottom of the glass that charred with black soot from the fire licking around it. When the bottle tilted, the liquid that trickled across their chest was near boiling, and even through the resistance the potion provided they could still feel the burning sting. 

“More.” They breathed, feeling only the edge of pain, the keening need for greater sensation. “Please, Enver-” 

“Dear one, I shall pretend I did not hear you call another’s name again while I am the only one delivering your penance.” Abdirak’s hand tapped sharply on the tip of the rod, driving it in a short hard burst of sensation that was enhanced by the iced magic still woven through the metal. “But if you desire your lover’s attention, that can be arranged. Is that what you wish for, dear one? Do you want to see him bared before you, sharing your pain?” 

The thought of the tyrant bent and bowed flashed through Durge’s mind. A memory? A daydream? A fleeting imagination of desire? They neither knew nor cared, beyond what it might take to see him in such a position. “Yes, Abdirak. If…if that is what he also wants.” 

—

Abdirak turned towards Gortash, carefully concealing the hint of uncertainty clouding the back of his mind. Lords like him were often willing to debase themselves, but there was no guarantee his pride would allow his libido the satisfaction. He decided it would be safer to goad the man’s ego first, which would make bringing him to his knees far more satisfying. “Well, my Lord? What is your choice? You both know your signals, how to stop at any time.” 

He frowned as the man stepped towards his lover instead, golden claws caressing bare white scales. “You wish…to share the penance that you requested?” Dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow searched the Dragonborn for an answer. 

“I need the pain,” they stated plainly. Abdirak smiled. “And I need you .” They continued, his smile growing. “If we can share it, if you can feel what I feel…” 

“So be it.” Gortash conceded easily, sealing the agreement with a brief kiss, one that the Dragonborn chased with their teeth nipping at his lip, drawing blood. 

Abdirak watched silently as the man caught the trickle of crimson on his finger, pressing it into their mouth, almost goading them to bite his entire hand right off there and then…but they didn’t. The dark fire behind their eyes flickered and was silenced in the same heartbeat, violence subsiding in the simple touch of golden claws. 

“Undress yourself, Enver.” He left no room for argument in his tone, cold with an edge of intrigue as he set the steaming bottle aside, stalking across the room to his bags once more. The little lord had clearly experienced some issue in his knee - that could serve the Maiden well. Leather straps, a metal bar, a sharp edged golden collar that was an unintentionally perfect match for the man’s gauntlets. A point to consider… “Your gloves. Leave them on.” 

—

Following orders was not particularly in Gortash’s interests, but he would make an exception. The flicker of recognition in their eyes, the cracks in the glass of shattered memories coming together in new patterns… A little more and perhaps a stained glass window might show them a version of what was. What could be.  They were watching him intently as he removed his clothes, folding each piece neatly and placing it aside. The moment he finished, he felt Abdirak’s finger tracing the light silver line of a long healed scar on his shoulder. What followed was a quiet voice in his ear, whispering instructions that sent a shiver down his spine. The harness slipped around his chest easily, cool leather straps pulling taught firmly. It forced his shoulders back, just a slight edge of an ache digging at the inside of his joints. He reasoned that his bound lover likely felt a similar discomfort, their arms still chained high above them, legs still spread where their ankles were hitched to the wall. It was the cold of metal against his neck that stopped the breath in Enver’s throat for a moment. It was not constricting, but he could tell that moving too much would press the sharp little spikes into his chin and collarbone. 

As he had been instructed, he walked to the wall, standing so close he could feel the heat radiating from Durge’s body, smell the scent of sweat and the sweet tang of old blood that seemed to follow them everywhere. Abdirak tapped the back of his knees with a simple riding crop, bidding him to kneel before the assassin. His assassin.

The leather cuffs around his ankles were attached to a sturdy metal bar, keeping his legs spread apart as he knelt painfully on the hard stone of the floor. The angle was no help to the angry pulsing ache deep in his joint… He would be needing his cane tomorrow, but that mattered little. His face was so close to the twitching and rigid Dragonborn that he could hardly take his eyes off the end of the chilled metal tube protruding from their tip. 

“Pay attention, Enver.” The priest hooked a chain to the metal ring of the harness that sat between his taught shoulder blades, hoisting it to attach to the same point Durge’s wrists were secured to the wall. His chest now bore some of his bodyweight - easier on his knees, but not enough to eliminate the discomfort. To his surprise, Enver’s hands remained unbound. “You surprise me, Priest. I had expected to be left with no such freedom.”

“Freedom,” Abdirak leaned down, growling darkly in his ear, “is all a matter of perspective.” 

—

Durge could hear their pulse drumming through their head, adrenaline and painful arousal at the sight of the proud Archduke held beneath them with his legs spread. The harness enhanced the shape of his chest, dark curls of hair covering his body in stark contrast to their pearly scales. Perhaps that’s why they were drawn together, they reasoned. The differences. 

Their own body was all ridges and scales, hard edges and bright colours, not a single hair upon them. 

Enver’s body was made of soft curves, rich toned skin, the shock of dark hair crowning the man who dreamed of grandeur-

His dreams… He talked about those, sometimes.

Their attention snapped back at the feeling of the Archduke’s golden claws seeking their hips, the tip of the metal pricking into their skin with a familiar sting. Dark eyes gazed up into theirs as they felt the gauntlets raking down the sides of their thighs. “Look at me. You asked for this, my dear, do not waste it.”

“Now,” Abdirak’s voice cut between them, cool and clear. “Shall we continue?” They could see the heated bottle in his hand, once again steaming from the flame held beneath. 

The temperature would’ve been close to scalding had it hit Enver directly, even on their own flesh with the effects of the potion still resisting the damage it could do, it felt damn near blistering. The path the liquid coursed cooled as it trickled lower, flowing off the hard edges of their body to splash onto the bare chest of the man below. He drew in a sharp breath as they watched his eyes momentarily widen with the burn. 

“Do not hold back.” The priest scolded the pair, moments before a longer pour of heated water flowed across their bodies drawing out a low moan in chorus. “Good, dear one, good - show him how beautifully your pain can sing out together, be sure that Loviatar can hear your devotion!” Over the course of countless long minutes, the searing burns grew hotter, drawing the volume of their voices louder as Abdirak’s joyful laughter echoed from the stone walls. Durge’s mind grew ragged at the edges, a soft and peaceful haze settling into the intensity of the pain and the pleasure of seeing the Archduke suffering in tandem with them. Below, they were almost shivering, the hollow tube within less empty than it had been despite the bitter cold of the metal.

—

Abdirak leaned down again to address the kneeling lord, orchestrating the crescendo of the symphony he was conducting in Loviatar’s honour. “You see how they are desperate for you? Taste them, Enver. Do not let one drop spill to the floor.” He removed the collar, freeing the man to move. Next, he pressed the tip of the riding crop against the slight swelling forming at the man’s knee, relishing the pained howl it drew from his lips as he gripped Gortash’s hair and pressed his head forward to the leaking Dragonborn. 

They were gazing down, eyes almost clouding over, he could sense the soft layer of bliss wrapping around them with the lingering edge of pain. The priest stood up straight once more calling forth the Weave under the watchful eye of his goddess to shroud Durge’s vision with darkness.   His crop struck true on Gortash’s bare calf, the swift rising of a reddened welt further proof to the offering of pain as he moaned around his lover, the ice cold of the rod no doubt burning his tongue as he lost his careful composure to the impact. Durge also cried out, exactly as planned. Enver’s metal claws had dug deeply into their side. The rich crimson trickle coursing down their shaking thigh was alluring, a paint upon the canvas. Each fresh mark of the crop focused the shared pain. Gortash feeling the direct impact, still trying to please his lover even as time and time again his gauntlets pierced their flesh, transferring the pain. And of course, his tongue burning on the icy metal would be pressing it deeper into Durge, teasing forth the deeper ecstasy of stimulation.

He envied them, now. Bound together, kept purposefully on the brink of satisfying their lust but never tipping over the edge, the sweet caress of agony wrapping around them with Loviatar’s loving embrace. The push and pull of the strikes, the beautiful colour of bruising rising below dark skin, the strain and rattle of chains and bindings…

—

Gortash was quickly reaching his limit. The taste of his lover’s lust finally upon his tongue, scalded as it was by the cold of the metal, was raising his desire to a fever pitch. He wanted them. Needed them. Durge’s pulse was thrumming on his lips every time he pressed heated kisses along their length - they were about ready to tear the chains from the walls. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. 

He felt their tail wrap around his back, his arms embracing their hips as Abdirak’s crop was stayed from further impact. Their voice broke the silence, gasping and thick with lust. 

“Enough, priest. I cannot… Pain’s purpose is served, but I must have him. Return my sight, release my chains, and leave me with him.” Their tail was gradually tightening its grip, protective perhaps…or was it becoming possessive? His heart pounded at the possibility. 

“As you wish, dear one. Your penance was…exquisite. The Maiden is very satisfied by your offering, as am I.” The spell around the Dragonborn’s vision was broken, and their chains released with ease. “I shall return for my belongings tomorrow.” 

“Your payment will be sent in due course.” Gortash added, reclaiming a little of his power in the situation. Although that prospect seemed absurd as he remained naked on his knees, the harness holding half of his weight. 

The footsteps receded, followed by the click of the door opening and closing. He looked up, now, seeing Durge rubbing the feeling back into their wrists. Their body was marked with red streaks. The marks of his golden gauntlets had pierced the marble of their flesh, chiselling it back into the sculpture of magnificent violence that he longed to bow before…exactly like he was doing right now. 

Thin draconic lips pulled into a smirk, the fire in their eyes proving their devotion, their desire. And all of it aimed at him at last. Aimed like the weapon they truly were.

Durge reached up and pulled hard on the chain connected to Enver’s harness, hauling him off the ground. His ankles were still bound to the spreader bar, but his hands were free, and that was the only thing that gave him even a second of stability against their body as he was pulled until he was on tiptoes.

“There you are.” Enver muttered, almost reverently, still below the level of their eyes. 

“Here I am, Tyrant.” They ran their hands from his shoulders to his wrists, his skin prickling beneath their touch before they brought his hands up to their throat, placing his gauntlets like a gilded collar. “You thought you could hold me, chain me, tame me while I was weakened by my need?” 

“The only chains that could ever hold you , my dear, were the ones that you asked for.” Recognition flickered and left. It wasn’t all there, that was too much to hope…but their body remembered. He didn’t need to look down to know that the hollow rod was not empty, that they were twitching as their pulse increased under his fingertips, that they were not going to stop until they were satisfied. 

—

The sharp metal edges and calloused fingertips stayed right where Durge held them, Enver’s chest almost touching theirs where the harness was holding him up from behind his shoulders. Dark eyes never lost their pride, even as he allowed them to fix the chains that had bound them to his wrists this time. 

Durge didn’t remember everything he wanted them to, they knew that much, but the Dragonborn could feel a peace and clarity persisting through the ritual of exchanging power with him. The storm that raged within them quietened to a few dark clouds and a cold wind whispering between them, and whispers were far easier to ignore. 

They followed where his eyes drifted, to the rod still pressed deep within them, the magic barely fading away to finally allow the metal to heat. They carefully took hold of the end, allowing themselves a few moments more pleasure and deep stimulation before withdrawing it at an achingly slow pace. The end dripped slightly, a mixture of oil and denied orgasm. Perfect.

They brought it up to Enver’s lips, holding it level until they parted, his tongue obediently coming forth from between them to catch his prize as they trickled it into his mouth. They leaned forward over his shoulder, their lips grazing the edge of his ear as they purred their approval. “Good. Very good… That’s what you want to hear from me, isn’t it, Enver? How good you are?” 

The only response was a quiet swallow, indicating the rod was now empty. They tossed it aside. 

“You were insolent with the priest.” Their teeth grazed his neck as they whispered dark and low against his heated skin. One clawed hand drifted down, pleased - and not at all surprised - to find him fully erect and leaking beneath the first hint of their touch. They tightened their grip with a growl. “But you will not be insolent with me, will you.” 

Not a question, a statement. One that Enver did not dispute.

“Good boy.” Another twitch. They smirked, letting go of him once more and trailing their hands around his body, following them with their tail, leaving the whisper of an embrace around him. He looked so inviting, held against the wall, spread and tense as every muscle worked overtime to keep him where they had put him. 

He remained silent, as Durge padded across the room to fetch some more oil. It was easy work to pour it across their fingers, teasing Enver open as his breathing became more ragged, preparing him for all they wanted to give him. All they wanted to take . 

—

The strain was almost too much for Gortash to bear, but bear it he did. Pride might come before the fall but he had no intention of doing either. The heat of the hands prying him open with fervent desire held a slight warmth of care to them too - claws meant for rending flesh apart moved with care, pulling forth not blood but deep and intoxicating pleasure.

Their voice whispered praise close to his ear once more, breath hot, tongue following the words to taste the sweat trickling down his neck. A shiver crept down his spine as their hands withdrew, leaving him empty…but not for long. 

Durge teased him with every moment, pressing their tip to his quivering hole but refusing to enter, instead sliding their still-oiled hands around to his hips. They paused for a moment, squeezing hard enough to leave small bruises beneath their fingertips, then moving down the side of his thighs. In the next moment, Enver Gortash moaned loud enough for the city to hear. But he did not care. Durge had hooked their foot beneath the bar holding his ankles, simultaneously lifting his thighs and dropping him back in one swift motion that filled him instantly. “That sound,” they growled as they held him flush against their body. “It is…pleasing.” 

—

The echo from the walls was familiar and had stirred a different voice within their restless mind. One that further stoked their pleasure to feel themselves deep within his body, savouring how his muscles added pressure even as they kept him still. They brought their tail around to caress his chest, relishing how his heartbeat thrummed through his back and against their ribs. “I missed you, my dear.” Enver managed to murmur through ragged-edged breaths, words holding poise his voice no longer possessed. The contradiction was pleasing to their ears. 

“I would miss this too, had I known what there was to miss.” They began to move him, relishing the feel of each moment of friction, building the sensation with a slow but gradually building rhythm. “You…were made for me, Enver.” 

“I was not.” He breathed his reply between low moans speaking plainly, literally, lending further weight to the words that followed. “But I��am yours.” “Do you want more, Tyrant? If you belong to me, should I use you how I see fit?” Durge didn’t need to hear his answer. They felt it, his body quivering as they sank inside him with a harsher thrust, testing if he was truly ready. “Good. Boy.” 

They braced one hand against the wall, their tail wrapping around his waist to hold him firmly, their other hand snaking around to grip him with a matching rhythm as they began to slam hard into his warm and inviting body. 

The Dragonborn’s own breaths began to quicken to gasps, overwhelmed by the pure sensation. He was tight around them, clenching down on every inch and adding further friction. He was soft against them, their sharp edges leaving bruises on the curves of his tender flesh. He was hard in their grip, throbbing and pulsing under their fingertips. He was pliant beneath their lips, his head moving to the side as their kiss tasted his vulnerable neck. He was proud, strong, willing, undignified, moaning, melting into them… 

He was Lord Enver Gortash, Archduke of Baldur’s Gate, self proclaimed saviour of the city, chosen of a God…and he was theirs. 

—

The Dragonborn’s growl was possessive, just short of feral, a bare hint of a warning before their teeth bit down hard on his shoulder. The pain blossomed through Enver, body and mind heating like the blood that trickled forth, lapped up by Durge’s hungry and fervent tongue. Moments later the orgasm he had been desperate for ripped through him like a hurricane, spilling over onto the floor, some even reaching the wall with the sheer force of the climax. Nothing compared to this, to his Assassin burying his favourite weapon deep inside him, growling against his bleeding skin again as their own end approached. There was no slowing, no mercy. Their grip was brutal, their rhythm punishing, and the overstimulation of feeling them expand within him as they toppled over the edge of bliss nearly brought him to a second peak himself. They continued, filling him, drawing out every last pulsing moment that left him quivering in their embrace and straining against the chains that still held his arms firmly above. By the time they were done, Enver could barely feel his own body. His heart beat so hard against his chest he was almost certain it would burst, spilling his blood across their pure white scales…what bliss that might be, to find an end in their arms, knowing the only person worthy of taking his life could hold his heart in their hands in more ways than one. But for now, their hands were not stained with his blood, not holding his life as it ebbed away, but instead caressing him. Long fingers curled into thick dark hair, the tips of their claws caressing his scalp. A quick cast of mage hand released the chains binding him with a few deft motions, leaving him held only in his lover’s arms.

—

“Enver.” They murmured, hearing nothing but their voice in their mind, soft with the afterglow of bliss.

“My dear.” He replied, leaning his head back on their shoulder and bringing his hand to their cheek with a tender caress.

They hesitated, unsure if they should ask the question playing on the tip of their tongue… They swallowed their uncertainty, along with the faint taste of his blood that lingered on their lips. The absurdity of being so shy now whilst still buried deep in his body was not lost on them. “May I stay? Until morning. That’s all.”

“As you wish. We both have work to do, after all.” Enver paused, kissing their bloodstained lips, a small shudder of pleasure palpable in his otherwise limp body. “But that can wait. Until the sun rises, you may have whatever you desire.” 

A grin crept across their face, mind filling not with murderous urges but entirely more pleasurable ones. “I was going to suggest that we sleep, but hearing those words…” They suddenly pushed forwards, trapping his body against the wall, the hand that was caressing his hair took a firm grip at his roots before roughly shoving his cheek hard against cold stone. “Brace yourself, Enver. There’s a long time between now and dawn.”

--- ---

ENDING NOTES So fun fact I still haven't played as Durge, I'm still absorbing lore and vibes through fandom and fan works~ I haven't even read much fic beyond those by a couple of friends, but I'm having a lot of fun writing with them anyway. Their dynamic is fascinating, so much to play with, so many little headcanons you can weave in to the story~ Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my first full length Durgetash piece with added Abdirak~ I was going to keep our dear priest around to fuck too, but the vibe leaned heavily into just having the two of them for that. We can assume Abdirak went to have a delightful evening with a certain Shadar-Kai instead, they deserve more time together anyway.

[philosophicalconservatism]

Social media platforms like YouTube and Facebook are receiving immense pressure from the ideological Left to censor speech that expresses commonly held opinions which the Left seeks to alter within the country (for example opinions on human sex and gender). That's right, this is not even about the censorship of extremely unpopular opinions, it is censorship that is designed to change and to reshape widely held opinions. It is censorship used as a tool to remake society.

Since the Left is applying pressure, Conservatives need to apply their own pressure. If the social media companies in question wish to simply become fronts for a particular narrow ideological perspective, then legislation should be drafted to assure that they no longer enjoy the special immunities that we extend to them on the assumption that they are neutral hosts of content.

Many on the Left love the self fulfilling prophecy approach: attempting to reshape public opinion by pretending that the new opinion that they are pushing is the already established and obvious one; while scaring/pressuring anyone into compliance who points out the actual radical nature of what they are doing. If you wish to make a fundamental change to human social life don't be intellectually dishonest about it. Come out and admit that this is what you wish to do, and then offer a thorough and rigorous justification for it. Don't avoid conversation, free speech and debate, embrace it.