#forgive me... I am an amateur

[outeremissary]

Actually good gameplay/bad story vs. bad gameplay/good story poll has me thinking a lot about "bad gameplay." I feel like that's often treated as a really binary thing, but like. How many games out there is this subject often hotly contested on? How many older games, how many cult classics? I feel like for every game with "bad gameplay" there's at least one person defending the impact it has on the experience and atmosphere of the game. I've seen someone get heated about the idea of making inventory limits in older RPGs more lax when porting the games to modern systems because it removes stakes from the game to be able to carry More Items. You lose an edge of puzzle and of wilderness survival. The inventory management question is one that often pops up in discussions around horror games as well- what's a badly designed inventory and what's one that's frustrating intentionally? Or one that's excusable by the limits of its age? Is clunky combat bad in a combat heavy action game, or can it push the game's genre to suggest something else atmospherically? I really enjoy defenses of gameplay that's "bad" or "obsolete." I haven't been playing Dragon's Dogma 2 and have no way to judge one way or another, but I have heard it called unfriendly, backwards, and bad by detractors and unfriendly, backwards, and good by defenders. It's so fascinating where people draw the line and what criteria they use to determine what's passing and failing. And then when there are whole mechanics people love or hate too! I was looking at escort mission discourse just today. Conversation where on the one hand some people believe there's no way at all to attain a theoretically possible good implementation of an escort mission, while other people see even the most player unfriendly implementations as a challenge of player skill rather than a failure of design.

I don't really have anywhere I'm going with this, I just felt that the more I thought about it the more interesting it was because of the ways that gameplay could be interpreted through age, technical implementation, genre, and player tolerance in ways very distinct from how story and writing are judged. I think "good gameplay" as a concept is often positioned as gameplay which is snappy, clean, and accessible (accessibility exception carved out for games that sell themselves as Hard Games) with precise and technically well crafted controls, but I've seen so many cases for good gameplay being the absolute fucking opposite if it produces an interesting play experience. And you could say "oh, that's determined by the intent of the creators," but do you always have a way to know their intent? And how many games come together actually according to plan, with no schedule slippage and everything implemented exactly according to vision?

To use an example near and dear to me- yeah, I'm not leaving the Kingmaker in the tags after all- a part of Kingmaker's gameplay loop is kingdom management. You're exploring, fighting, and interacting with the world, but you're also coming to rule it through the kingdom, and this has to be balanced as a part of this loop just like all the other pieces. Kingdom management feeds back into the other pieces of the game- it gives mechanical benefits, it opens up new interactions, and when you explore it backfills the empty space you leave behind with something new, the kingdom, which can be further transformed. It also fills a different kind of empty space, the temporal space between chapters, and gives you meaningful choices to make when the plot isn't at a fever pitch by making it so that how you use your time has stakes beyond what exploration and quests provide. Kingdom management is also timer dependent and RNG heavy as fuck, and at points can feel very unfair even if I'd argue it seldom ever traps you and never traps you without an actual reason. It's also situated in a genre, the RPG, where RNG is seen as an acceptable and even expected part of gameplay systems. For me, kingdom management enhances the experience of the game and is an extremely worthwhile addition to the gameplay which plays in enjoyable ways off of other aspects of the gameplay. It's a part of a memorable and fun play experience. But so many people fucking hate kingdom management and see it as not just something they dislike, but something which is Bad in design and implementation. It's positioned as disruptive, unwieldy, player unfriendly, overwhelming, and arbitrary. And I see the case for all of those points. And I don't think there's any final way to objectively settle whether it's Good or Bad, and that ultimately what it gives to the game very much comes down to player preferences and playstyle. How you interact with a game gives these systems their meanings and impacts.

I don't really have a conclusion to this. It's just kind of word vomit getting the thoughts out of my head. ^^;; But I don't know. I think it's something really interesting, the fact that there's not necessarily an objective way of seeing gameplay as good or bad the same way that there's not an objective way to see a story. I answered that poll "bad gameplay and good story," but when I think about the games that make me choose that, it's not like they're unplayable even if sometimes I truly hate the experience of playing them. I think that their gameplay gives them meaning, specificity, and staying power in my mind for how I experienced the game because of this gameplay in a way that games with "good" gameplay can't always provide.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 prompt answer Parte Dos

Parte Uno

Original Prompt

Jon couldn't help but take a peek at the large metal ring constructed behind the massive form of Dr Fenton, its size and shape dwarfing man and son. He couldn't watch for much longer, however, as their encounter with Daniel was expedited by Damian's impatience. Maybe he was just itching for a fight, or a supervillain to beat down. Either way, as Superboy, it was his job to make sure Daniel walked out with all his limbs intact!

"Daniel Fenton." But Damian was interrupted just as fast as he had started.

"Ew, no, it's Danny thank you very much. Only my parents when they're angry, and- bleh- Vlad, call me Daniel."

Damian scowled (he was doing that a lot today). "Daniel Fenton, we have some questions for you."

"Guess that's not gonna happen."

Time to intervene. Jon stepped between Damian and Danny, arms outstretched, with a friendly but diplomatic smile. "What Damian here means is we're suuuuper curious about your dad's research, aren't you Damian?"

"...Yes."

"If you wanna know more about my Dad's research, why don't you uhh." Danny bobbed his head at Mr Fenton's direction, the man in the midst of grabbing onto an unfortunate bystander and extolling the virtues of his next invention.

"Your father has proven lacking in his ability to explain his own work, which is why the responsibility now falls on to you, Daniel Fenton, if that's even your real name."

Wow, laying it on real thick, aren't you Damian.

Danny very pointedly ignores the death stare (hehe, death stare) from Dami to look to Jon. "And you are...?"

"Jon, I'm here with my dad too! He's a reporter, but some of this stuff's got me bored out of my mind. I mean, a flying toilet? Really??"

This manages to get a chuckle out of Danny. "You saw that too? And here I thought I'd get to see some normal inventions around here."

"I know right! I feel subconscious even with bathroom stalls and stuff. What are you gonna do, bring a flying curtain?"

"Honestly I know some folks back home who could find it handy." Danny said, a mysterious smirk on his lip. What could be so mysterious about a bunch of streakers back home? Or...

"Would you like to elaborate on that statement, Fenton?" Damian cut in. "Or the function of the garish-looking gateway erected by your Father?"

"Oh that? That's the Fenton PortaPortal."

"Porta what?" Jon asked.

"The Porta Portal. Portable Portal. It's like the one back home, 'cept it's light enough to move around."

"Portal to where exactly?"

Danny shrugs. "The Ghost Zone, where else?"

"You mean to say your parents have breached the afterlife using science?"

"Hah!" Danny laughs. "But it won't work, trust me." There was that knowing grin again.

"You seem pretty sure, Danny. Also wait, you have one of these back home?"

"Yeah, and it let in the raging hordes of the undead on my town. Overshadowing (that's possession btw), taking over the school with meat, box-based assault, replacing people like changelings, that one time a ghost tried to blow up my sister with a laser, that one time the Ghost King kidnapped the entire town and transported it to the Realms..." Danny listed out various dangerous situations like it was Tuesday, ignorant of the dawning horror upon his audience's faces. Jon himself was starting to feel a little green. Ghosts? Hundreds of ghosts? Each of them capable of possession, and according to Danny, much more?!

"How has the Justice League not heard of this kind of thing?" Jon tried, but failed to hide the slight shiver in his voice.

Danny shrugged. "Guess they dismissed our calls as pranks or something."

"Your father wishes to unleash the legions of undead upon Gotham?!" Damian stepped forward, getting up in Danny's face.

"Woah woah woah, chill out man. Mom and Dad actually learned from the last time and built like eight layers of shielding around the portal, not that it'll be necessary since it won't work anyway."

"And why are you so sure? Did you sabotage it? For whwat purpose would you tamper with your own parents' inventions?"

"Dami, maybe we shouldn't jump to conclusions." Jon said, trying to pull Damian away without any obvious use of super strength.

"Yeah Dami, I'm just a kid, like you. You see an engineering degree anywhere that can be used to sAboTAgE anything? 'Cause I don't."

Damian glared at the other boy for just a second longer, before Jon was finally able to pry him off the poor kid. "I'm so sorry, Damian's just kinda intense sometimes, he really means well I-"

"It's fine. Besides, I'm bored as hell over here too. Since we're about sixty-nine million years below the average age of this place. what say we hang and laugh?" Danny got up and stretched his legs.

"Sure! Hey you seen the oven that's supposed to bake pizza in under ten seconds? Come on, Damian spotted this amazing design flaw, you just have to come with."

As Jon dragged them away, Damian muttered under his breath, deviously. "Good job, Kent, escorting Fenton to a secondary location for further questioning."

~~~~~ They spent the next hour roaming the convention centre, laughing and snorting their lungs out at the inventions, and the rich suckers lapping them up. Although Damian was initially as frosty as Superman's ice breath, Danny's mention of a glowing green ghost dog managed to gain his attention, if veiled behind suspicion and accusation. Looks like no squeezing was necessary, but the idea of a whole town of magical beings that possessed as easily as they breathed still made Jon nauseous.

"My parents actually get me keep him, without the threat of dissection, it's amazing!"

"Your parents dissect animals?" Damian spat out with all the hatred of a thousand dying suns.

"Ghosts, and they never have. Kept getting away. For some reason. Nowadays they're more into non-invasive study. and by non-invasive I mean totally invasive of things like privacy, and alone time." Danny grumbled.

"I feel you, man." Imagine having a dad with super hearing. Or growing up with the world's greatest stalkers.

"Privacy is an illusion." Damian being normal challenge IMPOSSIBLE

They had no more time to banter before Dr Fenton's booming voice echoed across the centre.

"AND NOW FOR THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR, THE SHOWCASE OF THE FENTON PORTAPORTAL AND THE LATEST IN FENTON SURVEILLANCE TECHNOLOGY, BEHOLD!"

"Just watch." Danny said.

Jack slammed his fist upon the on button, which was thankfully on the outside this time. The circular rings around the portal spun and spun, creating an electric whirring sound building up to a crescendo...

Only for the portal to fizzle out, as the crowd's jeers reached a fever pitch.

"Told you so."

Danny's triumph lasted not for another minute, however, when his body shivered and a cold mist broke through his lips. "Shit." He muttered. At least Jon and Damian were looking away. Danny's eyes scanned the crowd. Jack Fenton's sorrow was wiped away as the sensors in his suit came to life. He whipped out a comically large ecto-gun, shouting. "I KNEW IT! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK FROM GHOSTS!!!"

Danny needed look no longer as piercing laughter filled the auditorium. A swarm of green bats descended upon the centre, causing chaos and confusion. Those among the crowd sensible enough to run for the exits found themselves halted by bars locking them shut. Jack opened fire, but was overwhelmed by dozens of ghost bats.

Danny looked for anywhere he could silp away and transform. Damian and Jon did the same. None of them could an opportunity, as two pairs of hands swept them off their feet, and bindings tied them together. Their eyes widened as they gazed upon their captors. Two men adorned with white face paint. One in a gothic waistcoat, the other with green hair and a purple suit.

The infamous Joker, and the not as infamous Freakshow, both in hysterical laughter.

"I really gotta give it to you Danny-boy, that sabotage act you pulled really put us for a loop!" The Joker gasped out between laughs. He pulled out a remote with a large red button. "But I, the Joker, have out-sabotaged your sabotage! AHAHAHAH"

The Joker pressed the buttom, causing the portal to roar back to life.

"Damian!" Bruce Wayne yelled.

"Jon!" Clark Kent shouted.

"DANNY BOY!" Jack cried out, but they were too late to stop the swarm of bats carrying all three boys through the newly reactivated portal, and were too late to follow before the whole thing blew to pieces in a fiery halo.

To be continued....

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[theodore-sallis]

“Several Meaningless Deaths Part 2,” Monsters Unleashed, (Vol. 1/1973), #9.

Writer: Steve Gerber; Artists: Pat Broderick and Al Milgrom

[writer-logbook]

How to improve your writing style : a 5-steps guide.

Intro : I love the 5-steps format, don’t mind me. Again, this essay is based on my personal experience.

Read in different genres. Ok, I know you’ve probably heard this advice more than you can count but did you ask yourself why it is so important ? You probably wonder ‘‘How reading some historical fiction will help me writing my sci-fi novel ?’’ For that simple reason my friend : they meet different purposes. You don’t know how to describe a castle ? It’s okay, historical fiction got your back. Because it aims at something more realistic and accurate, it would tend to be more specific and detailed when it comes to describing clothes, furniture, places and so on. Why ? Because, most of the time, THEY ACTUALLY EXISTED. Take a closer look at how it is done and draw your inspiration from it (but please avoid plagiarism it’s bad - and illegal)

Take notes and CLASSIFY them. To make reading somehow useful, you have to actually make it concious, which means you have to write things down to remember them. When I come across a description I like, I tend to takes notes of the figures of speech that are used and class them, so when I have to write a similar scene, I have an idea of what have been already used, and weither or not it achieved its goal. I am NOT talking about COPY another author’s style !!!! It’s about finding inspiration and new approaches. I also tend to take notes of the new words I wish to incoporate into my writing. The thesaurus is my new bestie.

Rewrite the same scene from different POVs. First of all, it’s fun. And it’s a really good way to spot quirky formulations. For instance, if you describe a ship, the captain’s POV should be different from that of a simple observer. The first one would be naming each part princisely whereas the other would only be admiring the surface without knowing anything. If the caption is the same for both POVs, maybe you should consider write your passage again (or have a good reason, like a strong amateurism for the mere observer). It’s go hand in hand with coherence - but it would be an essay for another time (maybe).

Read your text aloud. I put major emphasis on that one because it’s as underated as reading books for various genres. You have no idea how much we DON’T speak the way we write. Even dialogues are crafted in our stories - so make sure to give them proper attention. (i even read my email aloud but-). I KNOW how cringey it might be as I am doing it MYSELF but the benefits are worth the 35-minutes shame I endure from my own mess. Before you can shine, you have to polish (shout out to the one who said that first if it’s not me).

Take a step back. I strongly advice you to let some time pass before reading your text again and profreading it. It will cast a new light upon your work and with fresh eyes you’d be more likely able to spot what needs to be erased or rephrased.

That’s all for me today. Since I would be entering my proofreading phase for my writing contest, the next essay would probably about proofreading (with examples from my own novel ?). Unless someone wants me to write on a specific subject first.

Gentle reminder that I’m still French and not a native so please forgive my dubious grammar and outrageous mispellings.

[wntrswolf]

love mirage

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!secret-lover-betrothed-to-a-bracken

✧ theme/warning(s): slight/implied smut, angst, forbidden romance, star-crossed lovers. — (all characters mentioned are of age!) 18+

✧ word count: 1.8k

✧ author's note: hello! this is my first writing! this one-shot was spontaneously written as it was meant more for self-indulgence but i thought why not share it to others who also has a current obsession with the rising blackwood character, right? :-) anyways, reading fics under the benji tags manifested many scenarios in my head, and gave me inspiration to write something. lastly, forgive me for any possible grammatical errors, i still am an amateur in fictional writing. enjoy!!!

It was the dead of night. The sky had been painted in its darkest hue, the moon stood nearly at its peak, offering its gentle glow along the riverbank. The distant chatter that could be heard during a long day's labor was no longer present, replaced by the solemn silence of nature's symphonies—the flowing river, the rustling of leaves as they danced in breaths of wind, and the lullabies of insects as they clicked and buzzed.

The forest was no stranger to you; befriending the woodland for the passing moons. You often wondered if anyone would, or had, grown an inkling of your periodic disappearance following the hours of supper—what others would think of your father’s only daughter growing a rather sudden interest beyond the walls of your family's stronghold. You always made your way out stealthily, though his words echoed in your mind,

“You are our only hope, daughter. Do not fail us.” A stark reminder of your duty, which would soon bring honor to your family's name.

If it means anything, you knew it was wrong from the start. You had never intended anything as such to happen. For the name of a nobleman was bound to yours, yet your lips would chant whispers of another.

Time became irrelevant right before you met him on this cool summer night. There the young man stood, one hand steady on the hilt of his dagger, ever vigilant should danger lurk in the tranquil embrace of the silent woods; his tense body relaxing upon the sight of your cloaked figure before him—a beacon of familiarity. You had planned to tell him about your betrothal tonight.

Although it was not much longer that you would find yourself a whimpering mess under the Blackwood boy. Your sighs mingled with the saccharine words Benjicot spoke, adding harmonies of moans and gasps of pleasure in the serenity of the haven you both made. You often feared getting caught but Benji assured you in these remote lands, he doubted anyone would be near enough to witness anything— not even the treacherous act you both selfishly indulged in. You still pray to the Gods that they grant you both the favor that no eye spies this clandestine meeting; and the many before.

You never really questioned yourself on why you couldn't confide in your father about your betrothal; had you already envisioned the conversation—mayhem would ensue. It was simple, it was the decision he made—securing your family's position through a marriage pact, a political alliance they called it. Duty, you thought yet again.

You didn't know what, or whom, to shift the blame on—or maybe it was the complexities of guilt. your guilt. You knew the inevitable, yet your selfishness, your greed, your immature desire for love; tainting your rationale. Or that maybe you should feel resentment that your father and the Lord of Stone Hedge, Humfrey Bracken regarded their relationship as close as to being kin. Maybe then you would have the strength to ignore your obligations, this once.

You cursed yourself for thinking the way you did, and you cursed the Gods for the decades-old rivarly between the ancient houses—a hatred and feud born long before either of you were born; beyond your father's time, and his father's before him, yet its roots grew, multiplying the petty divide among those that followed after them.

It made you question what started the war between the two in the first place, as sin begets sin begets sin; however, unwavering was the tryst between you and Benjicot—untouched by the strife and grudges.

He knew. You were aware of his knowledge with the woven webs you had with the Brackens; about your father's bond with the red stallion lord. Your thoughts do not come to a plausible explanation as they endlessly spun in your mind.

And all it took was Benjicot's hips to lower into yours, silencing these whirling thoughts.

Your cloak drapes over you, offering its warmth from the breaths of wind, coming from the riverbank. It spared the watchful eyes of the forest spirits from your unneeded bareness. At your side, Benjicot lays as he adjusts his breeches.

“There’s a war soon to come,” he says as he stares at the sky, hands behind his head, ”And I ought for you to know that given the growing wars, you have not left my mind since.” he nervously confessed.

You hum in response, the weight of his words settling heavily in the quiet of the forest. "I fear what lies ahead, Ben" you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, filled with both longing and apprehension.

He turns to you then, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that spoke of unspoken promises and uncertainties. "No matter what comes, my love for you will endure." he vows, his fingers gently tracing the contour of your cheek.

You turn your head and sit up, feeling around for your discarded garments to dress.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, sitting up, his expression betraying confusion at your abrupt reaction. 

"No, it's not that." you breathed out, your back faced to him. It was this very moment you had feared since the first: the inevitable.

"Well, did you not finish as I had?" he ventured in jest, a playful side of him that you loved. "Or is it because I professed my love for you?", hoping his declaration had not caused you to pull away. "Trust me, I will make sure there's nothing—"

"My betrothal..." you did not let him finish, "it's to Aeron Bracken." you said, still facing away from him as you rose from the ground. You picked on your fingers picked in nervousness of his next response. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air.

At first he thought he had not heard you clearly, as if the world had gotten awfully quiet. It was when you repeated once more, realizing his ears did not fail him as his blood got hot—of you saying the name whom ignited an unexplainable fury in him.

"Aeron Bracken," Benjicot repeated in disbelief of your sudden confession, "The Bracken twat, eh?" — the very same Bracken he encountered in fresh conflict, near the mill's boundary stones. Although he did not show it, the tension in the air was strong enough to burn and linger its flames; his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fists at his side.

"A craven false king follower... is bound to your name, to you." he chuckles incredulously. 

He paced in the clearing, his footsteps heavy as he turned to you. "And what are you to do about it?" He posed the question, pain plain upon his face, though hope bled through the mask of his composure. Deep down, he already knew the answer. He could scare tell if asking you such question was to self-inflict torment, or just a desperate need to face the harsh reality of your confession— not a difference between the two really.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, "It's my father's decision," you explained softly. "I... I cannot defy it." You stood before him, as your tears glisten in the faint light. Torn between love and duty.

"Ben," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "You know the stakes. It’s my duty. My family's honor���” 

"Fuck honor!" he interrupted, his voice thundering through the forest. He strides towards you, "It was long gone the very moment we first met—" he huffed out. He knew in his heart that despite the love he developed towards you, the tangled web of your kinship with the Brackens would soon unravel the bond you shared— still, he gambled with the odds, just as you had.

He had ever hoped that the old Gods would bestow the blessing of his fervent wishes—that it would be you, not some other maiden, whom he would take to wife. He often dreamed of you bearing the heirs of his house, growing gray together, and watch as your blood flow through the veins that would carry on his legacy. Yet, it was only ever a distant dream.

You reached out to him, to calm the storm raging within him, but he jerked away. "Tell me, then," he challenged, stepping closer with fire in his eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, beyond this," he motioned between the two of you. "Are you suggesting that your father, and even yourself, are to declare for the usurper cunt of a King?" he whisper-yells to you. “Or is this some sort of arrangement with those Bracken fucks, to get back at us Blackwoods, simply just using me as a pawn, 'cus you know I'm now Lord?" His words spitting at you like venom;

“Oh, you know where my loyalties lie," you spat, your voice filled with heartache, "But I won't stand for you questioning my integrity nor my family's honor to secure a future." You glared at him as your heart stung with hurt, "And to accuse me... I would not dare to commit something so heinous even if i could; I'm not cruel, Benji."

Benjicot's jaw clenched, shaking his head as he stood facing the river, incomprehensible words muttered under his breath.

"I never asked for this," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "But I have responsibilities. We both do." you sniffled, swallowing the tension of your throat away, "And I know you know..." you wiped your tears, "we know... that this was bound to occur, sooner or later, Ben." your voice was barely audible, even with the deafening silence the forest came to be. "There's a war coming."

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of impossible choices.

Benjicot stood before you, his expression torn between love and anguish. His hands trembled as he gathered his scattered belongings, his movements reflecting the turmoil in his heart. You mirrored his actions, silently picking the remnants of what you felt is to be your last fleeting moment of happiness.

"I swear it," he finally spoke, "would that we were not bound by the enmity between our folks, I would have already vowed myself to you. Long before your father would have you promised to another."

His words pierced your heart with longing and regret, the bitter truth of your circumstances hanging between you like a veil of sorrow. “And I would have gladly accepted it,” you replied with a heavy sigh. "—my Lord."

The Blackwood male nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. With a heavy heart, you both silently acknowledged the futility of your love.

Benjicot turned away first. The distance between you both grew; and his silhouette became one with the dark forest.

You knew that somewhere, amidst the pain and heartache, you would find a way to carry on—a life of uncertainty but fraught with duty. As you walked away from the happiness and love that the forest had given you, the ache in your chest spoke of a love that was lost but will never be forgotten. It would be a bittersweet reminder of what once was, and what could never be again.

[pippin-katz]

in case you were wondering, this is how charles smiles at edwin after his response to the confession in the literal second before the spider shows up

(forgive the poor quality, i am indeed an amateur at photo editing, gifs, screen recording, and amvs)

the absolute adoration in his face keeps me awake at night

[intheticklecloset]

Stressed (Dr. Stone)

Modern AU

Summary: Senku loses his notebook and immediately blames Gen, but Gen is innocent for once. After recovering the notebook, they both realize they're a little too stressed out and could use some relief.

Word Count: 1031

~~~

“Asagiri!”

Gen froze, stunned to hear his last name being shouted from the other room like that, coming from Senku of all people.

He immediately began backtracking in his mind as to what he could have possibly done to make him so mad.

The scientist clomped down the stairs and into the kitchen, looking – thankfully – more exasperated than angry. “Where did you put it?”

Gen, still panicking, stammered, “W-What do you mean? Put what where?”

“My notebook!” Senku cried, gesturing behind him as if that would explain everything. “All my equations and experiment notes – where did you hide it?”

“I didn’t—”

“Cut the crap, Gen, I’m not in the mood for this today!”

Gen went silent, frozen in terror. He’d never seen Senku so frustrated, let alone angry enough to actually snap at him. He didn’t know how to handle this version of his boyfriend. Quiet Senku? Yes. Shy Senku? Absolutely! Rambling on and on about something Gen didn’t understand Senku? Of course, he was no amateur.

But angry Senku? He had no idea.

As the silence stretched on, the scientist seemed to realize he’d gone too far. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just…I’m so close to cracking this one. I need my notes to take the next step, and I know you stole them.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Gen said quietly. “Not this time. I swear. But…maybe I can help you look for it?”

Senku considered him for a moment, then seemed to decide his partner was telling the truth and sighed heavily. He turned to go back upstairs. “Sure, whatever.”

Gen silently followed behind him, beginning to search together with the scientist. He knew exactly which notebook he was referring to; it was the one he’d been obsessively scribbling in for weeks now. The blue one. The problem was, there were a myriad of notebooks in Senku’s lab, and finding this particular one was like finding a needle in a haystack.

But Gen was determined to prove himself innocent.

It took nearly fifteen minutes, but finally Senku made a frustrated noise and said, “Here it is.”

Gen turned and sure enough, the blue notebook was clutched in the scientist’s hands. Judging by where he was standing, it had to have found its way over to Senku’s shelf of completed projects by accident.

Well, as long as it was found.

“See? I didn’t steal it.” Gen shifted on his feet nervously, rubbing his palm with the opposite thumb – a habit he’d picked up for when he was stressed.

Senku, being Senku, noticed immediately.

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry, Gen,” he said, setting the notebook on his table and moving to join his partner by the door. He took his hand to stop his tic. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just know that you like to steal the things I’m working on when you want attention, so I assumed…”

Gen smiled weakly. “It’s okay. It was a logical conclusion.”

“I was a jerk just now. I’m sorry.” Senku gently brushed his lips over Gen’s knuckles, making the mentalist blush. “Maybe…maybe we should have some kind of code word for this situation next time. Something that tells me you’re not kidding when you do the ‘I didn’t take it’ bullcrap.”

Gen couldn’t help but smile. “A safe word for when I’m messing with you?”

Senku nodded. “Something like that.”

“Just let me know what it is when you figure it out, Senku-chan.”

The scientist groaned and pressed their foreheads together, wrapping his arms around Gen’s waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I know. But you’re stuck with me anyway~”

“Can I make it up to you? I really am sorry.”

Gen hummed thoughtfully. “I forgive you, Senku. But perhaps I can turn that frown upside-down?”

Senku tensed, but made no move to escape while he could. Instead he let out another sigh and chuckled softly. “How can you read me so well?”

“I’m a mentalist,” Gen whispered, hands sliding from his boyfriend’s chest to his sides. “That’s my job.”

The scientist broke into a smile as Gen began scribbling, softly tickling him over to the bed and pushing him down, fingers dancing and teasing his skin, drawing light giggles out of the younger man.

“You’re too stressed, my dear Senku-chan,” Gen half-teased, leaning down to kiss his cheeks as he tickled gently.

Senku tried biting his lip to suppress his snickers, but it did no good when Gen slipped under his shirt to scratch at his bare tummy. He twisted his head to the side, blushing furiously. “I knohohohohow. I cahahahahan’t hehehehelp it.”

“Lucky for you, I can~”

Times like these were rare, and Gen cherished them with all his heart. Senku’s stress levels getting so high he couldn’t resist the allure of being gently tickled back into a happy, clearer headspace. One of the only times he wouldn’t fight it; he’d just let himself relax and giggle and be loved until Gen had given his nod of approval that all was well once more.

This time took a bit longer, but finally Gen hummed his satisfied hum, and Senku gripped his wrists to push him away – a silent indicator he was done.

But then Gen took his wrists instead and pinned them to the bed, leaning down to kiss Senku’s neck, relishing in the surprised squeak the scientist let out.

“Wahahahahait, Gen,” he giggled, legs uselessly kicking the open air. “I thohohohohought you were dohohohohone!”

“Done bringing you down to Earth,” Gen confirmed, kissing the shell of his ear and whispering, “but not done showing you my undying adoration, Ishigami.”

Senku full-body shuddered at the name, a low groan escaping his lips even as he kept scrunching his neck and giggling at the light kisses to his neck. “Plehehehehease…”

“Hush.” Gen kissed his lips then, releasing his wrists to run his hands up his stomach to his chest, taking his shirt with them. Senku’s arms wrapped around his back and pulled him closer. He tilted his head back and soaked up every bit of his partner that Gen was willing to give.

And for Senku, Gen was willing to give his all.

[rvp32]

What kind of porn do you think the girls' generation would do if they were porn stars?

I am not an expert in porn production so please forgive me I tried my best

Taeyeon- passionate

Tiffany- blacked

Jessica- Tsudere mind-break

Sunny- JAV

Yuri - Cum 4k

Hyoyeon- Amateur solo

Sooyoung- Femdom

Yoona- blacked

Seohyun- Kinked (femsub)

[andersons-bayonettes]

Dragon Age: Vows & Vengeance... The podcast that you are...

It's mediocre.

Now, let me explain. Vows & Vengeance was never meant to be an absolute amazing podcast, it's as supposed to make you hyped for Veilguard/show you the companions. A little teaser to bridge the waiting time until release, that it did pretty well.

However. I loved the story of the podcast up until Episode 7-ish. I still liked episode 7, but I could tell it was going somewhere I probably didn't want it to go. Episode 8 was... Episode 8 exists.

But let me actually get to critique it, before bashing it.

I listen to Podcasts a lot. Some of them Lore Podcasts, other Story Podcasts, with or without narration, talk podcasts, amateur and professional. This one felt like it wanted to be professional - while not quite being there - but still felt amateur enough to be a little off-putting. I don't mind most voices (including Nadia's, I think she's fine.) yet tge acting/writing was sometimes whacky at best. I felt like most voices were just way too similar. I often, especially at the start, got confused who is speaking. It got better, of course, but you don't want your listeners questioning who of your main characters is speaking.

Additionally, the podcast was meant to bring some characters closer to you, it was supposed to be a "hey, look at this, this is what they will be like, are you excited yet?" Kinda thing which worked for some. Mainly, the episodes featuring Lucanis, Emmerich and Taash did a really excellent job characterising them. I am ABSOLUTELY down to see more of them. Bellaras was fine, could be better, could be worse. The episodes with Davrin and Neve were... Not well for characterisation. And don't understand me wrong, you get to meet them, yes, but while most characters showed multiple layers, Neve and Davrin both just seemed like you just met them. I forgive them for the Lace Harding episode because we already know her from Inquisition.

Now, I don't mind Solas not showing up often. I think it's fitting. At the end of Inquisition, they out a heavy emphasis on the fact that if Silas doesn't want to be found, you can not find him. He was supposed to be that sliver of danger lurking all around, but where exactly, you'd never know. Thus, Nadia chasing Solas for weeks was absolutely fitting. Even if I think it's funny how Silas's plans have been ruined twice now by people he used as a pawn, doing something he didn't anticipate.

The ending was very, very, very lackluster. The funeral was nice, the demon battle was okay. I don't understand why they had to squeeze in this "I've been haunting you since you were little" crap, it was absolutely and entirely unnecessary. It's sad we spend so much time wanting Nadia & Elio to be back together, rooting for them to finally get a happy ending and all we get is "I killed him, anyways, lemme kille you now". One last talk maybe would have been nice, or let the demon, in one last attempt to stop Nadia, transform back into him. I know it's cliche, but it's cliche because it works.

Or, have the demon kill Elio in front of her. Let's say teh demon used Elios connection to Nadia to cross over, let him kill Elio and the ending would have been a lot cleaner in my opinion. Semantics and personal preferences aside, if they ever make another Podcast, I do hope they find someone who has experience in how to do them. The actors were good. They absolutely were, I assume it's a directing issue.

All in all it was a decent podcast. It has a lot of issues, but it also has a lot of good aspects, makingbit overall, well, like i said, mediocre.

[zekreet]

i suck at writing cause i can't put myself in the shoes of someone who lives in the wasteland (too much to think about) but also because i just suck at writing

i just wanted to focus on the gays

big Joe's death sent the war boys into existential crisis muaahahahahah

i think this would take place a few days after the new rule had been established since the big three are freakin DEAD and furiosa is the alpha.. i don't know what kind of system they would have but i guess it would be pretty free. Copper and Zinc are just taking a lil night walk, i guess, contemplating things

forgive me.... i am an amateur writer.. i don't even write.......... i can't think like a war boy....... what tthe fuck is valhalla..

[spockandawe]

I'm so close to catching up with my books! Here we have the triumph of time, again, as a vellucent binding, again. And this may not look super different to you from my last iteration of this project! The differences were VERY process-driven and hard to photograph, but I pinky swear that there are incremental but noticeable improvements, and i would never mix up editions irl.

First up, refresher, vellucent binding is when there's a protective layer of vellum floating over your cover illustration, protecting it. Or. If you're cheap. Paper vellum. My first time around, I realized as soon as I got the vellum paper wet that oh shit, this REALLY has a grain, and it is the opposite of what my books want. It's the first time I've ever been punished for ignoring grain, though, so I can't complain. I pressed on anyways, because what is even the point of fucking around if you aren't bold enough to find out? As a result, my vellum on the first set has noticeable wrinkles, despite only the turn-ins being glued down, and it all floats more than i wish. You have to smooth it with your fingers to really SEE the detail in the images.

So, naturally, my second time, I got bigger vellum paper, covered the whole thing in paste, plopped my covers onto there, and planned to smooth the wrinkles out. Yeahhhh, that... it was fairly forgiving in the one volume with a primarily white background, and was a goddamn nightmare on the three illustrations.

Lesson one: paper vellum is like a sandworm that wants to curl up and die at the first touch of moisture. Lesson two: it wants to hurt you. PUNISH you. Lesson three: no seriously it is so much more difficult and unforgiving than any other material I've sampled yet. The wallet cost of actual vellum may be outweighed by the emotional cost of this shit.

Naturally, I am bewitched and determined to science it into submission.

For the record: v1 (turn-ins glued, wrong grain) in the bottom left, v2 (paste everywhere, abandoned on the curb without text blocks to warp and writhe as they please) in the top center, and v3 (turn-ins glued, correct grain, more effort to pull tension on the vellum) in the bottom right. I'm not done experimenting by any means, but i need to stop for a minute until i nail the process, to save my poor toner cartridges

But the books themselves! Even though i still see ways to polish my own process, i am DELIGHTED with them. The pull of the paper vellum still wants to introduce slack and wrinkles to the cover as it dries, but there's much less! The moment you get adhesive on paper vellum you commit to a fight to the death, but I'm getting better at handling and anticipating it!

There's a level of polish in the assembly of this set that was lacking in my first and second attempts at the covers. Even if it isn't perfect yet, I'm learning so much, and have new ideas for how to troubleshoot. The idea of making this bookbinding style more accessible and affordable fills me with so much delight, I can't even articulate it. I'm still very much an amateur myself, there are lots of professional best practices I can only speak to in the abstract. Pinning down something this niche and luxurious would make me so happy. Future science will be done on single-volume sets, probably after I'm done moving, but it's at the top of my to do list!! And when it's perfected, I'm for SURE coming back to this series, it's one of my all-time faves, I want to give it the fanciest treatment my hands can devise.

[omo-queer]

hey V, I don't want to be invasive so forgive me for asking. how are you edging/ruining/ theoretically able to cum, all without touching? asking as someone who has only ever been able to finish with a specific toy and no other method lol im curious and also a little jealous!

thanks for the ask! this isn't too invasive, so no need to worry!

it bears noting that i am able to get myself off pretty easily with my own hands but i also have a right hand like a vibrator (and that's not really an exaggeration... people have alleged my hands are magic. i blame rhythm games and a body that hasn't always been the most interested in going over the edge by hand.)

the key components (for me) to being able to go over the edge without any genital contact are audiovisual stimulation, pressure, and tension. here's a summary of what works for me on these:

audiovisual stimulation—this one's simple. my brain really enjoys seeing and hearing people being penetrated, especially if they're getting off, and i feel almost a sympathetic response. i think this is related to the way some people can get off just from topping someone with a strap, although the strap does absolutely give some pressure with each thrust so that might be considered an "easier" variant of what i'm talking about doing (easier in quotes bc none of this is particularly easy to do the first time.) normally i don't watch that much vanilla porn (or really too much video pornography at all if i'm honest) but the easiest source of this kind of stimulation for me is watching simple amateur videos of people riding dildos. sound really helps. them having a real orgasm really helps.

pressure—this one is a little trickier, but it's got a few contributors. the more i need to come, the more "pressure" there is in that sense. (thank you, denial kink.) the fuller my bladder is, the more pressure there is from that side. (thank you, piss kink.) if i'm wearing tight pants and/or underwear or i'm under a blanket that comes into contact with my genitals that's another way to make the barrier to entry easier, although to get a perfect ruin i make sure to remove anything that was in contact as i pass the point of no return. that said, clothes and a full bladder both make the process easier, but i can get over the edge without either.

tension—this is the most difficult one to get right, i think. what i do, as i get more aroused, is roughly equivalent to kegel exercises, although i also tense certain muscles in my abdomen that i don't believe are part of the pelvic floor. this should work somewhat with any type of anatomy (and i'm aware of people who have hands-free orgasms with the two most common genital configurations,) as most people have some partially or fully internal erogenous tissue full of nerve endings that, when pushed on from the inside, is sexually pleasurable. this won't feel anywhere near as intense as direct stimulation, and i find it takes a while (and particularly good audiovisual material) to even reach the point where it feels like i could go over the edge. it also bears noting that the first few times i did this, even though i have damn strong pelvic floor muscles, i still ended up sore the next day like i was working out. don't hurt yourself, but figure out what muscles you can tense and release over and over that your body feels some slight pressure from. sometimes i find little thrusting motions with my hips help, though i try not to use these in combination with a blanket or anything because i think that would count as humping.

so basically, you're trying to get your brain so worked up that the idea of real stimulation is enough to get it to go over the edge, and at the same time do everything you can to go over the edge without touching your genitals (or, if you're a weirdo purist like me about the idea, doing things you consider "cheating." for example i avoid grinding my thighs together, humping things, anything that gives direct stimulation to my genitals.) of course, every body is different—and considering that the most important of this is about tricking the brain, every brain is also different—and so your mileage may vary. there's (of course) nothing wrong with you if you can't get this to work, and the first couple times i tried for it i couldn't manage it myself.

for the easiest setup and again this isn't easy the first time you do it, find the audiovisual material that works best for you, bring yourself right up near the edge in the way you would normally masturbate but not to the point of no return, and remove stimulation. then try your hardest to come by flexing and tensing muscles. if you get too far from the edge, bring yourself back up and try again. if you have other parts of your body that are sensitive to touch, you can lean on that a little (e.g. neck, nipples, thighs but not too close to the genitals) you can put your hands to work on those, although in my experience none of those are fully necessary either.

feel free to ask any questions this raises! i'm amenable to DMs, or if you're asking from a blog you don't want known (or just don't like DMs) you can also pick an emoji to send anon asks with! i have a list of taken emoji in my pinned, so you can pick anything that isn't listed there. i would love to hear any experiences you have using this info, and would be glad to give more details if they would help.

[punderdome]

Infernal Jurisprudence: Chapter 5

Summary: Raphael sees two sides of Tav and decides he wants them both.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+

Chapter 5: The Priest and the Priestess

Raphael’s pet adventurers ventured further into the goblin camp.  He imagined that the camp was infested with a permanent stench much the same as when he tortured his debtors by turning the food of his dining hall into rot.  Except, the food the goblins consumed appeared to be mostly fresh, the rot in this case seemed to be inherent to the goblins themselves.

Tavara negotiated for an Owlbear cub.  Raphael was never a fan of animals, as they brought too much chaos with their very natures.  The Owlbear cub would not be welcomed in the House of Hope.  Raphael had reluctantly decided that should Tavara demand it, he would allow her to bring her white dog to the House of Hope when she became his consort.  Though the beast would never be allowed in his room or his bed or his archive or his study or his parlor or really most rooms in the House of Hope.

Raphael’s investments entered a dilapidated temple of Selune searching for a healer.  They happened upon a rack and a half-naked man being beaten crudely by goblins. Amateurs.

Tavara managed to convince the torturers of her status as an agent of their goddess and bid them to leave.  Raphael was highly disappointed that his Mouse had decided not to continue to torture the bloody man strapped to the rack in exchange for information.  It would have been invigorating to discover such a delectable streak of violence within her soul.  Though, he should not have expected such violence from her hands, as they preferred to caress instead of cut.

The vampling quickly freed the prisoner, and the tortured man limped through a passageway in the temple wall to escape.

A nearby room held a priest of Loviatar praying to his goddess with acts of self-flagellation.  Raphael found the gods insufferable, though Loviatar’s cruelty made her significantly more tolerable than Lathander or Selune.  At least this priest seemed like he was likely to provide more interesting conversation than a tortured man who could barely speak a few sentences or an entire camp of goblins.

The priest stood and addressed the Little Mouse.  “Greetings child.  I’ve met few aside from goblins here.”

“A follower of the goddess of pain?” the Sharran asked with a smile and a light laugh.

“Loviatar?  You didn’t want to assist with the prisoner they were torturing?” the Mouse asked him.

“I live for pain and its intricacies, you see, but they insisted on being so primitive.”  Raphael agreed with the priest.  Torture could and should be significantly more inventive.  The man Tavara freed would have been singing for his captors the moment he was forced to drag his cock through a pile of broken glass.  That would have been significantly more interesting to watch than a simple beating.

“Pain without purpose is such a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?”  Raphael didn’t like the way the priest was looking up and down over Tavara’s form with a smile on his face.  If the priest wouldn’t have liked it so much, Raphael would have whipped him a few times with his own scourge to teach him a lesson in manners.

“It’s appalling,” Tavara answered easily.  Perhaps she had a more ruthless side to her soul after all.

“Exactly, pain is an intimate thing.”  Raphael hated the insinuations the priest was making with  his Little Mouse.  “It should be delivered with a loving and measured hand.”  There was a distinct purr in his voice that Haarlep often used in the Boudoir.  If Tavara wanted that kind of pain so much, Raphael would be pleased to demonstrate it for her instead of her learning it in a filthy goblin camp.

The priest appeared empathetic as he looked into the Little Mouse’s eyes.  “Forgive me, but there’s a look in your eye, something terrible has happened to you, hasn’t it?”  Nothing that Raphael couldn’t fix.

“There are many terrible things that have happened to us, but I am hoping to have a solution to our problems very soon.”  Of course, the answer was Raphael.   “The situation has been quite a burden.”

“Dear child, please let me alleviate the pain of the burdens you carry.”  Tav cocked an eyebrow at him.  “I can alleviate this pain through penance, delivered by a skilled hand.  As the Maiden of Pain, the goddess Loviatar teaches us.”  While Raphael hated the sexual undertones of the priest’s commentary, there was no chance the situation would become carnal with all of Tavara’s foolish companions standing in the room.

The Tiefling was laughing and encouraged Tavara to experience the rite.  “I just have to see this!”  The Warlock looked deeply uncomfortable and offered the Little Mouse a reluctant smile.

“Alright,” Tavara shrugged.  “Why not?”  The look of shock on some of her companion’s faces was delicious.  Raphael was excited to see how his Mouse would take to the scourge.  He hadn’t even started to mentally catalogue which bedroom activities she enjoyed.

“Oh I have something exquisite in mind.  Both Loviatar and I are interested in seeing how you handle pain, dear one.”  As was Raphael.  “Should you delight her, you will receive her blessing.”  Raphael was amused as he watched the Priest of Loviatar slowly circle his Little Mouse.  She had a slight smirk on her face.  “Face the wall, and we can begin.”

Tavara moved across the room to a small alcove.  She stood close to the wall, facing the bloodstained bricks.  Her soft hands undid the fastenings on her sorceress robes and she pulled them down over her shoulders, exposing her corset.  She began to unlace her undergarments, and the foolish wizard quickly fled from the room, followed closely by the Warlock.

Tavara was naked from the waist up with her robes still tied around her hips.  She handed the discarded corset to the Sharran, who took it with an amused smirk.

“This is a side of you none of us have seen before,” the cleric teased.

“We’ve bathed in the river together, you’ve seen the other side too,” Tavara mused back.

Raphael was eagerly waiting to see what would happen next and wishing he could reach through the mirror and turn her around so he could see her face.  And her breasts.  He very much wanted to see those.

Tavara braced herself on the stone bricks, taking a deep breath to try to relax through the rite.

Singing sweetly from his dreams

Loviatar called to use the scourge,

His brave Little Mouse is bare and screams

A delightful image to sate his urge

The crack of the scourge left a bloody mark on the Little Mouse’s back and she cried out.  Her knees buckled slightly and her fingers were desperately clinging to the mortar between the bricks on the bloodstained wall.  Despite this, she regained her composure quickly.  Raphael was fixated on watching her.  He had no idea she had these kinds of tastes.

“You are doing so well, do not give in now!”  the priest praised her.  Did she like that too?

“Would you have joined up with Tav if you knew she was indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?” the Sharran asked while the Tiefling behind them was cackling with laughter.

“I mean, I had my hopes,” the vampling admitted as another crack was unleashed across Tavara’s back.  Blood trickled out of the two lash marks.

“Don’t wear her out entirely, priest, I may have use for her when we get back to camp,” the Sharran said in a flirty voice.  Raphael hoped she wasn’t serious, but if she was it would make the decision on whether the Gith or the Sharran was the expendable party a significantly simpler decision.

One more lick of the scourge and Tavara cried out again.  She didn’t falter or give in.  Her cries were loud.  The sight of her half naked, bloodied, and willingly enduring more was something Raphael found fascinating.  

The penance was completed and a blessing was given after Tavara had redressed. The vision of her like that was completely erotic.

Raphael set the scrying mirror down on his desk.  If he kept watching her, there was no way he was getting any more work completed that day.

****

Raphael received several sendings from Korrilla that Tavara was in danger.  She had made a mockery of Gut the goblin priestess and had been taken hostage and locked in a cell in Gut’s chambers.  Korilla had assured him that she would step in if the sorceress wasn’t able to free herself or talk the priestess down.

Raphael immediately grabbed his scrying mirror to observe and noticed several things that Korrilla had failed to mention within the short word limits of the sending spell.

The Little Mouse was chained to the cell floor on her knees by thick iron manacles around her wrists and ankles.  Her wrists were bound to her ankles and she knelt completely helpless.

The other critical piece of information that Korrilla had neglected to tell him was that the Little Mouse was completely naked.  The pathetic priestess had disrobed his Little Mouse in case she was carrying any weaponry or lockpicks.

Raphael took his time observing her.  There was a slight glisten of sweat on her skin from nervousness.  Her thighs were splayed, giving Raphael a full view of her sex.  There were shimmering white scales decorating her inner thighs.  His Little Mouse was such a sight to behold, and Raphael drank it in completely.

If the goblins had decided to attack his Little Mouse right now, Korrilla would spirit her away to the House of Hope, and Raphael would have a full view of a naked and chained Mouse on the desk of his study. She would definitely want to thank him for his heroism.

Tavara was chained for the better part of a day, the priestess was waiting for an Illithid transformation that would never occur.  Her companions were panicking, but the priestess had convinced them that the extraction was successful and her hostage needed to rest in a quiet and comfortable space.  Raphael never would have believed such a ridiculous lie.  Even the pathetic wizard wasn’t questioning the word of a stupid goblin.

Raphael checked on her often, seeing her small mortal form shift to try to find a comfortable position with the chains on the stone of the cell.

When the priestess returned to find a stiff and sore human woman chained and sleeping in her cell, she became irate.  “Open your peepers, freak!”  The goblin slapped Tavara hard across the cheek hard enough to knock her over onto her side and a yelp of pain emerged from her lips.  Unlike her cries at the lick of the scourge, Raphael was not enchanted by that noise. 

Raphael was fuming at both a goblin and a Dwarf.  Where was Korrilla?

“You should be sprouting tentacles by now, but you’re still the same kind of ugly you always was.”  Raphael felt personally insulted by this.

He spotted his favored Warlock emerging from a portal on the other side of the chapel.  Korrilla burned the heart of the priestess’s Ogre protector into ash within the creature’s chest.  The large beast immediately fell dead on the stones.

“Disappointing not to have my own squiddie, but your giblets will make for a tasty supper,” the priestess raised a dagger to harm the helpless Little Mouse, but Korrilla came up from behind her and slit the goblin’s throat.  Blood sprayed everywhere, covering Tavara’s naked form. 

This, too, was a highly erotic sight.

His disheveled Little Mouse sat naked and chained in a cell, bound for him and completely helpless.  Blood dripped down her body.  Raphael could almost taste the scent of sulfur and iron.  A trail of blood ran over her scales, leaving small red crystals where they froze.  She was unable to cover herself or clean the blood away.

“Sorry - I may have left that a little late.  No lasting damage I hope?” Korrilla inquired as she went to break the chains.

“And who are you?” Tavara asked, running her hands over her wrists and ankles, raw from the manacles.

“Korrilla Hearthflame, at your service.”  Korrilla was certainly being polite enough, but Raphael would have bowed.  Manners .  “You’ve made quite an impression on my master, he sends his regards.”

“Your master?  Raphael?” Tavara asked with an incredulous look on her face.

“Yes, yes,” Korrilla said hurriedly, anxious to get back to service.  “He’s very interested in your condition,” she explained but trailed off slightly.  “...and you.”

“Thank you,” Tavara offered quietly as Korrilla disappeared again.  She bent over to pick up her clothing, realizing that all of it would be covered in blood.  The Little Mouse searched for a ewer of water, but she settled for placing an iron cauldron of frost from her veins into a pot over the fire in the hearth to melt.

There was a click in the lock on the door, and it swung open with a pack of angry and concerned adventurers.  The Tiefling ran to Tavara’s discarded clothing, and she and the Gith quickly searched the room for their missing companion.

“Soldier!” the Tiefling exclaimed as she saw his Little Mouse, tending a cauldron of slush on the hearth.  “We thought you were in trouble!  Why are you covered in blood?” she demanded with the flames on her skin flickering higher.

“And why are you naked?” the Gith demanded.

“She’s what?” the wizard exclaimed before quickly covering his eyes.  He should, or else Raphael would have to pry them from his skull with a butter knife.

“Well, Priestess Gut is dead,” Tavara offered lamely.  “She was about to cook and eat me, and one of Raphael’s warlocks killed her.  The blood isn’t mine.”  Raphael puffed his chest out with pride.

“Tas’ki!  Again, istik, why exactly are you naked?” the Gith demanded again.

“Priestess Gut disrobed me before chaining me in that cell over there.  She was waiting for me to start ceremorphosis.”

“So the goblin priestess was unable to remove the parasite?” the vampling asked, blatantly running his eyes over bloodied and naked Tavara.  “Oh, my my,” he purred.  “ Twice in a row, it seems.”

“No, she was unaware of her own infection,” the Little Mouse confirmed.

“Bloody Hells,” the Sharran said with an exasperated tone at the sight of Raphael’s Mouse.  “Gale, can you just come here and clean Tav using prestidigitation?”

“No,” the wizard whined in refusal.

“Fine,” the cleric said with a grumpy, frustrated tone.  “Aqua pura!”   Water splashed over the Little Mouse’s form, and diluted streaks of blood washed from her body.  She was still covered in diluted goblin blood but was significantly cleaner.  The Sharran handed her her robes and clothing.  Tavara dressed herself quickly.

“Can we look now?” the foolish wizard asked with exasperation.

“You can look,” Tavara said hurriedly as she pulled on her boots.

“Well, this was certainly interesting,” the vampling continued to muse.

Raphael set the scrying mirror down on his desk.  He snapped and arrived in the Boudoir.

Haarlep greeted him with a low, lusty purr.  They crawled to him on all fours, their wings gently flapping behind them.

“Change into the Archduchess,” Raphael ordered.  His incubus immediately complied.  The purring continued at a higher pitch.

Raphael snapped and both of them were moved into an empty cell in his dungeons.  His cells and the cell in the goblin camp weren’t exactly the same, but that was starting to matter less and less.

Haarlep growled.  “Master, well this is certainly an exciting development!”  They paced around the cell, absently touching the dim torches and rusty chains dangling from the walls.  “If I had known you liked this kind of play so much, we would have done it far more often.”

Raphael collected a set of manacles from a rack.  “Strip,” he ordered quickly.  Haarlep removed their harness and proudly stood naked before him.  “Kneel,” Raphael instructed.  The incubus dropped to their knees.  Raphael chained their ankles and wrists together.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was close.

There was certainly a debtor he could obtain fresh blood from.  Though the Little Mouse probably wouldn’t like that.  She would rather be clean when bared for him like this.

Raphael pushed Haarlep onto their back on the stone floor.  Raphael snapped to remove his clothing and knelt between Haarleps spread knees.  The incubus was twisting to give him better access.  Raphael knelt between their knees and promptly entered them.  He let out a deep groan of satisfaction.

He closed his eyes, picturing how she looked on the floor of the cell.  She was so tight and wet around him.  She was thanking him for rescuing her.

Haarlep kept trying to capture his mouth to give him venom.  Raphael refused.  He didn’t want to be raging with demonic lust while he lay with his Little Mouse.  He pressed his mouth to the incubus’s neck to avoid receiving their saliva.  He buried his face in Tavara’s hair.  Hells, he wanted to lick the sweat off of her neck while he lay with her.

“Master,” Haarlep cooed.  Yes, in this state, the Little Mouse would probably call him master.

“You’re lucky I was able to save you, my dear,” Raphael groaned between thrusts.

“Yes, I am so, so lucky,” The incubus murmured in his ear. Raphael tried to ignore every grunt or moan coming from the incubus.

“I would never have let her kill you,” Raphael said softly into the Little Mouse’s ear.  “I ensured you were protected.”

“Oh my hero,” Haarlep moaned below him.  He did save her.

Raphael closed his eyes again and remembered the lewd noises the Little Mouse would make while she pleasured herself.  She was making those noises now.  Now, she wouldn’t need to cover her mouth to stifle them.

Raphael came inside of his incubus with a deep, chesty groan.  He rode out his pleasure and withdrew from Haarlep.  They were licking their lips and seductively spreading their knees, so Raphael could see his seed dripping out of them.

“Defiling a beautiful maiden you saved from a dark dungeon, my gallant knight?” the incubus teased.  “I could have been so much more virginal for you.”  They demurely pressed their knees together.

“No,” Raphael didn’t elaborate.  He snapped and was redressed.  Without another word, he turned away from the incubus and left the dungeons.

A/N:

Huge thanks to @courier-jackalope for her idea about torturing someone by running their dick over broken glass. I struggle to think of enough really deranged ways to torture people. Raphael would not be impressed by my torture prowess. Leave me a message, suggest a new torture method! I'll add it and give you a credit for the idea!

[tossawary]

I usually grab my AO3 stats for my own personal record-keeping and celebration of achievements on December 31st / January 1st (end of the year) and on August 19th (the day I first started posting), but I was out of town this year on AUG 19 and kept putting it off. (I feel like I've been so, so spacey and busy this year.) So, I'm posting them now! What's a month between me and my blog?

Since my last check-in, I wrote and posted... "Stepping Up" (90,263 words), "First Contact" (7,166 words), and "if words could make wishes" (31,424 words). The "Scum Villain Stories" series is now at 1,216,156 words and 24 fics, which will make "Servant to a Different King" lucky number 25, it seems.

I don't write for the stats and don't track them outside of these little "hey, I should acknowledge the passage of time so it doesn't fall into one big blur" posts, but I think it's neat to take them and hold them up against both specific (SVSSS) and general fandom preferences. (Which fics attract clicks in which fandoms? Why? Why not? It's fun to speculate wildly and possibly wrongly.)

Hm, I really should write more rarepairs so I can broaden and continue my amateur, extremely biased, essentially useless data analysis of these things... (joking) or so I'll say to defend my decision to forcibly drag everyone onto an unusual rarepair ship with me someday (intended humorously, but I am seriously interested in exploring some rare pairings for their own sake). I'll be like a reverse-kraken. Instead of monstrously dragging sailors off the ship and into the depths of the sea, I'll be scooping innocent beach-goers from their swimming and putting them on my boat.

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[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 27 - Memory

Today they would finally meet the dragon Hraesvelgr. Finally they would see if this long journey had been worth anything. The day where the future of this war, the future of Ishgard and the dragons alike could be decided.

Nonetheless Estinien hadn’t spared A’viloh his daily dragoon training session after their breakfast. The later had been less meagre than before since the moogles had provided them with some food. The sooner was slowly improving too due to Estiniens patient explanations.

Slowly A’viloh began to feel like the Elezen was not just holding back half of his skills and power against him but like they were almost equal opponents instead. A’viloh had certainly not thought this possible after their first training fight, which had been horribly embarrassing for him.

Now, as they lowered their training spears, and caught their breath for a moment, Estinien reached out to him and patted him on the back, with almost the hint of a smile on his face.

“You’re getting really good at this! I am impressed how fast you learned!”

A’viloh was not good at accepting praise like that but it nonetheless made him feel incredibly proud. “Thank you… But that’s only because you are such a good teacher. My old teachers would certainly have disagreed with your opinion…”

“Don’t think I was born the fighter I am today. When I first trained with Alberic, not matter how motivated I was, I was a complete amateur too. I barely could tell the front and back end of a spear apart. Getting good takes time and training. And sometimes a proper motivation…”, Estinien said thoughtfully and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Suddenly A’viloh remembered something the Elezen has said the day before. Estinien most of the time was a quite distant and harsh man. His only motivation some days seemed to be protecting his home and the wrath he felt for the great wyrm Nidhogg. But slowly A’viloh thought he started to understand him.

“Last evening, by the campfire…”, the Miqo’te started hesitantly, uncertainly if it was too intrusive to ask such a question. “…you said Nidhogg killed your family?”

The Elezen turned his face towards A’viloh and for a second he said nothing. Then he slowly nodded. “He did. And I will never forgive him, for as long the memory of this day still haunts me in my sleep… Like I said, I was not always a fighter… When my hometown was burned to ash by Nidhoggs flames I was the only one who survived, because that day I tended our sheep outside of the village. I saw the giant black monstrosity swoop down on my village and I could do nothing to stop it. When I arrived everything was too late already. My home, my parents, my little brother… all gone…”

“I’m sorry to hear this…”, A’viloh said and guiltily looked to the ground for having brought this topic up again.

“Don’t be.”, Estinien disagreed. “It made me who I am today, a fighter, Azure Dragon of Ishgard. What is the life I would have had in Ferndale against that?”

He said this with a firm tone but something in his voice gave A’viloh the impression that the Elezen did not quite believe his own words.

“You know…”, the Miqo’te offered weakly. “My family was murdered too. Not by dragon, but monsters nonetheless. They still scare me to this day but at least for the Amalj’aa I can say, that not all of them are bad…”

Estinien shook his head. “I am not claiming that all dragons are bad - by Halone! I can’t believe I just said that! - But Nidhogg. Nidhogg and his brood are! Everything he has done cannot be forgiven and I will not rest until I have my revenge for what he did…”

“I see…”, A’viloh nodded. “But let me tell you one thing… I took revenge on my families murderers. Twice even. I will not tell you now that this was a mistake I regret or that it will not make you feel better… But I can guarantee you that it will not heal your pain.”

Silently Estinien nodded and turned to return to the others. Then he paused.

“Maybe it will not heal my pain…”, he said. “But at least it will spare many more people the same fate.”