#my inky needs resolution

[randomnow]

my first Inquisition playthrough was as an elf mage who romanced Solas I want some closure

no regrets but it definitely colors what I want from the game and I know I gotta set that aside

and you can't call trespasser closure because that man stole my arm and DIPPED. that's the opposite of closure >:(

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

The green eyed monster

Shen Qingqiu gets a kitten. Luo Binghe isn't very happy about it.

Luo Binghe is angry. Bitter. Miffed. Pissed off. Displeased. Inconvenienced.

Jealous.

This is ridiculous!

He is the Demon Realm's Emperor, he is- he defeated the Abyss!

He is the best husband anyone could ever have, Shizun has never even seen the laundry basin once! Let alone the kitchen! The brooms neither!

So why isn't he that is being cuddled and kissed on the head and receiving pats?! Where is his affection?!

It's all the fault of that stupid, useless furry animal, that pathetic kitten Shizun found meowing its head off in the bamboo forest a few weeks ago, a palm sized black creature with wide, scared eyes and a voice loud enough to echo in the whole Cang Qiong Mountain!

Of course, Shizun is so kind and loving, he couldn't have left that screaming beast to die there, especially since it was so small, so he scooped it up, placed it in his lapels (in his lapels! On his chest!) and brought it back to the bamboo house.

The terrible beast lapped up all the food it could get amd purred loud enough to drown out any conversation, cuddling up to Shen Qingqiu obsessively, sticking its face against his as if demanding kisses.

And Shen Qingqiu gave them to it! Willingly! Smiling!

Luo Binghe was going to die of rage.

The beast had even nestled in their bed - "Binghe, she's too small to sleep alone!" - and in order "not to jostle it", Shen Qingqiu had apologetically told his husband they could have sex later, the kitten needed a "safe, warm place to sleep".

The audacity of that ball of pathetic black fluff to curl up on Shen Qingqiu's chest after made Luo Binghe burn inside with rage. That was his spot!

Ever since that night, the beast had become a part of their daily lives, and Luo Binghe hated it. Shen Qingqiu was doing everything with it, keeping it in his lapels or on his lap, playing with it with his brush handles and kissing it constantly.

Kissing!

Only Binghe should get Shizun's attention, anyway, but kisses?!

He decided that the animal had to go.

Keyword: he.

Because Shen Qingqiu had visibly recoiled at the idea of sending the kitten back outside or building her a shelter in the bamboo forest, no matter how pathetically Binghe suggested it.

In fact, the way Shizun looked, so protective but so heartbroken at the thought of being separated from his pet filled Binghe with so much guilt he wished to jump into the Abyss again.

Which brings us to the present.

Shen Qingqiu is attending some peak lord meeting the details of which Luo Binghe forgot because he's been too busy staring at Shizun's lips as he spoke about it to pay attention - and he has left the beast into Binghe's care for the day.

"Make sure you give her some food by mid-day, okay?" Shen Qingqiu had said, picking up the animal to kiss its small, inky nose. The thing purred. PURRED! "And play with her lots, she's so active!"

"Yes, Shizun, please don't worry, I'll do my best..."

"If anything happens, just come get me, okay? She's so small, so I worry..."

Binghe has to fight the impulse to roll his eyes at the memory. The beast is doing quite well running around, wreacking havoc. Why does it have so much energy? Binghe is sick of cleaning up after it. And it meows so much, the noise is hurting his ears.

Could it be so bad if he accidentally left a window open...?

He immediately squashes the thought. Shizun would be devastated!

So what was he to do now?

He just watched the ball of black fluff flurry around the bamboo house like it's possessed by demons. What a terrible thing. Why does Shizun love it so much? It's just a pathetic little thing without a family or a purpose, abandoned by its kind, that fell in love with the first person that gave it a modicum of affection!

Binghe resolutely refuses to think who that reminds him of.

But the little beast is not easily swayed. It seems to know Binghe dislikes it, so it sticks to his side constantly. It sleeps on his face sometimes, or attacks his ankles when he cooks, even licks his hand when it wants pets.

Binghe hates it.

But he does it anyway - for Shizun's sake! He couldn't care less about this puny creature!

...so, you may wonder, why is he playing with it now that Shizun is not here?

That is because Shizun might realize the kitten hasn't been entertained properly and scold Binghe of course! Sure, he did laugh a bit when the kitten tumbled on its tail as it tried to catch the feather Binghe dangled in front of it, and he found it funny how it reached for his hands to bite at his wiggling fingers - but that doesn't mean anything.

Binghe flicks a finger in the little kitten's face, and instead of flinching, it sniffs his finger pad curiously before rubbing its face against it.

Disgusting.

Binghe scratches beneath its chin with a long nail and catches himself smiling as the kitten purrs and closes its eyes contently.

Terrible.

The kitten ducks its head beneath Binghe's finger and he rolls his eyes. "So needy, does Shizun spend all his days spoiling you?"

"Mrow."

He huffs, but runs his hand over the kitten's head indulgently. "You always hog all his attention, how much do you even need, huh?"

The kitten purrs loudly in response as it rubs up against Binghe's gentle hand, and he can't help caressing down the kitten's small body.

"You're too small. Why don't you grow up, hm? You're making Shizun worry."

The kitten chirps, then continues to purr, pleased, climbing up Luo Binghe's chest from his lap. But the travel up is treacherous and the kitten nearly slips - Binghe's quick reflexes catch it though.

"Be careful. How clumsy. If you get hurt, Shizun won't forgive me."

The kitten continues its journey undettered and finally nestles into the junction between Binghe's neck and shoulder. Its small body is warm and vibrating with loud purrs, and it occasionally turns to sniff at Binghe's face and lick it.

"Stop that." He says, without any bite, and scratches between the kitten's ears with two of his fingers. The animal seems to take that as encouragement and pushes its head against Luo Binghe's cheek.

He turns his head to meet small, green eyes and a purring, black nose.

He cannot resist the impulse to lay a kiss over the kitten's forehead.

Maybe she isn't so bad, after all.

--

"Binghe, I'm-"

When Shen Qingqiu walks into the room, his mouth closes and his eyes soften with fondness. Sat on the bamboo couch, clearly waiting for him, Luo Binghe's head is angled to a side, the small, black kitten tucked into his shoulder and serving as the tiniest pillow in the world. They are both asleep, wearing matching expressions of content and relaxation.

Shen Qingqiu wished he had his camera right now.

[ink-and-dagger]

Inky, my dearest Inky, my sweetest Inky, this is a question of the utmost importance. I cannot go on with my life without this information. I crave the answer, need to finally see the light, the truth, the resolution that will grant me peace at last.

Tell me, please:

Did Astrid ever drop the word daddy on Silco and did they finally fuck on the damn bar countertop?

Seeing as your wellbeing is on the line...

Yes, on both counts.

I plan to elaborate in due course. Both scenarios are currently in my WIP folder. For now, I'll leave you with a little DWM lore tidbit:

The reason Silco has a thing about fucking Astrid on the bar countertop – the reason he specifically added it to the To Do List – is because in DWM, during their 3 months apart in Chapter 15, Silco had a nightmare in which he came down into the club to be greeted by Astrid and Marcus banging on top of the bar.

[thunder-point]

tattoo artist!peem au

my phumpeem two scents for today are:

phum makes a reckless bet with mick where one of them has to get a tattoo somewhere on his body if something specific happens in x game storyline and he LOSES.

cue phum being absolutely nervous because a tattoo is a big deal, and he never truly thought about it before. but then tan recommends him this popular place and tells him two of his very good childhood friends own it and he will be 100% safe and handled with care there.

so he goes. the first day he goes to make the appointment (sure, he could make it on the phone but he wanted to scope the place out, alright?) he gets to meet Q, who is all proper and reticent, honestly a little bit daunting. phum is... more than a bit intimidated. Q is curt but he sounds like he knows his stuff; plus he's also tan's friend, so phum makes the appointment nevertheless.

but then the day of the appointment comes, and he's already sweating through his deodorant and oh, this time a girl named Fai greets him, leads him towards the chair and tells him to wait. he's shirtless (because he chose the tattoo to be on his hip; it's a small design but the jitters won't leave him), hands clammy and heart thundering, looking every few seconds towards the door for any glimpse of Q.

only that it isn't aloof Q who comes through. it's the prettiest boy phum ever met in his whole life. it's inky strands over equally dark eyes and gorgeous smile full of comfort and veiny arms and a soothing voice introducing himself as "peem, your tattoo artist for the day. nice to meet you, phum."

the other owner of the salon.

and now phum's chest is unstable for another reason entirely. more than one reason, actually. it's because peem's gloved hands are handling the sensitive skin of his hip with a care worthy of the priceless. it's peem's sweet hums as phum talks about his design, the one fang helped him choose. it's peem's resolute reassurance that he'll make phum proud of carrying his ink on his skin.

his ink.

it's peem hovering over his torso, eyes focused and plush lips getting bitten with every twist of his wrist. his hair looks so soft this close, and his face shines and his cologne has phum thinking whimsical things. unattainable things. and phum, who was so scared of the pain and of the permanence of this choice, would give hours of his life to have peem ink his body with such visible passion and love.

he'd learn to long for pain just to have peem wipe his skin and flicker his curved eyes up with a gentle "how is it? feeling good? do you need anything? a break?" soft, soft like a purr, like a hush; gloved hand settling along the curve of phum's ribs, another type of brand, a measure of his shattered breath under the warmth of that palm.

it's safe to say phum gets more tattoos. it's safer to realize peem does them all. in the salon, in his own home where he has his own set up, where he can keep phum longer.

yeah.

[girlwonderers]

exit, pursued

i...have no explanation. or excuse. take it for what it is, which is terrible.

This whole…trial was a ridiculous farce, a mockery of the Inquisitor's name and responsibilities. Being sent to rescue the bear had been galling enough, but then to demand judgement for its deeds? For failing in its duties as a warrior?

Even worse that the Inquisitor had acquiesced, though Cianán had seemed taken aback when the thane asked, so Cassandra hoped his fascination with the barbarians had not blinded him completely to the foolishness at hand. Even if he had slipped a truly awful pun in, with a deliberate smirk in her direction.

His poor humor aside, he had carried out his task with the same solemnity he gave to any of his duties as Inquisitor; he spoke eloquently (moreso, Cassandra thought, than was warranted) of the bear's dedication to her hold—ridiculous—and of her unwillingness to leave them without the protection of their patron god in a time of crisis—which was nearly insulting—and finally of her valor and heroism during the raid on the old Tevinter temple. At least the thane seemed pleased at the end of his little speech, and the bear, mercifully, lumbered out of the cave and down the hillside once its handlers moved away from the exit. Passing without incident was perhaps the best Cassandra could hope for in any interaction with the Avvar.

Once Cianán had excused all of them to return to their own camp, Dorian and Sera struck up a debate about the merits of ursine siege weaponry as the Avvar hold's torches dimmed behind them, and Cassandra resolutely ignored them both while she led the march down the leaf-littered path. Cianán drew up alongside her, reaching to take her left hand in his right, and irritated as she was she could not find it in herself to deny the indulgence of habit.

"Thank you again for coming with me," he murmured, as he had nearly every night since they'd arrived in this Maker-forsaken crater. He was taller than most elves Cassandra knew, but not so much taller than she was; when he dipped his head and leaned toward her shoulder it was for the sake of closeness, not clarity, and she sighed despite herself. The hem of his outer robe brushed against her leg every few steps, like an affectionate cat winding underfoot. "I know you aren't comfortable in the hold. I appreciate you…bear-ing with it, for my sake."

No. Sweet merciful Andraste on Her sacred pyre, no.

"Ugh," she muttered, and wrenched her hand back. Cianán's fingers were slack, unresisting, and she knew with the same certainty as the sunrise that if she were to look at him again he would be giving her that blasted smirk.

"Apologies, emma nehn," he said, with a laugh in his voice that showed no such contrition. "May I beg your fur-giveness? I don't know that I could bear the weight of your scorn."

The Inquisitor was tall, but not terribly so, and he was lanky in the way all elves were; Cassandra didn't need to break her stride to reach over with her left hand and shove him down into a bush.

"I will be taking our tent tonight," she snapped, perhaps closer to a shout than it should have been but for Dorian, Sera, and Cianán cackling like a pack of deranged hyenas. "Alone. You will sleep outside."

"You'd leave the poor man bear to the elements?" Dorian gasped, between fits of laughter, and Cassandra snarled and stomped deeper into the shadows of the forest.

"Inky's in the bearhouse!" Sera howled. "Hey, d'you reckon you've gotta sleep on the ground with those screwy lizards now? Bears can't climb trees with their great massive dandles."

Let their awful jokes keep them company on the way back, Cassandra thought, picking up her pace. See if puns would protect them from spiders.

[shanny-banany]

I lost track of time terribly, but thank you so much for the tag @weird-felt-hat!!!

Rules: Share a snippet from whatever you're currently working on, and then tag 5 people.

I was originally going to share from my closest to completion wip, but as drive to just finish that one and post the whole thing I decided to go with the one I started today instead:

It wasn’t often that Ryuuji allowed himself to wallow in his desires. He was driven and passionate, and anything worthy of drawing his attention garnered either a resolute commitment or a stern and total shutdown. There was little in between, for he was unwavering in his ambitions and unwilling to be swayed by temptation in the way so many of his peers were.

It was only during nights like this, where the inky darkness stripped him of those self-imposed barriers, enveloping him in an unfamiliar sort of boldness, and the light of the stars, the moon, the crackling fire seemed to permeate through his being, filling him with a serene, treacherous, empowered acceptance, that he felt no need to pretend.

Free of his inhibitions, Ryuuji couldn’t deny how alluring Rin looked bathed in the firelight.

I’m not sure who hasn’t been tagged yet, so tagging anyone interested in sharing, I love reading wips <3

[viiviidlights]

Overblot Theatre - The Maiden from Afar

Word Count: 2,916

This is to pair with (and serve as sort of the resolution to) the overblot event I'm currently running on my roleplay blog (@night-raven-miscellany).

It's much like my prev twst drabble (re: the Riddle Overblot Scene One) and is based around the exact same headcanons for that, just... slightly different, hehehe.

Anyways... um... enjoy, I suppose?

When Yuna awoke, she found herself inside of the strange, monochromatic theatre once more.

No one had seemed to understand her the very first time she shared her experiences about the place, and she had accepted that perhaps this was her own little mind palace of sorts - one where she could obtain a deeper understanding of her peers, despite not remembering a single thing she had heard or witnessed of their stories, save for a few small details.

"Huh…" She mused aloud to herself. "Wonder who I'm gonna get to see this time… considering the circumstances, of course…"

Even though she hadn't entirely been herself through the whole thing, she was fully aware that she had somehow accomplished the necessary requirements needed for one to overblot. She still wasn't certain as to how she accumulated blot, or even wound up unleashing it in the first place, but oh boy. She knew she had overblotted all too well.

The screening room at the end of the hall, she noted, was different, too. The last few times she had been here, there was always some kind of "movie" playing, and the audio could be heard from a ways away. There was typically some manner of light escaping the room as well. But this time, there was neither light nor sound coming from the screening room, which filled Yuna with an odd sense of dread.

She sighed, and decided she was to observe her surroundings this time around. Usually, the theatre had been clean. Pristine, even, with minimal clutter or decor aside from posters that decorated the lobby, depicting scenes from times far gone. But this time, the lobby was dripping with a liquid that Yuna assumed was ink, but the greyscale look of everything made it hard to tell.

Additonally, broken mirrors and roses that had been stripped of their petals lined the walls and floors, making Yuna feel as though she had perhaps wandered into a dungeon of a video game instead of what she was generally familiar with.

She took a deep breath, attempting to mentally prepare herself to enter the room, and as she did, the familiar sight of empty velvet seats all around gave her an odd relief.

Until she noticed the sole occupant of the room.

It was a massive, hulking thing, with gnarled horns that twisted like brambles, and claws that could have easily crushed her skull with one wrong move. It had a head that resembled a broken vial, and from the cracks on it leaked the same dark, inky substance she saw in the lobby. A cape was wrapped around it like a blanket, like a child who was afraid of monsters in the dark.

A phantom. Her phantom.

"Why…?" It groaned as she entered, hesitantly taking a seat beside it. "Why wouldn't you let me protect us?"

Yuna wasn't sure how to answer the question posed. She thought for a minute, wondering just why she allowed herself to return to her senses.

"Well… for starters, I didn't want to die," she chuckled, which earned her a low huff of disapproval from the phantom. She cleared her throat awkwardly before she continued.

"That… and… I was wrong."

The phantom tilted its large, bulky head in confusion.

"About what? As far as I'm concerned, we were entirely justified in our anger…"

"Yes, but…" Yuna contemplated. "…We were totally acting like a child. And we took our anger out on people who didn't deserve it."

Yuna flinched as the phantom raised its hands in anger, but it seemed to notice this, and recoiled.

"But… they did! It was their fault we were so angry!!! Minerva betrayed us, and the others? Well… they didn't even think to check in on us when it all happened!

"We never gave them the chance to, though," Yuna began to point out, but she was interrupted by the phantom.

*"But what about all the times before that? Even then, nobody seemed to come and ask us if we were okay?"

"And again, I say, we never really gave anyone the chance to. We just… cut ourselves off from the world for a bit before returning like nothing happened."

"Well," The phantom had to consider for a moment some other way of arguing with Yuna. "Well… what about the fact that they were always better than you? Or the fact that some of them would only come to you with ulterior motives?"

Yuna had to concede the first point, at least.

She was always lesser than her peers. Even before coming to Twisted Wonderland, she had been seen as lower than the people she had in her company. She was completely average in her appearance and her grades were only a bit above average. She had absolutely no magic to speak of, though, and was less than able to hold her own in a fight for the longest time, always having to rely on others to help her.

She was, to put it plainly, a total nobody.

The film began rolling on the screen as she thought.

-

"Yuna? Is she a student here?" A student asked, meaning no harm, but to hear the question alone stung Yuna deeply.

"I've heard she's the plain girl that hangs around Wilomena and Minerva all the time." Another student replied with a shrug. The word 'plain' was so innocuous, but it had always bothered Yuna to hear it in reference to herself.

"Really? Those two? But they're like… so popular!"

"*I know, right? Why either of them would keep her around is a total mystery… she just kind of keeps to herself and doesn't talk to anyone! It's totally creepy, if I'm being honest. Not to mention the fact that she doesn't even really have anything going for her, either. Compared to Wilomena, she's totally average in terms of her grades,"

"And what about Minerva?" The oblivious student asked, once again innocently, but in a way that made Yuna squirm.

"Psh- It's no contest in the least! I wouldn't be surprised if Minerva just kept her around to make herself look better, to be honest."

Yuna cleared her throat as she tried to interrupt the conversation.

"Um… excuse me," She stammered, trying to get her classmates' attention. "That's not a very nice thing to say about someone…"

The student who had been insulting her scoffed and shook his head.

"It's true, though," He said, throwing his hands up in a 'whatever' sort of gesture. "No one says it out loud, but everyone thinks it. If you saw her, you'd probably agree, too."

Yuna was shocked, and raised a finger to protest, stammering, but the two students just looked at each other, the one rolling his eyes.

"Whatever… Let's get out of here. I'm not gonna let myself get policed by some total nobody."

Nobody.

That was the word perpetually affixed to her identity.

It wasn't the first time she had run in with the gossips of her school, nor was it the first time she had been blatantly insulted to her face.

Amongst her peers, she was no one, not even a blip on their radars. Always left in the background, the shadows, even when she was there.

Even with her friends, she was left in the dark. She was a mere rumor, a concept, even, that only existed to make them shine brighter than they already were.

She was… Nothing.

"See?" The phantom said. "You never had a place among anyone… not here, not there, not ever…"

"But I-"

"We weren't even someone to our own family, Yuna."

The film reel began rolling again, not even giving Yuna a chance to speak.

-

When Yuna was younger, her family was… perfect. The most heartwarming idyllic scene one could imagine was what her childhood was like - playing piano with her father, watching silly princess movies with her mom, chatting around in the kitchen like nothing was ever wrong in the world. She loved her parents, and her parents loved her. And that was the end of it.

About six years, ago, though, shortly after Yuna had turned 10, was when everything changed.

"I feel like you don't even care about us anymore, Mat! All you ever do anymore is come home from work, eat dinner, and go to sleep! What about me? What about Yuna? She misses you so much, you know?"

"*I can't do this, Isabelle. Not again. I told you, I can't control the workload I've been given and I've told you we shouldn't be arguing while Yuna's still awake."

"You can't do this again, Yamato? What about me? Do you think I want to be arguing with you like this, night after night, and not reaching any kind of resolution?"

"I'm sorry, Isa. Really. But this just isn't something I can keep doing. I can't just quit my job to make myself magically more available, and I can't just magically fix everything up."

"I understand that, Mat… but that's why I've realized that maybe this isn't working out anymore. I can't keep myself together anymore… The only reason I keep doing this is because of Yu…"

"I know, Isa."

"I think it's time we finally wrapped things up."

"I'm sorry, Isa."

Her parents had split apart and her father moved out. Something about work-family conflicts and falling out of love.

It hurt Yuna, sure, but she knew her parents still loved her. She was able to visit her father as often as she could (which was rarely, if ever), and her mother was still kind and understanding. She just felt… sad.

It wasn't until that man moved in with her mother that she started feeling lost in her own home on top of everything else.

"Yuna, darling, I love you, but you need to get over yourself. It's been six years since your dad moved out and a year since Robbie moved in. I've moved on and you need to as well…" Her mom sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as Yuna mopped a mess on the floor left behind by her so-called 'step-father'. "For everyone's sake."

"I've perfectly well accepted that dad has left us," Yuna grumbled. "But the last thing I'm gonna accept is that that asshole is my new dad. Haven't you seen how he treats us? How he treats me? We're nothing more than a moneybag to him!"

"Do NOT call your stepfather an asshole, Yuna," Her mother scolded. "He's doing his best, even if he doesn't always show it in the best ways most of the time… And I'm trying my best, too. I don't want us to be fighting like this all the time."

"Clearly you aren't doing enough!" Yuna snapped. "Day in and day out, he just lazes about watching his stupid games and makes us do all the work, practically forbidding us from setting foot outside the house unless we have work or school.

"*He just wants to make sure we stay safe and happy, Yu-"

"Safe and happy, my ass! You saw how he threw that bottle on the ground earlier when I told him that I didn't want to just come home and do nothing all the time. That I wanted to perform in the school recital? Shouldn't a dad be supportive of my interests and not be throwing shit around recklessly if he wants me to be 'safe and happy'?"

"Don't talk back to me like that, Yuna-"

"Honestly, I'd rather be dead than have to consider him my dad and have him consider me his daughter…" Yuna began.

"Yuna, I suggest you stop while you're ahead." Her mother warned.

"And since you seem so dead-set on making that happen," Yuna sneered "I guess you want that, too."

Yuna was not one for cruel words very often, and when she said that, she gasped, covering her own mouth.

"I- that's not…"

"How dare you speak to me that way, young lady!" Her mother cried, tears brimming at her eyes. "*Did I fail you, somehow? Did I raise you to be so disrespectful?"

"No, mom, it's just-"

"*Because I have no idea where you would ever get such ideas in your head! You've changed so much recently… it's like I don't even know my own daughter anymore!"

Yuna deeply regretted her words, now, but it seemed she had only dug herself a hole and could only go deeper from here.

"…Well maybe you never did, then. Because clearly, you don't know me anymore… Not in the least."

"You have no idea what you're talking about! I've raised you since you were small to be kind and understanding and compassionate! Not… not whatever this is!" Her mother gestured at Yuna, who in turn dropped the mop she had been holding.

"I hate you." Yuna spat, suddenly unable to keep her thoughts from spilling out now, as the hole kept growing deeper. "I wish I went with dad instead. Sure, he wouldn't be home very often, but at least he'd value me over some asshole like Robert."

"I- you-" Yuna's mother sputtered, unable to properly formulate a response to her own daughter. "Go to your room, Yuna… I'll finish cleaning this up. Just get out of my sight, right now."

Yuna had run away the next morning.

The last words she had said to her mother were about how much she hated her, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. She missed her mom… she missed her mom so much. She wanted nothing more than to go back home, even if it meant having to deal with a scumbag for her stepfather for the next few years until she could move out.

-

"I… "

"And then, we came here." The phantom said, gesturing around the empty screening room. "For once in our life, we were so close to thinking we were someone, even when we started out with nothing! No money, no magic, no reputation. We thought we had made friends, but everyone, and I mean EVERYONE wanted something from us! We were nothing more than a pawn in someone else's game. You liked it, at first. We were someone to them. We could help them. We could become someone through all of these meaningless tasks!"

"But…?" Yuna asked, wincing at the phantom's- no, her own brutal honesty.

"But we were wrong. No one here cared about us! No one there did, either! We spent our whole LIFE hearing about how everyone should be loved, how everyone DESERVES to be loved. But not once did we ever feel that way when we got older…"

Yuna remained silent, and let the phantom continue to speak.

"It makes sense, though. We- no… I deserve it. Because who could ever want to love a beast- a totally awkward, good-for-nothing, magicless nobody like me?"

"My name is Yuna Sid. I am a nobody. My name will not be written in any history books. I will not be remembered fondly, if I am even remembered at all. I am nothing and no one. And that is my legacy."

It was the phantom's turn to fall silent, massive pools of ink dripping down its face like wet tears as it cried.

Yuna was crying, too. This was her, after all; it was her deepest thoughts, her deepest fears and insecurities made manifest. How could she not feel just as hurt and upset as the phantom did?

She leaned against the monster, but looked away from it and the screen in front of the two of them.

"It hurts so much," She choked, "And it isn't fair to us at all…"

She grabbed the phantom's hand and wrapped it around her shoulders, like a comforting blanket.

"But… we were wrong. There are still people out there who care about us… we aren't a nobody."

The phantom sniffled, tilting its head in confusion.

"Like… to the guys in Heartslabyul, who had no reason to give a shit about us, but would lay down their lives to save us. Or the ghosts in Ramshackle," she continued. "Or Grim."

The phantom began to let out a soft sizzling sound.

"Or the guys that overblotted before us, who we managed to become sort of friends with after we gave them a chance to be understood," Yuna wiped at her eyes. "The countless staff members and students who have come to our help with studying and learning about this crazy, stupid, magical world."

A dark mist began to fill the air as the scent of roses wafted throughout the screening room.

"And, of course, what about the people who came out to save us in the first place? Those daring trespassers who risked life and limb to make sure we would be okay…?"

The phantom let out a soft chuckle as it embraced Yuna.

"I do suppose you're right…" It said, its body slowly fading into nothingness. "Maybe we do mean something…"

Yuna sniffled as she returned the embrace, her own thoughts slowly becoming in tune with those of the phantom.

"I'm sorry." It said, as the last of its physical form dissipated into nothing as the screen slowly went dark.

Yuna held back a sob as she grabbed the remainder of the phantom's presence in her arms- a cape, torn nearly to shreds, the faint scent of roses lingering about the crimson fabric.

"…Thank you." Was all she said, as she carried the cape out of the room, ready to return to the waking world.

[swemtpotamtam]

Yikesss, bioware taking away all the previous choices from the whole series and limiting them to only 3 choices (all of which are trespasser-only) is wild in the worst way possible <:D

The excuse for it being "we don't want new players to get overwhelmed" is weird too 'cause they could've gone with a default world state thing, just like they did with Inquisition if you didn't have saves/Keep info from previous games.

Like, are you telling me that all those things don't matter? Why? Because we're not in Southern Thedas? That's weird 'cause the world is, you know, interconnected. The decisions made in Southern Thedas would still reflect on the Northern part.

I understand that writing all of those things in, tying it all together, is hard but I don't believe that it was straight-up impossible. And using the "new players won't understand" excuse is just.. cheap? People aren't dumb. People can catch on to little details as they go, you don't need to know everything from previous titles to experience the story and enjoy it. In actuality, it gives new players the incentive to go back and play the whole series from Origins to Inquisition, and then replay Veilguard after they've seen everything to make everything click even better now that they possess the knowledge from those older entries.

I just... I dunno. It feels wrong to even just say that the whole of Inquisition can be narrowed down to: 1) who your inky was (race and gender) and who they romanced, 2) if they wanted to hunt down or redeem Solas and 3) if you disbanded the Inquisition or kept it around. What about other choices? What about who became the Divine? Sure, it might not affect Tevinter or any other Northern kingdoms but come on, it still has ties to all those other areas. No Well of Sorrows stuff? That was such a cool and mysterious detail, with no resolution in Trespasser as well. What about Hawke? What about Hero of Ferelden? No mentions at all? Wild 'cause there's a chance that Hawke went to Weisshaupt and also Hero of Ferelden is part of the Grey Warden history. And does this mean that Kieran isn't a thing?

I know that there's still a whole month ahead before we find out everything but this just puts such a sour taste in my mouth.

The game that was all about player agency and consequences just suddenly ditches this whole system.

Edit: I might come around on this whole thing if Veilguard proves that there is a reason why they cut down on choices carrying over. Perhaps they decided to do this because it really is a more secluded story, kinda like it's own little thing with no outright outside connections aside from some cameos. I don't know yet.

But I will likely revisit this post, adding on to it my thoughts and opinions after I get my hands on the game and complete it at least once.

[sometimesanalice]

I'm going to ask about three because I'm greedy; This is Me Trying (already know this is going to kill me), People Talk, Rumors Walk/ Rumor Has It, and Picture Perfect follow up (pure serotonin hit my brain seeing this on the WIP list)! 💗🩷💕

For you, Monroe, I will happily tell you about all three!! 💖

This is Me Trying is truly going to be one of those passion projects when I get around to writing it, which I keep putting off because I know it’s going to kill me too 😂🥺😭 This one is going to be set during those dark days at and around Carole’s death and the fallout of Mav pulling Bradley’s papers. This is also the period when Bradley is so set on self destruction that he tries to end his friendship with SG. But we’re also going to see how he starts to pick up the pieces of his life again, and the catalyst for him getting back on track.

“I put up with you for my mom’s sake. I hung out with you because it made her happy. Our moms were friends, real friends. But she’s dead now, and I don’t have a reason to keep doing this.” The words pour out of his mouth like an oil spill. Black and inky. They taste like acid on his tongue. “We aren’t friends. So stop being so fucking naive and grow the hell up.”

(Ok ooof)

Moving onto the tentatively titled People Talk/Rumors Walk//Rumor Has It! This is going to be a full length Bradley series! And I’m equal parts and excited and intimidated by it, lol. It’s been in my head since 2022, and needs to be written so I can have the brain space back.

After attending a big gala event, Bradley ends up going viral. Wanting to take advantage of the media attention to revamp their image a bit, the Navy brings in an outside strategic consultant with roots in the political landscape. And it turns out that they’ve already met 👀

Here’s a baby teaser!

Ahhh! I’m so soft about the Picture Perfect follow up! That fic started as a little (read: long) text that I sent to a friend about a different fic idea that kind of turned into this what-if fic for the Like I Can babes.

But since I fully believe they find their way to each other in every timeline, I couldn’t just leave that one hanging without a resolution!

Here’s a little peek!

ask me about my wips!

[practice2creativeproject]

《Inscryption》 Reflection

Inscryption is one of those games that constantly left me amazed while playing — I kept saying “Wait, what?!” over and over again.

Whether it was the storytelling or the art direction, everything felt packed with the developer’s clever design and unique vision. Especially when the “real” game begins, you almost start to lose track of what’s part of the game and what’s real life.

Initially, I just wanted to try Inscryption to see if I could draw inspiration for my Final Project, but to my surprise, the game gave me much more than that.

It shocked me with brilliant and unexpected design choices.

A quick note: Since Inscryption is a longer game and I’m not very experienced with strategy card games, I haven’t finished the full playthrough yet.

This blog post will mainly focus on my visual and artistic impressions of the first act of the game and won’t delve into detail about the story twists or later gameplay mechanics.

A bit of background

Inscryption was created by Daniel Mullins, whose previous works — Pony Island and The Hex — already showed his strong interest in breaking the fourth wall, subverting player expectations, and playing with game history and systems as part of the narrative.

Inscryption could be seen as the ultimate combination of all those elements.

Interestingly, the original concept for Inscryption came from a game jam where the theme was “you must make a sacrifice.” That core idea later evolved into the intense, layered experience we know today.

The Deep Immersion of Act One’s Art Design

What amazed me most about Inscryption’s visual design was how much effort the creator put into building a truly immersive experience.

The game uses a first-person perspective, which immediately pulls the player into the feeling of actually sitting at the card table.

On top of that, the intentionally old, low-resolution visual style gives the entire scene a strange, unsettling atmosphere.

Across the table, all you can see is pure darkness, with only a pair of glowing eyes staring back at you, and that simple choice pushes the sense of mystery and creepiness to the maximum. Personally, I really love how the game uses just three simple visual elements:

First-person view

Low-resolution graphics

The mysterious glowing eyes surrounded by unnatural, absolute darkness

Together, these elements perfectly create a weird and eerie atmosphere, setting up a game world that leaves much to the player’s imagination.

When talking about immersion, it’s impossible not to mention how Inscryption handles its UI design!

In Act One, you can clearly see how much effort Daniel Mullins put into creating a 100% immersive experience because there’s no traditional UI at all! Instead, every piece of information the player needs is physically represented as real objects on the table.

For example, as you can see in the image:

The player’s health and the boss’s health are shown through a physical scale (balance).

The small bell next to the scale is what players use to end their turn.

The player’s remaining lives are represented by the flames on the candles!

If you look closely, you’ll notice even more thoughtful details. The design of the scale itself is made up of animal motifs you encounter throughout the game, like wolves, birds, and reptiles.

And my personal favorite:

The pointer on the scale is actually made of animal fangs, perfectly tying into the idea that damage points in the game are represented by golden teeth. Even the base of the candle holder is shaped like a heart, symbolizing that it literally represents the player's life!

Using real-world objects as the UI massively boosted my sense of immersion while playing. It made me feel like everything I needed was part of the world itself, not just floating icons on a screen.

At the same time, this object-based UI also helped strengthen the game's overall eerie atmosphere.

The Card Design in Inscryption

The card design in Inscryption is also really interesting!

In most card games, one of the more boring parts can be reading long ability descriptions printed on the cards.

But in Inscryption, the small, narrow text space on the cards made it impossible to fit in large chunks of text comfortably. So in the end, Daniel Mullins chose to rely heavily on symbols to help players quickly understand each card’s function.

There’s also an in-game rulebook that players can check at any time — just by right-clicking on a card.

Whenever a new symbol appears, the game provides slight hints or explanations, making it easier for players to gradually memorize the meaning of each icon without feeling overwhelmed. When designing the cards, Daniel Mullins also drew on his experience playing many other card games.

He noticed that when cards have too many numbers and arrows, it can actually confuse players rather than help them. That’s why, in Inscryption, aside from health points and attack points, you’ll rarely see any other numbers on the cards.

Even the very important "sacrifice cost" isn’t shown as a number — it's represented by a blood drop symbol instead. Arrows are used very minimally, too.

Instead, the cards use intuitive icons like a skull, wings, or infinity symbol — simple shapes that players can easily recognize and connect to an ability without needing lots of text. Personally, when I first started playing, I did find it a little hard to remember all the symbols.

But because all the UI elements are integrated into the game's physical world, checking the rulebook never felt tedious. And once I got used to the system, I actually fell in love with the clean, text-free design of the cards!

Especially when a single card started stacking up lots of different symbols — it felt so much more satisfying than just reading a big block of text. Honestly, seeing a card full of symbols felt like a real achievement, haha!

Environmental Design in Inscryption

The environmental design in Inscryption is also incredibly fascinating!! Throughout the game, Daniel Mullins continues to weave the idea of immersion into every part of the environment design.

Whenever something happens on the card table — whether it's an event or a card upgrade — it’s never just a simple text box. Instead, a small physical scene actually plays out right on the table, like a miniature theater show unfolding in front of you!

One of my personal favorite scenes is the campfire event. At the campfire, players can risk feeding their card to the surrounding little puppets to boost the card's health or attack stats.

At first, I thought the little puppets sitting around the campfire were just decorations. Still, it turns out that if you sacrifice a poisonous card to them during one of these events, the next time you encounter the campfire, the puppets will be gone, and you’ll be able to safely boost your card’s stats without any risk!

This kind of small, hidden detail really shows how, in Inscryption, every element on the table is there for a reason — it’s never just background decoration.

Inscryption’s boss fight setups are also super creative!

Since all battles happen at the card table, Daniel Mullins cleverly uses the only two bright glowing eyes in the darkness to transform the opponent into different characters.

Basically, the glowing-eyed figure puts on different masks to play the roles of various bosses! It feels almost like a one-person theater performance, with just a few props and lighting changes completely altering the atmosphere.

I really love how intuitive and creative this environmental storytelling is!

And during boss fights, the bosses also physically interact with the table. For example, one boss uses a pickaxe to smash your cards and turn them into useless gold nuggets!

This kind of visualized game mechanic, where actions are shown directly through the environment instead of just explained with text, is something you see again and again throughout Inscryption, and it massively boosts both immersion and player engagement.

Finally, what originally drew me most to Inscryption was its use of breaking the fourth wall. I've always loved games that play with the fourth wall, but in Inscryption, I saw a whole new way of doing it!

The first thing I absolutely loved was how the cards themselves interact directly with the player.

Very early on, you receive a white dog card, and that dog actually talks to you, making sarcastic comments or giving you hints when you draw it during a match!

This kind of unexpected, playful interaction made the experience so much more fun and immersive, and it gave the cards a stronger emotional connection with the player.

The second thing I loved even more was what happens when you die in the game. Instead of a typical "game over" screen, the game features a mysterious figure taking a photo of you with an old camera. Then, your character is transformed into a card that you can use in your next run!

I thought this idea of "turning the player into a card" was absolutely brilliant!

Conclusion

In conclusion, I think Inscryption’s visual design and card system aren't just about being "stylish" or "beautiful."

What makes them truly powerful is this:

It turns mechanics into emotions, materials into meaning, and every game element into a piece of the story.

From Inscryption, I didn’t just learn how to design card stats; I learned how to use cards to help players truly connect with the world they’re inside.

Reference

Wikipedia. (n.d.). Inscryption. [online] Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inscryption [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

Game Developer. (2022). Inscryption’s journey from game jam joint to cult classic. [online] Available at: https://www.gamedeveloper.com/marketing/-i-inscryption-s-i-journey-from-game-jam-joint-to-cult-classic [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

DevolverDigital. (2021). Inscryption - Launch Trailer. [online video] YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oz_gvTG1iwk [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

ArtStation. (n.d.). Finished Artwork of Inscryption. [online] Available at: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/8edk1n [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

Polycount. (2021). Finished Artwork of Inscryption. [online] Available at: https://polycount.com/discussion/225932/finished-artwork-of-inscryption [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

Game Rant. (2021). Inscryption Interview: Daniel Mullins Discusses 3D, Retro Horror Games, and More. [online] Available at: https://gamerant.com/inscryption-interview-developer-daniel-mullins-3d-retro-horror-games/ [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

Daniel Mullins Games. (2021). Inscryption - Full Developer Commentary. [online video] YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFQaM6Hu4xs&t=4796s [Accessed 29 Apr. 2025].

[ellekhen]

When Your Mind's Made Up

Chapter 19 - The Beginning

Chapter Summary: An illithid meets the Church it was once fated to become, but he has other plans for it. The mind flayer digs deep for answers, learning the truth of why Church came back for him.

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Original Male Character/Illithid Tav Rating: Explicit Progress: 68K+ words; Chapters 19/20

Excerpt below:

“You are who I was,” the mind flayer intones to its companion. “A tiefling. Church.”

His eyes are inky black, his skin pale, and his fangs as sharp as ever.

“It’s complicated,” the tiefling says, his voice softer and less resonant now. He sighs, running a hand nervously through his silver-streaked hair. 

“Like I said… I was you,” he repeats gently, voice breaking ever so slightly. “But you don’t have to become me.” His face hardens. “You are not going to become me. ”

“If you were me then you know why I need to do this,” the illithid insists. “Why are you stopping me?”  

“Because I can,” Church says matter-of-factly. “And… because this path is unknown. Mine is — and I have decided you will not share it.”

He closes his eyes briefly.

“I am sparing you my regrets,” Church continues resolutely. “I am giving you what I didn’t let myself have — time.”

He wraps his arms back around the mind flayer’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the side of its head. 

“You’re going to be something unknown. Something incredible. Something fate hasn’t decided just quite yet. You’re going to drive the gods mad just by existing.”

“I don’t understand…” the illithid flicks its tentacles dubiously. “Who are you to change fate?”

“A monster, perhaps,” Church shrugs lightly. “A madman. Perhaps even an agent of chaos, in Withers’ book.”

“Why bother?” the illithid demands. “Why decide this for me?”

The shadow of a tiefling huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk. Just moments ago you decided for Karlach, didn’t you?”

“So did you,” the mind flayer says pointedly. 

“Yes. I did,” Church smiles ruefully. “So it would only be typical of us if I insisted upon saving you.”

“So if I — you — died, how would you have been me?” the illithid asks. “You’re not…”

It hesitates. 

“…are you…?”

“Dead? Yes,” Church shrugs. “But not gone. Never really gone.” He hesitates. “Not yet, anyway.” 

Start from the beginning

[serephinastardust]

he Book I'm writing: Requiem of the Rising Flames-Elixir's Pursuit: A Kitsune's Journey Rewrite #3 Book 1 Chapter 2

As Aiden's eyes bore witness to the unfolding tragedy on the battlefield, a profound sense of horror gripped him. Sylara, once a beacon of ethereal flames, now bore the weight of accumulated wounds inflicted by Malachar. Each strike seemed to take a toll not only on her physical form but also on the very essence of her being.

Sylara... what have I done? Aiden's thoughts trembled with a mixture of guilt and anguish. He strained against the tendrils, his attempts at escape growing more desperate with every passing second. Yet, an unsettling realization crept into his consciousness—the more he struggled, the weaker he became.

His once-chiseled physique now felt like a vessel drained of vitality. Panic welled within him as he connected the dots. The tendrils... they're siphoning our strength. But for what purpose?

Aiden's focus shifted to Malachar, whose malevolent laughter echoed across the battlefield. The Voidbringer seemed to revel in the pain he inflicted upon Sylara, his power growing with each passing moment. Aiden's internal turmoil deepened as he recognized the sinister nature of the trap.

He's feeding on us. A cold realization settled over Aiden. Our life force, our vitality—it's fueling him.

The weight of the revelation bore down on Aiden as he struggled to reconcile the dire situation. His gaze flickered between Sylara, valiant but visibly weakening, and the tendrils that bound him. The battle had transformed into a cruel paradox: to save Sylara, he would need to sacrifice himself.

Sylara can't withstand much more. If I don't act now, we're both lost.

As the internal struggle intensified, Aiden's thoughts wavered between the instinct for self-preservation and the overwhelming need to protect Sylara. His mind, clouded with conflicting emotions, reached a solemn resolution.

Sylara deserves a chance to defeat this darkness. Aiden steeled himself for what seemed an impossible choice. For her, I must face the abyss.

His focus shifted from the tendrils to Sylara, determination replacing the panic that had gripped him. Forgive me, my love.

With a deep breath, Aiden surrendered to the reality of their plight. He ceased his futile struggles against the tendrils and embraced the grim decision that hung over him. The battlefield, once a stage for a valiant struggle, now bore witness to a sacrifice that transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

As Aiden embraced the chilling decision to save Sylara, he steeled himself for the ultimate sacrifice. The battle, once a tempest of magic and steel, fell silent as he made a conscious choice to sever the tether that bound him to life.

The tendrils, like inky threads woven into the fabric of despair, clung to Aiden's form. As his azure eyes locked onto Sylara, he whispered his farewell, a silent vow etched into the depths of his gaze. With a resolute breath, Aiden relinquished his hold on life, allowing his soul to slip away from the mortal coil.

The tendrils, sensing the absence of resistance, recoiled as if scorched by an unseen force. Aiden's vision dimmed, the world around him fading into an ethereal tapestry of light and shadow. Yet, even in the throes of his passing, his gaze remained fixed on Sylara, the woman he loved with a depth that transcended the mortal realm.

The tendrils, now devoid of the vitality they had sought to drain, withered away into nothingness. The void that had threatened to consume Aiden's essence receded, leaving behind an empty vessel, a sacrifice made for the sake of another.

In the midst of this ethereal transition, Malachar felt the unraveling of his trap. The sinister grin that had adorned his face contorted into a mask of furious disbelief. His power, a hungry void that had sought to devour the life force of the valiant couple, now waned, its source extinguished.

The battlefield, once bathed in the ominous glow of impending darkness, was now silent. Aiden's lifeless body lay still, the tendrils that had ensnared him evaporated like morning mist. Malachar, his malevolence temporarily stilled, cast a disdainful glance at the lifeless form. The victory he had sought tasted bitter, for it was devoid of the spoils he had anticipated.

Meanwhile, Sylara, still locked in combat with Malachar, felt a sudden, gut-wrenching void. The connection that bound her to Aiden severed with an abrupt finality. Horror painted her features as she glimpsed the lifeless form of her lover. The air seemed to freeze around her as the realization settled in, an icy grip tightening around her heart.

Aiden's sacrifice hung in the air, a testament to a love that transcended the boundaries of mortality. The battlefield, once a stage for a tragic struggle, now bore witness to the aftermath of a choice made in the face of insurmountable darkness. Sylara's grief echoed through the silent expanse, a mournful melody that lingered like a haunting refrain in the stillness that followed.

Sylara, her ethereal flames flickering with a subdued glow, felt time unravel as she gazed upon the lifeless form of Aiden. The battle that had once raged with unyielding intensity now seemed a distant echo, a cruel interlude in the wake of an unbearable truth.

"No… Aiden…" Her voice, usually filled with strength, now wavered with the weight of grief. She fell to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she reached out to cradle his still face. The world around her blurred, the once vibrant colors of the battlefield now muted by the sorrow that enveloped her.

Aiden's lifeless eyes stared back, their azure depths robbed of the tempest that had once raged within them. The realization of his sacrifice cut through Sylara's heart like a dagger. Tears welled in her mismatched eyes, their amber and sapphire hues reflecting a sorrow that transcended mortal understanding.

"Why, Aiden? Why would you...?" Her voice caught in her throat, choked by the anguish that threatened to consume her. She traced the lines of his face, as if the touch of her fingertips could bring warmth back to his cold form.

The battlefield, now a silent witness to the tragedy that had unfolded, seemed to echo the emptiness that gnawed at Sylara's soul. The ethereal flames in her hair dimmed, a reflection of the flickering light within her that had been extinguished.

"I never asked for this," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "I never asked for you to sacrifice yourself for me. I would have faced the darkness alone if it meant you could live."

Aiden's lifeless form remained still, and the world around them felt frozen in time. Sylara's gaze lingered on the features she had come to love, etching them into her memory with a painful precision.

"You were the light in my darkness, Aiden. The strength that guided me through the shadows. And now… now I'm lost without you." Her voice trembled, the raw emotion of her grief laid bare in the quiet expanse.

As Sylara cradled Aiden's lifeless form, her whispered words of grief hung in the air like a mournful lament. The ethereal flames in her hair dimmed, reflecting the somber atmosphere that enveloped the battlefield. Unbeknownst to her, Malachar observed the scene with a sinister satisfaction.

In the silent interlude, Sylara pressed a final kiss on Aiden's forehead, her lips lingering in a tender farewell. She closed his eyes gently, as if hoping to seal away the pain that marred his features. The battlefield, once a tumultuous stage of conflict, now stood as a tragic tableau of loss and love.

Malachar, watching with a cold detachment, remained silent for a moment. His dark eyes bore into Sylara as she kissed her beloved goodbye. The cruel amusement that danced in his gaze betrayed the malevolence that lurked within.

As Sylara's lips left Aiden's forehead, a sudden, chilling laughter escaped from Malachar. It started as a quiet, mocking chuckle, a venomous undercurrent that slithered through the air. But as Sylara's will to fight waned, the laughter swelled into a maniacal crescendo that echoed through the silent expanse.

Sylara, still grief-stricken, felt the malicious laughter seep into her very soul. It grated against the echoes of her mourning, a discordant symphony that stirred both fear and anger within her. She lifted her gaze from Aiden's lifeless form to meet the malevolent eyes of the Voidbringer.

Malachar's laughter, a perverse counterpoint to her sorrow, fueled the embers of defiance within Sylara. Through her tears, she sensed the gathering of dark magic, a palpable malevolence that hung in the air like an impending storm.

"I won't let you revel in our pain, Malachar," Sylara whispered, her voice trembling but infused with a newfound determination.

As the laughter subsided, Malachar's expression shifted into a cold smirk. "Oh, my dear Sylara, your pain is but a prelude to the ultimate suffering I shall unleash upon this world."

Sylara, sensing the impending doom that his words carried, made a silent vow. If she couldn't defeat Malachar, she would seal him away, locking his malevolence in a prison of her own making.

In the quiet expanse, both adversaries prepared for the final act of a battle that had transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

In the quiet aftermath of Aiden's passing, Sylara's thoughts resonated with a solemn vow, a promise forged in the crucible of grief and determination. I cannot let Malachar's darkness consume this world. If I cannot defeat him, I will seal him away, no matter the cost.

As she made this silent commitment, Sylara adjusted her position on the ground. The ethereal flames in her hair, once dimmed by sorrow, flared to life with an intensity that mirrored the burning resolve within her. She closed her eyes, focusing on each pressure point and vital juncture in her body. With meticulous precision, she began to unlock and open them one by one, allowing the power that resided within her to flow unrestrained.

The air crackled with the manifestation of magic, a force that surpassed the limits of her mortal form. Sylara's body, already burdened by the weight of grief and pain, trembled as she harnessed a power that belonged to the very essence of her being—the phoenix.

In her hand, the one closest to Aiden's lifeless form, a radiant light began to coalesce. It shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance, a testament to the extraordinary magic she sought to summon. The air around her seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the impending ritual.

Her thoughts whispered through the recesses of her mind, each word a declaration etched in the language of sacrifice. For you, Aiden. For the love we shared, and the future denied. I will unleash the phoenix's ultimate magic.

As she channeled the power, the flames in her hair blazed brighter, casting an ethereal glow that painted the scene with hues of red and gold. Sylara's eyes, usually a mix of amber and sapphire, now radiated with the incandescent brilliance of a celestial flame.

The pain, both physical and emotional, surged through her as the phoenix magic coursed through every fiber of her being. It felt like a tempest raging within, threatening to consume her from the inside. Yet, she endured, driven by an unwavering determination to honor the sacrifice Aiden had made.

In her outstretched hand, the radiant light took form—a luminous, ethereal being that mirrored the majestic grace of a phoenix. It hovered above her palm, a manifestation of rebirth and renewal. Sylara's heart, heavy with grief, found a flicker of solace in the presence she had conjured.

With the phoenix reincarnation poised in her hand, Sylara's thoughts merged with the primal cry of the magic she summoned. For love, for loss, and for the hope that emerges from the ashes. Aiden, this is my final gift to you.

Sylara knelt on the battlefield, the ethereal flames in her hair dancing with renewed vigor as she harnessed the ancient magic coursing through her veins. With meticulous precision, she brought to life both her Dragon and Kitsune magic in her hands, a symphony of elements converging with the intensity of a celestial storm.

In one hand, the radiance of the phoenix's ultimate magic, Reincarnation, pulsed with a divine glow. It hovered above her palm like a beacon of rebirth, its presence a testament to the eternal cycle of life and death. In the other hand, the intertwining energies of Dragon and Kitsune magic swirled together, forming the ethereal masterpiece known as Luminara's Embrace.

The aura that surrounded Sylara transcended mortal understanding—a kaleidoscope of radiant colors, each hue a manifestation of the elements she commanded. The air itself seemed to resonate with the power she wielded, a palpable force that quivered with the raw energy of creation and destruction.

Her eyes, now aglow with an ethereal brilliance, reflected a determination that defied the limitations of mortality. Sylara's outstretched hands, holding the convergence of magic with a grace that bordered on the divine, created an image reminiscent of a celestial being in prayer, beseeching the cosmos for a miracle.

As she channeled the magic, the very fabric of reality around her seemed to dissolve. Sylara's physical form wavered like a mirage, a testament to the unrestrained power that surged within her. The boundary between the mortal and the magical blurred, and her essence became a conduit for the ancient forces she sought to wield.

The battlefield, once a stage for conflict, now bore witness to a transcendental spectacle. Sylara, caught in the throes of magic beyond comprehension, became a beacon of light that pierced through the encroaching darkness.

Across the battlefield, Malachar, his malevolence momentarily overshadowed by a rising sense of trepidation, quickened the pace of his incantations. The weave of his spell shifted, a subtle alteration that spoke of instinctual survival. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in as he felt the shifting tides of power on the battlefield.

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis

Based in this post

The AU Where Morpheus doesn't retire and become mortal, but marries up and gets a promotion...

Part One

3 months earlier

The bedsheets rustled as Hob stirred, breaking the near perfect silence of the bedroom. In the distance, waves of revelry carried across the breeze from the city centre, and the odd crawl of traffic from the road out back could be heard through the window. London never truly slept..

Hob pawed at the empty bed beside him before furrowing his brows. Peeling an eye open reluctantly and gazing blurrily towards Dream's perch on the window sill. 

"Dream?" He called questioningly, before rubbing at his eyes. Lifting his head and fumbling for his phone resting on the bedside table. "What time is it? 2.05!" Dropping back with an overly dramatic grunt, he covers his eyes with the heels of his hands and let out an exaggerated groan. "Umph. I have to be up in four hours!"

Smiling softly at his lover's behaviour, Dream turned to rest his forehead against the cool pane of glass, momentarily flinching at the remembrance of the cold sting against his skin. Before gazing upwards in contemplation. 

" Night seems muted somehow." 

Hob pulled a pillow out from beneath his head, resolutely bringing it down over it again with a huff. 

"That's air pollution for you poppet." 

Dream looked up at the moon, a hazy blur of light, lording over an inky sky of equally sickly looking stars. Blinking feebly in competition with the bright lights of the city below. Placing a hand flat against the smooth surface, he took a deep inhale, tentatively reaching out towards his mother, feeling a lazy waft of irritation in return. 

"Perhaps" 

Hob peered one eye out from beneath his goose feather fortress, before pulling himself free with a sigh. "Dream, come back to bed. Your simple human needs a few more hours if he's going to face 30 odd freshmens tomorrow."

Pulling his bare legs out from beneath him, Dream dropped gently to the floor. Hob's old shirt hanging in gently folds about his thighs, one sleeve draped precariously off his shoulder. Tip towing silently across the floor and slinking back into the bed, Hob granted him a tired yet loving, lopsided grin. Already fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

"Look at you, shining like a star." 

Dream smiled indulgently as Hob let out a loud yawn. Tucking himself snuggly against the side of his body. Basking in the heat of his duvet cocooned skin. With his head neatly resting in the curve of Hob's neck, he let out a small chuckle. "I do no such thing Hob Gadling." 

He felt Hob's fingers run a gentle figure of eight into his shoulder blade. 

"Then why's your skin twinkling like a bag of diamonds?" He mumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

Dream rolled his eyes, burying his nose into Hob's jawline. "You are a hopeless romantic when you are halfway to my realm my darling. Now…" He ran a hand featherlight over Hob's face. "Sleep." 

With a snuff, Hob eyes closed and dropped almost instantly into a peaceful slumber. Glancing idly about the room, Dream's eyes caught the glaring numbers of the stereo display. 12.15 am. Hob's sleep-addled brain must have misread the time. 

"I too wish for more time, beloved."

……. 

2 months earlier 

Hob exited the door of the shared English and History department, taking in a lungful of fresh, early evening air. He swore they'd painted the windows shut back in the 90s. The last time the university had seen fit to refurbish the building. His demeanour quickly lit up when he noticed the slim, dark figure of Dream resting against the bonnet of his car. Head tilted back, seemingly observing the deep reds of the sunset. Walking to meet him with a renewed  jig in his step, Hob greeted him with a peck to the cheek and twinning his arms about the Dream's slim waist, propping his head upon his leather clad shoulder. Feeling the residual warmth left by the setting sun on the fabric. 

Dream turned to observe him, eyes flitting about, cataloguing the toll the day had taken on him before smiling a small, sweet smile. "You glow today my love."

Hob barked a laugh, re shouldering his work bag and running a hand through his tousled hair. "That's a nice way of saying I still look hideously hungover duck. I appreciate it."

Dream pulled away, angling his lithe body to fully face Hob. 

"I do not jest. You shine with life. If I did not already know such a thing to be impossible, I would say you looked younger." He reached up, sweeping aside an  errant strand of auburn hair from Hob's eyes. "Vitalised."

Hob let out a snort, placing a quick peck upon Dream's brow, licking at the sweet remnants of 'dream' stuff it left upon his lips. "If you say so, love. Yesterday I swear I looked and felt every one of my 600 odd years. My hair was practically grey I tell you."

The starlight pinpricks hidden within Dream's pupils flared in what Hob had come to learn was amusement. For a brief moment, he swore he saw the first stars of the evening, scattered haphazardly amongst the intertwined reds and blues of sunset, flare back. 

" You are as vibrant as the day we met." 

Hob smirked at that, crowding Dream backwards until he half sat on the car bonnet. Leaning forward until they were but a hair's breadth apart. He whispered cock surely, "That's what you thought of me was it? Covered in shit and smelling twice as fragrant? Vibrant?" 

A challenging spark lit in Dream's eyes as he quirked his lip, before pouncing forward, arms wrapped tight about Hob's neck, claiming his lips in a searing kiss. 

A raucous chorus of wolf whistles sounded somewhere behind them, followed by a riotous roar of hoots and cackles. A group of students who'd obviously begun the night early. Hob pulled away, rolling his eyes, before giving his ear an embarrassed tug out of habit. 

He watched Dream take in the group with a fond expression. Wondering passingly what he knew of them. Their lives, their hopes, their dreams. When Dream turned his attention back to him, Hob's breath hitched in wonder. His eyes, usually pools of blue or as pitch black as the midnight sky, were now a wash with soft, mingling hues of reds, purples and blues. As if someone had captured the dusk sky around them and painted it onto Dream's eyes. He took a moment silently, to once again thank whatever entity watched over him, for deeming him worthy of this ethereal, beautiful creature in his arms 

"What were you looking at anyway?" 

Dream looked to the sky, and once again, the stars seemed to blink brightly in response. As if clamouring for his attention. 

"The stars are singing. Can you hear them?" 

Hob smiled adoringly, kissing Dream one last time before detangling himself from their embrace, working his way round the car and sweeping the passenger door open with a flourish. 

"If you say so sweetheart. Come on, let's head home."

….. 

One month earlier 

Hob pawed at the meat of Dream's thigh, hefting it higher as his thrusts increased their tempo. About his shoulder, he felt Dream's other knee tighten in a vice grip. His toes, resting near the centre of Hob's back, clenched with every snap of Hob's hips. Mouthing desperately at the beautiful pale breast below him, he felt the familiar sensation of his coming climax alight like a sparkler. 

"Oh god, I'm close, I'm…" And suddenly, he was adrift. Gone was Dream and in his place he was being held aloft in the vast, endless skies of night. He felt the cold embrace encompass his body, gently, lovingly. About him, stars and comets danced and flared in a frenzied, joyus display. From within him, he felt a heat, a great light pulse and grow. A  power, an essence unfurling within him like a flower, opening to embrace the first rays of dawn. He was a  great wave crashing against a slowly eroding cliff face, he was sun and shadow, weaving its way about an ancient sundial. He was the very turn of the seasons, rotating like a great wheel, over and over. 

And then, there was the night again, about him. Stroking, clawing, adoring, challenging. He battled back, he loved back. He felt the pull and push, light and dark, heat and cold… expanding and condensing. Building, building, building… Then… Bang. 

Hob, melted rather than pulled off Dream. Flopping down beside him on the bed. 

His body, a mass of quivering gelatin, he was sure couldn't hold him if he tried. He took lungfuls of the stale, bedroom air, thick with the heady aroma of sex and desperately tried to catch his breath. Next to him, Dream seemed to fare no better. Sprawled out comatose, hands clutching at his head and heart. A glazed, almost vacant expression on his face. 

Somewhat, regaining the use of his vocal cords, Hob turned his head towards Dream, croaking, "Holy Fuck what was that?!" 

Dream gazed at the ceiling for a few moments longer before languidly rolling onto his side to face Hob. His eyes spoke of bone deep exhaustion but also utter contentment. 

"I do not know. That has never happened before."

Somewhere deep in Hob's subconscious, his ego stuck its chin out, gave a pompous, self congratulatory cockcrow and proceeded to strut elatedly. As it was, he sent Dream a slightly pleased, knackered looking smile. 

"Shit, seriously?" 

Dream nodded his head slightly in confirmation.

Hob paused for a moment before sending Dream a devilish look, "Was it just me, or did Big Ben go off just as we came?"

Dream eyes crinkled as a huffed chuckle escaped him. Hob guffawed in response. And thus they greeted the morning, snickering to each other like naughty children. 

…… 

The present day

The rain pelted incessantly from above, Dream's hair lay in sodden clumps, water draining from them streaking down his face, his shirt was soaked through. Yet he felt nothing. He clutched desperately to the cliff edge he sat upon, pressing the jagged rock into his palms, making it bite in the flesh. He willed it to pierce, to cut, to hurt, to make him bleed. Below, his realm was torn asunder. He wondered what it would be like to push himself forward, fall freely into the destruction below. Escape wantonly into oblivion. Would it be kinder, less painful then what was to come?

"Take my hand little brother."

He stared at Death's palm outstretched, he could not look her in the eyes. It would just be another unsaid farewell, another desperate want to stay, another moment fighting the urge to lay himself prostrate at her feet and beg for more time. 

He took a deep shuddering breath, attempting to calm his nerves. His arm felt like a deadweight as he lifted it. At once conflicting emotions of panic and relief rose from within him, overwhelming the numbness. His senses dulled and head roared simultaneously and he rocked forward toward his sister in a blind, nauseous haze. Soon it would be over… I'm sorry, I don't want to, I'm so tired, please don't make me go, I'm sorry, I can rest, I'm sorry…I love you… 

"Stop!" 

Hob

He felt himself being hauled into the confines of two strong arms, that locked about him like an iron cage, resolute in keeping their captive from all. In that moment, as his mind frantically scrambled to process everything, aeons of repressed pain broke from the tight binding he had placed about it. And cradled in Hob's embrace, mere seconds from his death, his reserve finally crumbled and he unabashedly wept.

In his misery, he felt the unexpected sting of sharp metal pierce his chest and wondered if this was what it was to die. Yet further it plunged deeper and deeper still, until it hooked his heart and pulled. And he knew then what this was. For the first time in countless centuries, Dream allowed his mind to be reeled in without resistance. As grey mists filled his lungs and phantom hands clutched at him, pressing him maternally to a soft stomach. There he lay in the clutch of Despair, as she petted his hair and cooed softly to him. As her rats scurried about him, gently nuzzling his body. Slowly, he became aware of a thud reverberating around them. Quiet at first, but growing steadily louder. A drumming, strong and proud that sent the rats scattering…. A heartbeat he realised. Was it Hob's heart pounding frantically under his ear, no… No he was not with Hob, he was being held from behind, two arms wrapped about his chest, beautifully manicured hands placed on his breast framing his heart. The smell of peaches smothered him and as his senses roared to life. 

'Fight it big brother, do you hear me? Fight it! Desire happiness, desire to be loved as you love. But most of all desire life. Let yourself desire big brother. Please, please!..' "Please, please don't!"

"Hob, you should not be here." 

Hob. 

He snapped back to the moment, feeling the painful, vice-like grip of Hob's hand in his hair, fiercely holding his head to his chest. Above them, he felt the rain still pelt down, below, the rock scrapped at his knees through his sodden jeans. Feebly, Dream reached out, grasping a handful of Hob's drenched shirt, clenching it in his hand like a tether. 

"Please Death, don't take him, I beg you! I love him." Hob pulled Dream's body even closer to his. Rocking them both in a soothing motion, Dream was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Hobs. "I love him."

As his vision cleared, the form of his sister slowly became apparent, kneeling at their side. A respectful distance away so as to not cause Hob further distress. From the protective barrier of Hob's arms, he met her eyes, awash with unshed tears. Dream wished desperately to reach out and comfort her, but for the first time in their shared existence, feared her touch. Instead he clung tighter to Hob's shirt, feeling the hitch of Hob's body as he hopelessly failed to hold back sobs. 

How was it he could bring such pain to those he loved when he wished them none?

"Hob please, it is not so simple..." 

Dream opened his mouth, tongue laden as he tried to speak, he worked his throat fruitlessly for a few moments as his voice sought to restore itself, before he let out a weak, "I don't… I don't.. "

Hob's startled, pushing Dream from his chest and reaching to carefully cradle his face with two trembling hands. "Dream, love? Dream?" 

"I do not wish to leave you."

[buckymorelikefuckme]

just let go

professor loki x masters student reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: s*exual content, o*ral (m receiving), unprotected s*ex (don't do that), the tiniest bit of degred*ation, implied age gap

a/n: surprise bitches!! my first ever loki fic and it's just straight up filth LMAO! not proofread, we d*e like men. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡ xoxox

The wooden door to his office is all that separates you from Professor Laufeyson.

Just yesterday you completed your last final for his Mythology and Folklore course, which had easily become your favorite class. He had such a way with words and an alluring, mischievous presence that held the attention of even the most bored of students. His deep voice enraptured you as he earnestly told tales of gods and goddesses, of ancient cities and lost kingdoms, hard-won battles and tragic losses.

You've always had a deep love for history, both fact and fiction, but Professor Laufeyson made that love turn into an obsession and burning desire to soak up every bit of knowledge he was willing to share.

It certainly didn't hurt that he's very easy on the eyes.

His height had startled you when you first entered his class. And when he turned to greet everyone, you struggled to swallow past your suddenly dry mouth. Inky, dark hair curled under his ears, his blue eyed gaze meeting every single student as he introduced himself and gave a quick discussion about what to expect from the course. His lilting accent wrapped itself around you and you shivered.

It felt like time slowed down when his stare landed on you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, a surge of warmth spread in your veins. You swore his lips twitched up a touch more, but perhaps it had been wishful thinking. The moment passed before you wanted it to. As soon as he looked away you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Safe to say this new obsession also extended to your beautiful professor.

Which leads you to now, standing outside his office, biting the inside of your cheek as you war with yourself over whether or not you want to follow through with your plan. You wouldn't say it's a well-thought plan, by any means, but you can't go another day without knowing. You knock on the door before you can change your mind.

“Come in,” he calls from inside.

Steeling yourself, you enter. You should probably leave the door open, for accountability if nothing else, yet your motivations have you closing it behind you with a resolute click.

Professor Laufeyson glances up from his laptop, wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He smiles when he sees who's stepped in. Your name falls past his lips and it has goosebumps rising across your flesh.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he wonders, gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Do you have a question about your final?”

You sink into the plush leather of the chair. “Um, sort of.” He raises an eyebrow in question. “I was wondering if you'd graded it yet.”

He tilts his head ever so slightly. “I have. Grades will be posted tomorrow on the school’s website.”

“Right,” you say quietly.

After a moment’s pause, he inquires, “Is there something else you needed?”

You swallow roughly and gather every ounce of courage you can find. “You.” Your voice is nothing but a soft whisper, but you know he's heard you, loud and clear, because his eyes darken. “I need… I need you.”

When he speaks next, it's deeper than usual, gravelly. “You're treading dangerous waters,” he warns.

“I know,” you admit. “But I still want you.”

You see the muscles in his cheek jump as he clenches his jaw. The small action has hope swirling in your chest.

“Please, professor,” you say quietly.

He closes his eyes and releases a shaky exhale. “This is highly inappropriate.”

“That's not a ‘no’,” you point out.

“It should be,” he retorts fiercely.

But you can see his resolve beginning to crack. You rise from your seat, taking measured steps around his desk until you're standing beside him. He refuses to look at you, so you kneel. He mutters a curse under his breath.

You lift a shaking hand and place it on his thigh. “If you don't want me, all you have to do is say so.”

Your heart hammers against your rib cage as his silence. It's an answer all on its own.

Using the hand you have on him, you nudge him to turn toward you. You slide both palms up his thighs now, meeting his heated stare as you reach for his belt buckle. He doesn't stop you from undoing it and you hasten to open the button and zip on his trousers. You pull the waistband of his briefs down, finally setting your eyes on his half hard cock.

“Perfect,” you whisper, wrapping your hand around it and stroking it to full hardness.

He grunts at the touch, spreading his legs a bit more to allow you more room, which you eagerly accept, shifting forward on your knees. Your mouth waters when you see precome beading on his tip. Unable to hold yourself back anymore, you lean in and take the head of his cock into your mouth.

You swirl your tongue around him, dipping into his slit, humming as you collect his precome. He sighs, and when you look up at him through your lashes, you're delighted to see a faint flush on his cheeks. He’s gripping the arms of his chair tightly, the leather creaking. You grab one of his hands and thread your fingers through his, giving it a squeeze as you ease down his cock further.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head falling back when you begin to bob your head.

You make a noise of displeasure, pulling off of him with a noisy slurp. “Look at me, professor,” you instruct.

He obeys, eyes blazing, and you swallow him back down, stroking what you can't fit with your other hand. You settle back into your slow bobbing, savoring every bit of the moment, of his taste, tracing your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock. Drool seeps past your lips, helping the glide of your hand. He groans and you hum in response.

“You look like sin,” he rasps. “Sucking my cock like there's nothing else you'd rather do than please me.”

You moan, nodding your head a little as your cunt pulses with want, increasing your pace. He makes another noise from the vibration of your moan.

“Are you going to let me fuck you? Hm?”

You pull off again, continuing to stroke him as you beg, “Please.”

He lets go of your hand and tugs on your arms until you're straddling his lap. Carefully, you take his glasses off and place them on his desk. When his fingers slip under your skirt, all the way up to your hip, the only thing he feels is skin, no sign of underwear.

“What a slut you are,” he muses, redirecting his fingers to where you're dripping for him. You gasp while he toys with your swollen clit. “You just knew I'd let you have your way, huh?”

You shake your head, hips twitching. “No,” you reply, “but I hoped.”

“Yeah? You wanted my cock that bad?” he asks, slipping a finger inside you.

“Yes,” you whine.

He softly shushes you. “You have to be quiet, sweetheart. Wouldn't want anyone to hear, would you?”

“I-If I’m totally honest, I—oh—I really don't care,” you confess as he starts sliding his finger in and out, grasping at his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, adding another finger.

He's reaching places inside you that you're sure have never been found before. You can't help but grind into his touch, moaning when he curls his fingers and rubs over a spot that has you trembling. You've hardly even started and he's already got you wrecked.

After he's eased a third finger in, you can't help begging, pleading for more, for his cock. Desperation claws at your chest the longer he doesn't give it to you.

“Please, please, sir, I need it, I need you, please,” you babble.

Wordlessly, he removes his fingers, ignoring your whimpers at the loss, but then he's tapping your hips to signal you to sit up. You eagerly comply, whining when you feel the head of his cock align with your entrance. You don't have the patience to wait anymore and sink down on his cock without warning.

“Jesus, fuck,” he groans, panting as the wet warmth of your pussy welcomes him.

The stretch has your jaw slackening and eyes fluttering closed. When you're full seated, you clench around him involuntarily. He curses again and you giggle deliriously.

“You feel so good,” you breathe, rotating your hips in small circles. “I'm so full, professor. Your cock is so thick, stretches me perfectly. Wanna keep you inside me forever.”

“The mouth on you,” he grits. “God. If I had known…”

You hum. “Well now you do.”

You lift yourself, moaning at the drag of his cock, then slide back down. The grip he has on your hips is bruising, but it only adds to your pleasure as you set a slow pace, making sure you both feel every inch of his cock going in and out. It's a delicious torture, one that has your toes curling.

“You're riding me so well,” he praises breathily.

You let out a keening noise, settling with him all the way inside and grinding in a filthy way.

“I’m—I’m being good?” you ask, biting your lip as you gaze at him through heavy lids.

A small smirk paints his features. “Such a good girl,” he confirms.

You bury your fingers in his hair, yanking him forward into a messy kiss. He returns it with just as much enthusiasm, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat as he bites at your lips, sucking on the bottom one before flicking his tongue across it. You moan brokenly, feeling as if you can't get enough of him.

Suddenly, he moves his hands to your thighs, holding on to you tightly as he stands and carries you to the sofa in the far corner of his office. He lays you down on it much too gently for the way he's devouring your mouth. He wastes no time and begins thrusting into you, hard and calculated, the sound of his hips meeting yours, the sheer force of it, has you crying out.

“We really can't afford to have anyone hearing us, sweetheart. Be good for me and be quiet.”

“Yes, sir,” you gasp, biting back a whine when he changes the angle.

He cups his hands under your knees, pushing them back so your skirt slips up and he can finally get a look at your pretty pussy. The sight has him growling, thrusting that much harder. You throw your head back, eyes rolling, a steady moan vibrating against your lips.

“You're going to look stunning when you cum on my cock,” he declares, picking up his pace. “Will feel even better when you clench uncontrollably around me.”

“Please,” you whimper pathetically.

He releases one of your legs and rubs quick, messy circles around your clit, and your knees hike higher, back arching off the sofa as your orgasm starts to build in your core. You're trying to be quiet, but choked off, needy noises manage to slip out.

“Let me see it, love,” he instructs. “Cum for me.”

Your body goes rigid, breath locking up in your lungs as the coil within you snaps. You gasp in a sharp breath as your climax hits, spreading slow like molasses through you, clenching wildly. He doesn't let up, continuing to fuck you and prolonging the most intense orgasm of your life.

“So fucking beautiful,” he grunts.

He chases his own high now, thrusts losing some of their finesse. You pull him down into a kiss that lacks focus, mostly tongues tangling and panting breaths.

“Just let go, professor,” you whisper.

“My name,” he gasps, pleading, “say my name.”

Your pussy flutters at the demand. “Let go. Cum for me, Loki.”

He groans, pressing his face in your neck. His last thrusts are sharp, harder than ever, and then he finally stills. You sigh in content as he moans through his release. His hips twitch with aftershocks, grunting lowly.

He doesn't move a muscle as he catches his breath, and you're more than happy to have him where he is, hovering above you, buried to the hilt inside you still. You comb your fingers through his hair, softly kissing his temple until he raises his head, trailing his own kisses up your neck and jaw.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

You giggle. “I agree.”

He lifts himself up to see your face better. An impish grin greets you.

“If we hurry and clean up, I’ll take you home for round two.”

You try to tamper down on your smile, but you can't contain it. He kisses you and it's like a promise.

“There better be more than just a second round. I haven't had enough of you yet,” you reply, swiping your thumb across his cheek.

His eyes twinkle playfully. “Don't you worry. You're not leaving my bed anytime soon, even if that means tying you down.”

You lick your bottom lip. “I wouldn't be opposed.”

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he accuses and you don't deny it, giggling as he leans in to kiss you stupid.

[sirfrogsworth]

I was worried the TV would be too big, but it honestly feels like watching a big movie screen at the theater and it is so immersive. Like you are *in* the frickin movie.

And even in the 2 years since I got my other TV, the picture quality has improved quite a bit. All of the issues I had with my other TV are pretty much resolved. The only thing it can’t do perfectly is deep inky blacks like an OLED screen. But it comes really close and it gets much much brighter than any OLED, so lasers and lightsabers just look soooo cool. Like they could melt your face off.

I am also finally able to notice a difference between 1080p and 4K. Though it is still subtle and I wish people wouldn't think 4K is the ultimate measure of clarity and quality. Resolution has become one of the least important aspects of picture quality.

I mean, our phones can film in 4K. An Arri Alexa cinema camera can also film in 4K. Do you really believe a $1000 smartphone and an $80000 motion picture camera have equivalent quality?

The goal of higher resolutions is to resolve more detail to provide a sharper image. So imagine a tiny tree in the background where the leaves are all mushed together in a blur in a low detail image and the individual leaves can be seen in a high detail image.

What allows you to get that high level of detail?

Teamwork!

You need a really good sensor with a lot of photosites or pixels. And you need a really good lens with a great design and perfect glass. Bigger is better in both cases.

There is this concept called "perceptual megapixels." This is a measurement of how much detail a camera lens can resolve. So if you have a 50 megapixel sensor but a lens that can only resolve 20 megapixels worth of detail... then you are getting a 20 megapixel image.

The dirty secret of smartphone advertising is that while their sensors might *technically* be 4K or 8K or 100+ megapixels, none of those tiny lenses have the resolving power to support those resolutions. That's why a Samsung with a 100 megapixel sensor does not look significantly sharper than an iPhone with a 12 megapixel sensor. And that's why if you took an old DSLR with a 12 megapixel sensor and slapped a Zeiss Otus lens on the front, the image detail would trounce any smartphone.

But honestly, detail and sharpness really only come into play when you are pixel peeping and zooming way into images. At normal viewing distances, pretty much any modern camera or lens is sharp enough to give you an acceptably detailed image.

If you are looking for a quality TV picture, ignore the Ks and look for things like brightness (nits) and black levels (contrast ratio) and color gamut (number of colors) and HDR interpretation (tone mapping). A great site that breaks all this down is rtings.com. They have the most detailed reviews of anyone and they test various aspects of picture quality. You can decide which aspects are important to you and choose a great television accordingly.

[akindofmagictoo]

Beneath the Waves

a continuation of the Hurricane x ARMV crossover Potions and Pirates, and a gift to my beloved @ashen-crest​ in return for her wonderful hurt-comfort

part 1, in which we answer the question of “what will Aella get up to with a potion of water breathing?”. part 2 coming tomorrow.

Word Count: 2697

TW/CW: drowning, claustrophobia, panic attack

Context: Ambrose and Eli washed up on the Hurricane, and as a thank you for saving them, Ambrose brewed a potion of water breathing and sent it to Aella, Tempest and Theo. The full thing can be found on my Wattpad, @/zcmitchell.

Breathing underwater was certainly a strange situation, but Aella could have lived in the feeling forever. She flipped over to look back up at the surface, already so far away, but not so far that she couldn’t see the sunlight on its surface. The water of Wavemeet’s bay was so clear. Clear and blue, just like Theo’s eyes. 

She could picture them now, actually. He’d tried not to show it when she dived, but she’d seen the worry in them. The little furrow of his brow as he clung resolutely to the other end of the rope now tied around her ankle, ready to help pull her out at a moment’s notice despite his hatred of deep water. If she squinted really hard at the surface, she could maybe see the dark smudge that marked the jetty. 

As much as she trusted him, she was also glad that he had his uncle and several of the Hurricane’s crew standing by to help as well. Not that she really needed help. The rope had been obtained at Tempest’s suggestion and Theo’s insistence, even though Aella had never needed to dive with a rope before, not in a clear deep area like this one. But Theo had asked her to take it, and she didn’t mind the slight extra tug on her ankle if it kept him from being too worried about her. 

This potion had a time limit on it, she recalled. She should keep going. 

She turned a slow flip backwards and kicked, forcing herself further down into the inky gloom below.

~

Since the sun was directly overhead, it pierced far into the darkness beneath the water, but eventually even its last soft rays had to give way to the embrace of the cold depths. She pressed on, stroke after stroke, feeling the deep satisfying burn in her muscles as she propelled herself deeper and deeper, letting the abyss wrap around her like a dark cloak. 

She liked it less when she couldn’t see. 

For a split second, she could hear the sound of a cell door locking behind her… but no, she was just diving. This was safe darkness. The sea was safe, she reminded herself; it always had been, ever since she was a tiny child too young to walk. 

Tempest, Aria, Marisa and Cai had held her while she learned to swim. Theo, Emmy and Victoire were holding onto her now, all of them ready to feel three tugs on the rope and pull her safely back to the surface. 

She could leave now if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to. Not with so much left to explore. She was Aella Onyeisi, veteran of the Hurricane, and she had survived horrors far greater than this. She would not be turned back because she was scared of the dark.

~

As she reached forward for another stroke, her fingers brushed something. She stopped mid-motion and extended her hand again. Whatever it was was smooth and cold, and strangely familiar. She kicked behind her so she could place her hand flat on the surface. Still oddly normal, but in the darkness it was difficult to tell what. 

Wood. It was wood, worn smooth by time and water. 

It felt like the wood of a ship. 

She felt along the surface in front of her until she reached an edge, then pulled herself along it, hand over hand. Alright, so that felt like it could be a railing, which meant that either she was on the deck or hanging off the side — at least as far as that description applied when she seemed to be more or less horizontal. She pulled her feet forward until they also met the wreck, gauging angles as best she could in her head. Off the side it was. With a gentle push against the hull, she hoisted herself up level with the rail. 

Was that light, or just her mind playing tricks on her? She screwed her eyes shut and waited a moment. Whatever it was she’d just seen was gone. When she opened her eyes again, it seemed to be back. Just a very faint glow somewhere in front of her, maybe one or two arm’s lengths away. 

Another gentle push sent her flipping over the rail and downwards towards the deck. The glow brightened as she moved forwards. It seemed there was a hole in the deck, and the light was coming from within. She kicked out behind her, pushing herself towards the gap.

~

The gap’s edges had once been jagged, but just like the rest of the ship, they had been rounded and smoothed by currents. She wrapped a hand around the edge and peered over. This gap seemed to lead into the ship’s hold, and that hold was covered in softly glowing algae. 

In places, there were only small pinpricks of it, tiny blue stars in the dark. But one corner was completely covered, and it was that glow that had summoned her. 

The algae didn’t hold her attention for long, however, because its light gleamed off metal in the furthest, deepest corner of the hold. She wriggled through the gap — a tight fit, even for her — and into the hold.

~

Whatever had happened to the ship, the hole in the deck was the least of the damage. Support beams and all sorts of loose chunks of wood and metal stuck into the room at odd angles. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but off to one side, sticking up from the sea floor, was what might have been another ship’s ram. Two shipwrecks? 

Keeping an eye out in front of her for further debris, and both hands, she swam deeper into the room, heading for the metallic glimmer ahead. What could it be? Weapons? Treasure? Some further indication of what had sunk this ship? She didn’t know, but she needed to find out.

~

As she swam, she realised the algae wasn’t just blue. Patches were green and purple, and even one or two small specks of gold dappled the overlapping glows. On one wall, just at the edge of her peripheral vision, was something else gold. When she turned, it wasn’t algae, but a picture frame. Parts of it still shone, though parts were covered in algae or tarnish. She flipped over, avoiding a loosely floating crossbeam, and swam closer. The wall with the portrait was tilted such that it seemed more like a ceiling, so she floated underneath it on her back while she inspected it. It seemed to be some rich-looking white man, dressed like a merchant. Perhaps this wasn’t a hold. Maybe it was a cabin. Hard to know. She turned back over, surveying the dimly lit room. That could be a table in the far corner, a broken half-cabinet still attached to another wall. 

Time limit, she reminded herself. Time limit. She abandoned the portrait and dove for the gleam in the bottom corner. 

It was indeed metal that the algae had glinted off. A small chest, not much bigger than her two fists, the metal bands around it tarnished and aged, but not enough to dull their shine. And it didn’t seem to be locked. She drew her dagger and dug it under the latch. 

The latch sprang open to reveal… treasure. 

Pearl necklaces. Golden earrings. Shining jewels in every colour she could imagine and several she had never seen before. A golden ring set with an amber stone. Silver chains with delicate pendants attached. All of it reflecting the colours of the algae behind her, blue and green and purple and pink. All of it beautiful. 

She was probably running out of time on her potion. She shut the chest and gathered it into her arms, and let herself sink down into the corner, ready to kick off upwards. 

Was that a ram over there? Surely she could check quickly? She shifted direction, swimming in that direction instead. 

It was a ship’s ram, forced through the hull but not fitting tightly. Of course. The ship had likely sunk thanks to taking on water, which was harder to do if the ram remained to plug the hole. She hadn’t expected to find a shipwreck here, let alone one that had lost a battle. Rams were a pirate tactic, and Theo said they hadn’t been seen in Wavemeet for a very long time. 

TIME LIMIT. Perhaps she’d have to write to Ambrose to ask him for more of the potion. There were so many unanswered questions in her mind, answers to be found somewhere in this wreck. But she couldn’t stay to find them out, not without getting herself into significant trouble. Theo would be very worried about her if she pushed her limits on the potion. He’d be worried enough about her as it was. She should go.

~

Finding her way back to the hole in the deck was fairly easy. Manoeuvring through while keeping her hold on the chest was harder, but she managed it without catching her clothes on the edges of the gap or dropping her loot. Now all that was left to do was swim back to the surface, and let herself be reeled up like a beautiful fish if the potion started to wear off. Easy. She kicked off the deck. 

The rope around her ankle pulled her up short. 

Shit. 

She jerked her knee up to her chest to dislodge whatever it was caught on. Or rather, tried. The motion simply pulled her back down. 

What could it be tangled up in? It could be anything. But she might have time to fix it. She took a deep breath in, then let it go, and dived back down.

~

It seemed that in all her roaming of the room, the rope had gotten looped around some sort of metal apparatus on the wall. She braced her foot on the wall, tucked her jewel chest safely under her arm, and tugged. 

Nothing. Her hands just slid on the wet rope. 

She looped the rope around her hands and tried again. Still nothing. In frustration, she launched a kick at the wall. The shipwreck might be old, but it wasn’t that old. All she managed to do was send a jolt of pain through her heel. What could she do? She could cut the rope, but it was thick rope, and tying it securely back around her ankle underwater would be pretty difficult. She could hook the rope around something else and use that as leverage to pry the metal off the wall. That didn’t seem likely to work either. Shit. 

She yanked on the rope a third time. The wall seemed to groan, a rough grating sound that echoed through the whole room. Something struck her shoulder and she bit back a yelp, letting go of the rope. 

The whole shipwreck was shifting. She glanced down; what she could see of the ‘floor’ was starting to rock and slide to one side. 

She had to get out. 

How could she get out? Could she still get to the deck gap safely? She should have enough slack in her rope still, but… she glanced up towards the gap and nearly shrieked. 

The shipwreck seemed to be falling towards her. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

Why couldn’t she breathe? The potion should still be in effect. Her hands flew to her throat, her heart beating erratically beneath her fingertips. The water pressed in around her, colder now, chilling her to the bone, the glow of the algae seeming to retreat to the corners of the room. 

No. No no no NO. Why was the algae fading? Was she dying? Was she going to be stuck down here until her air ran out, with Theo and her friends unable to pull her up because the bloody rope was bloody stuck and— 

She had to get out. She had to leave. She fumbled for the knife at her belt, her fingers slow and clumsy, barely able to feel anything. Knife. Knife. Where is it? Had she left it where the jewel chest had been? 

Around her, wood creaked and cracked. 

She still couldn’t breathe. She was running out of time. No time. No time. 

There! Her numb fingers closed on the handle. She squeezed it tightly, so tightly her nails dug into her palm, though she barely felt it. Then she grabbed the rope and began to saw at it, still gasping for breath in the cold water. Come on, come on… the rope was thick, but not that thick. She could do this. 

Deep breaths, she heard Theo say in her mind. With every scrap of reason she had left, she forced herself to listen. Deep breaths. One breath in as she drew the knife one way; one breath out with the next stroke. She could still breathe. The potion was still working. And slowly, slowly but surely, the rope fibres were splitting beneath her blade. 

Don’t look at the ship. Don’t think about how to get out. Cut the rope. One task at a time. One task at a time. Just one. It will be okay. It has to be. 

The rope snapped free so suddenly she could hardly believe it. In the same moment, the ship rocked beneath her again. A beam crashed hard into her back, sending pain firing like lightning through her chest. 

Time to go. 

She dodged another slowly falling piece of ship and dragged herself through the hole in the deck. Its edges caught on her shirt this time. She didn’t care. She barely noticed it past the throbbing in her back. She just had to leave.

~

Swimming up was harder than swimming down. She was tired, she was scared, and she had to work harder to pull herself towards the surface. 

One stroke at a time, she told herself. Theo would be waiting for her. She needed to get back to him. The only way to do that was to swim. 

Something scaled brushed past her bare foot. She shuddered and kicked harder. As with any bay, there were stories of creatures in the water. Some good, some bad. Theo’s parents’ friend, Nell, swore she’d seen several nasty-looking sea serpents in the bay. On the other hand, Theo’s father had told a story of going swimming in the bay and almost drowning, but waking on the shore with a single shimmering scale on the sand beside him. 

Neither story had been proven, but either could be true. The Hurricane had run afoul of a kraken far too recently for Aella to really doubt either story. Either way, she’d rather not take her chances with nasty sea serpents. She swam on. 

She could see the surface of the water, the rays of the sun spilling down, not quite reaching all the way to her yet, but close. So close. The muscles in her arms and legs burned; she shifted her treasure from one arm to the other. Her chest was burning too. Breathing was difficult now. Was it the potion wearing off? Was she just tired? She had to keep going. The rope would do nothing for her now; in her haste to swim back up, she hadn’t thought to follow it. She had to keep swimming.

~

The burning wasn’t going away. She was so close now, close enough to see the sun sparkling on tiny waves in the bay. Just as beautiful as before. No, even more beautiful, because it meant safety, and now she desperately needed that safety. 

Something brushed her foot again. She ignored it, still striving for the surface. 

As before, she breathed in and took in water, but this time it stung. This was wrong. This was bad. There was nothing in the water to help her anymore. She tried to breathe it out, but there was nowhere to send it. No. No no no. 

The surface seemed to dim. She wanted to scream, but she had no air left to do it. She wanted to keep swimming, but she had no more strength for it. Nothing she could do but watch her vision fade to nothing.

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