#now if you put that in the context of reaper

[moccasins]

YES. EXACTLY

i've read the comic a million times, i basically have it memorized at this point. it's a problem. and he was kinda a jerk to life at the start too. he stumbled across her garden on accident and saw how much she disliked him and thought "you know what. i'll come here as often as i can" knowing full well how much she didn't want him to do that.

but as they started to get closer, he'd still mess up like that. she'd show him a beautiful bird and he'd tell her a story about crows eating a human alive and when she looks at him in horror is when he realizes "oh. that's probably not an appropriate story.."

he doesn't get social cues, he can't read a room, and the only stories he can tell are ones that are just disturbing. he's not a bad person, he's just never had the experience to learn what's ok and what's not. he was made and immediately thrown into his job, everyone hates him, and he hates them back. that's just asking for disaster.

and that's how he acts around gods. imagine how much of a disaster he'd be around mortals..

you know what. in afterdeath, nay, any ships involving reaper, any dynamics involving reaper, i need his status as a god to be realized more. and i don’t mean extreme shows of power (which btw i LOVE, especially if it’s nightmare getting his ass beat bc he lowkey deserves it), or the types of art where he’s the size of a tall building (which i also love)

i mean i need him to struggle with morals, with what mortals need to keep themselves alive and satisfied, struggling with figuring out what people normally do with friends or lovers, how to make them happy, forgetting to make them happy. i need him to break a social code that he just doesn’t understand because they don’t exactly have those kinds of unspoken rules in the heavens. i need him to do something that hurts someone he cares about by mistake, because he just isn’t used to what mortals need, how fragile they are (both physically and mentally) compared to him.

things just don’t apply to him and the other gods the same way they do to everyone else. and i want that shown more. i want him to struggle with social etiquette because the only people he really talks to also struggle with that because they are gods, not people. they don’t live in a society 😔

i need him to be blunt about loss, because he’s never felt it before (ASSUMING this takes place in either a version of reapertale where life doesn’t die, or he just never meets life). i need him to be inconsiderate and neglectful without realizing, because he doesn’t need to eat or drink or shower or sleep, he forgot mortals need to do that, and that mortals have emotional needs as well. he can’t just go to work for weeks on end and come back without warning, but he doesn’t get why for a while. time is meaningless to him, but painfully valuable to mortals.

he doesn’t see the day to day life of mortals (take a shot for every time i’ve said mortals jfc), only the end of it. he doesn’t grasp it. what i’m saying is make him a bit more like that one scene in steven universe. “can’t you just talk to me like a real person?!” “i’m… not a real person.”

i also need him to improve on this behavior after being informed, obviously not perfectly i mean in a realistic manner. i am not saying you should make him toxic. just clarifying. don’t make him an abusive prick or bad partner for no reason i just want his status as a god, confused about mortals (yet another shot) and their needs, to be used more bc it’s interesting

[hershelwidget]

something really funny happened

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 3

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dub-con/ Non-con, Fingering, Murder, Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Monsterfucking, Mentions of Slavery

Your eyes were already open before the sun had spread its light across the horizon, staring up at the crimson blinds of your canopy, counting its folds. Normally, you would have slept in until nearly noon, but something at the back of your mind woke you up before the crack of dawn, and so, you heaved yourself up from bed.

The hem of the black, silk dress you had been put into last night, fell under your knees, and with each step you took, it gave a satisfying rustle.

You padded over the books, fingers hovering over the expensive leather binds, the titles and the authors’ names dusted with gold. You pulled out one and pondered over its cover, an engraving of a man in a cloak, holding a scythe with one hand. A Reaper.

You walked over to the chair next to the windows placed it down on its red cushion, for a later read, and headed towards another table, where a mirror was placed above and a litter of jewelry and ornaments rested in lofty boxes.

You took a seat positioned in front of the table and gazed upon the glistening gems in your sight. But you didn’t dare place a finger on them and went straight for the drawers instead. Upon the third one, you found scissors.

You began to hum and carefully closed it. You pulled open the first drawer, where the hair brushes were stashed, and took one. You parted your hair and the door swung open. Through the mirror, you watched John Mactavish make his way towards you with a grin.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted in a bright voice, too loud and clear to start a morning with. He wrapped his muscular arms around your frame and planted his lips on the bare skin of your nape, before taking a whiff of you. “Yer up quite early. A morning person?”

You remained silent for a moment, before shaking your head. “Not really.”

He took the brush from your hand and you didn't bother to utter a protest as he started to untangle your locks with careful strokes. “What made ye get up early?”

Oh, nothing. Just being almost fucked by monsters? You clenched your fists, holding yourself back from reaching towards the scissors to rip his throat open.

“Hmm, I get it.” He swiped your hair to the side. “Living with monsters and all, now.” He put down the brush and rested his chin on your shoulder, once again wrapping his arms around you. “But of all things, ya should be glad we are the ones who got ya.”

He gently placed his fingers on your chin, angling your head for more access to your neck, where he began to dust your skin kisses. Whilst his hand hovered over the strap of your dress, slowly pulling it down. Then, he stopped and clicked his tongue.

“Really, Ghost?” The incubus groaned and placed his forehead on your shoulder.

In the mirror’s reflection, you watched Simon shrug and turn away, just like he did last night before you had dinner.

“Breakfast is being served, and I'm not going to tell the servants to save some more for you,” the Wraith proclaimed.

You didn't know why he kept interrupting his brothers, but you were a bit thankful for that.

With no time and consideration to change into a different dress before breakfast, you were dragged by the incubus to their dining hall. By the time you arrived, no thanks to the winding corridors and hallways of the fortress, you just wished to sit down and sleep on the table.

The dragon and the siren were already seated across one another in a long dining table, where food had been placed. They looked over their shoulders as you sauntered in with the Wraith and Incubus, and both smiled at you.

Mactavish guided you towards the seat at the end of the table, which you knew by reading books was supposedly the seat of the highest person in a castle. But when you frowned at him in confusion, he merely nodded and forced you to sit down. Then, he took his own seat next to Kyle, and Simon next to Price.

“Are you supposed to not say anything to your husbands on this lovely morning?” Price spoke up, his chest puffing out through his deep v-neck shirt.

Your eyes went back and forth between the four of them and knitted your brows deeper. “Good Morning?” you offered them, unsure of what the dragon wanted, but that was what people would usually say to other people at this early hour.

“You speak as though that wasn't a custom to everyone,” he huffed, angling his head to the side.

“Because I've got no one to say that greeting to,” you muttered and lowered your gaze, eyeing the perfectly grilled meat in front of you. You gulped.

“You have us now,” Kyle claimed in a silvery voice.

You snapped your head in his way, captured by his words. To someone who had been deprived of other people's presence and touch, a siren who was as alluring as his voice was dangerous.

But he . . . spoke of the truth. Even the incubus did.

A shelter above your head to shield you from what was to come, a lovely room where you can sleep instead of an old mattress infested of insects, and more than sufficient amount of meal to fill your stomach.

Other females would kill to be in your position.

Have you truly been lucky to be in their arms?

No.

No, it was the Siren’s song working through your mind again.

Do not fall for it.

Do not drown in it.

“While we're at it,” Price’s deep voice burned through the veil of thoughts unrolling in your head, and you met his eyes, currently in the shade of blue. “Don't you have another thing to do for your husbands after saying good morning?”

Once again, you went into a spiral of thoughts, your mind going through the books and stories of women you have read throughout your life. But all of it was the tales of their suffering.

Was this lizard mocking you even after knowing you didn't know shit about having partners?

You stared at him for a good minute till your gaze drifted down to his lips, and he smirked his sharp fang flashing.

Why was this guy so hold-up with fcking old traditions of humans that had been under the land a long time ago?

You fought back the grimace threatening to appear on your face and slowly rose from your seat. You walked over him as his eyes trailed over your body, before settling back to your face.

You reached to his face, hand trembling as you leaned down. You lowered your lashes and placed a kiss on his lips, at the same time you felt his hand circling your waist.

“Gracing us with a gorgeous view, aren't we?” He questioned when you pulled away and his eyes fell on your nipples firm under the thin silk dress.

“Kyle dressed me up on this,” you said and removed your hand from his face, but he was quick to grab your wrist. He placed it over his mouth, dusting your palm with kisses.

“Can't blame myself for having good fashion.” The Siren shrugged. “That said, where's my kiss?”

Price let you go as if permitting you to go. You shot him a glance and left his side, skipping over to Kyle. Repeating the same actions as you did for the dragon, you left him with a smile when you went to the incubus by his side, who seemed to be more eager than the other two.

Mactavish pushed himself closer to you kissing as soon as your skins met, but soon pulled away. Then your eyes met the Wraith’s.

Simon, a monster of a few words, and seemingly the least interested in you.

“Well, I'm waiting,” he said, his eyes narrowing. Under his mask, you knew he was smiling.

Maybe, he was as needy as his brothers, but he just didn't show it. Nevertheless, as you came closer to him, your heart thumped, fearing what he would look like under his mask.

He reached out a hand to you, which you took hesitantly, and with your other hand, you reached up to his face but hovered over the fabric.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he ordered, and with a finger, you pulled it down.

You blink at his features. It was perfectly normal. Good-looking, as much as you hated to admit it, like every single one of them There were a few signs of scars but not a spot of rotting on his face, despite being a wraith.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you planted your lips on him, stopping him from uttering a word.

He was a high-ranked wraith, that was the only answer to his perfect body.

You later learned, during their not-so-late self-introductions over breakfast that he was a Duke, the incubus and the siren were nobles, and their acting leader was the sovereign of dragons.

The crown felt heavy and yet, at the same time, it felt like nothing but a feather on your head. You were not suited to be a Queen, a Duchess, or any sort of nobility. A slave were meant to be underneath their feet, not someone who would sit on the throne.

You removed the ornament adorning your head and placed it down on the table, meeting Jonathan's eyes on the mirror's reflection.

His eyes flashed gold, his round pupils turning thin and his grip on your shoulders tightening. “Why'd you remove it?”

“Get yourself a Queen, not a slave,” you imposed, watching his brows knit, “Have some . . .” you trailed off as his hands went down to your breast and waist. “Have some dignity,” you finished.

“You are my woman.” He kissed your shoulder, bare from the off-shoulder dress you had changed into, but it was also dangerously low on the chest, giving him access to easily strip it off you.

He pulled the neckline down under your breasts as he sucked on your neck, his fangs grazing your skin, and pinched your nipple. “My wife.”

You gripped his arm, trying to pull it away from you, but he only strengthened his hold on you, eliciting a cry of pain from you. “I just got dressed—”

“And who gave you those dresses, hm?” He twisted the sensitive bud and you clawed on his arm, wincing at the discomfort.

“I did not ask for it!” You shouted at him and he grabbed your jaw, making you face your reflection. Your visage flashed red at your sight and on your neck, you could see his eyes changing back to gold.

“Really?” He swiped the boxes of jewelry and the crown off the table, and flipped you over, heaving you onto the surface. He forced your legs open wide and leaned down.

“Jonathan,” you begged just as he kissed your folds through the thin fabric of your undergarment. You bit back a moan when he ran his tongue over. “S-stop.”

Yet, he continued, ripping your panties off with his fangs.

“I said, stop!” You pulled on his hair, making him stop and look up at you through his lashes. You flinched at his gaze that seemed to have imprisoned the purgatory, ready to unleash its flame to burn you alive. You pulled your hand back, but he was quick to catch it.

He placed a kiss on your knuckles and his horns sprouted from his forehead. “You deserve only the best, my Queen.”

Price had you holding onto one of his horns. He slurped at your cunt with thirst as he gripped your thighs, his claws digging into your skin through every lap. His beard was drenched, soaked in the flavor of your slick, and each time his nose hit your clit, he would feel you flinch. His breath as he chuckled fanned your sex, now diving to the sensitive bud, his tongue dragging it into circles.

It was hard to breathe from the stimulation, your body felt like it was set on fire as Price continued his overwhelming abuse. “Stop, please, please,” you cried, feeling the sting of his claws on your trembling thighs.

“You're dripping wet and you want me to stop?” A laugh once again escaped his lips. He removed his grip on your thigh only to place his fingers onto your drenched folds.

Your breath hitched and you grabbed his wrist, shaking your head. “Not the claws.”

“Why not?” He raised a brow.

“It—it will hurt,” you told him in a low voice and gulped when he didn't utter an answer. “Please, Jonathan.”

“Fine,” he scoffed, finding himself frowning at the sound of his name from your mouth, and felt his cock twitch under his pants, already painfully hard.

His claws retracted in a blink and his fingers quickly traced up to the hood of your clit and once again, circled the nub. This time, as compensation, you hold onto his muscled shoulder, and as though he understood it as permission, his fingers moved in further and dipped into your flittering hole without warning.

He picked up the rhythm and before you could clamp your hand over your mouth to hold back the moan, he wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

Your moan rose, became more hectic, and he drank them all as he worked on your clit with his thumb.

The noises that echoed around the room were pure filth, and you hated every single second of it. But you couldn't deny the pleasure he was giving you. So, you wrapped your arms around his neck, closed your eyes, and bucked your hips on his hands.

Jonathan smiled at the kiss.

Women were easy to get, was what he might be thinking, and that was the reaction you wanted.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / DISCORD SERVER

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[felassan]

Some snippets from DA dev Luke Barrett on the unofficial BioWare forum, cut for length:

DA:I -

User: "I am still convinced that Bioware cut the healing spells and went with barriers instead because of the Multiplayer." Luke Barrett: I can't speak to any other games directly but I can give a bit of historic context for DAI. The game was initially a more dungeon/linear delving - see how far you can get - experience and there was no barrier of any kind. As a side note: healing has always been a hot topic in design because as soon as you include it there are many other conceits you now need take into consideration for the gameplay - one of which I will call 'the Anders problem'. Anyway, as DAI got the date moved and shifted more into the pseudo-openworld the concept of attrition (see how far you can get before having to return to camp) became less relevant and we needed to help the Players have more moment-to-moment agency around their survival. Unfortunately for various reasons (one of which is the sad reality of designing a game with a shifting timeline) the healing couldn't be re-added so we ended up with more of a mitigation strategy in the barrier system. It went through a lot of iterations but eventually landed on what it shipped with which I would call... acceptable (but just barely). Now, I will concede that a part of the reason it didn't return after that shift was an aversion to holy trinity gameplay specifically for MP but it wasn't the core reason. As a side story, trying to balance the game (as that was my job on DAI - and yes, it could be much better haha) we had to all but force Players to take barrier. It is intentionally the first skill in the first tree for the Mage and all the autolevel (I also handled that) is designed to get it right away." [source]

User: "Merry Christmas Luke! Sooo what was the hardest class you had to balance? [DA:I]" Luke Barrett: "I feel like anyone who was around for the post-launch content will already know the answer to this as it was the bane of my existence when I got put exclusively on MP after launch but the Knight-Enchanter barrier absorbing was a pain. Stuff like that is very challenging to feel good without being broken as they are relative to damage so scaling is fairly open-ended. Too little and the casual players won't get use out of it, too much and the character builders will be wildly OP. We actually had a 'no nerfing' guideline for the SP side so it was a hard battle to fix that silly thing 🙃." [source]

"As a fun fact, I did all the logic for autolevel on DAI and the guideline I was given was literally "make functional builds, but don't make something optimal that you'd play"." [source]

DA:TV -

User: "If you can, say thanks to the people making the no die option possible." Luke Barrett: "Done! My team handles this stuff so I let them know 😊" [source]

"Comically, I designed the majority of the items and skills and I am still finding it fun making awesome builds (been almost entirely doing playthroughs lately" [source]

"Was really important to the team that everyone could play the way that felt best to them." [source]

"Each specialization has a focus around a few specific mechanics, some of which are the weapons or damage types but you can go off script and make it work for sure (this was intentional in the designs)." [source]

"I designed all the skills and so they're each enjoyable to me to some extent. I have been playing through the game over and over the last couple months for balance purposes so I've played them all fairly extensively." [source]

User: "Necrotic sounds like it could be either Spirit or Nature." User: "For Rogue, it replace "poison". For Mage, it replace spirit (Spirit bomb). For Warrior, it's more spirit (especially Reaper), but some skills could work as poison too. So basically they merged spirit and nature." Luke Barrett: "Thats pretty close to spot on. They were actually heavily iterated on throughout development - I can't (at least currently) go into specifics as to why though." [source]

"the target for the progression vision is that you can make a viable build out of almost** any aspect of the gameplay." [source]

"As for timelines, We started DA4 in October of 2015 roughly. The entire team was moved to MEA for about 3-4 months to help it ship and I also spent all of 3 weeks helping out on Anthem. But otherwise I've been on some incarnation of DA4 for about 9 years now - pretty ready for it to release 😅." [source]

"yes, years of working on the same thing can cause some burnout but I've played through the full game probably about 8 times in the last few months and it's still fun (though some of the specific levels that haven't changed in a long time I've done 50+ times easily and I could do without ever seeing them again 😂)." [source]

User: "I do kind of feel that at this point the DA team has put so much work into creating and improving their tools and learning the ins and outs of Frostbite [...] But who knows what the devs in the trenches really feel" Luke Barrett: "I will say it does some things very well and some things poorly, relative to other engines. Personally I really enjoy Frostbite but I've been using it since 2012. In an ideal world, many engines would be viable and developers would make games suited to the strengths of a specific engine." [source]

User: "Since this game is much more stat heavy than prior titles, specifically when it comes to skills and gear, there's likely a need for some balance changes to be made post-launch. Does the game being playable completely offline hinder the data capture side for your team (in terms of analytics), or is this a non-factor?" Luke Barrett: "Generally speaking, most people leave data analytics on so we get more than enough data coming in. Additionally, I'll personally be watching several channels for things that are underperforming (relatively speaking) and not have to nerf anything. The rpg side is vast though and I'm sure people will find OP combinations/synergies that might need 'adjustments' but as long as it's fun and not an "I win" button that trivializes combat I'm pretty cool with it." [source]

Luke Barrett: "I can safely say there are many builds for each class that will feel very powerful if you're not on the highest difficulty 😉. What I'm really excited for is when the guides comes out that show people the fastest way to get some of the uniques that unlock 'special' gameplay 😊. Let's just say I love the feeling of rushing to Patches in DS1 and kicking him off the bridge for the Crescent Axe (iykyk)." [source] User: "Speaking of guides. Will there be a guidebook like there was for DAI? " Luke Barrett: "Not that I'm aware of but I'm happy to help feed info to somewhere like fextralife or the dragon age wiki after a week or so to help with those pursuits. Have to leave some time for exploration and discovery before the optimizers streamline the experience 😉" [source]

"Effectively, at least until the game launches (and likely a week or so after), you won't get anything interesting out of any of the devs save Mike Gamble or John Epler. Longer term I hope to be very active, at least for build mechanics and all the combat/rpg nuts and bolts conversations." [source]

"I started "da4" in October 2015 and so after 9 years of effort (minus 3 months on Andromeda) I'm quite excited for tomorrow and the launch week. I don't know if I'd say nervous, I feel pretty confident in the product, but definitely that eager kid before Christmas feeling 😊" [source]

"As the person who did all the balance, I will say that if you are comprehending how to make a cohesive build and understand the combat mechanics, you should play on Underdog. One of the downsides to having a lot of power growth vectors is the difference between people who engage vs those that don't becomes a chasm quite quickly. If you start blowing enemies up rapidly, turn up the difficulty (or play on nightmare where that will not be the case) - basically if it ever feels super easy or like enemies are health sponges you're probably on the wrong setting for your skill level. The custom difficulty settings are there to make the gameplay enjoyable (for whatever that means to you)." [source]

"As a tip from me, the balance is subtly tipped in the players favor until the last fight of the 3rd combat mission. Be warned if it's feeling too easy you may want to wait until after that to decide." [source]

[on DA MP] Luke Barrett: "It was actually pretty fun but very much not what most people wanted us to make (including internally). Also we had, let's say, limited staff who had a passion and background in MP so it was definitely the right call to go SP only. Now, it would have been nice had we just started that way but so it goes sometimes." [source] User: "You still play it yourself from time to time (DA MP), or have you left it be?" Luke Barrett: "After playing variations of DA4 for so many years (9!!!) it's hard to go back to anything with DAI controls/gameplay speed. Even the initial Joplin prototypes I was doing were much more snappy/twitchy - for everything good about DAI the combat was definitely in the middle of two different styles." [source]

[on aiming bows] "we actually used to have separate buttons for ADS and ranged attack but it was wildly overloading the controller. These RPG games need controllers with at least 2 more buttons (fingers crossed for the next gen)" [source]

User: "After the last few games, I'm really surprised by the current skill... tree?" Luke Barrett: "I call it a skill graph - aside from the beginning where you have 3 choices the entirety of it is 2 choice splits and it'll essentially make a build for you. Just go a little at a time and aim for whatever specialization seems most fun to you 😄" [source]

"Loot is not random so theoretically guides with drop locations should appear pretty soon." [source]

"Yep, Spellblade is the only spec that directly impacts fire damage but you can get benefits from most of them and still go fire. As for the specs, yes it would have been nice to support all of them but just wasn't in scope unfortunately. Mage has Mourn-Watch, Shadow Dragons, and Antivan Crows specializations - only the Rogue has a Veiljumper one. Deathcaller left side you can go beam based and use a Fire weapon. Evoker you'd likely need to do a hybrid ice/fire build." [source]

User: "Bit of a side question, but for those who intend to make more characters, is BioWare considering upping the amount of playable character slots you can have (currently at 3)? Or is there a hardware restriction here given the game is offline playable?" Luke Barrett: "Don't quote me as I don't handle the technical side of this but my understanding is we have to allocate a specific amount of HD space on the consoles so we basically have to pick a limit, relative to our save file sizes, and then divide that by number of careers. I'll inquire if this is something we can increase with an optional download or something but I suspect consoles are stuck that way, unfortunately." [source]

[on Patch 1] "It's been awhile since I actually did the content for this patch so I'd have to check but I have a pretty anti-nerf policy for SP games. I know I fixed up a couple enemies that weren't as hard as they were supposed to be and definitely boosted a bunch of synergistic things though. I'll take a look tomorrow but for those that don't know, the turnaround time on these things is about a month of it's not an emergency due to certification process with consoles. Longer term my goal is to keep an eye in telemetry of any underused abilities and items (or enemies with too many kills under their belt) and audit them just to double check if they need a boost or if people just haven't figured them out yet 😉." [source]

"The equippable items are all predetermined with a minor exception*. Some items are class specific (all the weapons, a small amount of armors and accessories, 2 runes) so when you play a different class you'll see your classes 'version' of that item. Things that are random (from a table/pool) are valuables. Exception: Near the very end of the game we do a few checks on what equipment you haven't acquired. A bunch of those final drops, and inventory on the final merchant, simply find stuff you don't have and give it to you. That's basically the only major RNG we have with loot. If you notice even 99% of the skills and item mods employ an effect after a condition is met X times rather than a more traditional 'proc chance'." [source]

[on modding] "Once this starts to pick up, feel free to PM me if anyone needs help 'finding' assets or has questions about how one might mod something. We don't officially support mods buuuuut we don't have any kind of anti-modding stance either" [source]

"To give the high level gist of the resource economy: - each class starts off with minimal ability usage, this is intentional to force people to learn the other combat mechanics as they're a necessary skill and it's easy to lean on a crutch like ability spam and kiting - abilities are designed to feel powerful on use, thus they all have a decent cost and can't be spammed* - weapon attacks generate your resource - in the bottom right of the center skills area is a node to make each class's resource easier to manage - halfway down all starting segments (N, SW, SE) there is always a node that boosts generation - there are +max nodes on all sides of the skill graph for each class, this is particularly important for the Mage as they start each fight at max - each class can build into being ability focused but starts intentionally rounded - loastly, the first ability is always a resource spender and 1 or 2 of the next available ones will be cooldown gated. It is recommended to have at least one cooldown based ability slotted" [source]

"So loosely the rogue momentum works like this: - each ability costs 50 momentum - hitting enemies generates ~2 momentum per hit (base), you get extra for bow weakpoints - when you are directly hit, you lose 15% of your current momentum, this means the more you hold the more you will lose (this loss has a small cooldown so you don't lose a whole bar when you get hit rapidly) - momentum carries forward between combats (compared to warrior rage which decays when out of combat) If youre having issues, make sure you get that skill in the middle section that reduces momentum loss when hit. As a helpful tip, the Quicken buff generates small amounts of momentum each second so it's a good way to get more if you're having issues." [source]

"I highly recommend using the belt that grants Quicken early game until you can generate momentum faster yourself. And yes, the time dilation affects everything in the world except the Player so all your buffs and things still tick at normal speed" [source]

User: "If I knock an enemy off an edge, if they were supposed to drop something will it appear on the edge, or is it lost for good?" Luke Barrett: "It should appear on the ledge. I will say the 'real' loot from enemy drops are all hand placed. The actual random stuff is just valuables and materials." [source]

" The way it actually works is very complicated with a lot of necessary exceptions but loosely - each ability has a base damage and ones that hit multiple times have an offset multiplier. - That value is multiplied by the sum of all your stat bonuses, conditional bonuses, resist and layer modifiers. - We then subtract enemy defense and multiply by 1-resist (with penetration being calculated here). - this new damage then gets multiplied by 1+crit+weakpointpoint (so those bonuses always feel meaty) and then multiplied by a random number between .95 and 1.05 just to give a little range to the floaties (basically just a presentation thing) - we then multiply again for buffs and debuffs so they, again, always feel meaningful - lastly, we take all added damage and add it flat on top" [source]

"Specific enhancements make enemies immune to the matching affliction. For example, Fire Enchanted enemies are immune to burning. Juggernaut enemies are immune to being staggered but otherwise it should work in everything." [source]

[valentine-cafe]

Hi! I'm back with another request, my second request here Yippie! Idk if I'll do more- actually no, I'll probably will lol

If that's the case can I be 🌕 anon?

Anyways lol- I'd like to know what would be Rishen and Talisen's reaction to a reader (fem) who gives them a flower crown as a friendship gift

So- a little context, reader is a mermaid who instead of giving sea shells as friendship gifts, she gives flower crowns. She's also one of Alessio's good highschool friends that he still keeps in touch. And he decided to introduce us to Rishen and Talisen!

So I'd like to see what would be their reaction to reader basically saying "I like your vibe, here, have a flower crown." :DD

˖⁺. ﹙ nerd & literature student  x fem reader x punkgoth best friend. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . flower crowns !! 🍒 :  rishen: hero ˖ moth-spider-mantis hybrid ˖ preppy nerd character ˖ talisen: poet ˖ grim reaper ˖ naga character ˖ alessio: punkgoth ˖ mercenary ˖ immortal character﹙ verse 781 rishen, talisen & alessio. ﹚

you're a highschool friend of alessio's. you meet his boyfriend and frenemy(?) and simply have to give them flower crowns!

𖹭 ݁ ps : so glad to see another of your asks! of course you can be our beloved 🌕 anon <3

alessio looks over at you, smiling reassuringly as he gives a nod towards his boyfriends in their dorm livingroom. “c’mon, don’t needa be shy.”

standing there, with your flower crowns in hand, you look up at him and wrinkle your nose at his comment. only to look back at the other two sitting on the couch, waiting for you both to join them again and continue watching the movie talisen had picked out.

so with the deepest inhale you could possible take and with a little jolt to your body. you begin to walk over to them. your friend following close behind, hands in his pockets and head placed on your shoulder while he gives you an affectionate smile.

the other two catch onto the sounds of footsteps and slowly look over at the both of you approaching them. talisen is the first to notice the flowercrowns.

“oh those are absolutely beautiful.” he exclaims softly and leans a cold cheek against his palm. smiling softly, only to watch you a bit confused when you hand it over to him and the other to rishen.

“i think the both of you are really nice,” you murmur, with a big, sheepish smile plastered across your face. your feet shifting from side to side.

“and so i made you both these, i hope you like them!”

looks are exchanged between the two boyfriends and almost immediately they put on the flowercrowns, and gods, they are both shining. you picked out the flowers that reminded you of the sunset for rishen and those that reminded you of the moon for talisen.

it was clear the two had the glow of both, even more so now wearing the beautiful assortment of flowers you had collected as a token of friendship.

“thank you— thank you so much- oh, they’re beautiful!” rishen sighs out excitedly, careful not to touch the flowers or move too much. he rises from his seat and hugs onto you with all the gratitude she has, before looking at talisen who is casting a little spell to make a silver-y lily grow in your hair. smiling at you with thanks.

[fayewoodss]

hello I am here to ask what art movements you relate to the dream team

Okay, let's do this! LONG POST! *cracks knuckles* 😤

George

I'm starting with George bc I'm a shameless Golo and he lives in my head like a worm.

I immediately associate George with expressionism. Now, this may seem strange considering his personal aesthetics are very designer streetwear and techwear, which in many way is the opposite of expressionism. However, in a lot of his wardrobe and overall personal tastes, he does have small bits of appreciation for expressionism.

For example, this Supreme shirt of his displays the piece "Reaper" by artist Josh Smith. Josh Smith is a contemporary post-modern artist and not from the original expressionist movement, but his work holds a lot of traits to expressionist artist Edvard Munch. Though I do have criticisms of Supreme and their foundation being in appropriation of Barbara Krueger, taking her anti-consumerist work and messaging to create a consumerism giant, I do admire that they've grown to collaborate, credit, and pay artists through their clothes.

(Josh Smith with Supreme and Edvard Munch)

Expressionism is very broad in style and artistry because it was the movement all about expressing personal taste and emotions through art, rather than capturing scenes as close to reality as possible (impressionism). I shared a post a few days ago about George's precious Discord profile pictures and both of them displayed a broad and vibrant spectrum of color, one being a palette knife piece and the other being a splatter piece. Now, these aren't necessarily expressionism. Like Josh Smith's work, they are post-modernist and abstract contemporary, but the usage of color and freedom in strokes puts them in a similar category.

Now, my final reasoning for George being expressionism is purely just Vincent Van Gogh. I am biased as George is my fave and Van Gogh is my fave, but recently a theory emerged about Van Gogh that he was likely red-green colorblind. When we look at Van Gogh's color palettes. He heavily relies on blues and yellows that fall within the protanopia color spectrum, whereas when he uses greens, reds, and oranges, they are often used as shading for blue and yellow. There are instances where he uses red and green with intention (his self portraits and the painting of his room), but even then when he uses red-green, it is not in a way that follows usual color theory.

It is impossible to know if Van Gogh was actually colorblind or had a color deficiency, but I do think it is a strong theory that supports his art and adds a new layer of perspective to it. Especially considering he was very unsuccessful in his lifetime and his artwork was often considered jarring and not appreciated.

George's color blindness is also fascinating to me, as per his own on stream tests, he has tested both as severe and mild, so unless we had George's vision, we don't realize exactly how much color he truly can see. But in the parasocial box in my mind, I think he would enjoy Van Gogh and expressionism as a whole.

(Vincent Van Gogh, original work left, work with protanopia filter right)

Dream

In my collage post, I mentioned impressionism for Dream, and while I do believe that to an extent, I personally think Dream might fit more into illustration and outsider art.

Illustration is an easy one to talk about because so much of his brand is simplistic and stylized in a very graphic and illustrative way. His very icon, the black and white Microsost paint smiley on the eye straining neon green, is playful, memorable, and recognizable. It's easy to replicate and remember, and through the artists and designers on his merch team, it's able to be reimagined and expanded upon.

For some context, I originally went to school for illustration, but very quickly switched into fine arts, so my knowledge of illustration as an industry is not as deep as it could be, but I know that reproduction and recognition are definitely pushed as important.

Stepping away from Dream's own branding with illustration, I think there is a strong connection from Dream to outsider art as well.

I am a huge fan of outsider art. I took multiple classes on it.I love outsider music and poetry. It is overall a movement I greatly enjoy. However, as a disclaimer, the origins of outsider art as a movement and category for art are very dubious and unethical. I won't get into all of it here, but when outsider art was initially coined, it was very exploitative of the mentally ill, disabled people, people of color, etc. I think as time has gone on and outsider art and artists alike gained audiences that were more appreciative and good faith, it has transformed into something more wholesome and celebratory.

Dream is a self-made individual. He didn't go into YouTube, content creation, and merchandising with previous learned knowledge. He's very open about being self-taught in most of his skills and endeavors. Outsider art at its core is about the uninitiated and the self-taught pursuing artistic endeavors without the fear or stress of the institution of art.

Daniel Johnston is the most notable artist within outsider music, but he was also a visual artist as well. His work is naive and honest, even when it is hamfisted and fumbled. He is genuine and truthful, but often to a fault. But he grew a cult audience that loved and appreciated him, even through his worst moments.

A little personal interjection, but I am a huge fan of Daniel and his work spoke to me through high school as someone who spent most of my life with undiagnosed autism. His death genuinely shook me and I remember the day he died so vividly that in some ways I'm still grieving. I recommend exploring his music with my whole chest, even if it may not be to your taste.

I do think in the modern world, a lot of people drawn to outsider art and the act of being self-taught in fields of interest are neurodivergent. Dream has been very open about having ADHD, and even mentioned possibly being on the [autism] spectrum (though that question was asked in a very invasive way, so I take Dream's answer with a grain of salt). I think that adds another level of connection/relation to outsider art.

I could go on and on about outsider art and how amorphous it's definitions have become, but I'll stop there for now.

(Works of Daniel Johnston)

Sapnap

In my opinion, I think Sapnap is the most open about his interests and personal aesthetics. Even if it's not a direct comment on it, he has the most furnished and decorated office, he has a clear and consistent sense of style with favored brands and imagery, and he's a big fan of anime and adult animation. He also advertises the most out of the Dream Team, so, like, get the bag, but also I'm going to tease him with art movements that directly comment on consumerism and advertisement.

Right away, I think appropriation and pop art.

Appropriation can be a scary word as we often hear it in the context of theft or bigotry. Even within the world of art, appropriation is a touchy subject as we try to define what is transformative appropriation and what is plagiarism, reference back to Supreme and Barabara Krueger.

I actually saw a Barbara Krueger show in real life, and it was nothing short of breathtaking. It was overwhelming and in your face. It was uncomfortable and eye-opening. It both meant nothing and everything as you were faced with false advertisements, bold statements, and consumerist culture.

(Barbara Krueger at the Art Institute of Chicago, 2021)

The biggest name in pop art is Andy Warhol, and when it comes to Warhol, you either hate him or you love him. The man is surrounded by controversies, both good and bad, but I won't deny his influence on contemporary art. I think his bold colors, high contrast, and play on reproduction in art all fit Sapnap's personal aesthetics, similar to Dream with illustration. But in more modern pop art, I think a lot about my friend and colleague David Hernandez. David's art is provocative and at times uncomfortable, but he uses a lot of ideas and concepts from pop art and appropriation to appeal to a more modern audience, playing into nostalgia growing up in the age of the internet in a way that is reactionary. His work can be very NSFW and outright gooner brained, so if you do seek out his art, be warned of that nature. Still, his skill is insane because he uses acrylic, oil, and spray paint to make pieces that feel as if they were done digitally.

(David Hernandez)

I hope these make sense, and maybe you even found a new artist/art movement to enjoy! I do think there is flexibility within these and plenty of other movements and artists that fit these creators (like impressionism with Dream even though I didn't include it), but these stand out to me the most as fitting their identities and personal aesthetics and interests.

If anyone has more they want to add or discuss, please reblog and/or comment because I would love to hear from others on this!

[stromulites]

AU Shithead acquired! Feat. the coat he stole off of Grayson (oc). For clarification you don't need to draw the coat wherlsdgdf. The wings are optional too, since they come and go at will.

@soulspite the promised ref (I hope this is clean enough kwelrsdg)

I will now put other info and Unsolicited Lore Stuff under the cut

162cm (5'3) for this ref.

I have been just calling him B.J. There's no in-universe reason for it. Just like BJ BLAZKAW-(self combusts)

Probably ADHD and on the spectrum, just never got properly diagnosed before he kicked the bucket.

Got struck by lightening or something <- Doesn't like talking about it so most people just guess.

Dying is a pretty sensitive topic since while Reapers are cool and all, the event itself is still traumatizing as all hell. Especially for those who die suddenly in violent, unrighteous deaths, like BJ.

17 when he died, chronologically 19. Age for Reapers is weird since they're just souls of the dead who don't get yoinked by The Demons when they perish.

Really likes it when Hannah (This AU's GF) helps preen his wings. He will straight forget if she didn't remind him. Visits four days a week, probably more if Hannah herself didn't tell him to go do something else.

Likes to keep his wings out, but they're not very practical in enclosed spaces so he'll tuck them away then (they straight up disappear in this context).

Bit of a loner despite it all. He'll let others get close to him, but won't fully indulge himself and keeps his distance aside from a few select people. This is a more recent development.

If he likes you enough, he will bring you random shit he found on the ground. Like seaglass and some poor sod's missing ring. Or ten million paperclips/smooth rocks that look nice when wet.

Is generally cold in body temp since, y'know, bucket kicked and over is keeled. Not affectionate with other Reapers since they also run cold and it bothers him. The only exception to this is Grayson and their jacket, which is why it's stolen so often (its warm), and Hannah, who is Alive.

Has the best American Woodcock call impression known to man.

Also, for those that want it, wing pattern ref be upon ye:

[oblivionbladetd]

Another Video Essay of Lorch in need of debunking — “Maturity Isn’t Moral Grey”

Any thoughts on one of You-Know-Who’s worst videos?

If you want me to point to something specific that she gets wrong so you can better dissect it, please let me know.

Well, dismantling her supposed smoking gun is a good place to start. Though first a little context. Do forgive any inaccuracies, I've read up via the wiki and asked some fans, but haven't played ME.

The Krogan from Mass Effect is a reptilian race of aliens that are basically big biological tanks of a sentient species. Uplifted from the post-nuclear hellscape of their original planet to fight a race of sentient bugs known as the rachni. Put simply as long as one Ranchni queen made planetfall? Over. If you didn't intercept the queen within days of them setting up, there was nothing that could be done. They were too hardy and too numerous for anything less than scorched earth to 11. Only the sheer durability and numbers of the krogan were enough to push them back without extreme measures. One thing led to another, though, as saviors became conquerors, and the only way to fight that was the genophage. It's a shameful string of events the whole way down, but there is a distinct lack of better options.

In Mass Effect 3, Krogan are actively leveraging the reaper threat for a cure, and if you aren't picking all the right choices throughout the games, if they get the cure it's right back to certified galaxy wide threat again. There's more than enough evidence both for and against curing it. The cure is both the key to the shackles of their oppression as much as the key to galaxy wide krogan domination. For you see, a female Krogan free of the phage will be well capable of laying upwards of 1000 eggs that will hatch into rapidly maturing Krogan. Basic math, 2 krogan are fully mature adults and start mating for only one year and then stop. That's 1000 krogan. Ten years later, their kids do the same. 100000, rinse and repeat now there is a million. 30 year and 3 generations in with restrictions and the are already populating cities. Add on that they are as hard to kill as they are utterly expendable...

So you'd think Lily is all about the crying shame that the Krogan were jerked around by other, more advanced species for thousands of years as the reason that curing the krogan isn't a morally grey choice? Nope, think of the poor krogan mothers! They must be so broken up about stillbirthing so many children!

Now far be it from me to assume Lily’s knowledgeable about how evolution do, but here's a fun fact for the class. if your species makes over 1000 kids in a year, you've already written about 99.8% of them off as dead. Her smoking gun for this video is approaching a very nuanced, very broad, very non-human problem with a very human centric stillbirth is always the absolute worst thing and that alone seperates the grey into purely black and white... I don't know about that chief...

It's not the full vid, but I've just ripped the meat and potatoes off the plate and exposed it as a hunk of wood and a pile of spud scented foaming hand soap. If you want something else covered, just ask. I've got a post in the works about her fandom obsession, so look forward to that!

[theinfernalcalypso]

Was torn where to post this (here because im insane and yeah this is insane and nuclear tbh, or the witchblog i have bc witchcraft) but like

If you have a witch moving out of your house (specifically in context of a break up), don't "accidentally" put your own shit in with theirs because maybe, MAYBE they'll look at it and reconsider how they feel or even just be careless because idk you somehow mix up your underwear into theirs when they're packing

Because you just gave them a tag of your energy. The closer you've kept it (i.e., YOUR UNDERWEAR?) the more potent whatever they can cast on you is

I'm just saying

From personal experience

As the witch

Because my ex is 100% a fucking dumbass

And would actually forget I'm a witch just because I didn't do spellwork very often

And tbh, was originally getting irritated at his shit being in mine when unpacking

But now? A golden opportunity lay before me like a gift, and they say to take it easy sure

But I sure will be fucking taking it, with a side of Trinidad scorpions and carolina reapers

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X MCU WRITING PROMPT

Okay, I guess we're doing this. This post is a result of a brief mention I made of the Avengers in this dp x dc prompt here and I can't stop thinking about it. For even more context, you might wanna start here where the reaper of heroes au started. Or not. Up to you, really.

This is completely up for grabs if anyone wants to flesh it out a bit more/continue it!

(Btw, I'm going mostly by MCU movies and only what little info I know of the comics. Sorry, not sorry.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = building off of other ideas

✦

Reaper of Heroes

Needless to say, Danny did not realize that his responsibility as the reaper of heroes souls would extend past his dimension and into others. In hindsight, he probably should've considering that he was the ruler of the Infinite Realms, a dimension between dimensions that eventually all would join, so therefore his responsibility would be just as all encompassing. He does not realize any of this until it's literally shoved in his face in the form of half the universe from a single dimension being spirited away into the Infinite Realms almost all at once.

Quite a few heroes blip on his radar in the swirling mass of souls that were harvested way before their time was due. He looks upon the horde of souls in utter agony and despair and can feel only one thing: Anger. Danny was unequivocally pissed. With the help of Clockwork, he pinpoints the dimension the influx of souls originated from and he suits up in full battle armor and heads there immediately.

What he finds only feeds the fire of his white hot rage, so much to the point his white hair briefly flickers like a burning flame before settling back to it's usual tussled state. With permission from this dimension's personification of Death(1), he begins a hunt for the one responsible for the disruption of not only his regular reaper duties, but the balance of life and death itself. It doesn't take him long to find Thanos, he just has to follow the familiar powerful aura of the Soul stone.

What he finds is the end of the first battle against Thanos (Infinity War. Ha) where Thanos had just snapped half the universe away and all the people were still in the process of crumbling into dust/being sent to the Infinite Realms. Before Thanos can teleport away from all the carnage he'd caused or snap his fingers once again when he senses another threat approaching, Phantom disrupts the energy from the gauntlet and has him pinned to the ground by his throat away from Thor. He uses a conjured sword of ghost ice in the other hand to sever the arm that wears the infinity stones from the shoulder down. In the end, he's so close to the purple alien the green glow of his eyes turns Thanos' rapidly paling complexion a sickening shade.

"That's enough of that. Wouldn't be very sporting of you to turn tail and run from the consequences of your actions, now would it?" He practically growls.

Thanos stares up at this newcomer with a mix of confusion and fear. "Who are you? How were you able to stop me from leaving? The Infinity gauntlet is supposed to be infallible!"

"Ha! You mean this little toy of yours?" He asks derisively with a fang-barring smirk and a brief glance at the gauntlet itself. "After using it to rewrite reality a time or two, you learn a couple of things. Did you really think you were the first to have the idea to gather reality's most ancient artifacts and fashion them into a wearable device? Sorry, but somebody already won that race. The first place ribbon goes to a creepy ringmaster by the name of Freakshow."(2)

Seeing the look of shock, frustration, and offense on the alien's face, Phantom snickered and leaned back, releasing his captive's throat only to put an armored boot against his chest to keep him down on the ground. Thanos briefly struggles against it but finds it impossible to move.

"As for who I am," Phantom says, no longer smiling and with Thanos along with the few left on the battlefield's attention.

"I am Phantom, High King of the Infinite Realms. Lord of the dead, undying, and neverborn. Reaper of the souls of heroes and protector of the balance between life and death. And you," Phantom's eyes narrow to slits as he grinds his armored heel into the already deep wound on Thanos' chest, causing the alien to squirm in pain. "have made me very angry. How dare you disrupt the natural order and lay waste to so many innocent lives?"

Despite the obvious pain he was in and the growing fear of facing Phantom's wrath, Thanos still seemed to have plenty of courage to speak.

"Are-" He licks his lips nervously before continuing. "Are you Death?"(3)

Dark amusement dances in Phantom's eyes as he considers how to answer. He didn't need to think on it for very long though before he gave a wide, fanged grin and spoke.

"No. I did, however, meet with her before making my way over here, just to make sure I wasn't stepping on her toes by thrashing you myself. I gotta say, she's quite the conversationalist and her humor is to die for. Funny thing is though," He watches as a spark of awe, curiosity, and hope flashed in Thanos' eyes before dealing the final blow with glee. "she didn't have anything to say about you."

He watched as the alien's face took on a look of shock that quickly morphed into a combination of denial and anger. Phantom doubled down on the pressure he'd been exerting on Thanos' chest, causing the man to cry out in agony before continuing to assault his ego.

"In fact," he said conversationally. "she barely gave it a second thought when I asked to be the one to snap your chains and rip the soul from your body." He stopped there, humming curiously as he gracefully drew the ice sword he'd previously used to sever the man's arm and lodged deep into the soil.

"I wonder though." He mused as he held the point of the sword over Thanos' throat. The alien renewed his struggle, desperation written plain across his face as his eyes traveled along the sharp blade. He locked eyes with Phantom as a slow, gleeful smile spread across the ghost king's face.

"What will she say if I bring it to her in pieces?" He said before bringing the sword down and striking true.

✦

What's this? Actual dialogue??

Well, that was unexpected. I didn't plan on Danny being so unhinged/sword-happy, but I think it kinda fits with the context of it being in response to what happened in Infinity War i.e.- the insurmountable loss of life. I really enjoyed writing this tho. Just thinking about how I portrayed Danny in this has boss music blaring through my head.

Notes:

(1) Although most of them have never actually met, the embodiments of Death from every dimension more or less treat/view each other as siblings regardless of blood relation. Phantom and Death's relationship here will be/is basically the same as Danny and Jazz, i.e.- big sister, little brother. Shovel talk anyone?

(*) Let's have all the death characters from different fandoms gather around a table and have tea/coffee together. It'll be fun.

(2) I know chronologically (marvel comics vs dp show) that this isn't true, but shhh. Let's pretend it is in this case.

(3) Can't remember if it's mentioned or not, but does Thanos still have a creepy crush/infatuation with Death in the MCU? If not, I'm changing it. It's basically what this part of the conversation between Phantom and Thanos is referring to. His gift of so many souls to death being unappreciated stings, but not as much as getting his head lopped off and his soul torn to shreds.

Danny's interaction with Death

_

@mynameisnotlaura

How's this for talking about it? Look what you made me do! /lh/j

[rohirric-hunter]

I shared this one with the SARC already but I thought I'd also post it publicly, since it's important context for some other things I'm writing. I was gonna clean it up or something but after letting it sit for a couple of months and then rereading it I've decided it's Fine, Actually.

IDK if I'm gonna make a proper fic for Umbar stuff or leave it as a series of oneshots. But I'm gonna start publishing oneshots that may or may not make their way into a bigger fic later.

This is from Hathellang's point of view. Once I publish more related oneshots that will be clearer, which is why I didn't outright state it in the fic itself.

Oh yeah and major spoilers for The Song of Waves and Wind chapter 4.

~*~*~*~

Orgolas looks at King Elessar with wide, shining eyes as he speaks, and you can hear the tremble in his voice. "They called her the Reaper of the Waves," he says, and you cannot help but scowl. You had hoped Nakási could be reasoned with after all, that her oaths of destruction upon Gondor were merely from the grief of her husband’s death -- foolish as it may seem, now. The boy in front of you works his jaw and you kneel, taking one of his balled up fists and pulling him close. He closes the gap between you and hides his face in your cloak as he weeps. You offer no reassurances, for there are few you can give. Thorongil's situation is dangerous, and though you do not know him well, you know that he does not know when to hold his tongue, and is liable to put himself in more danger still. It's a bad business.

Léonys breaks the silence with a sudden whistle. It's the odd, extended trill that she uses to summon her steed Wídethym when she is close at hand, as she is now, waiting with many other steeds along the road north of Iaphel. You look up, trying to gauge her intent, but her face is stony.

It is Elessar who speaks. "Léonys," he says seriously. "What are you doing?"

"I can ride faster than they can row," she says bluntly.

"You cannot face the whole crew alone," Elessar says.

Wídethym arrives at a canter. You have seen many of the great Rohirric steeds bred for battle, but it still unnerves you, the way the creature's nostrils flare at the scent of blood, and the wild look in its eyes, reflecting the fire that still rages in the vineyards on the slopes above. Léonys runs her hand along the side of the horse’s neck as she responds. "No. But their ship must be nearby, and I can follow it. I will mark their course, and leave a trail."

Elessar looks thoughtful. "Very well," he says. "But you are to follow only. You are outmatched against their whole crew, and I would not see you throw your life away rashly. Do not try to rescue the boy."

Léonys hesitates for a moment. It is a moment only, and one who did not know her well would miss it -- but you and Elessar both see it. "Of course," she says, and at the same moment she catches Wídethym's mane in her hand and mounts the steed, turning towards the south.

"Léonys!" you call, and make to stand, but Orgolas has a vice grip on the edge of your cloak, and you sink back to a kneeling position, and run your hand down his back. He is still weeping.

Léonys does not stop, but spurs Wídethym to a gallop, and a moment later even the white of the steed has faded to a glimmer in the darkness.

~*~*~*~

In the grey hours of the morning, Wídethym arrives riderless at the stables of Ost Arndir, dragging a towed peg behind her and with Léonys' bow and quiver hanging among her saddlebags.

[vickyvicarious]

This conversation is way too long and I love every bit of it, but here's the greatest hits!

Barok really does care so deeply about Albert. As Albert himself says, he often doesn't show it well, or at least his ways of expressing that care can come off as cold if you lack full context. This is a case in point moment, where if you know he's worried about the Reaper then it's obvious why he's saying Albert can't stay, but if you don't it can read as weirdly commanding denial for mysterious reasons. It feels at odd with his expressed sympathy for what Albert went through, all the more since he is the one who put him through it the whole time.

But it's not that simple! Van Zieks wanted to ensure the best for his friend. The reason he went so hard is because Albert means so much to him. And that's why he had to handle it himself... a wise decision as it turns out, because I doubt other prosecutors would have been so willing to disregard Stronghart's orders during the trial. Also, for as mysterious/cold as he can seem, he doesn't shy away from speaking outright about how much he cares in the right moment. He doesn't talk around his friendship at all, he says it pretty clearly: I care about you. I'm sorry for what happened. I'm glad you're okay. It's really nice.

Also, look at that! He respects Ryunosuke now! Enough to engineer him as the defense somehow, or at the very least to approve of it and acknowledge that aloud here. While he and Ryunosuke are often at odds professionally (for obvious reasons) and personally (due to Barok's prejudices and Ryunosuke's justified frustration with them), they have also been developing respect for one another's ethics, I think. Sure, Ryunosuke talks about how he doesn't understand Van Zieks and doesn't take it totally for granted, but he does seem more willing to believe the man will allow further testimony in order to find the truth, and believes in his skills. Van Zieks talks a lot of smack, but it's clear he's impressed with Ryunosuke's own skill in the courtroom and dedication to the truth. They've come a long way from that first trial together.

Van Zieks is worried about the Reaper getting his friend! Of course he would be but this is still such a good moment. When I think back over the cases, the Reaper's curse 'got' McGilded via Graydon, and the only other clients who have survived are Natsume (who left the country) and Gina (who Gregson plans to take out of the country). As far as we're told, everyone outside of our clients has been killed eventually, even if not right away, so I definitely understand this caution. It's another sign of how much he values Albert.

But also. He plans to leave with him?! That's huge. I wonder how long he intends to be gone - is this just a temporary visit to spend some time with his friend while he gets established, or is he planning to stay away longer? Is a piece of it him trying to avoid the consequences of his recent decisions in the courtroom, or to flee the reminder of his past trauma brought up by all this talk of the Professor?

And a final note - I love that Susato is the one who understands what his motivations are first. She's so insightful about people.

[definitelynotstable]

Vice [Ghost x gn!Reader]

(A Camomile Interlude)

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13, pt. 14, pt. 15, pt. 16, pt. 17

AN: Hey girlies (gender neutral term), uni is being a bitch right now and I'm at a mental capacity hence the less frequent updates. BUT here’s a wee hurt/comfort interlude that will hopefully tide you over till the next Camomile chapter :)

Synopsis: Set sometime in the early few chapters of Camomile. Ghost catches you at war with a punching bag – the bag is winning. Hurt/comfort. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: Canon typical violence. Mentions of self-harm, violence, sex, drugs, smoking etc. Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags)

✧˚ · .

Everyone who enlisted had some sort of problem. A generalisation that could be easily backed up with evidence if someone bothered to carry out the research. And if one were the outlier who enlisted issue-free there was no doubt they’d be left with an arsenal of them if they survived long enough to retire.

Mental health was something not many talked about. Besides, If one were too open they risked an honourable discharge.

And so when the horrors of the mind became too much, people turned to alternatives. Alcohol, drugs (you’d be surprised what could be snuck onto a military base), sex, smoking, violence, self-harm – the works.

All were acceptable in certain contexts and most soldiers had the rules down-packed.

Violence was only tolerated on the battlefield; alcohol could be discretely added to coffee in the morning; pills before bed; sex in a maintenance closet; cigars instead of cigarettes; unnecessary risks led to injuries in the field – the works.

It was some sort of unwritten code – everyone had their vice.

Ghost was a curveball.

You’d caught him with a pack of Camels within a week of joining the 141. It was dark and you were far more interested in studying how his lighter illuminated his jawline and scarred lips than the burning cigarette between his pale fingers. It was your first time catching him without the mask obscuring all of him from view.

The mask.

That was strike two.

There were plenty of unique characters in the military; though you’d never met one like him.

It almost seemed like satire – the skull.

You were quick to learn it wasn’t. He was as silent as his namesake and as deadly as the reaper he portrayed.

But he was a complete contradiction.

Teabags he kept in a delicate tin which had been labeled in his distinct handwriting – somehow scrawly but swirly at the same time – and he drank camomile from a chipped novelty mug which depicted the London skyline. The Eye had been half rubbed away – probably from the dishwasher – and the top of Big Ben had begun fading but he dutifully used it each time without fail.

✧˚ · .

“Tea time”, as you’d coined it inside your head, began spontaneously and became a regular, though informal, occurrence.

The Lieutenant wasn’t one for conversation and it took a couple of months of tentative small talk before you could comfortably hold a two-sided conversation with him.

Though slowly but surely he unfurled.

His gaze softened, sentences lengthened and touches lingered.

Water would be plonked in front of you before you even knew you needed it, doors opened when your arms were full and jackets draped across your shoulders before your shivers even began.

He was an observer, you realised. There wasn’t a single detail he overlooked.

So it shouldn’t’ve been a surprise when he noticed.

✧˚ · .

You’d never describe yourself as violent before you enlisted. Strong, maybe, or passionate. But put a C8 assault rifle in the hands of a young soldier with unresolved trauma and violence was the only outcome.

Hand-to-hand was addictive, knives too.

It wasn’t something you enjoyed, taking lives, but it was a necessary evil – at least that was what everyone tried to convince themselves when they closed their eyes at night.

Violence came hand in hand with pain, however.

Perhaps that was the real vice.

✧˚ · .

It was regulation to wear wraps when using the bags at the back of the gym.

But after a particularly rough mission wrapping your hands was the last thing on your mind.

Your fists met the bag in rapid succession, knuckles crunching against the sand-filled column.

The bag on the end was firmed than the rest and whenever your mind became too loud, this was where you could be found.

You thought you’d been discrete; believable with your smile and cheery goodnight but the figure in the doorway said otherwise.

You were too focused on the way the pain flared as your split knuckles met the bag to notice.

It wasn’t til he’d rounded the bag and pulled it away from when you recognised you’d had an audience.

You pant, chest screaming as you met him through lashes you hadn’t realised were damp.

“That’s enough.” Though spoken softly you know it’s an order.

You feel disconnected from your body when you met his gaze with a smile that looks more like a grimace and brush away a strand of hair with a shaking hand.

“L.T.” You say, straightening up in an attempt to snap out of what ever dissociative state you’ve fallen into. “How can I help you?”

The man in front of you frowns, stepping forwards. You can barely focus enough to track his movements and jolt as he takes your wrist in his hand.

“Oh!” You force out a laugh when you finally register his interest in your bruised and bloody hand. “Must’ve forgotten to wrap ‘em.”

He doesn’t reply and instead reaches for your other hand, angling both towards the light so he can see better.

You swallow tightly when the mess is illuminated and the distant throb in your knuckles suddenly becomes sharp. You can’t help the gasp that leaves your lips as the Lieutenant wipes some of the blood away with his sleeve.

Finally he looks up, blond brows creased and eyes inquisitive.

“You’ve damn near broken your knuckles.”

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out; your bottom lip finds it’s way between your teeth and you settle on chewing it instead. You blink rapidly and break free of his oppressive gaze.

Ghost sighs, sensing he won’t get much out of you now. Ever the observer.

✧˚ · .

He doesn’t release his grip on your wrist, tugging you out of the gym and down the dim halls towards the infirmary.

The section that keeps patients in need of 24/7 care is down a wing to the left, fluorescent lights buzzing. Ghost doesn’t lead you there, however.

Instead he pulls you towards the bases’ clinic and pulls out a key.

Too tired and confused to ask why he has access to the wing, you let him manoeuvre you into sitting on a bed – flicking the light switch along the way.

You watch dazedly as he riffles through a couple of drawers before coming to sit in front of you on a rolling stool.

With a glance up at you, Ghost reaches for a sterile cotton swab, dipping it in antiseptic. He takes your injured hand in his gloved one and with the utmost care, starts to clean the bloody mess, movements delicate and precise.

You wince at the sting but his touch is soothing and his focus on the task unwavering.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as he pulls out a roll of gauze to wrap the now clean wounds.

Ghost stills his movements, looking up as his brows curl in confusion. “What for?”

Everything. You want to say.

“Lots of things.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead blinking and resuming his ministrations. You follow his movements as he expertly winds the bandage around your hands. You know he’s thinking – he doesn’t like to speak without crafting each word carefully in his head.

“I used to use a lighter.” He starts, voice low and soft. He doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t need to. You’ve seen the burns on his arms, some covered by tattoos – you’ve got a few smileys on your thighs to match. “But I realised – I realised I was just letting them win.”

He swallows and takes in a deep breath before looking up at you, eyes raw and more expressive than you’ve ever seen them.

“There are people out there who want to hurt us – who have hurt us. When we take it into our own hands we do their job for them.”

He watches you for a moment through his pale lashes before standing, softly patting your now bandaged hands and pulling you to your feet.

“Don’t let them win, Rags.”

✧˚ · .

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[homoeroticbetrayal]

Iconic Homoerotic Betrayal: Round 1

Round 1 Directory

Context for TWEWY below. Beefleaf fans, drop your summary in the reblogs.

You play as Neku Sakuraba in this video game, who is in the Reapers' Game, fighting for survival and partnering up and with amnesia. Turns out you're dead! He doesn't remember how he died. His first partner gets taken from him so he ends up partnered with Joshua for week two. He's an asshole and rude but also has hidden depth to him, and really connects with Neku (who remembers everything EXCEPT how he died, now).

At the end of week 2! Joshua dies for you! Takes a blow to save Neku's life!

And then at the end of the game he shows up a-okay and says HEY IM THE ONE WHO KILLED YOU, I PUT YOU IN THE GAME, YOU HAVE TO SHOOT AND KILL ME OR IM GOING TO DESTROY THIS CITY YOU'VE COME TO LOVE, AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS TOO, KILL ME OR I WILL RUIN EVERYTHING

(AND NEKU DOESN'T SHOOT, AND NEKU DOESN'T KILL HIM, AND JOSH CHANGES HIS MIND BECAUSE NEKU CARED ABOUT HIM ENOUGH TO SAVE *HIM* TOO)

Josh is also very flamboyant and teases neku gayly. I love them your honor

Extended summary for Josh/Neku. Excellent read:

Okay, buckle in, because we are going on a ride. Player One: Neku Sakuraba. Dead kid extraordinaire. He woke up in the Reaper's Game, a game hosted in Shibuya's Underground, or UG (essentially the afterlife, it's a plane of existence on top of the Realground, or RG, which is the plane of the living), where freshly-dead souls partner up and compete for a second chance at life, with no absolutely no memories of who or where he was, much less how he died. Still, together with his first partner, he managed to win the Reaper's Game... but was denied a second chance.

The Conductor, who runs the Game, told them that the Composer, essentially the god of the Underground, had decided only one of them could return to life, and that was his partner, so Neku re-entered the Game for a second week in a row. Enter Player Two: Yoshiya Kiryu, but Mother and Father call him Joshua and, well, he supposes Neku can call him Joshua, too, seeing as he's his dear, dear partner. Joshua is annoying, grating, the manifestation of all of Neku's worst traits, the thing he could be if he refuses to grow, and he's constantly giggling and flirting with Neku. He's definitely hiding something, and eventually admits that he's still alive, playing the Game of his own accord. His ultimate goal is to become the Composer, as whoever defeats the current one takes their place and Joshua's status as a living Player makes him significantly more powerful. Plus there's the issue of the current Game Master, who seems to have taken an interest in Neku and causes headaches whenever he's around.

Partway through the week, Neku receives a flash of memory, the memory of his death. He was shot, and Joshua was behind the trigger. This information leaves Neku in a difficult position, as he can't win the Reaper's Game without a partner, and in fact, if his partner is erased, so is he. And he needs to win because his partner the previous week was taken as his entry fee, he's playing for her and he doesn't know what will happen to her if he loses. So he has to get along with his murderer for the rest of the week. Joshua, meanwhile, gleefully dances around the subject, never quite confirming or denying whether he killed Neku, even when confronted.

On the final day, they have to defeat the Game Master in order to win, and just before the fight, Neku receives the same flash of memory as before... but this time, it continues. Joshua pulled the trigger, but Neku didn't die. He didn't shoot Neku; just behind him lurked the Game Master, holding up a gun of his own. Joshua never killed him, Neku realized. He had spent all week distrusting his partner, when all along, he had been trying to protect him. And after they defeat the Game Master in the present, he releases one last attack, one that would certainly erase both of them. But Joshua pushes Neku out of danger, taking on the full force of the attack himself, leaving Neku alone with the guilt, of his distrust having pushed Joshua to figuratively take the bullet for him.

And once again, Neku is forced to play the Game again, but this time, he teams up with his new partner to use the clues Joshua left them with to find the Composer themself and bring an end to all this. And they do! As the city falls into chaos around them, denizens of both the UG and RG falling victim to mind control that must be the Composer's doing, Neku and his partner fight until the last day, until the only thing standing between them and the Composer Himself is the Conductor. And just as the fight is about to begin, Neku hears that familiar giggle. Joshua is alive. He calls the Conductor by name. But Neku barely has time to process this, because the Conductor fuses with Joshua for one final battle. And in the rubble of that, as the Conductor teeters at the edge of erasure, he asks Joshua what will become of the city. It turns out, one month prior, the Conductor made a deal with the Composer, who thought Shibuya had become stagnant and needed to be destroyed before its negative influence spread elsewhere. The Conductor had a month to prove that the city wasn't worthless, to turn the people into something more suitable - thus the mind control. To make it fair, the Composer decided that He was going to play with a hand-picked proxy in His place. But the Conductor failed. As he dissolves, erased, Neku finally gets to ask Joshua what's going on. "Hee hee... It was me, Neku," Joshua says. "I'm Shibuya's Composer." And Neku was his proxy. Finally, he returns Neku's memory of his death in full - the Game Master raised his gun, but he wasn't aiming at Neku, he was aiming at Joshua. And every bullet he fired was frozen mid-air, until he was turned to turn tail and flee. Then Joshua turned his gun on Neku once more, and shot him.

And now, Joshua, the Composer of Shibuya, decides to give Neku one last chance. They'll have a duel, and whoever wins gets to decide the fate of Shibuya. Neku doesn't get the chance to agree or disagree; Joshua gives him a gun, and the countdown begins. 10... 9.... Joshua raises his gun, smirking. Like he doesn't care. Like their time as partners meant nothing. 8... 7... Neku cries. He just stares at the ground, gun in his hand, and cries. 6... The sorrow turns to rage, and Neku raises the gun, aiming at Joshua with shaking hands. His eyes squeezed shut. 5... 4... He can't do it. 3... 2... Despite everything Joshua has done, despite killing Neku, lying to him, manipulating him and forcing him to play his sick Game, faking his own death, forcing Neku into this situation, planning to erase the entire city... Neku can't shoot him. Joshua is his partner. And Neku trusts him. 1. He lowers the gun. BANG. A single gunshot rings out, and Neku falls to the floor. The last thing he sees as his eyes close is Joshua's smiling face.

If you got here, know that I was very tempted to put joshneku in a threeway duel with komahina and akeshu but decided to split things up a bit.

[dendroaspis-viridis]

Proclivities

Bad behavior begets punishment, as Katareth is all too happy to discover.

Rating: E (+18) This is just more smut, y'all.

Read it on AO3

Tags: explicit sexual content, impact play, praise kink, table sex, aftercare, PWP, porn without plot, smut

9:53 Dragon

Emmrich pressed a hand to Katareth’s sternum, hastily undoing the buttons of her shirt as he guided his lover backwards towards the black marble slab that sat in the corner of his study.

When the backs of her thighs bumped against the edge, he coyly confirmed, “You remember our conversation regarding our respective proclivities all those months ago, correct?” His eyes remained focused on undoing her buttons and pins.

The qunari could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks. It was something Emmrich had insisted upon if they were going to continue being intimate with one another. Everything from favorite kinks to hard ‘no’s’ was covered, with both Mourn Watchers squirreling the information away in the back of their minds for later.

“I do,” Katareth’s hands landed on his narrow waist, hooking her thumbs through belt loops.

“Just making sure…” The professor’s smile was innocent, though the seductive trail of his fingers as they pulled the scarlet bow from around her neck was anything but. “And do you also remember how terrible you were during our meeting the other day?”

“I do…”

All of the members of the Veilguard convened at least once a week to regroup and review their findings over dinner. Their most recent meeting didn’t cover anything particularly groundbreaking, giving the qunari a bit of freedom to cause some mischief.

While Emmrich attempted to explain some of the issues that were arising within the Necropolis due to the thinning of the Veil, the reaper sat to his right, with her large hand resting firmly on the inside of his thigh under the table. He’d been a professor for decades, so he was more than capable of lecturing while ignoring distractions, though the tantalizing graze of her fingertips so close to his groin certainly put the necromancer’s poker face to the test.

“And one last question: do you remember our safeword?” Emmrich pushed her waistcoat and shirt off her shoulders.

“Mesentery.”

A wicked smile spread across his face. “Good girl,” he husked.

Katareth sighed shakily as additional warmth simultaneously flooded her face and pooled low in her gut at his praise.

“Now, I’ve thought long and hard about an appropriate punishment for such abhorrent behavior, though I believe I may have my answer…” Long fingers plucked at the laces of her brassiere before shucking the article as well, unceremoniously tossing it on the same heap as the rest of her clothes to leave her breasts bare before him. He held her gaze for several long moments, drawing out her anticipation before reaching up to quickly pinch at a pierced nipple and command, “Finish stripping—but leave your smallclothes, turn around, and bend over with your hands flat on the table.”

She stared down at him a bit bewilderedly. Emmrich very rarely needed to assert himself, so to get this rare glimpse of his stern side in a more erotic context was, ah, stimulating to say the least.

“As much as I love staring at your beautiful face, I do believe I’ve given you an order, my heart.”

With a start, Katareth hastily peeled off the specified layers, kicking aside the offending garments with her foot. Turning away from Emmrich to face the marble, she was dismayed to feel just how cold the surface was on her palms as she leaned down. Surely, he won’t expect me to lay directly on it…

“All the way…” he taunted. Damn it.

When she hesitated, the necromancer placed an encouraging hand on her back that trailed up and down a few times before firmly pressing between her shoulder blades. “Down you go…”

She hissed a quiet, “Vashedan…” at the rather abrupt introduction of her warm breasts to the freezing marble.

Emmrich hummed patronizingly. “Oh, are we feeling a bit of discomfort? Good. This is supposed to be a punishment, after all.”

The reaper felt exposed. Well, she was exposed, quite literally bent over a table in naught but her underwear—and the fact that Emmrich hadn’t removed a stitch from his own person only emphasized the disparity. But she also felt safe. She knew he wouldn't push her past what she couldn't handle, and while he may play the role of an imposing dom every so often during more intimate pursuits, it was entirely for their mutual gratification.

Standing directly behind his partner, Emmrich quietly groaned as he pressed the front of his trousers against her covered core. “Now, the rules are simple: until your punishment is concluded, keep your palms flat, your chest against the table, and count each strike aloud. We'll start with twenty after I've finished warming up, however failure to comply will result in further discipline. Before we begin, do you have any objections, love?”

“No, I’m ready.”

“Perfect.”

The qunari felt as his hands came to rest on either side of her hips, one bare, the other covered in a soft lambskin glove. The gloved hand left her skin for but a moment, returning to deliver a light smack to the center of a cheek.

It was quickly followed by another, then another, very gradually growing in intensity. They never landed in the same place, smacking and stroking everywhere from the backs of her thighs to the top of her glutes. Throughout his preparations for the main event, Katareth didn’t bother attempting to hide her pleasure, as she knew the necromancer fed off her breathy little mewls and moans.

He paused to stroke and massage at her flesh, reveling in the heat that radiated from it. Satisfied with their current progress, Emmrich hooked his fingers through the band of her smallclothes, tugging them down to bare the pewtery expanse of her backside now tinted a dusky rose under his ministrations.

He also revealed the ivory curls between her thighs that glistened with arousal. “My, my, what a mess you've made… Such a shame you won’t be getting any relief until your punishment is over, isn’t it?” he taunted, inspiring a frustrated rumble from the reaper. “Luckily for you, I’m ready for you to start counting.”

A frisson of anticipation lanced through her. Pointed ears caught the whoosh of air as his hand approached, landing with a sharp smack against the center of a plush cheek that echoed off the walls of his study. Katareth had forgotten just how firmly his long, bony hands could strike. Fuck me. This’ll be rough.

“One.” She huffed. The gentle caress of a hand across her already reddening skin eased the worst of the sting.

A second impact landed in the same spot on the opposite cheek.

“Two.” She could do this. He wouldn’t set her up for failure.

The next two swats were gentler, landing closer to her hips.

“Three.” “Four.”

She winced when the fifth landed on the tender spot where one of her thighs curved into the swell of her ass.

“Five…” she hissed.

“Six.” Katareth correctly anticipated him mirroring his smack on the other side. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Emmrich massaged the pads of his fingers into her sore flesh. “You’re taking your punishment so well, my dear...”

The seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth landed one after the other, though she dutifully counted each one. With each rhythmic smack, she slipped deeper and deeper into that warm, fuzzy space where she knew she could let go, safe in Emmrich’s capable hands.

“Eleven…” she moaned in response to a stinging clap on her outer thigh. “Twelve.” The multitude of rings that adorned his fingers only heightened the experience, contrasting perfectly with the slight give of his hands as they bit at her skin.

“Very good, Katareth… Are you ready for more?” the necromancer purred.

She nodded eagerly, pressing her forehead to the cool marble in anticipation.

“Tsk,” his disapproval was evidenced by a swift strike to her ass atop a blooming handprint. “That’s for forgetting I require verbal responses.”

It wasn’t entirely that she’d forgotten, but it was just so hard keeping track of everything… Counting, following his instructions, not rutting against the marble despite how badly she wanted too—it was a lot for her sex-addled mind to manage. “Sorry, thirteen! Yes, I’m ready,” she panted.

Through her lustful haze, she heard the gentle clinking of his belt unbuckling behind her. Moments later, the cool, polished strip of leather trailed lazily across her skin. Starting at the nape of her neck, it grazed along her spine, tickled at her ribs, and danced upon the tender red skin of her backside.

“You’re already over halfway done—barring any more unfortunate missteps, of course,” he teased. Emmrich leaned over, getting as close to her ears as he could to whisper, “But that won’t be an issue, now will it. After all, you’re my smart, brave reaper, aren’t you?”

The adoration that laced his words further melted her brain, though the qunari wasn’t sure if this was a rhetorical question or not. It was best to not take any chances now that the real spanking was getting underway, however. “I am…”

“Good girl,” he cooed.

Katareth jolted against the marble when leather cracked against the backs of her thighs, but she still managed to keep her chest and palms flat, exhaling a shaky, “F-fourteen…” into the table.

“Fiftee—SIXTEEN!” The reaper panted through clenched teeth following the next two rapid strikes. She could feel little beads of perspiration forming at her hairline.

“Seventeen,” Katareth huffed. He struck the same tender spot at the top of her thigh he’d stung before. “Eighteen.” Blunt nails scratched at the polished marble.

Nineteen and twenty were slightly easier to manage, snapping around the plush meat of her thighs. And if she hadn’t forgotten to respond verbally, that would’ve been the end of it. Instead, she-

“F-F-FUCK!” Katareth bellowed when one of Emmrich’s hands slapped her exposed core and his fingertips whipped upon her swollen clit with pinpoint precision. She took a few moments to collect herself before whimpering, “Twenty-one…” Her breath puffed across the stone.

The necromancer felt his reaper flinch under his hands when they made contact with her abused flesh, massaging soothing circles and being mindful of the crisscrossing cherry-colored streaks left behind by his belt. “Shhhh…” he mollified, “You did so, so well, my heart. You took your punishment so perfectly, and I couldn’t be more proud of you, dear.” When one of his hands lightly scratched along the dip of her spine, she arched up into his touch like a cat, releasing a low, rumbling groan that could easily be mistaken for a purr.

“How’re you feeling, love? Would you like to continue or take a break?” He let the smug, domineering persona drop for the moment. Though his erection strained against the inside of his trousers, Emmrich would let her decide how they proceeded. Besides, if he really felt the need to take care of himself and she was uninterested in participating, she was more than welcome to watch, as they’d occasionally take turns doing.

Evidently, she had no intentions of slowing down when her hips sought his, pressing her dripping core onto the outline of his clothed erection and moaning wistfully when she made contact. “I want to keep going,” she exhaled, uncaring of just how shamelessly she begged for his cock. “Please please please don’t stop now, Emm! I need to keep going—I need to feel you inside me…”

“Well, how could I say ‘no’ to such a convincing display?” If she wanted to continue—and have Emmrich maintain his metaphorical hold on the reins for their coupling—he certainly wouldn’t leave her waiting for long. A quick unbuttoning here and unlacing there, and his erection sprang forth, already dripping precum and eager to be enveloped by her warmth. He dipped two fingers into her dewy folds. Not enough to satiate, but enough to collect a bit of her essence along the pads of his fingers and give his cock a few wet pumps before lining himself up.

With a long, satisfied groan, Emmrich slowly pressed between her delicate folds, inch by delicious inch. His eyes were trained on the salacious sight of his length as it sank into her slick heat. Katareth rose to support herself on her outstretched arms and release a high, keening whine, taking the far edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip at the sheer relief of finally being filled by her lover. When he fully sheathed himself and made contact with her bruised backside, her whine morphed into an aroused growl at the dull lance of pain.

After several long moments of luxuriating in the absolute bliss of their union, Emmrich slowly retreated. Not entirely, but enough to stroke the head of his cock against her plush walls before doubling back to prod at her most sensitive spots. He took things languidly, easing in and out as he saw fit and using the qunari’s wanton moans as a guide.

Looking across the toned planes of Katareth’s back, the necromancer watched as her muscles bunched and relaxed under her skin with the ebb and flow of his hips. Maker, he’d never tire of seeing her in the throes of passion. And to know he was the cause of the euphoric wails bouncing off the walls of his study? Intoxicating. Every time he took on a more dominant role during their lovemaking, Emmrich was struck by just how much trust she placed in him. Katareth rarely relinquished control to anyone else—for good reason, given her past—but time and time again she bent to his will, followed his requests, moaned his name to the heavens.

“You’re absolutely perfect, do you know that?” His fingers dug into the crease of her hips, pulling her back onto his girth with each building thrust. “So willing to submit to me… To take your punishment so perfectly… To take me so perfectly…”

The reaper preened under him before breathlessly begging, “Could- could you spank me again? Not too hard, just… enough?”

He swatted at a plum bruise and was rewarded with both a low purr of pleasure and the absolutely sinful squeeze of her velvet walls around his member. Emmrich punctuated each sheathing with a light smack, resting his forehead in the dip of her spine. “You feel absolutely sublime…” he groaned. His breath tickled as it brushed along the small of her back, cooling her sweat-slicked skin.

“Just like that…” The dull jolts of pain from both his hands and hips smacking against her abused flesh were divine, and the way it juxtaposed so perfectly with the exquisite drag of his cock along her sensitive walls had her melting. She could feel the initial constrictions of her orgasm coiling low in her gut. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop, kadan…” she gasped.

Emmrich was well beyond words by this point, grunting and groaning into her back as he sought their simultaneous rapture. He knew he was dangerously close, biting at the inside of his cheek in a last-ditch effort to stave off his own orgasm for the moment. His gloved hand maintained its ironclad hold on her hip while the other snaked around her body to dip below the platinum thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

He found her swollen clit slick and dripping, caressing it with the pads of his fingers to drive her closer to completion. She saw stars at his touch and couldn’t contain the long, gravelly moan that poured from her lips, ending in his name spoken in that tell-tale fevered pitch that heralded her orgasm. “Emmrich—I’m so close!”

“Good, that’s it—let it happen, let go for me,” he panted.

“Fuck… fuck… Eh—Emmrich!” Katareth wailed, reaching behind herself with one hand to grab at her lover’s waist as she reached her zenith, squeezing her eyes shut as her decadent, dripping cunt constricted around Emmrich’s throbbing cock in waves.

Following a few quick, hard thrusts deep into her tight heat, his own rapturous cry caught in his throat, coming out as a whispered, “Katareth…” instead when he emptied himself, painting her walls with his hot seed in several thick spurts. One of his hands reached to grab her hand clawing at his waist while the other continued stroking along her clitoris, drawing out their mutual ecstasy for as long as he could.

When the final pulses of their orgasms subsided, neither moved for several long moments, catching their breath. Eventually, Emmrich withdrew entirely with a quiet huff. He watched with a sort of boorish, masculine pride as their combined essences dripped from her core and down a bruised thigh. Acting almost on instinct, he asked Katareth to turn around and sit atop the table. She complied, tired but curious to see what the necromancer had up his sleeve.

He kneeled to catch the drip as it reached the back of her knee, dragging his tongue up and along the whitish trail it left in its wake, concluding with his nose buried in the coarse curls around her sex. His tongue dipped between her sensitive folds, gently tasting and teasing but being mindful to not cross the thin line into overstimulation. A low rumble of appreciation came from above. The necromancer looked up into the twin eclipses that were Katareth’s eyes to wordlessly express his adoration.

Kat brought a hand to card through his soft hair while she watched her clit disappear between his lips, whispering a sigh. Two of his fingers slowly worked their way inside, gently petting at her velvety walls while he licked and sucked at her dusky pearl. Slowly, gradually, she was guided to her second orgasm of the evening with a moaning shudder under his expert ministrations.

Emmrich rose with the intention of stepping away to gather a few supplies for aftercare, but was halted by the qunari’s hand on his bicep, pulling him into a kiss that was really more of a lazy dance of their tongues.

He pulled away with a smile, “I’ll be right back, love.” Collecting the required materials, he returned a minute or two later to Katareth laying on her back atop the slab, head propped up by her arms to watch his movements. Emmrich set two cups of elfroot tea on the edge of the table before tenderly wiping the evidence of there lovemaking from both Watchers. Satisfied, he doffed his own clothing and crawled onto the black slab to feel the reaper’s warm skin against his own.

“So: yea or nay?” the necromancer surveyed, tangling his legs with hers.

“Yea. To everything.” She took a sip of the offered tea and elaborated, “I’ll always love hearing you call me yours… Leaving your rings on this time was a nice touch, by the way.”

Emmrich hummed in affirmation. “And I wasn’t too rough, was I? I know it’s not the first time we’ve used the belt, but still…” He twirled a lock of platinum hair around his fingers.

“Not at all,” she shook her head for emphasis. “Besides, there are few things more erotic than feeling the evidence of a scene days later…” Cupping the side of his face, she pulled him in for another languid kiss, licking into his mouth. She turned the question on him, “Anything I could do differently?” she whispered against his lips.

"No, just keep being you." Emmrich placed a quick peck on her cheek before resting his head on her sternum, listening to the deep, steady thump-thump of her heartbeat.

With a contented sigh, Katareth closed her eyes as she trailed the pads of her fingers along his back, outlining each bone and muscle group she could feel.

"I think I can do that."

[misc-obeyme]

It's funny, your post on Salomon reminded me of one of my MCs when she interargues with the brothers. It's an MC who's 50 years old and I assumed that the brothers didn't have a good idea of what was old for a human. So they act with this MC as if she were 80 (which amuses Salomon a lot because he knows very well that 50 is not old for a human, and it's made even more amusing by the fact that she's my most powerful MC). 1/2 -^^

Ah yes, I think this is exactly why I tend to consider how Solomon would react to an aging MC. Because even if he hasn't experienced aging that way himself, he's seen it all of his long life. Whereas demons and angels probably only understand it in the context of oh this human used to be around, but now they're not.

I don't think that prior to MC, the demons or angels interacted enough with humans to know what their aging is like. So it makes sense that they would be like 50 must be old for a human lol.

I've also thought about the aging of demons and angels. It seems to me like this is a piece of lore that the game just conveniently doesn't address because of course they want us to have hot demon and angel love interests. But if we put that aside and consider what we have and what we know - it seems to me that demons at the very least are semi immortal. They can die, either from illness or a curse or some terrible accident, but they don't age. We've never seen an elderly demon, as you said. I like to think they could make themselves look older or younger if they really wanted to. But I think they come into existence fully formed - as with Satan - and just... stay like that.

At least, that makes the most sense to me with what we know.

And I suspect it's a similar situation for angels. Though we have no confirmation that angels have candles in the reaper's caves (as we saw with the brothers and Beel in the OG), so it's possible that angels also can't die from illness/injury/etc.

Solomon just lucked out by becoming immortal at a young (ish) age, I think. He was born and aged like a normal human until he became immortal and then he stopped aging. I would say he could probably die from injury or a curse (Thirteen seems to think it's possible), but he won't ever age like other humans do. However, considering he's spent most of that long life time living among other humans, he's experienced aging in a way that the demons and angels never have.

I think the demons would care for and protect an aging MC. But I don't know if they would fully understand what that aging means until MC is gone. It'd be their first time being close to a human through the entire later part of their life. I'm sure they've encountered old humans, but watching them as they go from year to year, changing and aging while the demons themselves stay the same? That's definitely a first for them.

I think about this a lot because it really is such a huge piece of the story that the game never addresses. They talk about Solomon being immortal and the ages of the demons, but they never talk about how the demons would deal with MC aging or dying. I think they once had Mammon say something about wanting to spend as much time as possible with someone he loved, even if they were gone soon. But other than that, I can't remember another instance.

And I also think it's really interesting to consider an older MC. I actually started writing a set of headcanons about an MC in their 80s because I thought it'd be really funny. And it started out funny, but then I made myself sad so I never finished it lol.

Anyway, I agree that the demons and angels likely don't really understand the concept of aging and especially not as well as Solomon likely does.