#storytelling con

[sonnynewts]

it’s Gimli’s turn to tell the nightly tale

[ferronickel]

Looking Glasses Page 68

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What's a shadowshard you say? Why yes, you're right, I probably should have explained that earlier in the comic. Live and learn. The short answer is that they're broken pieces of shadow crystals that can be used to help phones and other technology work in the dark world.

[The comic might take a short break for the upcoming winter holidays. The next pages are pretty complicated and I've got some other work to do as well, so I'll let you know next monday if I need a break.]

[emeryleewho]

When I was a kid, the only thing that made me stop hating myself and actually think I deserved some basic respect and decency was seeing characters who embodied all the worst parts of me and *still loving them anyway*. Characters who made mistakes. Characters who blew my greatest flaws to ridiculous proportions. Characters who didn't seem to have any real redeeming qualities about them.

And almost always, these characters would be killed off by the narrative, but then I'd step into fandom and see people loving them unabashedly and giving me permission to do that too, and eventually I realized that if these characters could be loved by someone, *I* could be loved by someone too. Seeing people who'd done even worse than I had and were still treated like lovable, full people made me realize that *I* could be that too.

And it didn't "validate" my bad behaviors. It didn't teach me that being a horrible person was the key to a happy life. It just made me realize that having flaws doesn't erase your personhood. It just made me realize that I wasn't beyond saving or loving or deserving the bare minimum. It kept me alive long enough to grow and become a better person.

The key to good social justice is loving the marginalized more than you hate the oppressor, and frankly, I don't give a single flying fuck if a hundred bad people go unpunished for being bad if it means one good person will stay alive long enough to reach their potential, to keep sharing their light with the world and grow into the person they were meant to be.

But even more than that, I don't believe the people out here doing bad things are all or even mostly bad people. I think most of them are messy people who make mistakes, and many of them are people who hurt people because they don't know anything else.

At the end of the day, I write stories for people who need a reminder that you can always be better, that you can always change and grow, but more than that, that even where you are, exactly at this moment, you are human. You are a person. You deserve to find love, to take care of yourself, to take up space and exist. And I would rather extend this grace to a hundred terrible, irredeemable people than withhold it from a single decent person who needs to hear it.

That's why I write messy and flawed characters.

Also, I think villains are sexy.

[giantkillerjack]

One of the things I love about Glass Onion is the way that the camera and music work together to tell nonverbal jokes.

Like when Benoit basically has to hold Miles' hand to get him to the conclusion that someone reset the puzzle box Benoit lies about receiving:

Benoit asks if it's possible that someone reset the box, and Miles then declares that someone must have reset the box like it is this huge reveal - and the camera zooms out while the music subtly swells as though he really has figured out something smart, when actually he literally restated what Benoit just said.

[oncillaphoenix]

once again thinking about how Cheren and Bianca and N all have clearly defined and interestingly contrasting arcs of Growing Up and Learning How To Be A Person and Making Choices For Yourself and Figuring Out What You Actually Want To Do With Your Life and then because of the nature of the storytelling medium the protagonist just gets. none of that.

it's not even like an UTDR metatextual commentary situation where there are choices but the protag's will is subsumed by the player's. There is no meaningful choice but to follow the plot. the protagonist has no agency within the narrative of Pokemon Black and White, which is completely understandable because its. its a freaking Pokemon game, but also makes for a fascinating contrast when every other major character's arc is about learning to make meaningful and informed choices about what they want to do with themselves.

[kayzero]

Quark’s Dreamlike Defibrillation Drabble

You’re sleeping.

Nothing else makes sense.

“Clear.”

Yeah, why else would you feel your heartbeat so clearly? So strong that it’s a little bit painful, beating so heavily that it leaves achey little aftershocks in your chest after every pulse. Thundering and powerful, like you’ve received a shock of lightning from the king of gods himself.

But you only just learned of gods, of Zeus, of Olympus. It was a brand new story from a brand new book—not a super old book from Before, but something totally new. Something made just for you.

It was better than that one book that con artist tried to trick you with—that thing was super old and super thick, yeah, and normally you like that kinda stuff, but only ‘cause you like stories, and people have only barely started writing good stories again, just like people have only started having kids again.

The guy said that it was like a thousand stories in one book, that the book was only falling apart since it was so long and so old, and obviously it was worth a whole bunch just because it was a… it was… an ant-fall-chief…?

“Anthology?”

It was a stupid word, you just started calling it a book-book, ‘cause it was a book full of books, Grandpa said it had full stories instead of chapters!

Grandpa is dead.

…No, he isn’t…

“…”

Yeah… he just got you the best Christmas present ever, just last month. That con artist jerk wanted to sell you the book-book for half of that day’s scavenge, and it was a really really good day of scavenging too! He didn’t even do any work himself, and there wasn’t anything wrong with him either, ‘cause he had to run to catch up with you, and he wasn’t even puffing afterwards, and he had to carry that stupid book with both arms ‘cause that’s how bad it was falling apart.

He just wanted a bunch of your stuff for nothing, nothing but a stupid book that maybe you were a little bit interested in, sure, but you’re not stupid like he musta been, and you told him so and you walked away, pulling your smaller part of the haul while Grandpa pushed his heavier cart behind you.

Grandpa is dead.

It jolts you like a second thunderbolt, it must have gone from your chest up to your brain, because your lungs catch and your nose hurts and your face feels wet. It feels like you’re crying, which reinforces the idea that you’re dreaming, because you were crying on that day too, after you told that con artist off, because you really really did want that book, but you needed supplies more, and your scavenge was so big that Grandpa had to make three trips to trade it all.

You have to be dreaming because he can’t be dead like your brain is trying to tell you, because he wouldn’t leave you alone. Even when you thought you were alone and you it was safe to cry because you really wanted the book full of books, he must have still been there because he knew, and the very next month on Christmas Day he gave you your own story book.

Your book was brand new, made just for you. Every chapter was for a different group of gods from different religions that didn’t worship Brother and Radical-6, and every page had a different god, with their own description and summary and a few fun facts and a list of ‘Myths’, which were all super awesome stories that could be told verbally, so they didn’t take up space and make the book super huge so it would never fall apart.

Every night before bed, you could pick out a new Myth, like how Zeus saved the Olympians and became the King of the Gods, and Grandpa would tell you the story, and it would be the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, which was way better than just reading them.

Grandpa is dead.

The thought thunders through your head, another shock to your system, another bolt from the divide… No…? The defied? Delight? Dim light…?

“Divine...”

Divine. Dih v-eye nn. Godly, or of godlike quality. A new word that you just learned from your new book that you just got for Christmas just last week. Why would you use a new word you only just heard, or think about a king you only just read about, or feel your heart beat way too strong in the wrong part of your chest, direct center of your chest, the middle of your body, perfectly aligned to receive and deliver blood everywhere evenly, except every diagram ever says that it should be somewhere off to the left, between your lung and your ribs.

Painful heartbeat, impossibly centered, painful thoughts, impossibly overpowering.

But anything is possible in a dream.

So you let the distressing thought wash away, dream that it gets pushed down your bloodstream with every beat of your thundering heart, and watch it get smaller and smaller as it slowly disappears, along with the last of your divine tingles.

…You wonder if there are any gods of sleep.

Probably, right?

After you wake up, you’ll look in your book and ask grandpa—

Grandpa is dead.

—when the nightmare is finally gone.

[jadequarze]

What do you personally believe is the most versatile storytelling medium? Whole each one has their own ups and downs, I don't mean to ask you to label one "the best" which do you believe to be the most workable?

Personally I would say video games, a medium I genuinely don't believe any story has used to it's full potential as of yet

Animation is an incredibly close second

I can see video games being more versatile too, as it can be a VN kind of thing, or exploration of different environments (with or without combat) e.g Outer Wilds. Also puzzle games like Chants of Sennar, learning/figuring an unknown language, while going through what happened to the people and the world itself.

Seconding animation, like people can animate a short animated story and from there, the characters interaction with each other/environment, even the background can tell a story.

[idahocomicsgroupinc]

Sensational Master: The Art of Rafael Gallur

This a very important art book that NEEDS to be published. It is Sensational Master: The Art of Rafael Gallur. Gallur is a Mexican painter that did covers for Sensacional De Luchas and many more popular Mexican comic books. This book is dangerously close to not being funded on Kickstarter so please, if you love art and think the preservation of obscure forms of the 9th art (comic books) is important, please consider funding this project. You will be glad you did.

[autixel]

Nothing like seeing an awesome looking game on social media, being hopeful as it's available on steam, only for it to be windows and mac only.

[williamshamspeare]

I wish Deano wore his astronaut costume for Comet Con

[valyalyon]

November 1, 2024

Raphael has arrived! This is the first scene I wrote for this story, it is very long. Changing post formats, this format will be the new norm :)

Please enjoy and see below for more Dreams, Ink and Embers.

DIE MASTER LIST OR #LYONDIE

That’s how it all started. Just a stupid party, just too many good drinks, the lights, the feeling of his hands, my dress coming off, then the crash onto the bed.

CW: explicit sexual content, “one night stand”, sex while both parties are intoxicated, unprotected sex, dubious consent.

It was all the breaths, all the whiskey enhanced kissing, the way he gripped my neck, the way our bodies collided.

I don’t even think I recognized him then, a part of me just knew him to be somebody else. Somebody that I met, somebody that I met a long time ago, in a dream some decade ago. In the dream he touched me the same way, made me feel all the same. And in the complicated coldness in between us, a fire was festering below the surface.

In all reality I’d only known him what? Six years. He never touched me before but he had a way with words in every stupid situation we’d find each other in. He always knew how to aggravate me, distort my way of thinking, make me lose all patience. And despite us never admitting it, we were sharing an awful secret that neither of us knew where it came from.

The secret? He was a man I could not have and I was a woman he could not have. In some destitute other world, we are each others, but here we stand with a divide in between us. Maybe he didn’t know why he wanted me so badly, I definitely knew why I wanted him though. Dreams play too grand a part in my life.

The night of the party was a different story. The party was for Halloween, a friend’s celebration of it. Only thing was that he was hosting it at his house. Normally I would’ve declined an invitation to be anywhere near him, but that night something came over me. I hadn’t told anyone I’d go, but made sure I had all the information correct to show up that day.

It was a costume party and no one was allowed in without a costume. Lucky enough for me, he over invited and way more people showed up, meaning that when I arrived I was able to just blend in with the crowd and disappear if need be. To be completely honest, not much was hidden, but I was wearing a skimpy princess mini dress with a tiara and a masquerade mask.

I wasn’t blending in awfully since everyone was dressed up and most of the girls were skimpy too.

Anyway, the next little bit is a blur because I smoked some pot and started going around drinking alcohol from the kitchen bar. i knew I shouldn't be mixing my alcohol and pot but I got crossfaded pretty often and had an idea of my limits.

Well, eventually I decided to sit at the kitchen island and just have a drink (on my second) and chill there for a bit and people watch. Julius was at this party and I was trying to avoid him too for the most part.

I don't think I recognized the man who until this point has gone nameless — his name is Raphael — even when he came up to me. He was wearing some black jeans and a red top that looked just a little too small for him, but I traced my eyes along his arms and muscles and then face and nothing clicked. it was like I had never seen him before in my life.

For years I spent them hating and arguing with this man, but now he was sitting beside me at the kitchen island and the whole party seemed to come to a slow. All of a sudden it felt like the alcohol came to overtake me.

He asks me who I am, says that the no face masks rule applies, and says I gotta take off my mask and show myself to him.

It feels almost like a joke. Even though I don’t recognize him, I still fight back with the usual anger, "Face masks shouldn't apply for half naked Princesses, sir. plus you're not the boss of the party. i know the guy hosting it and it ain't you.

He seemed to pause for a second, not sure what must have been going through his mind but he starts to smile. He leans towards me and asks, “want more whiskey?” He reaches for the bottle and starts to pour a little more into my cup, then some into a cup for himself.

“Thank you,” I told him, and then took the whole shot down in one gulp. I don’t know what came over me but I wanted to prove myself to him. I didn’t want him thinking he could walk all over me. I’d already experienced men like him before, “Shouldn’t approach women you don’t know demanding they show you their face. Sounds a bit creepy.”

He let out a laugh and took his shot, adding another to my cup and another to his, “fine. What if we go to one of the rooms and you show me your face there? I’m in charge of the doors and I gotta make sure you’re on his list. No one else has to see you though.”

Taking my now 4th shot I looked at him. Again my eyes ran over him for a second and I thought to myself “could I fight him off of me?” The idea of following this stranger into a private room was so out of this world insane but, there was just something different about this man. I kept thinking he seemed so familiar but like I had known him when I was a child and hadn’t seen him since. I finally answered agreeing to follow him into a room.

I thought how I was glad that this stranger was helping me, that I didn’t wanna be kicked out of this party for not complying with the host’s rules, and here they were letting me keep my identity a secret as long as they could confirm who I am.

To get to the room he took my hand and let me up the stairs of the house through crowds of people. I kept thinking that there were so many people there it was crazy that Raphael would have invited all those people.

Mind you, as the man is taking me to the room I still have no inclination that he is Raphael. I’ve never once touched Raphael. But in that moment he was touching me, holding my hand and pulling me around all the strange people. I felt like a doll to this man but I couldn’t pull away. I wanted him to know who I was.

Inside the room was another story entirely. As soon as we entered he asked, “could you take off your mask for me?”

I unlace my mask from the back and drop it into my hands. My eyes meet his again and yet again I am left breathless but unaware. I still do not recognize him.

“You’re definitely on the list,” he said under his breath. He hands me my cup and pours me another shot, then another for himself. He downs his first, I down mine as he starts to turn to me.

His hand falls on my thigh, his fingers move along my inner thigh, “I’ve been wanting to touch you since you walked past me. You didn’t even look in my direction. You ignored me and hugged some random.”

“How do you know they were random?” I asked trying to keep the distance between us but only feeling myself grow closer to him as he starts to spread my legs.

“You should only be around me don’t you think? Look at you and look at me, we’re on fire. This world is ours…” his fingers loop into the sides of my underwear.

He yanks and pulls down my panties, taking them off my feet. He makes eye contact with me as he gets closer to my pussy, his fingers move with a mind of their own. He starts using my body as his own play toy. I feel his fingers creep inside of me and all I can do is gasp.

"I don't just hook up with strangers," I told him, my hand tracing up his arm, trying to find the strength to push him off of me. Since the moment my eyes had fallen on him, I knew it was over but I was really trying to catch enough courage to ignore my desires.

It all seemed to good to be true, like he and I were not supposed to ever have met, and that least of all we weren't supposed to meet like this. This stranger being Raphael was something I couldn't wrap my head around, couldn't even in see in the stranger's eyes the uncanny anger that Raphael always festered in me. He just seemed to have come out of a dream, and I was trying to fight it.

He didn't seem to adhere to my gentle touches or incoherent begs, he just took one hand and placed it on my thigh, spreading my legs as his other hand continued to finger me. When my legs were open, he took his free hand and started to lift up my dress just a little at a time, "we don't have to be strangers."

Little moans by this point were escaping from my mouth. I had only known two other people that had been able to understand that my hesitation never meant no, it always meant convince me. While I never would encourage that behavior from other women, I knew myself to be a coy little fairy playing games with those that wanted me.

My rejection, my no's, were all encouragement to be cruel-er to me, to step on my toes and make me beg for you to continue. But here this strange man was, immediately recognizing what I needed from him. He made eye contact with me as his two fingers continued to thrust inside of me, my ass was now out in the air, my dress bunched at my waist, my tits absolutely throbbing from the heat that we were creating.

"How about this?" he asked, lifting me in one go off the floor and laying me down on the bed. He hovered over me, holding me down with his big hands, as he said, "how about... instead of us being strangers," his fingers started moving a little rougher inside of me, "I spell my name out for you."

"Spell... spell it out then!" I half shouted at him, in between moans and louder gasps. I made eye contact with him and realized he was only an inch from my face. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, I could feel the weight he was putting on me. I watched his lips, waiting for him to speak, but instead...

He went down. he kneeled down on the floor at the edge of the bed, and pressed his lips against my pussy. He started writing with his tongue inside of me, I clutched onto his hair, his free hand finished lifting my dress off me and he let it rest against my neck as the free hand began to squeeze and grope my tits.

"This is not... this is not... I don't know what you're spelling!" I moaned loudly and felt my vision spinning. I could hear the music outside thumping so loud the whole floor was shaking, but I thought it was the orgasms. One by one, my body began to let out orgasm after orgasm. Not entirely sure if he finished a letter, finished his name, or what, but my body would convulse and shake as cum began to slip down.

After about three minutes and several full body orgasms that left me almost mute, he picked his head up and I felt his free hand reach down in between us. He pressed his jeans to my opening, and I could feel his bulge squeezing the fabric of his jeans.

He continued to finger me as he rubbed himself against my clit, my eyes opened and I followed the path from his eyes down to his neck down to his arms, down to his pants. "Now that you know my name there shouldn't be a problem. I want to be inside of you. I want to feel you squeeze around me." He told me, his eyes gazing down at me with something like a volcanic fire that I had never seen before. He was confident, but his body, his eyes, his soul were all so violently on fire and frantic and it seemed like he knew me from a dream, too.

I knew this was the time to stop, I knew that if there was any moment to make it all end, I'd have to do it now. But, I didn't want it to end. All my life I had chased after the feelings from that dream, and now here the man was in front of me making me feel all those things. I didn't want to give it up, I wanted to play, I wanted to feel him. My hands made their way to his shirt, and pulling it from the bottom I got it off his body and I examined his bare chest.

The muscles were tight and big, and just his bicep alone was the size of my head. I felt like he could have his way with me even if I wasn't consenting, but it felt so good to see that he was letting me choose how I wanted it. My hands ran along his chest and then down to his belt, and I looked up at him again, "maybe we just... make this quick, pretend it never happened later. Just one moment that we never have to experience again."

He took off his belt for me, and put my hands securely together, wrapping and locking the belt around them. Quickly he reached down and unzipped his pants, letting them fall, and then he took his underwear and slid it off. He stood in front of me, one hand still fingering me furiously while the other hand began to stroke his cock.

When I finally looked at it I was excited and happy. He looked to be about 8 inches, rock hard and ready to perform, I looked back into his eyes as I felt the tip of his cock get pressed up to my clit, then I feel it slide down as he slips his fingers out of my hole. With his dick now throbbing at my entrance, I let out a quiet moan and reach out to kiss him. My arms are tied and I try to fight the restraints, but I move closer to him. I wanted to feel him.

He kissed me while starting to push his cock into me. The world seemed to slow down again like it had earlier. I felt pain immediately, his dick was big and my body was very small. While his kisses stifled me, I was still able to let out of a moan cry, feeling him slip deeper into me. He kept my legs nice and spread with his body, and just slowly slipped his throbbing erection into me.

His kisses only got harder when I got louder. His hands only got greedier, the more I tried to escape from his restraint. He began to pound in a rhythm, rubbing my clit while being inside my pussy. The feeling was magical. I was crying into his mouth, letting out louder and louder moans the more he inflicted on me. He seemed to just know me and my body, but I could have sworn I'd never met him in my life and his cunnilingus spelling did nothing to enlighten me.

My hips started moving to his rhythm, my body gave in so easy to him. He threw my dress off my neck and wrapped his hand around my neck instead. I was breathless without his kisses, I was staring up at him with an open mouth as he just continued to choke me. The feeling of his hips crashing into mine as I squeezed his cock inside of me made me feel nearly feral. We were like animals.

From there it all got rougher, got harder, he would smack me across the face and then kiss me, he would turn me over and spank me so hard I could've sworn there were marks, then he would fuck me from behind, pulling my hair and choking me. I kept up with him through it all, though my moans got louder, and with it I could barely tell if he was enjoying himself because he was pretty silent, but when he flipped me onto my back, climbed onto the bed with me, and pulled me close into his arms I knew he enjoyed it.

In that moment, squeezing my ass and slamming his cock into me, he came. He pushed as deep as possible, and I couldn't help but think that I had just let a stranger bust in me. I felt him pulsating as he came, and he continued letting out small thrusts to make sure all his nut was out.

I knew that I should stand, that I should leave, but he kissed me again, and against my better judgement I stayed. He kissed my neck and left hickies, sucked on my breast, and continued to fuck me. At first it was slower, and I could feel his semen and my cum compiling together inside of me, but soon he was back to going harder, meaner, and I was overflowing with our juices.

I don't remember how long it lasted. It could have been an hour, or five, but I knew he came three times, and each time he didn't pull out. It was like he was doing it on purpose, but I never told him to pull out. The more he came the more I wanted, but, eventually my body and brain tired out and I started to feel myself dozing off. He didn't even ask if we were stopping, he just pulled out of me and went to the bathroom connected to the room.

When he came back he began to clean me, and he helped me into my dress again. I was quite sleepy, my head barely staying up, and I kept opening my eyes to look at him. He was getting dressed and I kept noticing his dark hair and dark eyes. I wondered if I did know him, but I still couldn't put my finger on it.

"Good night, Dolores," he said, giving me a kiss and touching my back gently. He seemed so cautious over me all of a sudden, but it wasn't unwarranted.

"Wait," I called out as I saw him begin walking to the door, "stay with me until I fall asleep... Please."

He moved my hair out of my face and kissed my head, "alright." Then I felt him sit down beside me on the bed.

I scooted into him, thought for a second that I hadn't told him my name, wondered how he knew it, and then I passed out with my head on his lap.

[cleromancy]

i say this all the time. but i really only want jason back as a supervillain for good if it was to be cassbats' big bad

[eldritch-m0th]

remember when comic books told stories about heros helping people and fighting bad guys but apparently that wasnt “realistic” so its all about heros hurting each other and being corrupted instead

[viridianwins-a]

"why does Morax call you babygirl?" @ Venti 🫵🤨

Send my muse "why does [NAME] call you babygirl?" for their reaction! / @vygiler

"Heh. If Morax had called me that, don't you think I would have known~? Nice try, though." Nice try, indeed, he thought..,

palm of his hand flying to the center of his chest; farther away from the hammering of his heart and closer to the base of his throat, where he'd struggled to contain the apple cider he'd nearly choked on.

"Whew— Even if he were to call me that, I know it would be your doing, somehow.. But you haven't tainted my Morax, have you? He is, oh, so innocent!"

[diracsea]

ngày thứ 417 tôi lải nhải về "though the heart be still as loving" mà không cần ai hỏi cả.

đoạn này:

Vẻ bình thản ban nãy như một chiếc mặt nạ đã rơi tuột đi. Đôi mắt Chiến ngầu đỏ.

"Hai đứa nghĩ là hai đứa giấu được anh, phải không? Hai đứa nghĩ là anh say nên anh không biết, đúng không?"

giống như kiểu anh Chiến đang nói với hai thằng kia: Ừ, chúng mày cưỡi lên đầu lên cổ tao luôn đi.

=)))))))))))))

[nighthawkes]

watching white lotus is a seasonal, targeted study in reasons to hate straight people