#while not shifting into a rhythm game every time you input commands

[thefrogknight]

I kind of want to play that expedition 33 game but I really don't like the mario rpg tap a at the right time mechanics in rpgs and it seems like that game leans so far into it

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 10

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: ongoing fic. If you want on the tag list let me know. IF people have other requests, kindly send them my way; though be patient, as My Baby Does Me is my main priority, but I’d also love to cater to your desires as well.

Warnings: Pure smut.

Abstract: Reader and Deacy come to an understanding.

“All over our sheets, though?” Jim rubbed his mustache lost in torrid thoughts of his own. Past memories, so fresh and quick to rise for him, played through his mind.

“Darling, I’ll happily buy you new sheets.” Freddie laced his fingers through Jim’s.

They were both thinking of his closet full of pants.

“Fuck the sheets; you make me happy, Freddie Mercury.”

“I always will.” Freddie stole a quick kiss from Jim and pulled him through the doorway.

Jim turned back and smiled at you before blowing a kiss in your direction. He turned, put an arm around his husband, and closed the door on you and John Deacon.

Everything was orange-heat, red-silence. Steam-like breaths.

You stood, staring at Deacy.

Deacy stood, staring at you.

Breathing as one, you waited for the moment to strike, like hot iron, when you could no longer delay the inevitable. Your entire body tingled with fire, more alive now than it ever had been. It was akin to the joy you felt playing music at your piano: unbridled, immersive, simple and sweet. You knew he was engulfed as well in his own desires for you and in his desires to delay the moment of touch as long as possible. This, like everything else in his life, was a game. And all games could be won.

Deacy’s eyes traced over your body. Attempting to lure you into breaking first. His eyelashes brushed up and down with his silent sighs, each movement a symphony to longing. His eyes painted his unspoken inclinations on your frame, curious what sounds he could stir from you with his hands, his lips, his tongue, his penis. He’d have to try them all, he reasoned. He almost broke himself, then. Allowing himself to imagine the feeling of entering you. You saw his fist clench, tighten and pulse, before relaxing once more at his side. No, he contemplated. He could wait.

He did have very skilled hands, you thought. Capable of keeping time, landing complex rhythms with ease and mastery only the marriage of talent and practice can bring. Any single way he decided to enter you, could devastate you, you reasoned. You had felt his prodigious cock earlier in the evening through his bright red jeans. Your breath caught for a second as you imagined him parting the lips of your vagina. Maybe with his hands. Maybe with the rushing of his dick. You stopped yourself. These thoughts would not help you win this test of wills.

You decided his eyes would be safer. Those sometimes-green sometimes-gray eyes. Clever eyes. Cavalier eyes. The forest at night sang from his eyes. Oh, and how he’d make you sing, you thought. He could play you like a flute, and my how you’d gladly sing for him.

This also wasn’t helping. You wanted his hands on you, dancing up your back and over your breasts, cradling your face as you kissed. You bit your lip in silent frustration. You weren’t sure how much more of this alluring, exciting, and vexing game you could take; this was a paradox, too. How could something so tantalizing and salacious be so pleasantly annoying at the same time?

Deacy couldn’t stop looking at your lips. The second you bit your lip, he shivered. He wanted to be the one biting your luscious lips. Why on earth wasn’t he yet? He licked his lips.

You blushed crimson-hot at this simple act of his.

“I saw that.” His voice was deeper than usual and unabashedly competitive.

It was without exception the sexiest three words you had ever heard.

“Oh? What did you see, John Deacon?” You still had a couple cards to play.

His voice, still deep, was breathless. “I saw,” he panted, “you blush.”

Your voice was a trap. “Why on earth would I do that?” You asked, staring him down.

“Because you cannot help yourself.” It wasn’t a question. He moved, then, closing the distance between you two. Putting his hands on your waist, he pulled you to him, racing his hands up your back. The kiss wasn’t shy; it was certain.

You put your hands on his face, and responded to his kiss with ecstatic force. Each kiss was a promise, something chaste sealed in wet concupiscence. Every word he had said that night, every testimony to his early devotion to you, rang true with each shifting sway of his lips on yours. He opened his mouth slowly, running a hand over your breasts. He was humming slightly, some tune you couldn’t distinguish, some music that was all his own. Maybe it belonged to you, too.

You slipped your tongue into his mouth, finding your rhythms quite naturally. You moved your hands to his hair. If hair could dance, his was; it swayed in agreement to your touch.

“Y/N,” Deacon moaned lightly.

You pulled your lips from his, “Johnny?” You said without thinking.

You felt him pause, and then his lips spread into a smile as he kissed you with renewed meaning. “We shouldn’t,” he said, “be doing this on the first date.”

“Technically, we haven’t even had a first date,” you reminded him between kisses.

His hands slid down your body as he pulled away from you, taking your hand, leading you to the bed.

Deacon sat, looking up at you, waiting.

Wanting him, you decided to play your last card.

In one fluid movement, you straddled him.

He froze, only slightly surprised at your darning move.

It was his turn to blush.

He placed his hands on your knees, still looking up at you. Slowly, he started moving his hands up your thighs.

You arched your back, moaning softly. This was ridiculous, feeling so elated, such inscrutable longing over such an innocent touch. Well, innocent compared to other deeper touches, you thought. This desire was something new for you: instant and frightening. You wanted him in ways you couldn’t understand yet. You had never wanted someone so badly, and it scared you. What if he was the one? And this was the night you met? The night that would change the entire course of your life? This was also ridiculous; you could never know that now, not this early, not yet...

His hands paused high on your thighs, his thumbs poised over your clitoris, but not touching it. He was teasing you, now. Maybe for making him blush, you questioned?

You swallowed with difficulty. You were inescapably wet. Gazing at his hands, you breathed deeply, making your chest rise.

Deacon waited, still as a statue. Your attempts at seduction, working quite well, were not enough to break him yet. He wanted more than anything to touch you further, to, with motion and circles, and rhythms, bring you to climax with deft precision. He wanted to know what you tasted like.

His penis was stiffening steadily beneath you. You could tease him, perhaps? Quite literally force his hand?

As if sensing what you were thinking, he commanded, very softly, “No, don’t move yet.” He closed his eyes and breathed, centering himself.

You had never had quite an opponent as this before. His self-control was steadfast, upright, and deliberate. He opened his eyes, looking at the bow-tie at your waist. You were wearing your green wrap dress, you recalled.

Shit, you thought, he had you now.

“This unties your dress?” He asked, voice husky.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Just this one, simple knot?”

“Just the one.”

He smiled at you, biting his lip.

That’s when he didn’t move his hands. No, that would have been too easy.

John Deacon bent his head to your waist, and bit the knot. Pulling with his teeth and using his tongue, he untied the knot. Your dress started slipping from your shoulders, seductively. He yanked once more quickly upwards, and returned with the rope in his mouth. Smiling, as impressed with himself as you were, he let it drop from his lips. He looked at your breasts, most coherent thoughts erased from his mind.

Your bra was a lacy periwinkle one you had begrudgingly let Lydia pick out for you; now, however, you were thankful for her input. Deacon exhaled, and you felt him leaning in, probably to lick up your chest and neck again like he had in the pantry.

You let him get within a hair’s width of his target before saying, “Not yet.”

He stopped, per your request. He pulled back, looking into your eyes. He tried leaning into your lips. This, you decided to allow.

His hands were still poised high on your thighs, hovering above your clitoris. You kissed very lightly, like you were memorizing every line, every facet of each other’s lips.

“Don’t move your hands,” You said, kissing with slightly more force now.

“I thought you wanted me to move my hands?” Deacon questioned with a sigh alight with desire.

“Oh, I do. But where’s the fun in getting everything you want?”

He laughed lightly, it was a laugh with the tinges of a moan, with the throws of understanding. This game wasn’t dangerous because you both knew the rules without even having to explain them to each other. It was as if this was a dance you had been dancing together your entire lives. Perhaps he knew then, what you were, what you could be to each other.

He kissed you more deeply, moaning into your mouth.

You really couldn’t take much more of this foreplay. A resolution needed to be reached.

“Maybe now, though?” You questioned, and in your question, you had his hands in mind.

“No,” Deacon said, “I don’t think so.” He bent down, then. His tongue touched the crux of your bra. He took in your scent, floral and sweet, just like before. As he licked up your chest, up your neck, he rocked his body into yours. In your mind, you flashed to what it would be like to be naked together, rocking with your rhythms together, bringing each other to a separate kind of resolution. Fulfilling each other completely. But that wasn’t now, that was some future you, in some other place and time.

This was now: tongue at your chin, he skipped up to your lips, kissing you deeply while simultaneously, moving his thumbs for the first time. The sensation, even over your tights, was electric. He was moving his thumbs in intersecting circles, gazing into your eyes.

The tension was building in your body. You felt your muscles begin tightening in that glorious, slow climb to whatever inevitable orgasm was to come. You slipped your hands to the waistband of your tights, and slid them down your ass, down your thighs, to your knees. Deacon paused, only momentarily, to make sure you didn’t fall from his lap while maneuvering, quite impressively, to remove your tights while remaining straddled along him. He placed his hands, warm from friction, back on your bare thighs. He kissed your neck. Taking his dominant hand, he resumed those circles on your clit, before flipping his hand over, keeping his thumb in the game, and using his index finger to coax you further. His middle finger joined the dance, and he wrapped his other hand around your waist. Deacon, breathing into your lips, his lips close enough to kiss, but hovering without, flicked his eyes on to yours.

You were breathing faster and faster, your hips slowly responding to the rhythms of his fingers. Every muscle was tightening, screaming, demanding sweet release.

“We are not leaving this room,” he whispered into your mouth, “Until you cum for me.” It was a simple demand, you thought. An easy demand. A nice demand.

Staring into his eyes, you went to that place in your mind. Every muscle was ready, so it was time for the mind, now. Every thought was of him, his hands, his movement. The look in his eyes of complete satisfaction from your enjoyment. Him kissing you in the pantry, on the bed, the fire of your first touch. The singing of your body for him. And he was moving with such steady, accomplished rhythms, such care to detail, you couldn’t wait any longer to fulfill his demand.

Your orgasm cascaded through your body. You moved your hands to his shoulders and clenched them as every muscle tensed in one perfect unison of movement. Sweat glistened on your chest; he pinched your clit, still throbbing from your orgasm. He tightened the pressure skillfully, making your orgasm lengthen, also proud of his achievement. Sweetly kissing your lips, your neck, he kept his pressure steady until you felt your throbbing stop. Your breath began to slow as your muscles started to relax into normalcy. You leaned into him completely at ease in fantastic bliss. He laid back, as you leaned into him.

Laying on each other, on the bed, your breathing became united.

You could still feel his erection between your legs.

Deacon’s arms were spread out on either side on him, eyes closed in a quiet, serene joy all his own.

You moved your hand to creep at the waistband of his jeans.

He delicately stopped your progression with his hand.

“Reciprocity,” You reminded him. It had been your first promise, after all.

“There is nothing quite like the pleasure of already getting what you wanted,” he said simply.

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @partydulce @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Double Trouble (And Nostalgia)

I beat KH:3D...more or less just now.

The idea of your enemy being a time mage and having to somehow overcome that is a neat one! I like the concept of the (basically) final boss of KH:3D. I’m just a little shocked at the execution, the difficulty.

Kingdom Hearts is in a weird place, from a storytelling perspective. Its form essentially proscribes nostalgia as a core element, no matter what else you do with it. If you’re not gonna include a bunch of levels based on Disney properties there’s no point calling it a Kingdom Hearts game, no matter how many keyblades, heartless, nobodies, dream eaters, Organization members, or gummi ships you include.

But their audience is getting older. The designers, while this is happening, are continuing to do their best to innovate with mechanics in every game, and even assuming that they only keep the things that feel best for the game this does result in a bit of complexity creep.

Complexity creep isn’t really a problem, so long as the use of the skills represented is required only for optional content and maybe one boss with really good “how to do this” transmission built in. A good example would be the difference in Mario’s movement options between his original 2D titles and the New or Galaxy series. As long as it’s possible to beat all but one or two levels without needing to long jump or backflip under pressure, the new additions are fine.

But...well, my problem with the Young Xehanort fight isn’t the structure of the fight. If you defeat him, he time-stops you and reverses time to the start of the fight. You can do a Reality Shift - something you’ve had to do several times to reach this point - to stop this and enter stage 2 of the fight. And then stage 2 has a time limit in which you have to win, or (again) he reverses time to the start of the whole fight (back to the start of stage 1, that is). I appreciate the fact that time-reversal takes a bit out of him. He’s got something like 5-6 bars of health when you first take him on. If you fail to do the Reality Shift (probably the most annoying thing with this one is it’s kind of fiddly - you have to hit his clock spell a time or 2 to get the Shift to become an option, but hit it just one time too many and you’ll miss your window to enter the command) the “back at the start of the fight” Xehanort has 2 or 3 bars of health. Even more important, the same is true of the timed second-half-of-fight. So if you failed by just a bit because you didn’t have the damage output and were playing cautiously, the second time you do it you only have to deal about half as much damage to win.

In concept this is really neat. It’s a two-part fight that basically becomes a 4 or 5-part fight if you screw it up a few times but don’t die.

My problem with the fight is that his baseline tactics are cheap and unpredictable, and more than that they’re designed with a minmaxed character in mind. He’s got attacks designed to hit you for a lot of damage, then hit you for just a little while you’re still in your stagger animation. Which looks suspiciously like it’s designed as a direct counter to Second Chance - a powerful skill you can earn that makes sure you fall to 1 hp unless you were at 1 hp when you got hit. The thing is that Second Chance is earned. You’re not required to get it at all, in the game. So getting it should give you an easier time, with the boss.

Fighting him is not fun. And I don’t mean that as an exasperated expression of his difficulty (though one could). I mean that even when I won I didn’t feel as if I had a clear sense of how to play properly against him.

Looking at Mario Galaxy again: There’s a trick to beating each boss, and the distance between comprehending that trick and working out how to execute it is always manageable.

The big difficulty with Xehanort is raw speed. There’s a substantial portion of his moveset that has no warning and no counters if you’re not countering before he gets started. Which leads to embarrassing moments when he’s just standing there looking at me, and I’m hitting the block button, and then hitting it again when it runs out and hoping he won’t hit me during the refresh animation...

There’s more than a decade between them, but I still feel as if KH1 got the final boss right: A challenge that will punish you if you don’t pay attention, but a basic movement pattern to learn and a downright cakewalk if you’ve gotten used to the difficulty afforded by hidden optional bosses. The extra mini-boss fight - if they hadn’t made visibility such an issue - to end KH:3D would have been much closer to what I wanted from a true final boss. The two near-final boss fights are honestly more what I was expecting. They’re hard at times, but you can adjust, get a sense of enemy rhythm, and then win. That’s how it should work, and it really seems like someone on the KH:3D boss design team thought that was unfair in the player’s favor, and set about trying to confound the players getting a clear idea of the monster’s timing and attack patterns. This, to me, is a lot like a DM who thinks it’s their job to kill their players. It’s so painfully wrong-headed and completely misses the point of why you’re cultivating this experience in the first place.

Vision (literal, not metaphorical) and pacing were the big problems in the boss designs of KH:3D, and both flaws come to a head in the final few bosses. Against Xehanort you can generally see him okay, but you can’t really tell what he’s doing until it’s too late for the game system to read your inputs. Against the Dark Armor, or whatever it’s called...(Nightmare of Ventus? Something like that.) the problem is less pronounced, mostly because the fight’s not that hard, but it’s still not a fun fight and the reason is you can’t see any of what’s going on. (Seriously. I literally couldn’t see my target for more than about 10% of the battle. I relied on the keyblade auto-targeting when I attacked with an enemy in melee range, and I relied on longer-range auto-targeting attacks like the flowmotion wall jump or Firaga when that failed. When my enemy turned into some kind of cheaty bubbly blackness I dodged in a circle until that ended - still unable to see my attacker most of the time, because if I could see him he was already on top of me) And that’s a big issue throughout the game. I had trouble seeing the boss in...by my count, more than half of the boss fights. The fight against Pete and the Beagle Boys was actually kind of a joy, because they DID have clear rhythm and timing and you COULD see what was going on. More than half the fights should have had that kind of clear transmission of how to approach the battle, and the first step is to make the enemy easy to see most of the time.

The original point I was getting at, before I started ranting about controls, is that the difficulty seems like something a kid of an age to enjoy the Disney Animated Three Musketeers storyline or Goofy’s “Gee, I think ALL our hearts are connected to Sora” sentiment wouldn’t be likely to endure or enjoy. This feels like they decided their audience for this title was almost exclusively Kingdom Hearts Series Veterans. I’d set the minimum age to complete this game - based solely on complexity of mechanics and complexity of storyline - at around 13, and I’m talking gamer 13. Not some random 13-year-old. I think the original Kingdom Hearts was accessible to kids as young as seven (again, “gamer” 7). They might not get 100% of the plot they were playing through, but a) nobody did, and b) the story in each zone used these distilled forms of Disney plotlines to make experiences that were simple and clean as the way that you’re making me feel tonight (it’s hard to let it go).

Anyway. The other thing that hit me really hard, right at the end, was the monologues from elder Xehanort and DiZ. Not because of the content - that was the usual KH fluff. But the delivery was excellent, and I realized with a pang that I was listening - perhaps for the last time - to recordings I’d never heard before, of Leonard Nimoy and Christopher Lee. Their delivery was SO GOOD, you guys. DiZ’ monologue isn’t spectacular writing but it’s really great to listen to. You can hear Lee coating every word with significance using that honey-rich royal voice of his. Dude wasn’t in the entire rest of the game - in fact DiZ isn’t in the credits - but Christopher Lee steals the whole damn scene with that delivery.