Treasure Punt (Butt Abuse)

Illustration: "Fish Feud" by Marmotap

This might quite possibly be our wordiest story yet, especially for a one-off - I had to trim down quite a bit of text to fit the DeviantArt file size limit and make room for the accompanying illustration - but we had a lot of fun while writing it. The original idea came from a picture I saw in a children's book once, which I incidentally sent as inspiration material to the person I commissioned the picture from. Things only escalated from there, especially because sea life offers a lot of opportunities for hot-buns situations even if few people look past fish-bites, crab pinching, and the occasional sea urchin. It was also nice to write a story with just one character getting his comeuppance due to a lot of external non-human factors for once, rather than more complex interactions between multiple people.

You haven't seen the last of this hapless fish-boy, either - we've already named him in a private discussion and are planning on working him into one of my existing series. We just need to develop the actual story where he'll be bought in, of course, but that's an issue for another day...

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Treasure Punt

by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
 
Contains: */M Butt abuse. NSFW.

Word Count: 5,245
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The old wreck sat among others of its kind in the depths of the crystal-blue sea, surrounded by corals of every shape and color. It was an old pirate ship, sunken several hundred years, or so it was thought. It was rumored that this particular shipwreck contained a mysterious collection of lost artifacts, left unspent by its captain and crew. More than a few interested parties, including the Navy, wanted to know more about the lore, and thus intended to bring the shipwreck in for experiments and tests. For some reason, however, the local sailors and fishermen regarded these waters with fear and suspicion. Not a single boat would dare venture here — but that wasn’t to say that people could sail there.

So it was quite a surprise that on this day, a sleek, lithe figure cut through the water, scattering fish and sending shrimp and crabs diving for cover. It was a human male, no older than twenty-four and apparently of Filipino descent. He had dark tan skin, bluish-silver hair, and striking white-gold eyes, as well as a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Silvery spiny fins grew from the sides of his forearms and shins, which had small silvery fish scales, and if one looked closely they could see a gill slit on either side of his neck, which was also scaled. The young man wore a latex jumpsuit, silver on the chest and belly and dark blue elsewhere; it was short, only coming to his thighs and upper arms, as though he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, so the fins on his arms and legs were unobstructed. His feet were clad with a pair of short flippers, and his hands were likewise clad in webbed gloves, both blue in color. He had no goggles on — with eyes able to function underwater, he didn’t need any.

Slicing through the water like a knife, the finned man had only one objective in mind: the very wreck that the locals were so determined to avoid.

They said that not a single human being dared to trespass upon this mysterious place. But they hadn’t figured on a genetically engineered super-soldier, a hybrid combining the cunning of a human and the undersea prowess of a barracuda. And anyway, no old rumor was going to keep him away from a break this big!

Cecil Gets Crabs (CBT, Butt Abuse)

 

Here's a little something I had on my backlog for a while; I figured now was as a good time as any to post it, so it's now public! The artwork that inspired it is shown above, and was commissioned from someone who wishes to remain anonymous; the luckless soul featured is their character. If you wish to see more of their work, you'll have to talk it up via Discord PM I'm afraid because they're very secretive, but a link to the server they're on is available upon request.

I hope you enjoy this! Stay tuned for more to come (and more to cum)!

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Cecil Gets Crabs

by Skaea
Contains: */M ballbusting and butt abuse. NSFW.

Word Count: 5,245

 
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It was a beautiful and rather busy day at the beach, with waves of sparkling blue and white seawater lapping against soft, golden sand. Tourists, bodybuilders, and any typical beach clique that one could think of was enjoying the day. College kids were playing beach volleyball, strongmen (and strongwomen!) were showing off by lifting weights, children were playing in the rolling surf, and the tourists were enjoying the water while many a hot young lady sunbathed on a towel under an umbrella.

One rather large and muscular young man in particular was having a high old time showing off his strength to other bodybuilders. This particular young man was tall, proud, and sculpted like a professional wrestler — his day job, mind — with blond hair in a short ponytail on the back of his head as well as a quite boyish face and sparkling turquoise eyes, which stood out well compared to his gorgeously tanned skin. He was wearing a blue speedo that could barely contain his “package”, impressively sized and reaching down to his knees.

He was currently lifting the largest weights he could find as he stared at some rather sexy college girls, whom he was hoping to impress. It seemed though that he wasn’t having that much luck as of late, since they weren’t giving him much more than passing glances. There were so many studs to choose from, after all.

After a few minutes of this, the blond lowered his weights to the ground with a sigh of disappointment. “Ugh… what, still no volunteers? Darn, and I was hoping they’d be flocking to me all day.”

Cecil glowered as he stared enviously at the loving couples that were walking together or cuddling on the beach. They got someone all to themselves and he turned up empty? It just wasn’t fair!

A Succubus and a Hero (TK)

A little late in the month, but here's an old story I co-wrote with a friend a few years ago. The characters involved are Link from the Zelda franchise and a succubus OC of mine named Eve (whom I've featured in a previous story, but this is the first tickle fic with her), and they've just dealt with another character named Atom who has since become retconned. So if you don't understand a lot of the context, well... it's probably best not to figure it out lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess belongs to Nintendo. All OCs discussed are mine.

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A Succubus And a Hero

by Skaea

Contains: */M tickling, feet and all over. SFW.

Word Count: 3,777

 

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Link Toarumura - En Route to New Transylvania, Northwest Animus, Occasus, Yonder - Monday, October 2, 2005, 9:25 PM Eastern Time

Who was Tiamat, anyway? Why was she here? And how much did she really know about the conflict between Atom and ******?

My mind was full of questions as I sat at the foot of the bed we’d rented in one of the hotels en route, leaning forward a bit as my mind swelled to contain all that had just happened. I’d thought of it as a normal sidequest, helping Atom cope with his problems and taking on the ***** ****** ** ***** by his side, but boy was I wrong. Then bam, the next thing I knew, I’d been charged with taking Eve to New Transylvania, where all monsters belonged - and where my charge was due to make good on a very important appointment. I had already made the proper arrangements in the way of provisions and whatnot, but regardless, this was a lot to take in.

I didn’t really know what to think, even though I’d started by going over the various thing we would need for the trip. I tried to wrap my mind around all of this, and I knew there were problems brewing. But now I had so many questions bouncing around in my head, so I decided to get some answers.

Ninja's Soft Weakness (TK)

"Ninja's Soft Weakness (by twomario)" by Shadow-Aspect

Okay, storytime: A very long while ago I contacted twomario on Tumblr (he's on Pixiv now, URL available on request) about the above pic, which he posted years back, and specifically regarding the possibility of writing a story for it, with the character in question being kinda sorta adopted by me. He approved of that idea and as such I was planning to create a story, but didn't really get very far and thus left it in development hell for literal years. Ultimately, after a few more talks later on, we ended up designing the character in question for my use in my own works, and I even commissioned a pic featuring him! That one's got a story of its own I may tidy up and post here as well, but for now, here's the first one, with the original ficlet I wrote as the preface prior to the cut. :)

The other two characters mainly featured here belong to DocHasegawa, and we actually co-wrote the main part of this story together! It was a lot of fun to write these three, and I offer only my best wishes with regards to his use of his characters in future works. I hope I get the chance to work with these two, or any other OCs of Doc's creation, again sometime soon - and the same goes with my own ninja boy as well. ;)

Raiju (c) me, originally created by twomario

Kenji Tosai and Shizuka Kochou (c) DocHasegawa

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Ninja’s Soft Weakness

by Skaea

Contains: FM/M and MM/F tickling, with a brief moment of accidental butt abuse. SFW.

Word Count: 6,004

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He had always been considered a troublemaker among the Typhoon Clan. Distracting those concentrating on their training, startling the timid, relentlessly teasing the strong, baiting rivals into sight of each other, and goading fights into damaging public property. Wherever he went, there was always trouble. But there were those who said that all things considered, he was the lesser of two evils…

The people of the Typhoon Clan had whispered the name of an ancient beast from a time before man. They called him Raiju, the Beast of Thunder. A capricious and meddlesome creature, it darted here and there like a living lightning bolt, for that was exactly what it was, tearing through trees and buildings and leaving not but scorching claw marks as a sign of his presence. His baying howls were like the thunder preceding a terrible storm, the swift footfalls of his taloned paws like flashes of lightning. Folktales spoke of the beast possessing a cruel intellect that craved stimulation, and that its essence slept in the navels of those who rested out in stormy weather. If it were to enter the belly of a pregnant woman, the child would bear its power and its penchant for troublemaking. Perhaps this is how the young man called Raiju, the Thunder Hound, came to be… or perhaps he was simply a talented boy who figured that messing with people was a great way to cure his perpetual boredom. Either way, the Typhoon Clan soon decided that they’d had enough, and sought to teach him a lesson in respect and humility.

Conspiring to lure him out where they could catch him, the people of the clan feigned an unexpected side-effect of one of his tricks, a terrible plague that swept through the village and turned them all into mindless savages. Deceived by the ruse, Raiju fled for his life, but everywhere he turned he could find only more obstacles, ferrying him towards his destination. Ultimately he reached it… and found numerous cloth-clad hands binding him and stripping him of his clothing. His dojo master, Tenome the Palm Gazer, whose classes he had long since graduated from with excellent grades, had found a means to punish him for his antics without hurting him, for he still recognized his worth and feared that any physical harm would waste it. He had spoken of this to the Clan, and they were eager to see the outcome. And so his constructs closed in, and the punishment began.

The wriggling fingers of his master’s floating gloves swiftly dug into his tender flesh, unprotected by the linens he had worn mere minutes before. Lacking in scratching nails, the touch of their fabric texture was just as maddening. His armpits saw dexterous fingers playing in their sensitive hollows, his ribs and flanks felt the dancing movement of too many digits to count. But it was his feet that suffered the most, for they were larger than those of most of the others of his clan, and far more sensitive. The undersides of his toes and the spaces between, the smooth heels and rough-textured balls, the hyper-sensitive arches, even the tops and sides of those feet that had swiftly carried him across rooftop and road alike… Not a single ticklish spot was spared. His shrieking laughter and tears of forced mirth were met with chiding and amusement from the villagers, justice served and revenge as sweet as honey. Tenome himself delighted in tickling his youthful charge, for he had done so many times before as punishment for his pranks while he was still studying the ninja arts under the handsome sensei. And so the torment went on and on and on…

Ultimately, through his hysteria came apologies for his pranks, and an admiration for the lengths the villagers had gone to get even. While it was unlikely that he would stop making mischief anytime soon, he promised that he would be more considerate with regards to his shenanigans and that he would respect those who would do without them. With a nod of appreciation and a statement of assent, Tenome released him at last, and he did not flee even though he worried the villagers would continue his ticklish torture, for he was too exhausted to fight back. But they respected his wish to rest, rest and think about his actions. For even though he was a troublemaker… he still had a home in the Typhoon Clan, and he and his fellow ninjas were the reason they were safe from greater threats. And so he stayed, in part out of admiration for the villagers’ fortitude and their accomplishment as a group.

Although he considers this experience a humbling one, the prank war between Raiju and his peers continues, and always will - and it seems he won’t have it any other way. Perhaps it is because his craving for stimulation has remained even after such tickly torture - or perhaps he hopes that sooner or later, the village could "punish" him again…

Fanart: Electro-Sound Therapy

 

One of the great things about Prometheus' incredible regeneration is that Copycat can afford to get extremely creative when torturing his private parts. Even when his cock and balls are cut off completely, they'll grow back within a day, ready for more! In light of this, the no-nonsense hero considers her sadistic streak more of an annoyance than anything else, and could do without her employing it on innocent lives - so he is perhaps thankful that his nemesis vastly prefers mutilating HIS testicles to those of others who probably won't be able to have them restored without medical assistance. So much so, in fact, that she's taken to capturing him on a weekly basis, and using him as a surprisingly tolerant test subject for practicing her more depraved urges.

This is the second fanart of Tristan and Chihiro by Pressingsomebuttons, who was formerly on Tumblr but sadly got cordoned off by the site's moronic new NSFW filtering policy. They're most active now on Discord, which is how they sent me the pic, and a server of their own for femdom castration - it isn't my thing exactly, but hey, it's genital torture! A server invite is available on request if you wish to check it out.

While my previous project was the most fun I've had in years regarding my hot buns/butt abuse fetish, it sadly ended up drawing my attention away from "Prometheus Busted", so after I take care of a few tickle stories, my plan is to return to this story in full force, especially since I ended the previous chapter on quite the cliffhanger. I have general plot established for at least the next two chapters, with the specific details being the main things to sort out. Hopefully I'll be able to give Prometheus and Copycat some much-needed TLC this year (and perhaps get the former's hero uniform finally designed), because for my taste, there's way too much unexplored potential with respect to the dynamic of these two! ;)

Patreon!

Just popping in here to announce that I have a Patreon set up as of, oh, a couple of weeks ago. If you want to see exclusive previews of my art and writing, check it out and support me on said Patreon. See you there!

https://www.patreon.com/skaeadaimonion

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Epilogue (Hotbuns)

And here's the conclusion to this epic tale. I hope you readers have enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! I may use Erland and company in a future story, but for now I believe I'm done visiting Wyrmwood for a while - there are, after all, a few other stories I intend to update and/or post now that this is out of the way.

Oh, and because I probably won't be able to do much writing for the rest of the month due to work and visiting family... Merry (early) Christmas! And here's to a fun and very kink-filled 2019!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 2,302

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Epilogue

One month had passed since Osmond’s fall from power. It was not known where the former prince had gone; all anyone knew was that after a chase lasting the better part of two hours, he had vanished into the enchanted forest where even the angry mob that had run him out of the kingdom couldn’t follow. For over a week since, locals would swear that faint screams could be heard coming from the depths of the woods. Despite rumors that he’d tried to seek refuge in Oili’s gingerbread house within that lonely little clearing, however, she had not reported any sign of the deposed tyrant, not even after sending Thought and Memory out to check the forest itself. One thing was for sure, however: he was not going to be and should not ever be missed.

As for Oili herself, her shop in the town square could never be opened again, but her cottage was expanded upon to compensate, the job completed just two weeks after Osmond’s departure. It was Erland’s announcement that Oili herself had engineered Osmond’s fall, thanks to the curse she’d placed on him, that led the public to finally reintegrate her into their society. Of course, she was more comfortable at her woodland cottage, but promises were made to set up a path leading to it so people could visit her for advice and to purchase goods from her. It had taken quite a bit of negotiation with the forest, and multiple dignitaries had complained about the birds and animals attacking their bottoms for the first couple of days, but Oili managed to smooth things over and allow the road to be built, as long as no other routes penetrated the woods and nobody strayed off of it. With luck, the agreement would be honored for a long time to come, but what was certain was that Oili would never again be seen as a pariah, such was the kingdom’s gratitude for her aid… even if it was at least partly accidental.

The positions of all the castle staff who had been unfairly mistreated and imprisoned by Osmond were reinstated, with a few minor changes. Jorunn the stablehand being placed in charge of Erika’s horses, who appreciated this new arrangement; Atgeir the unicorn, meanwhile, would come to terms with Ingrid and eventually, with Jorunn’s encouragement, serve as her own carriage-puller, though the future princess always took care not to stand directly in front of her for obvious reasons. Jacob, as the head of the royal night guard, would uncover several other nocturnal prowlers hoping to find acceptance, and put in a good word for the furred and fanged supernatural beings; his guard would grow in the coming seasons, and with hope they too would find acceptance in the kingdom at the minimum. Destin, of course, remained as the majordomo, but with Osmond no longer terrorizing him, he was free to take charge of the rest of the staff, his kind and understanding heart earning him many new friends among the maids and officials. Perhaps he and his family would continue to serve the royals of Wyrmwood for a long time to come.

Colden and Turid, who were welcomed as members of the royal family, were given a rural estate measuring at five or six figures in currency; they didn’t divulge how much exactly to others. But what was true was that Colden no longer had to worry about venturing into the kingdom for supplies and groceries, for the kingdom always welcomed him and his wife, who remained as the head of the palace maids. Ingrid, of course, would visit Colden every weekend with her mother and fiance in tow, and the two families would only grow closer together as allies in the coming years.

Erika would remain queen for the time being, but being less fit than her son, she allowed Erland to manage as much of the kingdom as possible as long as he turned to her for advice and approval. Once her time came, he and Ingrid would have the thrones and rule as equals, but for now they had her blessing in marriage as well as that of Ingrid’s parents.

The castle itself, meanwhile, had been repaired with Oili’s aid along with the refurbishment crew. The walls were rebuilt, the secret tunnels cleaned of filth (with the help of the rats that had aided in the dungeon breakout, no less; Ingrid’s Song of All Living Things truly never ceased to amaze), and the decorations were fixed and put back in their proper places. The real tragedy was the records room — Osmond in his rage had set it on fire when he’d burned his plans and evidence to ash. Many priceless books and documents were lost to history, and even Oili’s magic couldn’t repair them all. Scholars everywhere would refer to the loss as one of the greatest calamities in Wyrmwood’s history, condemning Osmond even further. But in time, new treasures would fill the archives as the old ones had.

Finally, the big day arrived. The wedding took place in the ballroom, and the raised podium where the orchestra usually performed was cleared out to make room for the wedding altar. The whole place had been decorated with golden ornamentation and glittering jewels, making it look like the hoard of a dragon. And there was good reason for the theming.

Erland the Lindworm Prince stood tall and proud, his crown sitting on his head (though it still threatened to slip off because nobody had bothered to have it fixed; oh well, sådan er livet). He had decided, for good reason, to wear a standard pair of breech pants, but everything else about him looked resplendent; his own shed dragon-skins had been converted into the cloth for a resplendent ruby-colored jacket that looked like it was made of gleaming scales, along with golden dragon-claw shoulder epaulettes, over a white shirt with a prominent neck ruff, while he also sported glittering silver gloves and polished black riding boots. His best man was Destin, who stood next to him with a newfound confidence, while his mother, with Sormr the zaltys snake draped around her shoulders like a feather boa, sat at the front of the crowd, which was milling about in anticipation.

A trumpet blast echoed throughout the room, and the herald spoke the announcement. “Presenting the bride and pending Crown Princess of Wyrmwood, Ingrid!”

The orchestra, currently at the sides of the room, played the classic wedding tune as Ingrid and Colden entered. The shepherd was carefully groomed and dressed in a silken suit provided by the royal family, but Ingrid was even more beautiful still. Her wedding gown, shimmering gold in color and inlaid with rhinestones of every color, was complimented by a tiara in her bun-tied hair that was studded with rubies, the picture of a classic princess whose love had tamed even the wildest. It was almost ironic, though nonetheless fitting, that her knight in shining armor and the dragon who had held her captive in his lair were one and the same.

The shepherd and his daughter stepped onto the dais, and Ingrid moved to stand in front of the once-draconic groom. She looked up at the officiant and smiled prettily.

And Oili, with Thought and Memory the ravens perched on her shoulders, smiled back.

“On this day,” the witch spoke in her ancient, crackling voice of great experience and wisdom, “we come to celebrate the union of two historic figures, who found love and courage in a dark time which was bought about, not by malice, but by the misunderstandings of those who differed from each other. Today, it is time for us to put these misunderstandings behind us, and let the magic of love prevail, as it did a month ago in the face of tyranny.”

The crowd applauded, and Erika wiped a tear from her eye.

“This castle was once host to a terrible monster with a heart and soul as black as night,” said Thought. “He used his authority as a disguise for his hatred of all who differed from him, as a cover to exercise his petty desires. But a noble beast, once native to the wild forests, bought hope to all within the walls of this kingdom.”

“His hope was bought about by the love of one who knew him for who he was: a kind and brave spirit with the strength, patience, and cunning of the fiercest of all the reptiles of the world,” added Memory. “At heart he is a dragon still, but it his his choices, not his nature, that define his right to rule all of Wyrmwood and protect it against evil.”

Cheers and congratulations rose up from the crowd.

“So, with that in mind… Let us not dwell on long-winded preludes,” said Oili. “Prince Erland, do you take this maiden to be your beloved princess, to protect and treasure, to covet and provide for, as long as you shall live?”

A clip-clopping sound from the entrance of the room drew the attention of more than a few guests. Jorunn, the ring-bearer, was riding into the ballroom on the back of Atgeir the unicorn. The gold-and-ruby sea serpent ring, of course, was on the tip of the resplendent creature’s golden horn.

“I do,” said Erland, grinning.

“Ingrid of the shepherd’s pastures,” continued Oili, “will you take this proud and noble apex predator to be your knight in shining armor, to assist and savor, to advise and comfort, as long as you shall live?”

The unicorn stopped in front of the dais, and bowed her head a little. That long sharp horn made Erland shiver and cover his rump, but it kept perfectly still as it held the ring within arm’s reach.

“I do!” replied Ingrid, smiling cheerfully.

Erland slid the ring off Atgeir’s horn, and Jorunn steered the unicorn away from the dais (the aisle had enough room for her to turn), before she turned her around again to watch the big moment.

“Then it is settled.” The spore hag smiled warmly, wafting a green mist that smelled of gingerbread from her gill-lined mushroom-cap hat. “By the powers vested upon us by the spirits and gods of yore,” she and her familiars spoke in unison, “we, as the emissaries of the primordial forces of magic, shall pronounce you two united as dragon and damsel.” There was a pause, and Oili added, “And in your traditional parlance, you may now kiss the bride.”

Erland couldn’t help himself; after slipping the ring onto Ingrid’s finger, he picked her up and spun her around in a beautiful display of color, the two of them laughing joyfully as the crowd applauded.

Then two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that Erland’s ill-fitting crown slipped off his head and clattered to the floor, and the second was that he lost his balance, causing the two of them to slip off the dais…

WHOAA-CRNCH-BMP-POINK!

“YYYYYYIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!”

Everyone present roared with laughter, Ingrid pushing herself off her husband, who leapt to his feet and started hopping about and yelling in agony with the very sharp horn-like points of his crown embedded in his bottom. “OUCH OW OWIE OWWW! GET IT OFF MEEEEEE!!”

It took a lot of tugging from Ingrid and a panicking Destin, but in the end they finally managed to get the crown free…

SHRRRIPPPPPP!

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUCCCHH!!!”

Erland felt like his ass had erupted into flame, and also become rather drafty. He turned his head to see that the seat of his trousers had been torn off along with the crown, revealing the backside of his polka-dotted undershorts for all to see.

Cackles erupted among the crowd, and at least one chant of “I see London, I see France…” could be heard as well. The crown prince blushed furiously — but, being Erland, he wasn’t about to just stand there and take it.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “at least my royal britches are not actually expensive!”

And everyone in the room erupted into a gale of hysterics loud enough for the walls to tremble. Yes, including Oili, Thought, Memory, Erika and Sormr, Ingrid, and Erland himself.

The royal couple, swept up in the high spirits, finally gazed at each other lovingly, and next moment, the two of them had embraced and locked lips in a passionate kiss.

The crowd cheered, an eruption of jubilation that swept from the castle outwards to eventually include all of the kingdom. Fireworks-like magical sparks cast by Oili and some of the other mages in the backdrop lit up the ballroom as Erland and Ingrid cemented their bond of love. And deep within Erland’s soul, a serpentine reptile with ruby-colored scales and a crown of magnificent horns roared a triumphant, heart-shaped fireball.

Prince Erland and Princess Ingrid couldn’t be happier. Now that they had taken their rightful place as the future rulers of their realm, and now that its sources of corruption had been removed from power, a new era of peace and prosperity was well on its way. Erland’s natural clumsiness would never go away, but his kind heart and caring soul, be it sheathed in skin or scales, would be remembered just as fondly if not more so. There was still a lot of cleaning up to do around the kingdom, of course, but with the populace welcoming the two of them with open arms and thankful hearts, there was no doubt that their royal duties would be fulfilled in due time and for a long time to come.

This was what it truly meant to live happily ever after. Not because the Lindworm Prince fit right in with the kingdom of Wyrmwood, but because the kingdom fit right in with him.

✨ ~ The (very sore) End ~ ✨

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 7 (Hotbuns)

Here it is, the penultimate chapter of the Lindworm Prince's tale, where everything comes together. Just the epilogue to go now!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 8,082

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Chapter 7: The Final Straw

Poor Ingrid. Poor, poor Ingrid.

She had awoken that day in the hopes that her husband would be next to her, and hopefully willing enough to accept that they were well on their way to saving the kingdom. What she’d gotten, however, was her husband going missing. She’d searched all over the castle for him, but come up empty.

Her mother had been there on this day, and she had told her that he’d apparently gone out for the night, but nobody else had seen him, aside of course from Krak. And then Osmond burst into the castle with his soldiers behind him, carrying a nailed-shut coffin and a chained lindworm. The cruel prince had announced that for their crimes, Erland and Evangeline (the assassin who had been sent by Osmond himself after his own brother, and then thrown under the cart when he’d heard of her seemingly plotting with Erland) would be executed at dawn tomorrow.

The entire castle had erupted into chaos. People of all ages had attempted to swarm a smug, triumphant Osmond, only to be siezed and dragged off to the dungeon for the crime of “resisting authority”. The soldiers, forced by Osmond’s lash, had scoured the whole castle in search of conspirators, and Turid had given her daughter just enough time to hide in one of the secret tunnels before she (Turid) was caught too.

And to salt the wound, Osmond had jailed the soldiers themselves in person, for their own “mistreatment” of him during that disastrous training day.

So it was that the castle was now horribly understaffed, bereft of anyone to defend it from the horde of angry villagers about to storm its gates, and host to one very lonely and inconsolable bride to be, who was in her jammies and stuck in a cramped underground passageway.

In short, it wasn’t a good day.

In hindsight, perhaps Ingrid should’ve paid more attention to her fiance’s concerns rather than dismissing them as everyone else did. She didn’t want him to worry, but then again his worries had proven to be very much true. All the couple had had were a bunch of scullery maids and stablehands, compared to Osmond’s entire army, who obeyed him out of sheer abject terror.

Perhaps she should just remain seated here forever, with only the lit candle in front of her for company…

Something scaly brushed against her rump, and she yelped, jumping badly enough to bonk her head against the ceiling (it was a rather narrow passageway). Rubbing her scalp, she looked down, and covered her mouth to keep herself screaming. There was a snake next to her. A snake with… a collection of papers wound about its tail?

“Relax, it’s me,” the zaltys whispered.

“Oh, thank God, I was hoping for someone to talk to,” Ingrid sighed. “How did it all go wrong?”

“I was wondering that myself, but then I found these,” Sormr replied. She passed the papers over to Ingrid, who unfurled them and laid them in front of the candle to read.

Her expression became more and more horrified with every word and chart she took in. She would swear her skin was turning slightly green.

“Oh my God. No. NO. He can’t. He wouldn’t.”

“Either he did, or he’s planning to,” replied Sormr.

“Where is Erland?” Ingrid’s dark eyes were wide with pure horror.

“In the deepest pit in the dungeon. I was planning to go down and get him, but I’m not big enough—”

“You were small enough to slip through the ventilation and bring these documents to me,” replied Ingrid. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness, but we have to hurry! As soon as the sun rises tomorrow, Osmond plans to have Erland executed, which gives us just six hours to—”

The shriek of utter despair stopped Sormr’s rambling. She looked at Ingrid expectantly — and was surprised to see her distraught expression transition into a death glare of tranquil fury. Calm as the sea without wind on the outside, but burning deep down with a rage as hot as a thousand suns.

“Lead me to the dungeons at once.” Her voice sounded like ice cracking apart. “I have to stop Prince Osmond. I have to stop him NOW.”

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 6 (Hotbuns)

Another favorite chapter of mine is complete! I once again owe my thanks to HBunsArchive on DeviantArt, whose story, "Princess of Darkness", was the main inspiration for what poor Evangeline goes through here, though there's enough elements that differ from that wonderful story to make it a work of its own. Evangeline is actually a character I've used multiple times before in other stories, but since she's got a vampire theme to her I figured it'd be fun to give her a go in a hot buns story. I might reuse her again in a future tale, who knows?

While there's plenty of butt abuse in this chapter, I like the idea of combining it with plot rather than having it be one comedic accident after another, so the story actually works as a story if you take out just enough slapstick for it to pass as something non-fetishy. There's one more chapter where everything comes to a head before the epilogue, and it's almost done, so be on the lookout for that by the end of this week! :)

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 7,316

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Chapter 6: Packing Heat

In the days following the rebellion of the royal army, public approval of Prince Erland started rising at a measured but steady pace, especially with the announcement of his engagement with Ingrid and their plans to host the wedding a month from now. The afternoon escapade involving over two-thirds of the castle staff, several swarms of angry bees, an even angrier unicorn, a dozen jilted archers, and a shoal of interested pike was making the rounds throughout the kingdom at an astonishing pace, and while many couldn’t believe it at first, those who weren’t too afraid of Osmond’s anger to speak their minds unanimously agreed that the bastard deserved everything that had happened to him, seeing as he’d mistreated pretty much everyone for almost a decade. And since his selfish behavior had continued even in the thick of his curse, removing his air of invulnerability seemed to have exposed his despicable nature for all to see.

Even those who held all of dragon kind in contempt for burning down villages, carrying off maidens, and so on agreed: Osmond was worse than any beast of the sort. It was in a dragon’s nature to go on destructive rampages and battle knights on white horses, but perhaps just this once, they could at least choose to be wild and savage away from humanity, or use their ferocity to protect the innocent as Erland did. Osmond, on the other hand, acted savage because he could. And what was more disturbing was that his family had neither abused nor spoiled him – and he’d turned into a heartless despot regardless.

No wonder all of Wyrmwood preferred to be ruled by the Lindworm Prince.

Despite basking in his newfound fame, however, Erland couldn’t help but notice that every time Osmond looked at him now, the elder brother got a chill running down his spine. By all accounts, Erland should’ve been in far higher standing thanks to a single day of escalating artifice, successfully proving to the kingdom that he was willing to take a stand against Osmond, and more than that, willing to provide for the people at a far greater capacity than Osmond cared to reach.

But why, at least from his perspective, didn’t it feel like a victory?

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 5 (Hotbuns)

Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 8,347
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Chapter 5: Case in Point

 

For the first time that day, Osmond was laughing. The antics of his soldiers were too much fun, even if he was supposed to shape them into the perfect soldiers; if anything they made better play pieces for him, like a child with a set of dolls. He’d long since given up on getting the trainees not to scream when slashed and poked by each others’ swords, since that was very much inevitable, but the practice of whipping them each time they cried out was still kept because it was fun to get someone to make someone else suffer. Cowards and naysayers, the whole lot of them. He’d make true heroes out some of them before long, he just knew it, but the rest he kept around simply because he liked to mess with them.

What he didn’t know was that at this exact point in time, a brown-haired nobleman clad in only his undershorts was making his way through the apiary. One advantage of the curse was that Osmond had learned the hard way to keep a very safe distance from the royal beehives, since after the incident with the cactus this morning, he certainly didn’t want a swarm of angry bees assaulting his assets. He was already sore enough having to deal with Oili forcibly removing all those spines. Erland, however, was faced with a problem: how could he transform without being noticed? His dragon form was massive, and if he were to set off any of the beehives, he’d be instantly spotted, and with the element of surprise ruined he wouldn’t be able to give Osmond the scare of his life. His skin, being extremely sensitive, would stand no chance against thorns and bee stings, and he was quite sure he’d get a fair share of at least one type of pain before long.

About his only option, then, was to climb one of the trees the hives were attached to, which looked if anything like woven egg-shaped structures made of straw, similar to skeps used elsewhere, suspended from the sturdier branches of almost every tree he passed by. They WOULD have been placed on the ground if only the trees weren’t packed so close together, so room had to be made for the footpaths through the area, but transforming on the ground would scare the bees into attacking. If he could just get up above where the hives were, he’d be relatively safe.

Erland gulped. His last attempt at climbing something had ended with a jousting lance somewhere uncomfortable. But it was the only safe way to get clear of any potential hazards that could ruin his little scheme.

“Well,” he said with a sigh of defeat, “here goes nothing.”

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 4 (Hotbuns)

Finally finished with this next chapter! Of course it'd be similar to the previous one, being so long that I had to split it into two... Oh well. I'll try not to do that with the remaining ones. These next two chapters together were my favorite to write thus far, and though the first one's got less butt abuse content than usual the next will more than make up for it, I can assure you. ;)

Enjoy, and expect the next chapter up shortly!

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 5,164

 
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Chapter 4: Plan Of Attack

The rising sun heralded the start of another week in the kingdom of Wyrmwood. For most of the people it was as uneventful as ever, with those in need wandering the streets and generally trying to scrape a living. Perhaps it would be appropriate to bring up the old saying: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride”. It was a common expression the townspeople used to try and keep the envy of their peers for the nobility from overtaking them, but all the same, if wishes really were horses then there would have been a veritable stampede of mounted equines advancing upon the castle, their angry riders bearing torches and pitchforks aimed at one person in particular. The divide between the rich and the poor couldn’t have been more stark, and it was clear that this was the doing of a certain spoiled prince, one who had ruled over everyone, even his own mother, by virtue of his rage and authority alone.

For all who lived within the borders of the kingdom, that was the status quo, and it seemed that they would all live unhappily ever after — until his brother had been freed from his curse.

Within just a few months, Erland had shown himself to be as kind as Osmond was cruel, never letting his clumsiness and constant self-inflicted humiliation keep him down for long. He had left the kingdom at the mercy of his brother for too long, and he knew he needed to make it up to his own people. And now that Oili the spore hag had provided both a surety and some timely advice, it was up to him to prove that his tyrant of a sibling was not the omnipotent, righteous untouchable he thought himself to be.

The morning after Oili had been told off by Osmond and retaliated as expected, the blond prince exited the treasury room in a state of absolute fury. Someone had relieved the room of a collection of documents he had no intention of showing to anyone, not even his own family. And given that they had presumably removed all evidence of their presence in the room via some sort of magical means, it had to be Oili’s doing. Said expunging of their activity had included placing all the mousetraps back in their original places — as well as leaving them primed, so that almost as soon as he’d entered the room, he’d gotten the toes of one of his bare feet caught in one, stepped in another, lost his balance, and backed straight into his own potted cactus.

The worst part was that the queen of the kingdom had summoned him and his brother to the throne room for a short meeting first thing this morning. He had gotten fully dressed for the occasion save for his boots, but alas, his snow-white, perfectly smoothed breech pants were of no protection against those insidious thorns, at least two dozen of which were now embedded deeply in the flesh of his rump, visible to all who glanced at him as they passed him by.

His staffers were NEVER going to let him live this down.

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 3 (Hotbuns, TK)

Having realized that the previous version of the last chapter was far longer than the first one I posted, I decided to split it in half and put the latter half up separately. I know it's kinda cheating but what can you do? ^^; The next one will unfortunately be delayed for a while due to work but I have plans for how it and the one after that will go. Let's just say that if you guys were eager to see some /F butt pain as well, Chapter 5 won't disappoint! That's a matter for another day, though... ;)

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 7,348

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Chapter 3: Sitting a Spell

Prince Erland was in trouble.

The elder royal son’s day had gone relatively smoothly aside from two painful seats. The first was on his own crown (again), after forgetting where he’d placed it while sitting down for lunch with his mother; he’d had to have a silk pillow bought in so he could coherently share his concerns with her over pork liver pâté and pickled cucumbers. The second came later in the afternoon, in the form of a box of carpenter’s tacks that he’d landed in; he’d been passing by some renovations being made to the guest bedroom when he’d accidentally slipped on the newly waxed floor before falling backwards onto the box. Not for the first time that day, his screams could be heard from halfway across the castle, and he could almost picture his evil brother cackling in sick amusement. Too bad for the Lindworm Prince that the evening had some even more unpleasant experiences in store for him.

Destin had taken a good twenty minutes to remove the tacks from the prince’s punctured posterior, and the ex-dragon had, to his own surprise and confusion, healed over completely after another hour of overseeing the royal duties of the day, particularly repairing the older, more dilapidated sections of the palace (seeing as his brother refused to get his hands dirty in tending to this issue). The evening was drawing to a close, and after Osmond retired to his room for the day to do his daily preening, there was a limited window of opportunity to track down the documents that contained all records of his spending habits over the past year.

The problem with sneaking into the accounting room was that Erland and his aide had to pass through the royal armory to get there. The room itself wasn’t heavily guarded, but knowing Erland, there was no chance of being able to break in without one or two more mishaps to round off his day. The front door to the armory was locked, after all, in case of ventures exactly like this one.

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 2 (Hotbuns)

This chapter is ludicrously long, 33 pages on Google Docs to be specific, but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you readers enjoy it too! Also contained within is my first significant instance of female butt abuse on this blog (I think DeviantArt refers to it as "Hot Buns", but I respectfully disagree with the usage of the term), which can be blamed on me binge-reading a ton of /F stories with such content on my spare time. I don't know if I'll include more of it since the person affected doesn't deserve it, but maybe in future stories I'll give it some more love. Nonetheless, this story will be more skewed towards /M butt pain because gods, there needs to be more stories of it around the blogosphere. Special thanks by the way goes to FraggsterFly and HBunsArchive on DeviantArt, whose butt pain and humiliation stories were major inspiration for this chapter and the story it's part of in general.

Unfortunately, things will be going a little slower from this point forward, since I have a new project at work starting next week and have to focus on it. Most likely the third chapter won't be up until December. Still, I've already set up the general plot for the remaining chapters of this little fairy tale, and dammit, I'm going to finish and publish it if it kills me! >w<

Also, see if you can spot all the mythological and folkoric references I snuck into this chapter, I dare you! ;)

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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 8,383

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Chapter 2: Knock On Wood

It is no secret that dragons are hoarders. While preferences vary from species to species, shiny objects are among the most common things that can be found in the lairs of these fearsome magical reptiles, precious metals and stones especially. Most would say that this is because they are greedy beasts which care for nothing but material treasures, but the truth is somewhat less derogatory to the dragons themselves: the treasure they gather is a status symbol. The more riches a dragon accumulates, the more powerful and impressive it looks to others of its kind. The similarity to humans of wealth is uncanny, and given the unsavory reputation of such people, it truly is no wonder that dragons are said to embody the vices of humanity even if most would be insulted by such a comparison.

Before Shepherd Crosby’s daughter freed Prince Erland from his curse of being forever trapped in the body of a lindworm, there had been several accounts of wealthy aristocrats venturing in ornate carriages into the forest where he was reported to live… only to stagger back into the kingdom, their expensive clothes in tatters, rambling in mortal terror of the beast which had stolen everything they held dear. Their horses were also recovered, but were too traumatized to serve royalty any more and were sent off to the countryside to find new homes, their bejeweled harnesses nowhere to be seen. After the prince returned to his kingdom in his human form, an investigation into his former lair uncovered all of the missing wealth, along with documented evidence also cached in the cave that every single royal who had been robbed had in turn scammed and extorted their gains from other residents of the kingdom. The corrupt nobles were arrested and the contents of the dragon’s hoard returned to their rightful owners almost as soon as Erland established himself as the elder prince of Wyrmwood, in part because of his inherent selflessness and in part because from his perspective, becoming one of the kingdom’s leading figures meant that his hoard had, in a sense, expanded. It was no secret that he insisted on keeping track of Wyrmwood’s economy, for after all, if the kingdom was his, then technically, so was all of its treasure.

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Chapter 1 (Hotbuns, TK)

Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 9,602

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Chapter 1: A Royal Headache

By all accounts, it should’ve been a happily ever after for Prince Erland of Wyrmwood. He had lived for twenty years as a monstrous maligned reptile, alone and miserable, with only Shepherd Colden’s daughter and the various reptiles of the woods to keep him company. Not a life he’d wanted to live, not while he could have so many wonderful people to talk to as a member of the royal court. It had been a year since his childhood friend (and now girlfriend) Ingrid had freed him from the curse he had been born with, her faith and care ensuring that it was dispelled in exactly the same manner as the spore hag Oili had described. Queen Erika had been grateful to Ingrid and, seeing the love the two of them shared now, offered Ingrid a place among the aristocracy alongside Erland. The residents of the kingdom had, of course, welcomed them with open arms, and for ages to come there would surely be ballads and tapestries depicting the story of the two of them and how the power of love had saved them both.

There were, however, two very small problems with this fairy-tale ending. The first was that Erland, having slithered on two legs and a serpentine body throughout his entire life, could never get used to his new human body. Sure, he was tall, nearly six feet in height, with short, curly reddish brown hair and patient grayish blue eyes, and his figure was muscled in all the right places and certainly worthy of the popular image of a dashing Prince Charming, but he had to admit that he vastly preferred a reptilian tail to two left feet. Every attempt at looking good for the public ended in painful humiliation, to the point where landing on something he shouldn’t have was almost a daily occurrence. He was glad to have Ingrid in his life, for she loved him all the same, and was always there to care for and console the luckless prince whenever things inevitably went south.

The second and more worrying problem, one which Erland found far less tolerable, was his brother. Prince Osmond was possibly even more handsome than Erland, with blonde hair and eyes like shimmering sapphires, a slightly shorter stature than Erland with just as athletic a build, and what may well have been the firmest, ripest buttocks in the entire kingdom. Most of the kingdom viewed him as a proud and noble icon of regal authority, but the knights of the royal guard knew otherwise. Not only was he highly demanding and bossy to them, forcing them to do even the most menial tasks around the garrison without getting his hands dirty or offering sympathy, but he also bullied them mercilessly. And then of course there had been that fateful first encounter with the Lindworm Prince, which pretty much tainted Erland’s impression of him forevermore, making it clear that he thought of his own older brother as being beneath him. Setting fire to the seat of his pants had been so, so satisfying, but now that he was a fellow aristocrat, he couldn’t hurt him anymore, not without being disgraced and possibly imprisoned. Osmond had after all jailed multiple people before for merely looking at him funny. And so Erland had to keep his mouth shut and fantasize about putting an imported cactus or a collection of thumbtacks on the cushion of his brother’s throne when he wasn’t looking.

So much for happily ever after…

Seat of the Lindworm Prince — Prologue (Hotbuns)

Here's something new from me: a butt pain story! I don't know if anyone else knows this but I've had this kink ever since I was young, almost as early as tickling. Most of the scenarios I've had in mind over the years however haven't really been suitable for a full story and I actually haven't been able to think about such a thing until relatively recently. Most butt abuse stories and arts I've seen involve females or anthros, with male subjects being much rarer, though not completely absent. If /M butthurt is that hard to come by I might as well write it myself, then, so here goes nothing!

While this is just the prologue to the actual story, it should be clear that this work is inspired by one of my absolute favorite fairy tales, the Prince Lindworm of Danish lore. I'm inordinately fond of monstrous creatures which are not malicious in nature and ultimately get a happy ending, though in this case I've decided to sorta deconstruct what happens when a monarch who's been a dragon since birth is suddenly thrust into life as an aristocrat... especially once his asshole brother gets involved. ;P

With this, tags for butt abuse stories are officially in place. Here's to writing more stories of this nature in the future!
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Seat of the Lindworm Prince

by Skaea

Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.

Word Count: 3,151
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Prologue

 

To begin this story with the words “Once upon a time” would be hopelessly trite, but such a starting phrase would be nonetheless appropriate for the realm of Wyrmwood. For this magical kingdom was one of the many crowning jewels of a period when fantastic creatures, enchanting spells, and all manner of mysterious things still existed, things which have long since vanished from history and remain today only as legends. Wyrmwood itself was situated in a beautiful forested expanse of land bordering vast stretches of farmland, in what was to become present-day Denmark. It is possible that the kingdom may have become integrated into the Danish government once magic faded from this world, for no records exist of a violent uprising or subjugation by another empire. But this story is not about when the kingdom ended. In fact, it concerns the rise of one of its most famous rulers, and how in his youth he came to rule this beautiful place with a hand not of iron or silk, but of talons and scales.

Once upon a time (just to use that tired cliche), Queen Erika of Wyrmwood, who had been unable to bear children, sought the aid of a creature who lived in the forest not far from the kingdom. The creature may have resembled a green-skinned, hunched-over old crone dressed in black robes and a distinctive pointed hat, but appearances can be deceiving. For though people referred to Oili as a witch, she was not human, but a massive animate humanoid mushroom called a spore hag, and far from senile and predatory, she was kind and sympathetic despite her homely appearance. She was also blessed with immensely powerful magic, as spore hags are, and when she was told of Erika’s troubles, she understood what to do. A day of brewing and incantations later, the queen was given two onions, one red and one white. Oili instructed her to eat them with a saucer of milk under the light of the next full moon, but also warned her to peel the onions first. Erika nodded in understanding, and waited along with her somewhat skeptical husband for the full moon to come.

At the night of reckoning, the silvery light from the heavens bathed the couple as they stepped outside with the required ingredients. The queen had however forgotten the warnings of the witch and so ate the red onion without peeling it first; she did not like the way it tasted, however, and after washing it down with the milk from the saucer, she carefully peeled the white onion before eating that one. Sure enough, nine months passed after that with the queen’s belly beginning to swell, the movements of two beautiful children palpable within. Eventually, when her waters broke, her lady in waiting, Turid, was there to assist with the birth. For she more than anyone knew how to ensure that the queen could bear her offspring in safety, having helped with pregnant livestock many times in the farm she had come from. But something was wrong. The first baby did not feel soft or plush or delicate. No, it had scales like a snake, and two small and underdeveloped front legs without any hind feet. And its lizard-like head had knobs of bone that betrayed its true nature. Turid let out a scream of horror at this realization, unable to believe that the queen had given birth to, of all things, a baby dragon.

Upon asking the still groaning queen of what had happened, she was told of the ritual and asked not to destroy the accursed child, but to send it away so none would see it and bring a sword against it, for dragons were beasts to be feared by most of the kingdom. To this Turid agreed, but she would swear she saw a look of sorrow upon the queen’s face as she left, another handmaiden entering to take her place and assist in the birth of Erika’s beautiful blue-eyed and thankfully entirely human son…

When The Flame Of Corruption Disappeared (Original)

Below is the original version of "When The Flame Of Corruption Disappeared", written and illustrated by iceweaver on Tumblr. Feel free to check out their blog if you want to see more of their work!

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~ When the Flame of Corruption disappeared ~


　In a faraway land, there is a forest that surround by the mountains. The lush branches cut the sunshine into pieces, just like the shards of the crystals are shining on the land. The floating particles in the atmosphere are looming to reflect the psychedelic glimmer.

　This lush green forest often fog, that indicating here is full of water vapor. If you are quiet listen attentively, it seems can hear the distant waterfall singing. In addition to the sylph are playing at the treetops that cause rustle, the singing of birds also add some lively sense to this silent forest.

　Local people call it “The Emerald of Fog”. But such a beautiful forest, there is a strange rumor circulating…

　Outside the forest, there is a considerable size of the town locate in the foot of the hills. The living functions are very perfect, people live and work here. It can be describe as the sparrow may be small but complete in every detail. Here has a well-known inn. The wood made house although no exquisite and beautiful decoration, but the simple design is very suitable. There is a tavern opposite the inn, always noisy. If travelers want to collect intelligence or understand the local situation, all you need is just came here.

　Whenever new visitor arrives, the local residents will warn them: If you want to enter or through The Emerald of Fog, please be careful. The forest has something wrong, some people were missing.

　News quickly spread, attracting the concern of all walks of life. People formed a team to investigate, but the investigation was unsuccessful. No one has returned.

　After that, although there were more investigate teams re-formed, and the mercenaries went with them, but they were all lose the whereabouts. The truth still covered by clouds, making people panic.

　For these mysterious disappearance events, it begins to make uproar. Some people raised the commission of a high bounty, asked the bounty hunters to find out the truth: If the events were involved with monsters, then be sure to completely eliminate it.

　The matter also passed to the ears of “that guy”, who is in the trip around the world to complete commissioned, drawing his interest.

　This bounty hunter that alone to complete variety of extremely difficult tasks, carrying his beloved sword, comes to the task board. His eyes glanced at all kinds of graded commissioned, then quickly tore off the one of highest difficulty on it and leave

　"Difficulty levels SSS: Unravel the truth of the disappearance events in the forest".

＊　＊　＊

When The Flame Of Corruption Disappeared (CBT, Sounding)

 

Original artwork by iceweaver

Happy Halloween, everyone! It's only fair to tell a scary story for the occasion, and having finished this one a few days back I figured now was as good a time as any to post it. This is the first adapted story of mine, i.e. originally written by someone else, but rewritten and expanded on a bit by myself. Several CBT blogs I know of have done the same thing with other stories floating around on the Internet, so it's not like I'm alone in doing that lol, but the original was just so good even if it was quite clear that the original writer's first language wasn't English. More or less everything from the original was kept intact here, save for grammatical corrections on my part; I did, however, add a few... personal touches. I don't know if the original writer is still active, since the last activity on their blog was around seven or eight months ago, but I hope they don't mind this version existing online!

While he isn't outright named in the fic itself, the original writer clearly intended for the hapless victim to be Sol Badguy, the main protagonist of the Guilty Gear videogame series, and the above artwork (which is just one of those provided in the source links below) clearly indicates as such. My knowledge of Guilty Gear is unfortunately extremely lacking, but the story itself was written so that in-depth familiarity of the games isn't required, which is a huge plus. As such, the same can be said for this adaptation, though if you remove or adjust certain parts of it such as physical description and abilities, you can imagine basically anyone you desire as the victim. In any case, I know what you're all really here for, and hopefully this delivers. :)

The original version of this story will also be posted on this blog soon, for reference. Again, the original writer of this story was not me, but I highly recommend checking out their art and writing. Fans of CBT and especially tentacles certainly won't be disappointed! ;D

Guilty Gear (c) Team Neo Blood


Sources:

• https://iceweaver.tumblr.com/post/169431185139/when-the-flame-of-corruption-disappeared-in
• https://iceweaver.tumblr.com/post/169431470649/long-time-passed-by-the-hunter-slowly
• https://iceweaver.tumblr.com/post/169431532004/after-several-days-that-unbridled-milking

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When The Flame Of Corruption Disappeared (Skaea version)

Adapted by Skaea, originally by iceweaver

Contains: */M ballbusting, urethral sounding, and graphic testicular harm. NSFW.

Word Count: 7,050
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In a faraway land, beyond the prying eyes of civilization, there lies a pristine forest that is surrounded by the tallest and most treacherous mountains in the region. The lush, verdant branches seem to cut the sunshine into pieces, just like the shards of the crystals are shining upon the ground below. The floating particles that are always in the atmosphere seem to linger, and to reflect the psychedelic glimmer.

This lush green forest is often shrouded in a dense fog, the kind that indicates the presence of water vapor. If one is quiet, and listening attentively, it may seem that they can hear a distant waterfall, its cascade singing in the temperate air. In addition to the sylph often playing at the treetops, causing the boughs to rustle, the songs of birds staking out their territory also add a sense of liveliness to this otherwise silent forest.

“The Emerald Fog,” that is what the locals call it. But here of all places, in such a beautiful forest, there has been a strange rumor circulating recently…

Outside the forest, there is a town of considerable size located in the foot of the hills. The infrastructure is all but perfect, and people live and work here without fear or misery. It can be described as like a sparrow, small but complete in every detail, seemingly unassuming but with a harmonious song that clearly advertises its presence. One of the prominent spots for travelers here is a well-known inn. The wooden house, although lacking in exquisite and beautiful decoration, has a simple design which is very suitable for welcoming those hoping to spend the night here. There is a tavern opposite the inn as well, always noisy and bustling with activity. If travelers wish to collect intelligence or understand the local situation, all they need is just come here.

But whenever any new visitor arrives, the local residents will warn them: If you want to enter or through The Emerald Fog, please be careful. The forest has something horribly wrong within its depths, and some people have gone missing. Some people will go missing.

It is not known when it started, but after the first few were taken, news quickly spread, attracting the concern of all walks of life. The bravest people of the village formed a team to investigate, but the investigation was unsuccessful. Many entered. No one has returned.

After that first attempt, although there were more investigate teams formed, and although many mercenaries from neighboring regions went with them, they were all lost regardless, and none know their whereabouts to this day. The truth remained covered by clouds, making people all over the region begin to panic.

In the wake of these mysterious disappearances, the village soon became the epicenter of a great uproar. Authorities and people of power presented the promise of a high reward, asking the bounty hunters to find out the truth. If the events had anything to do with monsters, if such monsters existed, then the hunters had to be sure to completely eliminate them.

So it was that the matter eventually passed to the ears of one man in particular, a person who was partaking in the trip around the world to complete commissions of his own. It was only a matter of time before this one began drawing his interest.

This bounty hunter, unlike the rest, had come prepared. He had, alone and with no allies, strove to complete a variety of extremely difficult tasks and succeeded, carrying his beloved sword as his only armament. Said sword was now sheathed as he entered the hub building where his colleagues gathered, and soon came across the task board. His eyes met at all kinds of graded commissions, but it was less than a minute before he quickly tore off the one with the highest difficulty rating on it, and left without a word.

”Difficulty levels SSS: Unravel the truth of the disappearance events in the forest.”

Quickie: Something Fishy (TK)

I was talking to some people on my Discord server about possible species for my tickle-centric land of Hysterica, and tickle mimics have been on my mind for quite some time. Eventually I combined the idea of boot-mimics (based on a few pics of tickle boots I've seen in the past) with the cliche of fishing up an old boot, and came up with something interesting enough to put to use in RPs. So here's a quick one-off I did with pleple50, "feet"-uring the mimics in question and his cute OC, Silas!

As for what the fish are called, someone suggested "Mukerel" as a portmonteau of "mukluk" (a type of soft boot worn by native Arctic tribes, often made of reindeer skin) and "mackerel". I ultimately came up with a better term, though, "Muklurk", which is more appropriate for a freshwater species and sounds like "muck lurk" to boot (ba-dum-tsh), which was more popular. So Muklurk it is! :)

(For future reference, by the way: the "Quickie" tag will be used henceforth for any story that is at most 4 pages on Microsoft Word, or below 2,000 words in length.)

Silas belongs to pleple50, and this story has been edited and posted with his permission.


Contains: */M tickling, feet only. SFW.

Word Count: 1,745

 
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Silas was feeling quite bored. That was all he could think of to describe it - he’d pretty much seen and experienced everything there was to see in the previous part of the woods he’d visited. Which was why he’d ventured much further west than he was normally used to, hoping to find something interesting.

The adventurous youth looked quite like an ordinary 22-year old with curly black hair and a slim physique, except for the black cat ears sticking out of the top of his head and his matching tail; he was largely shirtless except for leathery straps on his chest and arms, with a green cloak over black leather shorts. His size 9 feet were bare, and decorated with a pair of fish-boned anklets connected to rings on his second toes. He also carried a staff made from green twisted wood and multiple bones, with three orange skulls indicating his status as a necromancer. Well, a slightly inexperienced catboy necromancer… Would that be a “nekomancer”?

In any case, Silas soon found himself near a forest pool, no doubt stocked with that feline delicacy, fish. Except that if you looked in the clear pond water, you’d think there was a whole mess of old boots down there. And for some reason, they were moving.

Whether they were fish turned into a boot-like shape, or boots that had been enchanted to become fish, who knew. Perhaps they always had been just that, boot-shaped fish. Such thoughts however did not occur to the neko who just happened to be passing by this very pool. It was only a few moments before he noticed the odd-looking fish… if you could call them that.