#creature libations

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 20 thoughts

dare i say it, once again… new favorite episode??

okay, my previous favorite episode was an ENTIRELY different direction from this one, but i’d say there should be one best episode for serious stuff and one best episode for the silly!!! and this takes the silly crown!! and tbh i can't make an actual hard and fast rating anyway because there are so many great things to choose from- but this is amongst them, for me, in terms of legendary episodes!

please, join me on this ride, which i enjoyed each second of, and will need to someday rewatch without pausing every 0.5 seconds to jot something i noticed down. the live experience begins beneath the cut.

it’s been 84 years…. (3 days since i’ve seen an episode)

ooo, this sounds interesting! is scully going to work with an author?? are we gonna learn more about the things that she reads?? this is prime content to a person like me

stars…. space ship….. filled with tubes and wires and other such things…… just kidding!!! it’s a guy working on some electrical stuff. whilst two people drive by!! i thought they were mulder and scully at first but they are not

“um, i don’t want to scare you, but i think i’m madly in love with you” says this guy who is not mulder but actually named harold to this girl who is not scully but is actually named chrissy. OH! and this is the first date. so that was a weird thing to say. i thought it was quite sweet at first but that changes things for sure.

GASP! UFO be upon them. creatures are coming out to get them. she asks what they are and he says “how the hell should i know?” ooo ooo i know! they are aliens 👽 and then the two fall on top of each other like they are knocked out… and the aliens drag them away???? 

until a king kong looking fellow rolls up. very puppet-y. and the aliens don’t know what this creature is either!!! and also ask what that thing is and the response is “how the hell should i know?” haha i see what you did there... out aliening the alien

bum bum bum bum…. (<- my attempt at recreating the noise of the intro)

now, what was that? i'm stuck on the king kong and godzilla love child puppet….

scan up on mulder’s iconic poster!!! and a guy is here who is yet again not mulder. his name is mr. chung and mulder will NOT talk to him… oooh, what is their beef…?

mr. chung is saying he always felt alienated on this planet, who can even imagine actual aliens! and he has a point there.

oh! scully is a big fan of this fellow, which is why she agreed to talk to this guy!!! he calls her beautiful, which is true, but time and place 

so he isn’t even interested in aliens, but his publisher said he should write a book on the matter. he is going to create a NEW genre: non fiction science fiction, a gimmick that will give him money. this seems somewhat disappointing to scully, who must be a believer in artistic integrity, but i find his honesty refreshing.

she wants him to tell the truth, but apparently he spent 3 months in kass county where all this stuff went down, and NO ONE could tell him what actually happened. the truth is just as subjective as reality. which sounds like something i learned in history class. and, it helps explain why everyone with an alien story starts with some variation of, "i know this sounds crazy, but"...

so he wants HER version of hearing of the case. also he touches her arm and... let's slow down a little there, mr. chung.

OHHH we are seeing a story told in flashbacks!!!! narrated by scully!! how wonderful!!!

this girl is suffering from “missing time”, a phenomenon we have come to know well here on this blog. also her clothes are inside out and she has signs of abuse. not looking great for her.

apparently mulder prefers the term “abductee” to “experiencer”, which mr. chung has valid disagreements with. we go on, however.

this poor girl is seeing aliens that are not there and her nose is bleeding. WAIT! it’s the guy from before! harold and chrissy! he comes to her window to say he did everything he could but she rejects him, thinking he had drugged and assaulted her. yikes.

harold is testifying that he was abducted by aliens, but no one believes him. he stuck to his story UNTIL our agents arrived!

(MULDER SAYS SOMETHING VERY OUT OF POCKET HERE ABOUT GOING TO PRISON BUT LET'S KEEP MOVING)

despite this announcement of presumed prison time, mulder brings chrissy in for questioning. asking her if she has all the symptoms of “post abduction disorder”, which she confirms, while scully rolls her eyes with great force in the background. and he talks the girl’s parents into letting her do hypnosis.

“what is your opinion of hypnosis?”, mr. chung asks scully, which is something i also have been dying to know! i mean, we saw her do a little bit before, but it didn’t seem to be a positive experience. she says it has therapeutic value, but has never been proven to enhance memory; it even makes memory worse. a very balanced and doctor-ly answer! 

LMAO scully is so cute… mr. chung mentions another book he wrote and she proclaims it “one of the greatest thrillers ever written” <- STOP I LOVE HER SHE IS SUCH A NERRRRD 😭😭

mr. chung said the FBI knew nothing about how hypnosis worked back during the MK ULTRA days… and he is fascinated by the idea of a person’s consciousness being transformed by listening to words. admittedly very fascinating! you could probably say the same about meditation, no?

(but he speaks to the power of storytelling, i realize now in hindsight! how we find ourselves wrapped up in the tales of things that never happened, how it fills us with sorrow or joy! how fascinating! i see what you did there, writers!)

cutscene to hypnotizing chrissy. who is seeing aliens. she is on a space ship wearing a fit that looks very similar to a lady gaga chromatica era performance, but it has tubes attached to her. harold is in a very similar contraption!!!!

she says the aliens are arguing without moving their mouths and she hears the lead alien in her head saying it’s for the good of her planet. and he is stealing her memories? um. for what purpose...

scully is serving looks in the corner while this goes down, looking mad as hell and very good. she says chrissy's abduction story seems a little TOO typical… and i have to agree! but mulder says no, there are TWO people with the same story! they can't both be lying, surely!

LMAOOOO they play with censoring the dude who comes in and yells at them… “well, of course he didn’t actually say ‘bleeped’” 

(BAHAHA i’m loving this insight into how scully’s memories operate. so this angry man is named detective manners)

“you still gonna hold the boy?” “oh, you bet your blankety-blank bleep i am” <- i am a simple woman, and an actor delivering these lines with a straight face whilst surrounded by other actors keeping a very straight face is going to make me cackle. look at her looking so bored while he says that. i’m howling!!!!

anyway, harold has a very different story on what went down that night, that did not seem to involve gaga-inspired fits, but instead they were both placed in electrified cages. while another alien in a nearby cage smokes a cigarette. he seems to be what i would call “an unbothered king”

in this story, harold claims that he will protect chrissy and never let anything happen to her, and of course something immediately happens to her while he hides in the corner like a baby. lmao.

and this alien is talking in english! not telepathically! he keeps repeating “this is not happening” until harold ALSO gets taken by the thing that took chrissy. 

mulder is trying to figure out what is going on, but his predictions aren’t lining up with what happened to harold. scully is pacing and looking pissed, and again, very pretty.

“you know when you’re a kid, and you tore the legs off a bug for no reason?”, asks harold (cutscene to mulder’s face with visible confusion) LMAOOOOOOO

scully getting to business: did you engage in consensual sexual intercourse that night? she is not messing around! she's had it up to here with the shenanigans of harold and chrissy!

harold is very very quiet until he says that her father will kill him if he finds out!!! gasp!!! confirmation!!!

so is this whole story just… a cover up??? for fornication???

scully vs mulder time. “so what if they’re having sex?” he asks, which is funny coming from him; and anyway, he claims it happened BEFORE the alien stuff went down. but she thinks they’re traumatized, and that is more likely than alien abduction. 

until detective manners bursts in and claims he has an eyewitness to what went down! he used more blanks and bleeps and again the straight faces killllll me

and ALL OF THEM telling their stories start with “i know how crazy this all sounds” just as mr. chung had described LMAOOO. now who tf is this dude who says he was an eyewitness?

(i’m taking soooo many notes because i keep laughing and noting things. which is a good problem to have!)

this dude, named roky, spent 48 hours straight writing down what he saw, and said that by looking at this, they are putting their lives in danger. so okay. better be juicy.

he says his garage door opened up, a car pulled in, and a man told him some facts about venus. he says they put him in a trance! and that they were in all black……

mr. chung says that myths of men in black garments are nothing new!!! so take THAT, men in black legends, you are one of many.

back at roky's place, the other dude in black says jimmy carter thought he saw a UFO once, but it was just venus. roky is scandalized, grabs his paper, and states that he is a REPUBLICAN.

(omg jimmy carter is going to be 100 in a few months god willing…..)

this man in black is saying that roky saw VENUS and nothing else, just VENUS. and not to tell anyone he saw anything but VENUS or he will die. and then the car drives away. 

so after that build up, he gives mulder the manuscript, and says he is packing up and leaving. bye bye roky. hope you find some peace.

mulder is reading this story to scully who is sprawled on the bed, looking, again, angry and hot. it seems he is describing that earlier puppet-y action.

oh! roky was the electrical guy from the very beginning!!! he hides in his truck but the king kong looking fellow says “be not afraid” and that he is needed for the good of the earth? what is with the good of the earth here.

cutscene to a very baffled looking scully laying in bed as mulder continues to read LMAOOOOOO

AND ROKY’S STORY SAYS HE WENT NOT TO OUTER SPACE, BUT INNER SPACE HELPPP!!!! now, inner space is towards the core, if you, like me, were unaware. also, king kong godzilla dude’s name is Lord Kinbote, so jot that down.

mr. chung says he has a copy of roky’s manifesto- which was sent to his publisher? and LMAOOO the story is disturbing both for its soul orgy scenes and the fact that it is written as a screenplay 

well, surely your partner didn’t believe any of it, mr. chung states! “mulder’s had his share of peculiar notions” is scully's carefully worded reply... LMAOOO 

cutscene to her sitting up from the bed and calling him nuts <- LMAOOOOO but HE says that whatever roky saw may have triggered some delusions, and that the only story that doesn’t add up is chrissy’s, so he is calling to get her re-hypnotized, much to scully’s indignation!

so back to the hypnosis. and chrissy is now mirroring harold's story exactly. oh! she says the people who took them are from the air force?? so where did the gaga slay outfits go... 

the air force men are arguing in front of her. and then they say to “rinse her out”. saying it is for the good of her country. and stealing her memories!

so WHO is doing the real memory stealing here….. the aliens or the government?? an age old question!!! one that is at the heart of this series.

scully and mulder fight over what is going on, and he thinks that this might have nothing to do with aliens, until detective manners shows up with news that a crazy blankety blank claims to have an ALIEN BODY!!

(what if it’s a raccoon with mange…)

again, the man recounting this story begins with “i know how crazy this is going to sound”, but then says he wants to be abducted by aliens. well! i’m sure that’s a sexual thing i don’t care to unpack.

cutscene to mr. chung interviewing this same man, who wishes to go where finding a job is not a requirement. he was looking in a field for UFOs. and when he called the authorities upon spotting one, the agents show up!!

he says that scully was a man dressed as a woman but not pulling it off??? RUDE AS HELL! jail for 10,000 years. "HER HAIR WAS A LITTLE TOO RED, YOU KNOW?" LMAOOOOO and mulder was the “tall, lanky one” with a blank expression. well yeah that is an accurate depiction.

AND ACCORDING TO THIS GUY'S ACCOUNT, WHEN MULDER SEES THE BODY, HE SHRIEKS LIKE A STARTLED SQUIRREL I’M CRYINGGGG. so scully says to wrap this body up!

BUT THEN SHE GRABS HIM AND SAYS TO NEVER TELL ANYONE HE SAW THIS I’M CRYINGGGG... that had to be such a silly scene to film 

okay, seeing the part about subjective truths now. this is so funny... why is this loser making scully a hater in his version!!!

she’s PISSED to hear he claims she said this LMAOOO and that is ridiculous!! they even let him view the autopsy!!

so mulder takes this weirdo’s camera and records the autopsy?? scully cuts his brain open. and the tape ends up on late night television LMAOOOO

SCULLY IS SO EMBARRASSED THAT SHE IS ON THIS ALIEN HOAX AUTOPSY TAPE... I’M CRYING SOMEONE SAVE HER!!! and the host of whatever show they end upon is STUPENDOUS YAPPI FROM THE CLYDE BRUCKMAN EPISODE!!!! i'm howlingggg

she’s mad that whoever got the film edited out all the important scientific findings!!! like the two layers of skin!!!

wait. it’s a zipper. this is a dead guy in an alien suit. LMAOOOOOOOOO

the weird UFO cameraman kid is ill after realizing it was an ordinary dead guy, and scully looks deeply pained as he runs away to get sick LMAOOO

so: who is this dead guy? he was in the air force! and his name is robert. but who arrives but more people from the air force!! are they here to bury him?? or question the agents…

the folks from the air force want robert back, so she has to break the news that he is dead, and being kept for investigation into kidnapping. can they see him? scully is like yeah sure but mulder says no!!! but you CAN talk to the other AWOL guy we brought in. GASP!! a bluff!!! and it works!! from this they learn there is another missing guy!

LMAOOOO except it doesn’t go as smoothly as intended, and mulder is all “hmm he was here a few minutes ago… guess he’s still AWOL… anyway wanna see the body?” I’M CRYING THIS MANNNN IS SO RIDICULOUS 

but bad news: the body is gone. 

cameraman UFO guy is sitting on his floor watching the autopsy tape. when in bursts… the men in black from the earlier garage scene!!!! they knock him out. 

he claims mulder slapped him back to reality. and that he ALSO threatened him... me when i lie.

so mulder doesn’t have the tape. but when he drives home a fully naked man is walking about in the woods. it’s the other missing lieutenant, jack!! he is repeating “this is not happening” in the same voice as the alien as before!!!!! HUH WHAT IS GOING ON?

mulder takes jack to eat. he claims to have piloted the "UFO", and that all the abductions are military stuff, and at the base the abductees are messed with mentally, until they come out convinced they were probed by aliens. 

well okay, if its all the government, than what abducted YOU, jack? he isn’t sure about anything at all anymore, even if he exists. until who walks in... but the military!!

wait, mulder points out, it can’t all be fake- who was the third alien? jack seems to know him by name- lord kinbote. HUH?

and mr. chung heard a story about that same night from the cook at the restaurant! apparently mulder ordered sweet potato pie? huh, that’s interesting. and he kept ordering more and more pies with each question he asked the chef. LMAOOOO I just KNOW that scene was hard to film!!!! scenes where people eat always make me wonder how many times they had to have that damn bite of pie. 

but he claims there was no jack, nor any air force personnel at all. just a hungry mulder. again, so what is the truth...

mr. chung points out that scully doesn’t seem too phased to learn about all the contradictions in this story, and she says well no, not after what happened next. because when he got back to the motel, the men in black were in her room, going through her stuff! they claim she went to get some ice. he’s got 'em at gunpoint, screaming WHERE IS SHE!!! all protective, okay i see you. but she really did go to get some ice???

okay… man in black says that some alien encounters are engineered by the government and then exposed to discredit truth seekers. and mulder counters, well, people say the men in black also do purposefully strange things, so that anyone describing them sounds crazy! they proceed to… try and hypnotize him?

BUT IT’S ALEX TREBEK WHO IS DOING THE HYPNOTIZING???? LMAOOOOO HAS HE BEEN THE QUIET MAN IN BLACK THIS WHOLE TIME??

mr. chung is GAGGED, and wants to know if it WAS alex trebek, but sadly scully cannot confirm, for has no memory of this!! 

she woke up the next morning to mulder in her room….? and mr. chung is also gagged to hear this. me too tbh like did he just sleep on the couch? well we know that is how he sleeps at home so i guess i'm not shocked.

mulder’s trying to explain that she didn’t just "let him in" last night, but detective manners calls and says they found a bleeping UFO.

and what is it but…. a plane!! a secret plane!! and who are they carrying away on stretcher but the missing airmen, jack and robert???? SO HOW DID THEY DIE!

mr. chung puts his pen down, baffled, and scully points out that this story may not have a lot of closure, but it’s more than some of their other cases, which is funny because it is true. and she’s playing with her earrings and it’s so cute.

cutscene to mr. chung typing at his place. until a shadow approaches and he holds a tiny gun!!!! he is ready for a showdown but it’s… mulder at the door?

WAIT how does chung recognize him… did scully show him pictures i'm crying

mulder is in chung's apartment, asking him to not write the book, because it will do a disservice to a field that has always struggled to maintain credibility. we can’t understand these alternate realities yet!!! well. compelling argument... but mr. chung needs a paycheck. 

OH! and mulder suspects that the book is a “covert agenda” of the military industrial complex. always theories upon theories with this guy...

mr. chung says the book WILL be written, but he needs an explanation from mulder: what really happened to those kids on that night?

his answer: how the hell should i know?

(it was so perfect, i thought the episode would end right here)

mr. chung says he has deadlines, and mulder looks very sad, very previously neglected shelter dog rizz, and walks out. back to mr. chung’s furious typing. 

okay, so the cameraman now works for the electrical company roky worked for. because roky moved to california, preaching on purification and the inner earth and core enlightenment. right right right makes sense.

cutscene to scully reading the finished book by mr. chung!!! she is fictionalized as “diane” who is “noble of spirit and pure of heart” but “nevertheless a federal employee” LMAOOOO

and mulder is “renard muldrake” LMAOOOOO that is such a funny name... he's watching something in bed shirtless as his fictionalized self is being described- “a ticking time bomb of insanity” AND HE’S WATCHING THE BIGFOOT TAPES BAHAHAHAHA

chrissy now is an environmental advocate and harold still loves her but it isn’t required. aww harold :(

mr. chung ends by saying that we are not alone in this universe, but in our own way, we are all alone.

NEW BEST EPISODE CONTENDER???

this feels like one of those posts where people make up a bunch of information and then it all gets proven wrong so it is described as a "net zero information gain" bahaha

but don't get me wrong, i don't fully understand what happened, but i loved it. i was laughing, i was enjoying seeing the subjectivity of one story to the next, i was enjoying scully and chung time, and despite all the silly, we still got clues on the whole "is it aliens or the government" thing. and sure, maybe it doesn't make immediate sense, but you have to ponder these matters to learn what is at their heart!

so what DID we learn? well, some alien cases might be the government! but i guess that is still a "might", so maybe we can't truthfully say we LEARNED it. we learned that scully is a big fan of mr. chung!!! we learned that mulder is fiercely protective of his line of work from all his years of being ridiculed! and that he watches the famous bigfoot tape for fun and also maybe like sweet potato pie? it was unconfirmed.

i really enjoyed the playing with perspective, seeing how one character saw things, and then another. and seeing mulder and scully threaten that dweeb was so funny because it was so out of character and had to be silly to shoot.

and i thought it was impressive how it managed to tie back to the big alien and government mystery while still making me laugh so hard. how many past episodes can be analyzed through the lens of certain things being faked for exposure? and what REALLY happened to those airmen? we still don't know if mulder's convo with jack even happened! and we never will!

i came to appreciate the company of mr. chung immensely, even though i thought he was gonna be creepy after calling scully beautiful and touching her arm, but i suppose that he was just a genuinely sweet fellow. you can't blame me for being suspicious after some of the things she gets put through, but i'm sure that if i picked one of his books off the shelf, i, like scully, would be a fan.

overall, i am deeply pleased, and would love to give this a rewatch sometime when i am not taking notes so i could appreciate the pacing in more detail. man, season 3 has really been killing it, huh? and i'm nearing the end!!

[violetmoondaughter]

Many are the faces of the Hellenic God Dionysus, but the duality of his nature is sometimes connected with two specific plants associated to the god. Dionysus relates to many plants such as Fig, Oak, Pine, Vine and Ivy, these two are specifically connected with two opposite faces of the god. 

Grapevine starts its annual growth cycle in spring with bud break. During spring and summer, the plant grows and after flowering the vine sets the fruits that are usually harvested in early autumn. Following the first frost the leaves begin to fall as the vine starts to enter its winter dormancy period. The following spring, the cycle begins again. Following the same annual cycle Dionysus is seen as a god that is reborn every spring, bringing during the hot season prosperity and abundance before disappearing in winter. Grapevine grows thanks to the hot weather and humidity and so it represents the warm fertilizing humidity power of the god. Grape is used to create wine which is the drink sacred to Dionysus because of its ability to release mental faculties.  

Ivy on the other hand, blossoms in the autumn when the vines are harvested and bears fruit in the spring. As an evergreen plant, ivy needs cold weather and humidity to grow and flower.  Ivy vines crawl as snakes and in the myth, ivy appeared soon after the birth of Dionysus to shelter the child from the flames that burned the mother's body. To its freshness was attributed the virtue of dispelling the ardor of wine, so Dionysus was believed to have commanded his worshippers to crown themselves with it. Ivy, in contrast to the vine that bore fruit bearing vitality and exaltation, produced a poison that sterilized and had medicinal virtues that were refreshingly depurative and narcotic. The plant is also connected with thunder and lightning and was believed to have the power to protect from lightning and cure sore throat and cough. 

Thus these two plants sacred to Dionysus are contrasted with each other in an eloquent contrast: the vine, drunk with light, is a child of heat and returns the rays of the sun by warming, with its libation, bodies and souls, while the ivy shows itself to be cold in nature; indeed the sterility and uselessness of its first sprouts recall night and death. 

Their affinity is rooted in the very essence of the dual-figured god, whose nature is expressed from the earth by means of them: light and darkness, warmth and coldness, intoxication of life and breath of death that withers everything; the multiplicity of the Dionysian aspects struggling with each other and yet conjoined with each other is manifested here in vegetal form, stands in struggle with itself and prodigiously transitions from one form into the other. 

Dionysus rules over all moist and hot creatures whose symbol would also be wine, as a hot and moist substance. In wine, heat is made ardor drink of fire that overwhelms everything, that ignites the soul and the body. But the moist heat is contrasted with the moist cold that as a Dionysian element, is manifested in ivy, a plant that greens even in winter when the Dionysian festivals take place.

[guyfieriii]

Fair Game

This piece is dedicated to @soapskneebrace. Loosely based on the song Fair Game by Sia and a particularly horny tiktok. Thank you for always indulging my crazed Price thoughts and I’m sorry this took so long. It started out as porn, then porn with a smidge of angst, then too much angst which I scrapped and started over. And I know I promised to let smut be smut, but I cannot help myself. I hope it’s worth it!!

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes

His hands trace your skin. Coarsened palms kneading into your flesh, firm and unyielding they keep you anchored to the present. Your mind is in a haze — the past few hours are all a blur of direct commands and strident whispers. You’d have confused them to be almost brutish if you didn’t know any better. 

You’ve been teetering on the edge of an orgasm for far too long. He’s kept you bound, but not through any physical tether. It’s through his voice alone. Like sandpaper against the wood grain, sanding you down to what you need to be. For now, you simply need to be in place until you’re told otherwise. 

You’re a creature of habit. Following orders is second nature. 

“Stay still.”

Yes, captain. 

With each approaching climax, you find it harder still to keep it at bay.

“You won’t come, will ya? Until I say?”

No, captain.

No matter how hard you will yourself to seem unfaltering, your limbs tremble beneath the strain.

He notices but stays the course. Unforgiving. Relentless. Exacting. 

His lips at your ear, teeth grazing against the lobe. You sink further into the mattress under his weight, chest pressed flush to your back. The cold air is now replaced with the scorching warmth that rolls off of him in spades.

It was just you and him sheltered in what remained of some untenanted house at the  outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. Breathing was a laboured task to begin with, but the cold turned every inhale into sharp sting that settled between your ribs. You take in one breath for what should be two, a vain effort to try and reserve some warmth. 

One. Two. In. 

One. Two. Out.

Until—

“Let me help.”

Heat — you find it’s synonymous with him. His hands are recalescent, branding the memories of his touch into your skin. Now, the very thought of him has sweat pooling at your brows. A single look from him has you flush and feverish. 

“Had ‘nough, have ya?” 

You’re throroughtly fucked out to have a response more eloquent than your meagre uh huh. 

You feel the rumble of his chuckle in his chest before you hear it. Deep and low. 

“Wan’ come, eh?” You feel him glide down your body, his breath tracing the curve of your spine and his tongue following suit. It’s a torrent of stimulation across the expanse of your back. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. 

Lower. 

His hands cradle the curve of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh, his tongue pressed flat against your perineum and then flicking upwards. 

You’re prepared. More than. 

He fucks your ass with his tongue, lapping at the circumference, flattening his tongue against it before plunging back in. Eventually, your hands replace his and you hold yourself, spread wide open as a way of libation for him to feast at. 

He travels downward to give a few rewarding licks, lips latching to your clit, he sucks. 

It’s a mess of you and him — wet, tacky. 

Eventually his fingers replace his tongue. He makes the swap quick, not giving you a moment to adjust to the change. His ring and middle finger pulse in and out of your cunt with his thumb firmly hooked one knuckle deep in your asshole. 

Your hands fall back down, fingers gripping the bedsheet for purchase while his fingers thrust in and out of you. With a steady rhythm, he fucks you, murmuring a recital of praise of which you feel wholly unworthy. 

“None of that, now.” He urges, like he knows what you’re thinking. “Just fuckin’ take it.”

You feel it again, the coil unfurling deep in your belly. The hairs across your body have risen. Your limbs tighten, something you no longer thought than capable of. 

John constantly made you do things you didn’t think yourself capable of. 

Your body is the instrument, and he’s tuned it to him. Entirely. 

Made for him, he’d say. 

On a night like tonight, when he’s worked you to your limits, you find they are preconceived. 

You might have thought you’d be taken under the overstimulation, being brought to the bring of orgasm time and time again only for it to be snatched from you. But you withstand. 

Sometimes, you think, he knows you better than you know yourself. 

So when beg and mewl and promise that you’ve had enough, that you just need to come, he’ll say try for me in such distinct assurance like he knows you’ll do it. How do you say no to that?

“I know it.” He’ll say. 

“You have more in you.” He’ll say. 

And well—

You do. 

The walls of your cunt flutter around his fingers as you writhe against his touch. The zenith of all these hours of strain comes closer. You’re hoping he’ll let you meet it just as the pressure builds and builds and—

He stills. 

Your whine escapes you before you can stop it. 

“John, please just—”

His fingers are entwined with the roots of your hair in an instant, fingers closing around the nape of your neck to lift your head backward. 

“You’ll come when I let you.” It’s an order, a threat, and a promise all in one and your ensuing protest dies at your lips. 

If you could turn back time, you would. You’d go back to when you thought it was wise to pursue your captain as a way of a game, a distraction in recompense for a disobeyed order. 

You were meant to be the balm that soothes his day. The final scratch to every itch he’s had. He buried himself in you in more ways than one. You found yourself in him in just as many ways. It was something both of you recognized and wordlessly acknowledged. 

You were his relief. His oasis. His absolution. 

He was your compass. Your levee. Your reliquary. 

Then you went ahead and did something that threatened to wipe it all away. 

It was very telling how he avoided you right after it all went down. Once the dust settled and he knew you were safe—

“Is she— Just fuckin’ tell me she’s okay.” His voice broke over the radio, but the desperation in it rang clear. 

You’d heard him voice his desperation in the past but in an entirely different way. 

He’s held you and pleaded. Pleaded for you to touch him, to take him. It came from a place of unsoiled longing. Pure and utter want. 

But this time it was overcast with fear. You hated it. 

He met your eyes once, as he stormed into the infirmary. Like he had to make sure you were alright for himself. He gave you a once over and before you could mutter any approximation of an apology, he walked right out. 

It hurt more than it should have. More than you were capable of handling, and it made you foolhardy. 

In hindsight, you realize, you should have taken the time to disassemble the consequences of your almost folly and approached him with genuine regret rather than—

“Challenge me then, captain.”

Famous last words. 

Maybe it’s not too late to—

“‘M sorry, John.” You offer in a strangled whisper as his and travels to grasp your throat from the front, fingers digging into your pulse. 

“What was that?” He grunts in response. 

He heard you. You know he did. 

Nevertheless—

“I’m sorry, John.” You echo. “Please, forgive me.”

The apology leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as it escapes you because there’s more to it than that. There are words neither of you would dare say out loud because what you have remained unspoken. It’s understood, despite your efforts. But to say it—

I’m sorry you almost lost me, John.

“Never again, hmm?” It’s back in his voice, the desperation. This time, it’s a bit of both.

Yes, captain. 

You needn’t acknowledge it. He knows. And he shows it. 

He shows it in the way he fucks you. 

When he tightens his grasp around your throat just for a passing moment before letting go. It’s in that instant when his pent-up anger and fear, all his abrasiveness washes away like pebbles at a shore. What remains in its stead is relief. 

You’re flipped over to your back — finally, you think. You’re being met halfway here, he’s accepting your apology and letting you witness him in this moment of weakness and despair. When your eyes meet his, you’re submerged in an Aegean storm that threatens to pull you overboard. 

You let it. 

You’ve half out of your mind from the liberation from your punishment to be able to finally savour this with him. 

It’s his lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth. Sloppy and reverent. He tastes of the earth and of you, intermingled with the salt from the tears that you hadn’t realized had spilled. 

His hands cradled the crown of your head while he nestled himself between your legs, cock positioned right at the entrance of your cunt. 

He’s waiting—

“Please, John.” You beg, against the cusp of his lips, and with a resounding grunt he obliges. 

He fucks you deep and slow. Not allowing you to adjust to his girth of him, he buries himself in you to the hilt and remains. 

Positioning your hips so you can take him deeper, he shushes your whimpers of being just too full. “Take me so well, love. Fuckin’ made for me, weren’t ya?”

Yes, you were. 

And you almost weren’t. 

“Shit— John, I—” You can’t find the words, but he can feel you clench around him and his pace grows steadier, the head of his cock hitting that spot deep within you over and over and the overwhelming pleasure of it shrouds over you like a canopy. 

His head drops to the nape of your shoulder, teeth grazing across your pulse as his lips latch around it while grinds his hips against yours. 

“That’s it, fuckin’ come on my cock, dove. Come for me an’ I’ll—” You’re caught in rapture — cunt squeezing him in a vice and he pounds you mercilessly now.

“Keep fuckin’ comin’.” His rasps out, his thrusts now quicker and uneven. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t— I’m gonna—”

You milk him for every drop. 

He stays within you till he’s soft. And when he finally pulls away it’s a laboured task, like he’s not ready to be apart. 

Neither are you, but—

“Keep me in there, yeah?” An order. A plea. 

Yes, captain.  

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 7: INCUBUS

maul x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.0k words

summary: a strange creature visits your dreams, promising to satiate a yearning body he heard call to him across the force.

cw: f!reader, incubus! — somnophilia and dub-con by default, p in v sex, size kink, rough sex, choking, use of pet name ‘dove’. not my finest work, but i wanted to play around.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 8: ROLEPLAY ⇾

Karlini silk pools around your body, the thin veil of fabric clinging to your sweat-damp skin. The sensation is what draws your attention from the black chasm of slumber, but the discomfort isn’t enough to wake you. Instead, you lay suspended between absolute unconsciousness and an obscure dream. Brows furrowed, lips parted, you try to focus on the blurred vision at the edge of your cognisance.

The pleasant weightlessness of sleep shifts when you sense the delicate brush of something sharp across the curve of your bare shoulder. It’s not painful– isn’t cold like a blade, but it raises goosebumps across your skin. Still, your presence of mind fails to drag you from your slumber, even when you feel a warm breath fan across your cheekbone.

“I hear your yearning,” a purring voice whispers in your ear, almost goading in its tone. Like urging you to succumb to its alluring timbre. Almost tentatively, a weight begins to settle across your torso, sinking you deeper into the mattress and further into your slumber. “Your fervour. So potent, I could hear it even through the shroud of the force.”

Rumbling sounds of empathy twist slightly, the spectre relishing in your subconscious suffering. As though it had manifested the longing inside you, desire pools between your thighs, desperate for the attention of this apparition. 

Heavy hips settle against your own, spreading your thighs open just beyond their flexibility, the delicious strain evidence of the sheer size of the presence. Blunt flesh slips itself between the lips of your cunt, nudging your feverish clit. 

A gasp tumbles from your lips, and you see. Through the fuzzy darkness, you see the vague vision of sly, scarlet lips exposing force-mottled teeth. 

“I taste it. How receptive you are to my touch,” the hum of the creature's voice skitters down your spine, pooling heavy between your thighs as it begins to roll its hips forwards. A heaving gasp tumbles from your lungs, knuckles bleached with the strength you grasp onto the silk beneath you. Thick and heavy, the throbbing intrusion threatens to pull you from your dreams as your walls strain against the unyielding push of his pelvis. 

Slick leaks from your cunt, drooling down the inside of your thighs to match the wetness of the tears of bliss that weep down the apples of your cheeks. You hear the spectre chuckle to itself, relishing in your body’s bewilderment. Pain or pleasure? Fear or bliss?

“Is it not manifest?” The smooth, raspy tone settles beside the shell of your ear, a feather-light dance of hot breath fanning across your skin, “I am extending charity to you; a poor, neglected dove.” 

The stretch of your slick pussy walls still feels too distant to be real, veiled with a dream-like fogginess that would clear upon waking. Yet–... Your eyelids still felt so heavy, and the gentle push of a velvety head into something blissful inside of you felt so tangible.

“The least you could do–” a heavy drag of his tongue against your throat causes your back to arch from the bed, sighing blissfully as the apparition tasted at your salty skin. It pauses against your pulse, and the creature's lips peel apart in a smirk with his enamel resting over your jugular,  “--is offer yourself in libation.”

The sudden arc of the creature’s hips, pushing the rest of his length into your tight cunt with a sharp thrust rocks you from the dream-world you’d found yourself suspended in. Something akin to a shriek of shock and a wail of bliss dies in your throat when the Zabrak slips his tongue inside of your mouth. You coat his taste buds, sweet and heady – he’d been pleasuring you long before you noticed the creature’s presence. 

The fiery red of the Zabrak’s skin blurs in your tear-laden vision, using the weight of his vast body to pin you into the mattress and fuck into you. Untethered by your consciousness, a brutality unleashes itself from the Dathomirian. Sinking his teeth into your neck, he thrusts deep inside of your clenching cunt, groaning loudly at the slick sounds of protest when he stuffs deep inside you over and over again. 

A strong, thick palm winds itself around your throat, index finger and thumb settling either side in the hollow of your flesh below either earlobe. The webbed, blackened apex of his purlicue settles against your windpipe, and the Zabraki seems to take great pleasure in applying slow, crushing pressure until your breath catches and your brain fizzes. Topaz eyes inlaid with ruby spark with glee to see you struggle, your toes curling in the sheets and hips rising to meet his own. 

“Ah, that’s it,” the creature laughs, heady and rumbling between your ears as your nails bite into the bi-colour flesh of his shoulder. You’re unsure if the warm, sticky wetness you feel beneath your fingers is blood or perspiration. “You feel it, don’t you?”

The shuddering of your body and slackness of your jaw tells the creature what your voice cannot. It’s arcing, flaring white hot like the shimmering edge of a lightsaber blade inside your pelvis. A delightful threat. 

“Come then,” he muses, thrilled with your struggle as you try so desperately to touch the oblivion he’s offering, the complete obliteration. It ebbs at the edges of your being, threatens to swallow you as he stuffs himself deep inside of your abused cunt. “Take it.”

A shudder, a snap. Something falls, then slots into place. A cool breeze seeps into the bedroom from the open window, net curtains drifting slightly as the moonlight leaks across the sweat soaked bed sheets and cools your searing hot skin. 

Deep breaths struggle to ease your heaving chest, eyes frantic as they search around the room for the crimson creature that had buried himself inside of you. The room is unstirring, untouched, and utterly silent. If not for the gnawing twinge at the base of your throat and the thick, seeping seed weeping from between your thighs, you could almost persuade yourself he hadn’t existed at all– an odd vision dancing across the force. 

Part of you didn’t want to.

star wars/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @saradika @mylifeisactuallyamess

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh @km-ffluv @decaffeinateddinosauronearth @domaniquessidehoe2 @arrozyfrijoles23 @amisouki @sleepysheepsstuff @chunguk @lundenloves @marylovesdilfs @ninahhh-brahh @namelesshumanperson @limegreenbabx @doggydale @wiltedwonderland @justsayk

[waddleonmywaywardducks]

HEKATE MASTER POST

(This is one big info post on Hekate, all sources are linked (hekates name) as well as upg post. I will mark which one is which dw. More will be added to the upg and info list and if you have any other suggestions on what I can put there feel free to dm me)

I started to worship Hekate immediately once I moved out of my mother house. I wasn't really allowed to practice at her house so with me finally being free I wanted to get all into it, Hekate showed me where to go. I've been under hekates wing for about a year now and I've learned so much from her and she's opened so many doors! I really hope this post does the same for future Hekate worshippers!!

WHO IS HEKATE?

Hekate is a goddess of Greek mythology. She is the goddess of witchcraft, necromancy, liminal spaces, doorways, crossroads, good and evil. She is associated with the moon, liminal spaces, crossroads, keys, doorways, creatures of the night, dogs, bloodhounds, the night, darkness.

She is the daughter of Perses and Asteria, making her the granddaughter of the Titans Phoebe and Coeus. Euripides, on the other hand, mentions her mother is Leto. Other writers claim her as the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, Aristaion or Night. The goddess was frequently associated with Demeter and even assimilated to her in some cults. It is known that Zeus favored Hekate and gifted her land, sea, and sky, making her the goddess of boundaries.

HEKATES ROLE

Hekate became a household and protective goddess in the 5th century BC. She had cults closely tied to Persephone and Demeter. Rituals done for specificly her were the supper of Hekate: offerings given at crossroads as a sort of libation. The offerer would give offerings of illuminated cakes, meat, sacrifices of puppies, garlic, eggs, water, and frankincense. After the offering was given the offerer will walk away from the crossroads and not look back, as it was said if you looked back spirits would follow you home.

As a house hold goddess, she was given shrines or altars in doorways, it was said that this kept unwanted guest and spirits away. She was also given altars near the hearth of the home as protection.

UPG

Hekate shows herself as a tall hooded figure with chains around her body. She takes her work very seriously and expects her followers to as well.

Some workings that she's helped me with are:

- road opener spells

- spell workings in general

- baneful wards

- lunar magic

Some offerings that I like to give:

- black things (nail polish, necklaces)

- eggs

- wine

- olive oil

- frankincense

- water

UPG/INFO POSTS

- Hekate fact list (info post)

- subtle offerings to Hekate (UPG post)

-hekate reading list (info post)

- Hekate info post (info post)

- grounding with Hekate (UPG post??)

[innerchorus]

Gurgin Backstory Drabble #1

Gurgin creates life for the first time.

The shemul* drew its first breath, and Gurgin’s heart leapt. 

It was wet with blood, fur plastered to its body; clay made flesh. That same blood still dripped from his fingertips, yet in that moment he forgot about the taste of it in his mouth. The lower pair of eyes opened first, glowing yellow, before the lids of the upper set peeled back to reveal red orbs. Its ribs moved like a bellows. His hand hovered above its head. 

Sensing him, its muzzle wobbled questingly towards his outstretched palm until contact was made.

“Good,” said Gurgin’s Master. “Now kill it.”

* shemul = four-eyed dog, one of Zahhak's creatures

This is set not long after Gurgin joins Team Zahhak, so I guess he'd be around 17 or 18. This is technically generic backstory but it feels especially relevant to Sacrifice AU (which is at least in part about putting Gurgin back in the same position and him saying 'actually no I won't do it' 👀). If I do ever write that AU then you can expect an expanded flashback where you'll see Gurgin become increasingly dispassionate about such tasks. And while I don't think he enjoys killing his own creations, it's clear that he does grow to relish bloodshed under other circumstances and will even come to enjoy the taste of blood.

The process of creating creatures such as the four-eyed dogs is at least 90% headcanon as we're never told how it happens in the novels. I think of it as involving a Team Zahhak-style libation, and naturally, it requires blood.

[talonabraxas]

Mother inexhaustible and incorruptible,Creatures, born the first, engendered by thyself and by thyself conceived,Issue of thyself alone and seeking joy within thyself, Astarte! Oh!Perpetually fertilized, virgin and nurse of all that is,Chaste and lascivious, pure and revelling, ineffable, nocturnal, sweet,Breather of fire, foam of the sea!Thou who accordest grace in secret,Thou who unitest,Thou who lovest,Thou who seizest with furious desire the multiplied races of savage beastsAnd couplest the sexes in the wood.Oh, irresistible Astarte!Hear me, take me, possess me, oh, Moon!And thirteen times each year draw from my womb the sweet libation of my blood!In modern NeoPaganism, Astarte has been included in a Wiccan chant that is used to raise energy, calling upon “Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.” Astarte midjourneyart/P.S Talon Abraxas

[sovaghoul]

Definition

This is a basic outline of my personal guidelines for what constitutes a Wiccan path/system. Others’ definitions certainly vary, and these criteria do not necessarily apply to non-Wiccan Pagans/Witches/other Occultists. Most of the concepts addressed here will be investigated more in depth with future posts.

🕯🌒🌕🌘🕯

🔮 Section A: Belief. It is my assertion that belief, first and foremost, makes the Wiccan. What one does is important to discerning Tradition (or absence thereof), but is secondary to the broader collective of Wiccan religious paths.

Reverence of Goddess AND God, together and equally. Wiccan worship and practice focus on a God and a Goddess, seeing them as manifestations of masculine and feminine divinity (among other equal, opposite, and complimentary pairs of forces and concepts. They are but one type of symbolic division).

Belief that the Gods can be directly contacted, whether through channeling, meditation, or other means. Also, It’s important to realize that one doesn’t need an intermediary, but will sometimes need a teacher or guide for the contact to be safe and successful.

Having a reciprocal relationship with the Gods. We give to Them, so They may give to us.

Belief in the effectiveness of Magick. Having confidence that your rituals and spells will work as they should is just as important as performing those works.

🕯🌒🌕🌘🕯

🔮 Section B: Practice. While I put belief first in my own determinations, there are certain applications of those beliefs that I see as essential to practicing Wicca.

God forms/names are European in origin, exceptions to this being Egypt and the Middle East. This is because I see Wicca as the continuation/revival of Pre-Christian Native European Shamanism, and contact with Egypt and Arabia (Mesopotamia, Babylon, Sumer, etc.) is well-established throughout history, and there is much cross-cultural influence between these groups. Also, there are mythological themes these regions have in common, that are not as present in, say, Asia and other parts of Africa. Additionally, many other Indigenous cultures and beliefs around the world are closed systems.

Celebrating the Sabbats with an understanding of their symbolism and story. There are eight Sabbats, or holidays, in the Wiccan calendar, also sometimes referred to as the Wheel of the Year. The dates given below are those traditionally observed in the Northern Hemisphere.

Casting a Circle wherein the ritual will be held. The Circle denotes sacred space for sacred acts, and is consecrated to the Gods.

General ritual format includes calling the Quarters, invoking and contacting the Gods, a section for the ritual purpose (celebrate the Sabbat or Esbat, work Magick, etc.), Cakes and Wine (including a libation to the Gods), and then banishing the Quarters at closing.

The Wiccan Rede and the Threefold Law are given some measure of importance. These ethical codes should not only advise on Magickal acts, but on the mundane actions of a Wiccan as well.

Sabbats:

🎃 Samhain – Oct. 31

🎄 Yule – on or about Dec. 21

🕯 Imbolc – Feb. 2

🥚 Eostar – on or about Mar. 21

❤ Beltane – May 1

☀️ Midsummer – on or about Jun. 21

🌾 Lammas – Aug. 1

🍁 Fall Equinox – on or about Sep. 21

🕯🌒🌕🌘🕯

🔮 Section C: Characteristics. These are descriptors, qualities that I feel are essential to the full knowledge and experience of Wicca.

Wicca is a fertility religion. Wiccans rejoice in and celebrate fertility in all its forms, sexual and otherwise (new growth, ideas, ventures, etc.).

Wicca is a nature religion. All of nature is seen as sacred and integral and interrelated. Humans are a part of nature, as are the Gods and the processes of Magick.

Wicca is an agricultural system. The Sabbats are aligned to the planting and harvest seasons, symbolically if not literally.

Wicca is a cyclical system. All the cycles of nature and the world are revered, including those of the Sun, Moon, Earth, planets/stars, seasons, and the life of all creatures, human and otherwise.

Wicca is a religion of balance. Just as life is a fact of existence, so is death. Just as Summer comes each year, so does Winter. Day and night, light and dark, each coin has a flip side, and all sides are important to Wiccan belief and practice.

Wicca is non-dualistic. Since each pairing listed above comes together to make something greater than the sum of its parts, the true nature of the reverence is for the whole, not simply the pieces. Wicca doesn’t view things as “either/or,” but “both/and.”

Wicca is a shamanic religion. A shaman is one who forms a personal relationship with the Gods and Spirits for the betterment of their tribe/family/people/etc., and has the ability to then travel the astral and communicate with the Gods and Spirits through various means, and also to provide healing. These goals are shared by Wicca, the skills to communicate, travel, and heal greatly encouraged and fostered by its teachings. Also integral to a shamanic system is the death-and-rebirth cycle, as shamanic initiations in tribal societies (which usually occur on the astral and are performed by Gods or Spirits) are said to involve being killed (often violently) and then reborn into a new knowledge and understanding. This symbolism is used in some Traditional Initiation ceremonies, but can be seen in all of Wicca in the God’s story as He traverses the Wheel of the Year.

Wicca is a priesthood. There are no lay people; even in ritual, it is important that everyone participate by lending their energy and intent to the rite at hand, even if the Priest/ess is the only one performing a physical action. Every Wiccan has the capacity to be a Priest/ess, and needs no intermediary between them and the Gods.

Wicca is an experiential religion. A lot of the theory and how-to and basic knowledge can be learned from books/websites, but to truly understand the fullness of the religion, one must actually practice it. There are also some aspects that simply cannot be learned or understood without actually going through them.

Wicca is a mystery religion. Those aspects that must be experienced are what I call the Greater Mysteries. The ways to achieve those Divine experiences are called the Lesser Mysteries. The Greater Mysteries are for all willing to seek them, the Lesser Mysteries are only Mysteries until one learns to properly perform and make use of them. In the case of Initiatory Oathbound Traditions, they are Mysteries to the uninitiated. In other words, the knowledge and experience you gain are Greater Mysteries, and the rituals and other acts that lead you to them are the Lesser Mysteries.

Next post: Categories

[todderwodders]

Hello! I see so many bits about your Durge and they're so juicy. Changling? PARENT? Can you tell us more about them and their relationships to the other chosen and Orin?

Omg hiiiiiiiii

So. This durge was born from an idea that the Dark Urge could be anyone, would be anyone, and is inherently a faceless entity with no name nor creed beyond death. They are an interrogation of gender, intimacy, and what it looks like to be a child of a god who can peek into your brain at any given time. There’s a darkness inside of you that’s inside of me.

If you enjoy this very long breakdown, check out Libations, which will be updated soon!

Let’s start from the beginning, one more time.

I will clarify some things before hoping into lore: I use he/they in meta because the urge uses he/they pronouns personally, but they almost universally allow other people to assume their pronouns/refers to himself as ‘this one’ or ‘this child’. He appears, largely, as a tiefling male, an ambiguously gendered elven adolescent, and a human woman. All of them are pale, all of them black eyed, all of them closely tied to the urge’s identity. The Urge is roughly in his mid 40s by the time of bg3’s events.

The Urge, was not born, The Urge was planted, seeded in the flesh of a newly sculpted infant and made to bloom under the conditions of puberty and awareness and crushing expectation. The Urge was gifted, in the mysterious ways of gods, to a family of doctors within the Lower City, and raised as one of several adopted children. They were well educated. They were loved. They knew nothing of hunger but everything of the human body and it’s inner workings, and the way to breath through the decay and clinging stench of bloating corpses in the summer, when not even their false father’s cellar could delay rot for long. Even in youth, their genius and calm understanding of the raw, sinew stringy facts of life impressed and inspired their foster parents.

Their entire childhood and young adulthood was virtually a carefully constructed test to measure this ideal by Bhaal himself - or so he claims. This is an aspect of Dead Three lore I really want to play with - the gods are former men, and even if they weren’t, like many living creatures they are stupid and cruel and thoughtless. They just have enough power to make people think otherwise. Bhaal robs The Urge of their innocence in all things, slowly, and has convinced then he is all powerful in doing so.

Killing is easy. It’s hurting that’s hard. They come into their menstruation and their skin splits in ways yet unknown to them, spikes and open mouths. Something bloody slips from their body - they do not recognize it as a living thing until they find bloody foot prints where it fell. They are reminded viscerally of calves or colts or other animal things - which means they are that animal things mother, away backed filly bred too soon. The Urge culls their false family and makes it look like an accident later. Everyone thinks werewolf or beast, not child. They scrub the walls clean themselves. They find a new tutor for their medical training, and they carry on, and live next to the shadow of their new self.

The Urge was summoned for his true purpose years later, when they were more adult than child. They put down his old life’s name and the body and face that went along with it, and embraced The Urge. Primal, refined, savage and clinically precise - a knife in the dark and the hand that wields it.

The twist is is that The Urge is still mortal and still a person because he exists within the context and confines of a mortal world - he prefers his fluid body and murderous faces, but is a man at heart, he bathes in ritual blood and lives in dark places but still retains encyclopedic knowledge of rose care from his adoptive mother and cultivates them in Gortash’s garden, etc. a killer that has lived the good parts of life, and understands the world in a much wider capacity, for good or ill, than most people. Life clings. Life informs.

The Urge was created to be in direct opposition to sarevok and his brood - a kind of built in drama for Bhaal to follow as his own progeny makes their way about the world. He and Sarevok hate each other, and do not see eye to eye on almost anything beyond the service of their mutual lord. The cult is split into two unspoken factions in this regard - a conflict that is repressed so thoroughly that no outsider has any real concept of it’s going on beyond some guesses by astute associates.

The urge is a ranger-rogue, classes that greatly affect their leadership and religious theory as it pertains to the running and organization of the Bhaalist cult. He wants to make them ‘true hunters, not scavengers in the bleak midwinter hoping to nip at the weakest heel available’. Implying scavenging, implying wasteful, implying breeding into oblivion when the circle of blood and prestige eventually becomes too rotten to expand on itself.

A huge snub to Sarevok, who understands exactly what The Urge drives at with their schemes. For someone who is virtually a demigod, The Urge goes out of their way to cultivate a ‘pack’ mentality and ensure the basics of running and organizing of a group of people - the Bhaalists who adhere to his way of thinking are, and I mean this with caveats so long they look like terms and conditions page, good to each other, but everyone else is liable to become prey. They are family, they feed each other and kill for each other. They are soooo good at cult retention rates, it makes Sarevok look stupid.

Which is the point. It’s really hard for sarevok to control this very strong willed, well educated, emotionally unstable individual with very little compunctions about blatantly but slowly edging him out of power. The only one with any real power over The Urge is Bhaal. The urge is terrified of their father even as they act as dutiful son and priest, but does his bidding to the letter.

They have very lofty ways of speaking and very needle meets thread ways of going about things to get what they want. They twist pre existing doctrine to their liking, they grab at whatever they need and do not let go. I personally with the inbetweens of human experience, the middle ways, if you will, and I really wanted to make a Dark Utgr that walks in a strange veil of emotional ambiguity, rather than binary morality, even before the lobotomy. No one can truly understand all of them because he’s just the demigod they cling to, not a real person, and that’s how they want to keep it, that’s how they keep their power over others.

I think consciously, they became aware that escape is impossible very early on, and Bhaal’s influence will never slacken, but there’s always a little bit of rebellion brewing at the back of their mind anyhow. The clever child changes shape until they can slip their hands through the bars and feel the sweet breeze of the world they used to know. Bhaal is always willing to remind him who he is and what he is. Not because they don’t like killing, murder is a genuine pleasure and an easy, modern solution to their myriad of modern problems, they just don’t like being told what to do and they certainly would not be a cult leader in the sewer if they had the choice.

As an example, part of their obsession with taxidermy and autopsy is born out of a genuine fixation with medicine and the humanoid body. They have truly ground breaking notes and papers that could only be achieved through inhumane torture and misery that they guard jealously.

They were born, primarily, to propagate Bhaalspawn, with fate killing off all but the one that was conceived in … dubious circumstances. Which is how a changeling, against the laws of nature and the gods, gave birth to a Dragonborn with a red throat. There are children after that, but within five years of his son’s birth, they meet gortash, are elevated to chosen, and are gifted a new purpose. A sexual magnet. Bhaal Laura Palmer’d them so hard, another click in their choke chain collar. Now they’re just a dark venus in a dark sky.

Orin used to worship them like a mother-father and the urge used to dawn over her until she saw them break down and be human, just for an instant, at which point the hate was fucking real and solid from then on. The Urge - and this is a running theme here - thinks Orin wastes herself on a god who will never love her back. She’s brilliant but dumb, too desperate for approval when she could be making ‘real art’. They also think of Gortash in the same manner, and encouraged him to try to break from Bane at least once, which … wasn’t happening, and by then The Urgr was too obsessed with their friendship to really push it. In their eyes, it’s those such as himself that is designated by fate to kill and cull, and those who are blessed by the gods to create. These two idiots could be artists and inventors and instead they’re playing hopelessly devote child right next to him. It’s almost embarrassing. He’s also too selfish to ever make them turn from him in any way that matters.

And on the topic of Gortash … they are not normal about each other. They’re … ‘friends’ of 15 years and equals and they fuck routinely (‘be my seal wife for tonight, I’ll hang my skin at the door’) and plot to take over the world together but neither can truly possess the other while the other is shackled to his god so they just sit and commit tax fraud together, at the end of the day. Any explosive mutual destruction shit is long past. It is both hilarious and deeply fascinating for me for these two to have done some truly insane shit trying to cling to the other and it’s driven them so insane that they’re now like ohhhhh Enver dear if you must wed the patriar’s daughter I want to watch you fuck her on the wedding night. As your friend. And Gortash is just like sure man okay. Can do. Arguing over Gortash getting new drapes even though the urge doesn’t even live in his house. They aren’t for each other to keep in any substantial way and that’s fine, it’s life, moving on.

Unfortunately he and Kethric hate each other. They think the other is a terrible parent when ladies, you’re both awful in different, delicately flavored ways.

Also he loves pink.

[dollmonger]

GAH! The woes of being a bloodsucker extraordinaireeee!!!!!! ‧˚₊*̥✧ I was enjoying a refreshing libation of the crimson kind ‧˚₊*̥✧ …..when suddenly, my fangs hit something chewy, and MY GOD...that taste was beyond VILE! My undead heart was full of FURY. What kind of insolent creature dared to ruin my delightful blood imbibing experience!!!!!!! I should hunt them down and have my vengeance... But first, let me spit out that atrocity that dared ruin my beverage… YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED. YUCKKKY!!!!! ☆*:.｡.(* ⁰ ཀ ⁰*)╯🔪

[lunar-pantheon]

you totally ghosted posideon and then drew his cartoon penis for us all to see u gotta message him back b4 its too late and he calls down a swarm of priahnas or something

HE UNSENT EVERYTHING SO I CANT ill burn an offering and pour libation for him so he knows it was a gentle turn down, im just not down for giving birth to new creatures beyond human comprehension

[4res]

30 days of Them, Part 2 🕊️🤍

The following series of prompts are absolutely free to answer, if you choose. All I ask is that you use these prompts to delve deeper into Them. 30 Days of Them Part 1. Almost 2 years later..

A long time ago, you had a feeling They were waiting for you to speak with Them. How did you know?

A creature comes towards you, sent from your God. What does that creature look like?

Vividly describe what element you feel They rule over, and why.

Tragedy strikes - or at least, it tries to. Do you believe They will protect you?

If Heaven was curated by Their touch, what does Their own Heaven look like to you?

How do you feel the ancient ones knew when your God was near?

Starving, you sit down to a meal with your God. What do They serve you? What do the plates look like? What does it taste like?

Uncertain of how to go forward, you whisper to your God that you feel lost. How do They remind you of the Way Home inside?

Do you know God as a sister, brother, lover, mother, something else? How does your Heart connect with Them?

How do you feel the events in your life have shaped your faith in Them?

Your Heart throbs with the sudden desire to create. What do you do, paint, fuck, write.. something different?

Above all else, we do not fully ever know. What is something you feel you may be ignorant about when it comes to your God?

Describe that secret internal work you are doing with your God. But just a hint.

What is something your God has drastically changed your perspective on?

Your God comes to you in the night, and asks you to do something far beyond the confines of your comfort zone. Do you do it?

If you could write a modern mythos about Them, what story would you tell to paint the picture of who They truly are?

What is it you do that never fails to draw you closer to Them?

Perceive your God with just your Smell, then just your Taste. What about Sight? Touch? How does each sense differently perceive?

Your God has close family, maybe even brothers or sisters in the Divine. Do you have any connection with those They are close to?

Do you believe it is possible to find peace in your God?

How does God take up space in your Home? How much space in your Home is Theirs?

Curate a special libation for your God from your own personal mixture of vinegars, wines, spices - whatever you choose. What do you make for Them? Why?

Your God has asked that you contrive a special holiday to Them, just for Them and You. Imagine this day, just devoted to Them. What do you do that day? What do you abstain from that day? When is the day?

Describe the sound of your God's voice, without using instruments.

What is something destructive that your God wrestles with you about, asking you to stop?

Describe a depth of Them that would frighten you to experience unbridled.

Are you afraid to let go into Them? Would you leave it all behind?

Imagine that time rewinds and you find yourself a disciple of their ancient following. How do you start and end your day at Their temple?

Perhaps They are deeply misunderstood and misrepresented by Their mythos. How would you describe Their most difficult mythos? Why did They do it?

At last, our time comes to a gentle end. You have just enough time to speak your final words, and you decide it will be to your God. What is the last thing out of your mouth?

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Music For the Soul by Alexander MacLaren

Worship God

"Give unto the Lord the glory due unto His Name: bring an offering, and come before Him: worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness." – 1 Chronicles 16:29

Ask yourselves, not whom do you worship before the eyes of men, but who is the God that in your inmost heart you bow down before? What do you do in the dark? That is the question. Whom do you worship there? The other thing is not worship at all.

And do not forget that all such diversion of supreme love and dependence from God alone is like the sin of the men in Ezekiel’s vision (Ezek. 8), that it is sacrilege. They had taken a chamber in the very Temple, and turned that into a temple of the false gods. Who is your heart made to shrine? Why! every stone, if I may so say, of the fabric of our being bears marked upon it that it was laid in order to make a dwelling-place for God. Who are you meant to worship, by the witness of the very constitution of your nature and make of your spirits? Is there anybody but One that is worthy to get the priceless gift of human love absolute and entire? Is there any but One to whom it is aught but degradation and blasphemy for a man to bow down? Is there any being but One that can still the tumult of my spirit, and that can satisfy the immortal yearnings of my soul? We were made for God; and whensoever we turn the hopes, the desires, the affections, the obedience, and that which is the root of them all, the confidence that ought to fix and fasten upon Him, to other creatures, we are guilty, not only of idolatry, but of sacrilege. We commit the sin of which that wild reveler in Babylon was guilty, when, at his great feast, in the very madness of his presumption, he bade them to bring forth the sacred vessels from the Temple at Jerusalem: "And the king and his princes and his concubine drank in them, and praised the gods." So we take the sacred chalice of the human heart, on which there is marked the sign-manual of heaven, claiming it for God’s, and fill it with the spiced and drugged draught of our own sensualities and evils, and pour out a libation to vain and false gods. Render unto Him that which is His; and see, even upon the walls, scrabbled all over with the deformities that we have painted there, lingering traces, like those cf some dropping fresco in a roofless Italian church, which suggest the serene and perfect beauty of the image of the One whose likeness was originally traced there, and for whose worship it was all built.

The imitation of the object of worship has always been felt to be the highest form of worship. Many an ancient teacher, beside the Stoic philosopher, has said, " He who copies the gods worships them adequately."

[heirsofdiscord]

Cookie Clickers

FFXIVwrite prompt #9: Fair | 3532 words A community gathering to celebrate and exhibit local achievements. It's late but like this was supposed to be written a year ago anyway so it's already late. Feat @windup-dragoon's Kirishimi, @ancientechos' Arianna & Saanvi, @whitherliliesbloom's Illya

All Saints’ Wake was the time when the Twelve invited the saints of old for a feast in their honor leaving Eorzea unprotected from things that crawled in the night. In older ─ and, by Moth’ir’s estimations, perhaps more reasonable ─ times that meant staying inside and locking your door. That’s exactly how Moth’ir would like to spend this time but there had been some nonsense about adventurers staying vigil, emboldening common folk and blah blah blah, a holiday was born. Folks would dress up in their best creature feature and gather to them treats; sweet meats for the kiddies and libation for the adults. The problem was, Moth’ir’s part of Ul’dah wasn’t particularly safe for children to be running around and less so when there were adults going around being just as stupid.

Duty bound to hold some sort of event anyway, Moth’ir had organized a local fair. He encouraged a lot of other local businesses to open or hold stalls where adults could peruse their wares and children hunt for goodies. Then it had simply grown from there. It was a very grand affair that took months in the planning and Moth’ir was quite frankly glad to be rid of the responsibility. Bukidai, Moth’ir’s successor in his business and all things it entailed, lacked the ability to plan one-hundred steps ahead of everyone else like Moth’ir but had a special ability that Moth’ir didn’t: the ability to trust others enough to let them help. It had worked rather well but this particular day had left him short handed as his employees asked for the day off and he didn’t have enough volunteers to cover. He was lamenting about it to Moth’ir when the man offered to give him. Bukidai nearly cried over linkpearl.

It was Thancred that might have let it slip to the Warriors of Light where they were going. That was how the Dapper Than tavern became host to the crew of them early in the morning. The group of star adventurers couldn’t not help, after all. That would go against their very nature.

“Alright ladies and Ascians,” Moth’ir addressed the room after jumping the counter with ease bespeaking the fact he’d worked and lived here for the better part of a decade and then some. “And Alphinaud,” Moth’ir added as the young man was raising his hand to pipe in that he was also there, neither lady nor Ascian. He grinned at him and winked over the rim of his orange shades before continuing on. “We’re on treat duty. We got folks who wanna participate but don’t have the means so it’s our job to make a bunch of fine looking baskets and hand them out. Alisaie and Urianger have volunteered to be our initial runners and are taking numbers now but we’ll probably all need to run out to make sure everyone is supplied.”

“How many baskets do you usually make?” Illya asked, raising her hand like a good student. It was cute.

Moth’ir laughed like she said the funniest thing in the whole world and said “,we bake until we die! I usually have baskets themselves premade but it’s day two of a three day event. Baskets from yesterday get squashed or lost so we’ll need to arrange new ones. Any surplus of treats gets donated so don’t worry about waste either.”

Regarding Illya specifically “,counting on you to tag me out for a bit later because I have a date with a pretty young thing and her old man.”

Back in the old days of Moth’ir’s reign of this establishment and it’s many programs above and below board, lending control over to anyone was unheard of. He was just a wee bit of a control freak and trusted no one. Times had changed though. He pointed to Thancred and the half-miqo’te girl in his arms that was busy taking in the sights of the unfamiliar new place. Moth Karga the II had Thancred’s hair an eye from both her parents; Thancred’s hazel and Moth’ir’s pale yellow. Complete with pupils to match her mixed Hyurian and Keeper of the Moon lineage. Likely due to Moth’ir’s superstition, the girl wasn’t dressed up as some supernal creature but a frilly dress made with simple black and shiny orange. Likely handmade. Moth’ir could keep a step behind the Warriors of Light when it came to combat but when it came to crafting, he made sure to give them a run for their money. None so more than Illya Skawi who took particular pride in her crafts and cooking. Just don’t eat her spicy soup. There was no one Moth’ir could trust more to take over save Bukidai himself. Though, by the near frantic manner he’d greeted them when he let them into the building, he was going to be otherwise preoccupied.

“For now, focus on making sure the cookies are cooled enough to be basketed so they’re not misshapen. That’s half iced, half not. I trust you and Alphie got that covered.” Moth’ir continued his instructions and both the young things nodded affirmatively.

“You two,” He pointed to Illya's dearest friend and the skittish dark haired woman beside her who was looking quite a bit like she might regret having come “,I want you start arranging the baskets. The folks that want them are trying to help so I need you two to make them look like something they can feel proud of instead of feeling pitied.”

That was technically the other reason why they would make the cookies fresh today. They could have made a whole stock ages ago but when some folks were well off enough to make freshly baked goods that day or buy them that way, a stale cookie really stood out. Nobody wanted to be the house or the stall that had the sad treats while children rushed others. It also cut down high traffic caused by that sort of situation. There was no real reason not to put the effort in save maybe the time, effort and cost but Moth'ir had never been one to half ass things. He knew Bukidai understood that too.

“Be a bit sparing with the organic bits though. We got gourds for days but the bits of twig and leaf are sparse. We are in Thanalan after all and nobody wants scraggly desert brush or a cactus in their pot of goodies.” They could pull it off if they really tried but Moth'ir would rather it not come to that though. “Think you have enough botanical knowledge and prettifying sense between the two of you to pull it off.”

“And the last of you,” Moth'ir turned his hard gaze at the out of place duo that served as the other halves of the two girls he'd just dictated two. The preeminent Helmet Sick and Elidibliss or whatever the hell they'd called themselves. “Frankly don't care whatcha do so long as it's helping and you're not under foot. And you, Emet..”

Moth'ir tossed something at the taller man with his auburn hair with the grey streak in it. Emet-Selch pulled himself away but the package still managed to hit him and flop on the floor. The Ascian regarded it like a snake or something of that caliber might break from the twine and brown paper at any moment. Moth'ir would never do that to an animal though. Emet-Selch inquired, not one to hide the derision from his voice “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“If you're gonna be here it's gonna be in a silly little outfit like the rest of us,” Moth'ir stated. Pulling the loops of the orange bowtie that was adorned with a little pumpkin on it for emphasis. Though it was a sad showing considering he was dressed more or less as normally as any waiter save for that detail. His jacket was even the typical pink. He had different standards for Emet-Selch though and those standards were that if he was going to make Thancred look at him he wasn’t allowed to try and look dignified. He was still a fallen enemy of the Scions after all. “For Morale.”

Even Elidibus had a pair of wolf ears plopped on the top of his head to match Saanvi and her cloaked dress. Something about the story with the hooded girl and the wolf.

“And if I don’t dress in whatever it is you’ve pulled from who knows where…?” Emet-Selch ventured to ask.

Moth’ir leaned toward him looking at him over the rim of his glasses with the most dire look on his face he said: “Then I bring all the pain of the frozen hells of Menphina down on you for the rest of the month.”

Emet-Selch would have rebutted him but he caught the alarmed looks of those who were better acquainted with the weird little man than he was. There was a tug on his sleeve and he looked down to see his beloved Arianna shaking her head no. The woman wasn’t much for conflict but this was also just a warning. Whatever the hell Moth’ir had meant, he meant business. He sighed and picked up the rotten little package “,where in this wretched little hovel should I change because I’m not doing it in front of the lot of you.”

Moth’ir grinned with his own triumph “,through the backroom door to the left.”

What Moth’ir had brought for him turned out to just be the outfit that had become all the rage in the Twelveswood due to the actions of mischievous clown guised imp. What Emet-Selch would describe as the outfit of a medicus but with stitches littered across the coat for some reason. Though he supposed it matched Arianna and her patchwork dress and stitches painted on her face. That did please him. Regardless he wasn’t wearing the mask and instituted a little creative aetherwork to substituted a monocle. He wasn’t as strong as he’d once been but he could manage that much.

As a helper he was rather more useless but Moth’ir tolerated his presence because it helped keep Arianna centered. She wasn’t really one for groups or chaos which today was going to be in ample amounts. Her skills with plants would be helpful though since a bit of wilted green could mean the loss of a basket which, depending on the flow of tonight’s festivities, could be devastating. They’d make due but it was just better to not have to do that at all.

Saanvi, Elidibus’ partner and pink haired miqo’te friend of Illya, was busy making sure the basket could be considered a decoration as much as a bowl. Illya was an able crafter but she cared little for looks itself. This is where Saanvi’s impeccable taste for the aesthetic came in. Elidibus would pipe in every once in awhile but the man contented himself mostly at stacking cookies. It was tedious work but it was perfect for him who was a little… scattered since being fished out from the top of the crystal tower.

Alphinaud offered his opinion from time to time being the resident artist of the group but he was also helping Illya ice the cookies that needed it. They’d come dressed as a prince and princess but Illya had had to roll up her sleeves and Alphinaud shed his gloves for this. It wasn’t exactly like paints so he struggled to some extent but after some guidance from Illya they were off trying new patterns and ideas. Moth’ir had to remind them a few times not to get too fancy with them because that was time they could be working on other things.

With Moth’ir kicking out batch of cookies and Thancred on baby duty, they were a productive little bunch. With the exception of Emet-Selch of course.

The Dapper Than wasn’t necessarily not in business for the time. Just that most its usual customers saw the stalls outside and were derailed from entering. Not so the customer that had managed to march past all of them on his way in, bleary eyed and noticeably perturbed by the whole scene in front of him.

“What the hell are all of you doing here?” Yorick asked, book under his arm. Looking a little put off by the enthusiastic waves from the younger members of the group.

“We’re helping out the fair,” Saanvi said brandishing her newly finished basket and waving it like she was a merchant trying to sell something to him.

“The what?” Yorick remarked. Apparently he’d been present minded enough to done his dress regalia but not enough to conceive his surroundings. Which was suitably like the man.

“How did you walk past all the decorations and shops on the way here?” Thancred asked him. His eyes were hidden by Moth’ir’s usual red and mirrored glasses he’d borrowed for his bloodkin look but they couldn’t hide the incredulity in his voice.

Yorick seemed to think about that a moment before shrugging. “It’s always decorated like that this time of year.”

“Because there’s always a fair here this time of year.” Thancred added.

Moth’ir pat him and took over the conversation “,judging by the dubious quality of your mind right now I’m assuming you’ve come for a bite to eat.”

Yorick nodded heavily and sat at the bar, laying his book out. It could either be a text on ancient Mhachi, obscure rituals, encounters with voidsent or one of his various fiction novels. It was really a toss up when it came to him.

“Alright but nothing that has to be baked and you’re mixing cookie dough so I can keep my hands free,” Moth’ir stated holding the bowl out to him.

Yorick made his complaints known in one very long drawn out and overly dramatic groaning noise but he took the bowl nonetheless. Yorick would always help if he had to but he would complain the entire time. That was just his way of doing things.

He’d not stipulated what to cook and Moth’ir hadn’t exactly asked but he was an easy enough person to cook for. If it had eggs, rice or potatoes in it he was probably fine by it. So long as one avoided the three dozen things Yorick could not stand which were fairly common throughout recipes everywhere. Moth’ir sometimes snuck in tomatoes when he was in charge of cooking just to see his face scrunch up. He’d begun putting tomatoes in Yorick’s dishes when he was in charge of cooking just to see his face scrunch up. Not that he complained and would even do his best to finish, he just had a helluva time while doing so. Though he also discovered that while Yorick couldn’t stand chunks of them or tomato sauces, if it was pureed and made into a soup he was rather more amicable about it.

Today it was an omelet over rice with some tomato paste drizzled over the top. Yorick had sent Moth’ir a despairing look but dutifully took a bite out of it. A swing and a miss in Moth’ir’s estimations and Yorick’s face did not scrunch but munched in surprise and seemed content to eat the rest of it. Moth’ir truly did not understand that man but he was half convinced his taste buds were messed up. He was also the only person he’d seen Illya’s specialty soup which Moth’ir was convinced would burn even the mouth of Azeyma, goddess of the sun.

After that things went back to normal and they’d just about forgotten Yorick was even there. Though he was the first of a few customers that did actually make it to the shop and was looking for something similar. Though mostly they were hoping for maybe slightly cheaper alcohol than what was being pushed outside. Those usually pressed back outside with a mug Moth’ir noted Bukidai would probably never seen again. Reasons why they were handing out cheaper ones than the usual ware.

Then the last of their group finally showed up. Kirishimi was supposed to be coming in with the rest of them but she’d said something had come up last minute. What came up seemed to be the handsome and highly unexpected gentleman she had come in with.

“Is that Lord Hien?” Alphinaud stated with fond amusement in his voice.

“The Prince of Doma from our allied country to the east in the poorer part of Ul’dah. I shouldn’t think so,” Thancred added in a misleadingly pleasant voice that demanded explanation. Specifically from Kirishimi.

“Well, he said he was coming and then I told him about all of this and he wanted to see so I couldn’t just leave him and-,” Kiri explained looking and sounding a bit like a child who’d gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar.

Yorick, between Thancred and Kirishimi, rubbed his temples. He didn’t dislike Kiri but she was very loud and energetic. Watching him get dragged along by the group of them when Kiri was around was an awful lot like watching a large dog trample a cat who’d only wanted to nap.

“I am here on behalf of Doma for a visit but when Kirishimi told me what she had meant to be doing today I asked her to show me,” Hien, ever the politic one of the pair, offered his own explanations to relieve Kirishimi the pressure “,I am unfamiliar with this holiday and thought it would be good to learn of our allies of Eorzea.”

“Tried looking for a costume for him but they’re plum out of ‘em this time of year but I thought this would still be more inconspicuous,” Kirishimi finished gesturing at the strange way the Princeling was dressed.

Moth’ir clicked tongue against his teeth “,Rishi, you’re dressed like a rose and he’s dressed like a gardner. Don’t you think that’s the story you should go with?”

Kirishimi looked down at her outfit with this roses and back to Hien like it hadn’t even occurred to her and then the both of their cheeks flushed and they looked away. Moth’ir exchanged looks with Thancred. Both were fond of Kirshimi in their own way but this whole song and dance was getting old and tired. Nevermind that both Moth’ir and Thancred had known each other for the better part of their lives and had only admitted to it being anything more than platonic after the birth of their daughter had forced it out of them. That just meant they knew.

Or something like that.

“Yeah, yeah well if you’re here, you’re here to help or eat and get out,” Moth’ir said then pointed at the baskets. “You can relieve Lady Laurel there and Silkie.Vi explain to them the way I explained it to you.”

Moth’ir’s nicknaming could be a bit oblique but “Lady Laurel” seemed to refer to Arianna who was ─ between the patrons and newest interruption ─ was looking an awful lot like she wanted to crawl out of her skin. Moth’ir offered her one of the tavern rooms to cool down in but she and Emet-Selch took the bench in the corner instead. It was there for folks who’d come for take out but it was mostly used by the elderly and children who were waiting for the ones who paid. It was also nice and out of the way of the bustle of the rest of the establishment. Which was good because with Kirishimi present the other part of the place was rapt with rising conversation.

Thancred looked between Emet-Selch ─ finally making himself useful at Arianna’s side ─ and Elidibus stacking his cookies and murmured to Moth’ir “,You ever feel like we’re running a retirement home for old Ascians.”

SLAM! ─ went the cover of Yorick’s books as he shut it with awful more force than was necessary. This drew Thancred’s attention as well as Moth’s who burbled angrily before promptly falling back asleep. After the whole thing with Lahabrea had come to light, Yorick and he had had a bit of a falling out. They were never close but they had squabbled quite viciously for a minute. It had ended technically but ever since the two had had a habit of saying something that would set the other off.

Yorick placed his gil on the table while staring ruefully in Thancred’s direction. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“Y’know, you could lend a hand if you wanted,” Moth’ir said casually disregarding the tension between the two.

“If you had told me─” Yorick began but was cut off by Thancred piping in unhelpfully “Nobody knew where you were for weeks.”

“IF you had told me what was going on,” Yorick reiterated though he was once more interrupted this time by Elidibus who said flatly “,You would not have come.”

This time Yorick pointed at Elidibus like he’d just won a prize for a correct answer at a game show “,I would not have come!”

“Lie to yourself all you want but you’re as much of a busybody as the rest of them,” Moth’ir called out quickly after the rapidly retreating man even after all he was the sound of the click of his heels on the stone outside.

[deathfavor]

@scrtilegii said: the sharp ends of her form frighten him not, permitting for them to pierce his form as he seeks to stand as close to Dreya as possible. behold the tribute in blood that I bring to you!, silent yet nonetheless implied. a ravenous thing, desire. and he ought to know better than to permit it to consume him, though, alas, none other in the world should be more deserving of his adoration than her.

capturing Dreya's form in his wanting arms, Parma presses his lips against the inviting skin of her neck, all the while enduring the sharpness of the spikes piercing his body in full. oh, but it is not his blood alone he would offer her. how else should he show her the bottomless pit of his want? how else would he write the words of the spell he wishes to cast on her, if not in his own blood? come, oh Goddess, do surrender yourself to me! I shall rebuild your altar, I shall offer you proper libation. for now, let my arms encircle you, let my mouth worship you, let my blood stand as sacrifice! ( hello AJAHSHSHS )

The realm beyond moves with activity ; like the waxing and waning of the moon itself, like the ebb and flow of the tides, so too does her realm in activity. Sometimes it is tranquil and other times it pulses with activity, like the hum of a star being pulled together. The latter is the state now, with more of her enhanced creatures roaming the landscape of the realm though they grant Parma access unharmed as if he belongs to the realm. And is that not the case? If he belongs to Dreya, then so does he belong as everything else in this realm does to her.

Real gods require blood in the same way mortals require water - they require conflict and grit and resilience. As the emergence of her moon draws nearer through the steady march of time, more sharp edges appear on her, piercingly sharp and as black as a starless void. They fold and lap together - some as platelike armor, others like weapons. They pierce through flesh with ease, her head turned to watch him when he bleeds for her. That is true dedication ; willingness to let yourself be torn apart for that which you worship with every inch of your being. What is more generous than a deity letting you tear yourself apart upon them? To let you lay hand and lips upon them? To feel your blood upon their hand by their acceptance alone?

Dreya tilts her head to grant him easier access to the skin of her throat, where galaxies and supernovas run through her veins beneath the surface. One hand lifts to press against the small of his back, urging him closer still. When she sighs in pleasure and delight, its the soul of the universe itself that sighs in tandem with her, through her. What it cannot speak, she can. What it cannot touch with hands, she can. Already impaled upon her, fingers press and press - not with razor claws or ferocious violence, but part through flesh and blood with tender care, like the splitting of an orange or lovingly opening a closed book. Her fingers brush across his very core with a lovers embrace, as gentle as the delicate touch of petals despite the blood on her hand. She caresses him and so does the universe through her, accepting his burning want and reciprocating in kind through the intimacy of the blood and contact.

Her head turns to where he's pressed to the graceful beauty of her throat and pulls back only so she can kiss him proper, while her hand remains buried within the chest, touch ever gentle and loving in its morbid scene. But he is beyond mortals as well, he can endure such a loving gesture from a goddess. She draws them together under red infernal moonlight. Want. Want. Such a strange concept to be reintroduced to beyond knowledge. She wants, and so she accepts his own wanting in kind, feeds it in kisses and blood sacrifice and in the tilt of her head when she allows him back to her throat and accept his gaping hunger while her own shows in the possessive hand on his back on the loving touch, the claim of this one as hers no matter what any other dare say.

[blairstales]

Gruagach | Scottish Folklore

There is some confusion between the Gruagach (Pronunciation: Gru·a·gach) and the Glaistig (Pronunciation: Glash-tig) in folklore, but most commonly, the Gruagach is a well-dressed man or woman with long hair, while the Glaistig is more often described as being a half-goat woman.

"The ‘gruagach’ would come forth with the radiant sun, her golden hair streaming on the morning breeze, and her rich voice filling the air with melody. She would wait on a grassy hillock afar off till the people would bring out their ‘creatairean,’ creatures, crooning a lullaby the while, and striding to and fro." Carmina Gadelica, Volume 2, by Alexander Carmicheal, [1900]

(The fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen (c1899))

Two common description details are long hair, and nice clothes.

“The long-haired one,” from the Gaelic gruag, a wig. The gruagach was a fairy being with protective duties in Scottish legends, apparently of either sex, but generally female." The Supernatural Highland. London: Robert Hale, 1976

Similar to the brownie, the Grugagch would help with chores, but those chores were almost completely restricted to the care of cattle. In fact, the Grugagch is almost always described as gentle, apart from causing mischief if cattle is not cared for well enough to her standards. Sometimes, the Grugagch would extend their protection to crops as well.

In return for all this care, people would pour milk onto a gruagach stone.

"Gruagach, a supernatural female who presided over cattle and took a kindly interest in all that pertained to them. In return a libation of milk was made to her when the women milked the cows in the evening. If the oblation were neglected, the cattle, notwithstanding all precautions, were found broken loose and in the corn; and if still omitted, the best cow in the fold was found dead in the morning. The offering was poured on ‘clach na gruagaich,’ the ‘gruagach’ stone. There is hardly a district in the Highlands which does not possess a ‘leac gruagaich’–a ‘gruagach,’ flag-stone–whereon the milk libation was poured." Carmina Gadelica, Volume 2, by Alexander Carmicheal, [1900]

They mostly kept to themselves and hearing them talk was not very common.

"On entering the byre, the Gruagach was heard laughing and tittering in corners. Beyond this diversion he seems to have been ordinarily harmless. He sometimes walked alongside of people, but was never known to speak." Superstitions of the Highlands & Islands of Scotland by John Gregorson Campbell (1900)

Because of their helpful and kind nature, people could grow very attached to their kindly neighbor. In one such case in Bennan, the people decided to thank their Gruagach by giving a gift of clothing and sandals. However, this only revealed yet another brownie-like trait.

"They placed these on a knoll near the ‘gruagach’ and watched from afar. But instead of being grateful she was offended, and resented their intrusion so much that she determined to leave the district. She placed her left foot on Ben Bhuidhe in Arran and her right foot on ‘Allasan,’ Ailsa Craig, making this her stepping-stone to cross to the mainland of Scotland or to Ireland. While the ‘gruagach’ was in the act of moving her left foot, a three-masted ship passed beneath, the mainmast of which struck her in the thigh and overturned her into the sea. The people of Bennan mourned the ‘gruagach’ long and loudly, and bewailed their own officiousness." Carmina Gadelica, Volume 2, by Alexander Carmicheal, [1900],