#godblood

[hydrae]

Oldish art of my tempest cleric, Etienne, that I don’t know if I ever posted here!

Selkie, theology professor, former (unwilling) saint to a doomsday cult, and now there’s a newly born god in the ocean that periodically hijacks his body to show him shiny stuff

[cbmchannel]

10Tik - God Blood feat. Larruso https://www.curteboamusica.info/2024/01/10tik-god-blood-feat-larruso.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[assortedvillainvault]

Love that prompt list! How about 24 - “Did you just bite me?” - for the DV'Cule, please?

In honour of the fact I've just quit my weekend job - DC please humbly accept my first outrightedly suggestive prose answer: praise the soup and your patience, here we go:

TLDR: Venomous bites and kinky viziers is certainly a match, and not one made in heaven, even for gods.

TW: Suggestive themes, biting, nothing overtly described. Implied threesome.

Did you just Bite Me?! - The DVCule: Jafar x Hades X Facilier

The yelp that cuts though the warm, heavy air startles them so badly that someone – Facilier maybe – tumbles off the bed with a swear, helped by one of Hades legs as the god flails. Flames roar between blue and orange as he grabs the back of Jafar’s head and tries to yank, grunting at the teeth buried in his shoulder.

The sorcerer remains locked in place – dazed and cross eyed as he clings - sweaty, sinuous, satisfied and apparently on another fucking planet for all that he was paying attention.

“Did you seriously just bite me?!” Hades croaks incredulously. “Jaf- Jafar, what the fuck-”

Muffled groans and what sound like an aborted reply leak between wet flesh. Hades winces as he tries to pry the sorcerers head away but finds him all but locked into the muscle – golden ichor dribbling between them. Despite the sudden burst of flame all the sorcerer does is grip harder, tongue idly flicking at the blood as it dribbles down his skin and smears the sheets.

Facilier stumbles up, nursing a bruised backside and scowling - swatting at Jafar to move but only getting a strangled hiss and an unfocused red glare for his trouble. The bokor blinks, noticing the odd..smooth sheen of Jafars skin, and the subtle red and black banding beginning to show.

“Ah, fuck. Is he-”

“Fanged up? No shit.” Hades hisses, feeling the two white hot, needle-like fangs twitch and flex what feels like down to his bones. “I don’t- fucking- need an anatomy discussion doc, get him off-!”

“I’m tryin-!”

Mood murdered - they attempt to wrangle the punch-drunk half-transformed sorcerer off the larger god, trading swears every time the teeth buried in his neck jostle, grimacing as Jafar swallows more and more godblood and slowly begins to giggle and produce some kind of awful hissy purr that shakes the bed and makes Hades especially regret the fireproof spells written into it.

Eventually they manage to pop Jafar’s unnervingly stretchy jaw off, tossing the ex vizier to the side while Facilier grabs rags for the bleeding and Hades glares at his lover. Slitted red eyes blink out of sync back as the half snake curls languidly in place, sleepy and pleased.

Hades scowls. “Memo to me – add a clause about biting...” He pinches his nose and sighs explosively, letting Facilier swipe at his shoulder where the wounds are already closing. “Oy, he’s such a freak.”

Facilier chuckles at that. “Yeah. An’ you like it, so what does that make you?”

“A pincusion apparently, oy-” He rolls his eyes and rubs his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Was just starting to relax too...”

Facilier makes a sympathetic noise and throws the rag away. He slides back up, all smooth grace now that tall dark and twisted was slightly snoring. He gently cards a hand through the flames, letting them wrap around his fingers as Hades leans into the touch. “You wanna keep goin? Or leave it here? I’m game for either.”

Hades hums as he mulls it over and leans into him. Facilier’s brows pinch as he realises he’s… actually having to brace the god kinda hard. “Uh...Cher?”

Yellow eyes slowly blink open, and alarm bells start ringing as he sees just how wide the pupils are. “Hades..??”

“Faci...” He mumbles. “...have...have there always been three of you?”

The bokor feels his stomach tie into knots as he suddenly connects some dots - snapping his head around to see Jafar yawn, yellow drops of venom still clinging to his fangs.

He about launches himself out of bed – ignoring Hades sudden whine - and scrambles for his trousers, slung over the dresser. “Gotta get Ursula darlin’ - berightback-!”

[theriverbeyond]

My favorite thing about Harrow Nova aus is they always portray Gideon as still buff and Harrow as still thin. Like you know in those AUs everyone at Canaan house gets them mixed up. Harrow tries opening a door for Gideon but is too weak to do it with even two hands, and Gideon just casually slides it open with one hand walking past. On the Mithraeum instead of Harrow complaining Gideon didnt lift weights she complains Gideon gold plated her bone flail with her lover Corona and now its weighted wrong

KSJFJDJDJDBS POOR HARROW 😭 and her poor chain........ samael's chain has been bedazzled.......

my personal headcanon for the Nova AU is actually beanpole/necromantically weak Gideon and short-but-strong gymnast type Nova..... but i see why people like keeping Gideon BUILT. she is hot like that and i respect anyone who portrays rev daughter!Gideon with hotness in mind

[eversncenewyork]

i’m not involved in any critical role circles but i must put this thought somewhere—if godblood makes aasimar, and Trist is the biological mother of her children, could they be ancestors of Yasha? idk just thinkin!

[alittleimpulsive]

@godblooded

It's a quiet evening. Norma thinks she never really took the right amount of time to appreciate quiet evenings before; her life has been a hectic mess, a desperate race, since the moment she was born. She never had the time or energy to appreciate the soft call of crickets from the tall grass, or the way the sunset paints the sky in orange and pink like a tart sorbet. Since Alana stepped into her life, she's had the time.

Not that things haven't been challenging. Navigating Norman's new diagnosis, putting a name to what was happening, was scary. In a way, there had suddenly been two new women in her life, where she had gotten so used to there being none. (She and Eleanora don't get along. They're working on that as a family.)

But tonight, things can be quiet. Strangely peaceful. Norman is out with Dylan. Norma sits with Alana on the porch, on the new swing in front of the living room window, a bottle of wine between them, split into glasses.

The peace can't last long, not with Norma's brain being the way it is. Toeing the line carefully, she clears her throat, snuggles close to Alana, her legs tucked up to her side.

"You know," she begins, almost haltingly, then decides to just go ahead and ask. Surely they're at the point where she can ask. "You don't talk much about what happened. Googling only got me so far when we first met. Not that I was trying to snoop." She was indeed trying to snoop. But that was ages ago. "What was he like?"

[mad-hunts]

Did you know you’re my bestie and I love you. Did you know.

GAH PLEASEEE, you're too sweet for words!! and you're literally about to make me cry at 1:04 on a wednesday afternoon 😭 hearing that from you means the world to me, TBH, and i just want you to know that you're absolutely my bestie too!!! but aww,, it really warms my heart to hear that, NGL. though i love you even MORE and i swear that i meant every single word that i said on that post i reblogged about you!!! you are seriously somebody special, kat, and you deserve to get everything that you want / desire in this life <33 i'm going to sign-off before this gets long because ISTG, i could gush about you for a whileee, but just know that this is me towards you okay 🥺

[suffcring]

I just want you to know that I love you.

hey, friend, I hope you know I love you, too.

[ataviisms]

@godblooded asked for waylon and selina in CRACKLE

color palette challenge --- accepting

[clawsextended]

casually getting my groove back.

[babydxhl]

❛ We can talk about it after because I've had a shit day and I really just wanna starfish and forget the world. ❜ @clawsextended

the fall of the house of usher sentence starters | still accepting.

"No, listen," Mary started, and leaned on the corner of the bed, fingertips tap-tap-tapping at the covers, a grin splitting her features. "Listen, really, he knocked out the cop's teeth."

Sometimes the pair of them seemed almost on opposite schedules — long stretches where Mary did not have mornings but rather early evenings, blinking awake as the sun started to dip on the horizon. And then a week later her life would reverse itself, coiled tight as a spring watching the school run go by from the balcony railing.

Now, wide awake, frenetic, delightedly scandalised.

"Arnold. Wesker. He just turned and slugged him, broke his nose, everything. They took him downtown after. But God, he didn't even have the puppet on him. Did it all by himself."

[priscus]

@godblooded

it feels strange to be here again so soon, after everything that had happened with alana and the dragon. returning to the institute would not have been erik's first choice. but it's hard to ignore a missive from an old friend --- especially when that friend has seemingly vanished into thin air. odd that charles should reach out to him instead of simply appointing one of his former students to lead the x-men, the school.

his --- hopefully temporary --- tenure as headmaster is already off to a rocky start. the students are suspicious, divided amongst themselves by his presence here. the faculty even more-so. perhaps with good reason. he's fought most of them at one point or another. he's grateful that alana is here with him. a source of calm upon which he can rely. and someone else who isn't afraid to argue with wolverine.

" i would have liked to know his reasoning behind this decision. "

alana already knows what he means. it's been the question weighing on his mind since he had first received charles's message. erik walks the halls with his hands clasped behind his back; alana with her cane at his side. students shuffle aside as they pass and utter awkward greetings. he acknowledges them stiffly in return.

he was never meant to be a teacher.

" i certainly would have chosen beast or storm, had i been in his place. "

[kitchenknifes]

@godblooded / cont’d

alana’s smaller than michael, than corey, than cameron. frail, almost. the doctor who’d operated on her knee had told her she had bird bones—she remembers that, at least, through the haze of morphine and whatever else that’d been pumped into her system after her blood-soaked clothing had been cut off of her. what he hadn’t told her was that her mother lay dead just a floor above, so maimed she’d needed a close-casket funeral like vicky, like cameron, like oscar, like corey, like doug, like her father—everyone.

too many funerals. the last one she’d been to had been to lay the boogeyman to rest for good, and she’d thought there’d be finality in it—which there was. but it’d been fleeting. too often she forgets he’s not out there, too often she looks over her shoulder, and too often she wonders if alana will somehow be next in his endless pursuit to destroy her, even hundreds of miles away.

she’s asked alana about dr. lecter, because of course she has, and she knows that despite his incarceration, he remains a boogeyman in his own right.

“if i were to do that—i don’t even know what flowers you like. if you even like them so—do you even like them?” allyson asks with a sheepish little smile, momentarily drops her gaze when alana stares back up at her with such an intensity in her blue eyes that it almost makes allyson feel shy, which she’s never been a day in her life. she lifts her gaze back up to alana, cups her face with long, elegant fingers.

her thumb traces over alana’s cheekbone fondly.

“i don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before,” she murmurs. corey had offered to burn it all to the ground for her, and she’d wanted to for a long time. the thought doesn’t sound as appealing when she’s with alana.

her therapist tells her she has a tendency to foster codependency, but this feels warm, good, unlike the intense oil fire—the amor fou—that her and corey had been.

“—easy to forget all of that other shit when i’m with you.”

[avalior]

@godblooded mama's boy

"Half of my heart is in your chest."

[widowshill]

@godblooded said: Barbara’s just kissing Victoria on the cheek. Left in her wake is, as always, a shimmering mark glittering in candy floss pink. It’s just her.

HER FINGERS FLUTTER THERE at the ghost of contact, preserving it, eyes closed to better fix the memory of the sensation in her mind ––  like clean laundry in the warm summer sunshine, a pink silk slip in the breeze, fixed just there with an old wooden clothespin. it would not matter half as much if she could keep it forever. part of the beauty of a kiss is its transience, isn't it ? like a song, or a play, or the SEASONS ––  all the best things exist only for a brief moment in time, to be savored and adored. they can always be repeated, of course ( and how, how she hopes, dearly hopes for many more WHERE THAT CAME FROM ! ) but a kiss, like a play, will never exist the same way twice. and that is its beauty. no record can capture the specific rhythm in which her heart beats, now, re-arranging itself in orchestral form for Miss Barbara Handler, to accommodate her own heartbeat, her breath, the tap of her fingers, the pace at which she moves and lives and loves.

she doesn't mind the lipstick stain. it's a tangible reminder that she is loved, that Barbara is here, and real, and it makes her feel warm as vanilla coffee within. doesn't make it any easier to get it off the pillowcases, of course, but just now ? she would take A HUNDRED such icons, gifts bestowed from laughter-loving Aphrodite, even if ( especially if ) they marked her forever.

❝ you're going to go through a whole tube of lipstick before the day's over, at this rate. ❞

SHE TEASES ! oh, with a smile that could light up the whole street in its brightness, and daring, now, very forward, she reaches to pluck the lipstick in question from its place in her purse and unscrews the top herself. it frightens her worse than ghosts ever did, here, so close, close enough to see the CREASES in worn-off makeup and the delicate pores in her skin ... but just like ghosts, its a familiar, friendly panic, sending a thrill in her heart that's WELL WORTH the scare.

❝ let me fix you up. ❞

[mrscoultxr]

@godblooded || i present to you: pain

Worn, muddy, hard leather boots clacked against the sidewalk rhythmically, heavily, a thudding like a stampede of exactly one. They carried her harder and faster through the streets, the golden monkey no more than a blur of golden fur at her side. As she swung around corners, he leapt from the walls and tore down awnings and crates to obstruct the path left behind. Blood pounded in their ears, the slight spray of fresh and salt water in the air as they passed the Thames stung at their eyes and lungs. She heaved each breath, both alive and dead as she ran through the streets of London. Another few quick turns and darts, and she slipped down into a tuck away, hiding from the men chasing her; stragglers from the battlefield who recognized her. She’d have to get a move on and collect her things before they swarmed her old place and took away all of her research.

Marisa glanced up at the tall building that held her penthouse apartment. If Lyra had been able to climb down it, and the Gyptians had been able to climb up it, then she certainly could scale it on her own. She hurried her way up the fire escape and leapt from trellis to window where the stairs stopped. With her daemon helping point out footholds and places to put her hands, she climbed and climbed, high and into the night, until she had made it to the balcony of her place. There she swung down low and crept as silent as a mouse to the door, the golden monkey hiding in the deepest shadows he could find. Even if she had outrun the men on the ground, there was no telling if they were already waiting for her here. And she knew better, she absolutely knew better than to assume the Magisterium would simply let her go.

She had taken down the regent of Heaven. Her daughter had released God from his captivity and put an end to death as it had always been known. She was persona non grata number one for them. Well, number three, but they didn’t know Asriel was dead and Lyra, she hoped, was somewhere far away still or at least under some protection.

But Marisa had nothing. 

Well, now that wasn’t entirely true. She did have something – a huge something. Alana Stark. But in the midst of her churning emotions, her mind darting in a thousand directions, she hadn’t stopped to consider that perhaps Alana had waited for her. Or perhaps had even had a funeral for her. So hellbent on survival was she that she hadn’t really thought about who she had left behind. 

So when she finally entered her apartment with a pick of the lock, she nearly fainted in shock at seeing Stark there. Marisa’s breath caught in her chest and she slammed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming, from crying out in joy. Stark was here! Stark was okay! Marisa had been gone so long she was sure something might have happened—