#the gorge>>>>>>the forge

[gorgugplushie]

Gif for when you have 24+ hours in reforged mod

[oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat]

*puts tiny frog in your hand* *runs away*

LOOK, LOOK LOOK! I HAVE A FORG NOW :D

this is him. he is my son.

his name is gorg.

gorg the forg

[pls don't repost my art, thanks]

[e-one-seven]

Don't Starve Together: Time Flies [Animated Short]

The feels (and also new stuff or things I didn’t recognize. Klei if you make the Forge and the Gorge playable again I scream, I loved these events!)... Also, check out this link for the updates and some sweet deals on Klei’s stuff! https://forums.kleientertainment.com/forums/topic/157355-new-skill-trees-and-staying-afloat-update-next-thursday/

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / cisfem!reader / scent kink

something nobody ever considers about satoru gojo is that he’s very particular about scents.

it’s a weird side effect of the six eyes that is rarely ever spoken of, by him or any other; along with his fantastical sight, his ability to distinguish minute details kilometres away, to read the ever-twisting flow of cursed energy, yadda yadda yadda — the extrasensory perception he was granted the second two gametes fused into a zygote had skyrocketed every perceptible sensation above the level of the average human. leagues above the level of not-so-average humans, too, but that’s a story for another time.

beneath the slightly dusty smell of skin cells and flesh, each person is different. diet and exercise play a huge part, of course, but then there’s the more obvious things — perfume, toiletries, surroundings. nanami always smells like paper and sandalwood. nobara, sweet and fruity, with a sneaky undertone of something synthetic — something almost hospital-like. yuji smells like grass and citruses, like he’s just popped open a can of something fizzy and caffeinated on the lawns of jujutsu tech. but if he had to choose a favourite…

“could — could you, um—”

one really must forge their own little bits of happiness in this line of work. the constant death and despair really puts a damper on one's lust for life. for gojo — sweets, cute little figures, themed cafes and expensive cakes, things that pleasantly appeal to and delight each one of his six senses. you, in a similar way, enjoy the finer things in life — cashmere and vicuña wool, luxury furniture for your top-floor apartment, century-old wines with names you cannot pronounce — and, to gojo's delight, perfumes.

oh, you have one for every day of the year, he's sure. white florals bursting with zesty citrus, bergamot and black tea when the weather cools. there's fluffy vanillas and sugar-sweet marshmallows, tempered with the smooth depth of sandalwood. osmanthus seeping with syrupy apricots and and peaches. cloves and nutmeg and cypress for the days when the clouds split open and tokyo turns grey.

with your back pressed against the couch and gojo flush against you, hips slotted between your pillowy thighs, he's able to dig his nose right into the curve of where your jaw meets your neck, exactly where you spritz your perfume every morning. today, it's one of those delicious, good-enough-to-eat type of smells; white chocolate and macadamia nut and — fuck, he almost moans against you. sugar and spice and everything nice — you smell like everything he's ever wanted to gorge himself on. he's reminded of the cheap, strawberry body spray you used to use back in high school — how the scent would catch on his nose when you walked past, how it lingered on his jacket when you brushed against him. he shivers.

he lifts his lips from your skin — lifts his nose from the cradle of your neck to give you a distracted, slightly disgruntled, "huh? what?"

it's only without the smell of you clouding his nose that he suddenly realises that you're squirming against him — the heat of your clothed pussy pressing against his hardened cock, layers of cotton and denim and linen between you both leaving you with only the slightest, most irksome hint of pleasure. even with his blindfold fastened over his eyes, it's all so much.

"just — i need something," you say, exasperated. your forehead's dewy with sweat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your pretty nose. "you've been at this for ages."

"ah, my bad." but he doesn't stop. how can he tear himself from your warmth, the heat of you radiating from your skin, your arms wound around his neck and fingers in his hair? how can he leave even a single inch of space between you, when your chest is heaving with excitement and the musky sweetness of your arousal is reaching his nose? he satisfies both your needs for stimulation with slow, curling rolls of his hips, dull pleasure tingling up his spine and leaving him shuddering. "i thought you were more patient."

"you — you're the one that dragged me in here," you say, even as your breathing gets heavier, even as your head falls back with a whine, baring the column of your neck to his greedy, seeking nose. "i told you i have plans, so unless you—!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, though all of your arguments about the time have been half-hearted at best. "don't you worry, i'll take good care of you — real good care."

"you sound like such a sleaze when you say stuff like that."

"mhm." for a moment, he lifts his head — and he doesn't have to look at his reflection mirrored in your eyes to know that his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed pink. you're not much better off — for all your whining and posturing, your proverbial claws aren't much more dangerous than those of a scrappy little kitten. beneath it all, your breathing is laboured, your blood vessels dilated. you smell sweeter, like your body is a ripening fruit or blooming flower, opening for him. your blood rushing to the surface of your skin, heating up the fragrance oils still dotted along your flesh, turns it all heady and head-dizzying.

you want him — you can deny it all you want, but he can see it clear as day. the reminder sends what little blood remains in his head straight to his cock.

"you smell sweet," satoru says, blank and dumb. "when you're horny."

for a moment, you pause. embarrassment — and arousal, though you probably won't admit it — has you locking up. a hint of bitterness turns your fragrance — like burning chocolate — before you huff suddenly, smacking at him until he begins to back up. "oh, my god — you're so shameless, satoru—"

"no, i'm serious! h—hey, stop!" he argues, wriggling until he's back in your good graces again. he dips his head to your skin again, teasing you with little nips along your neck. you'll see the bruises it leaves tomorrow and demand he make it up to you with sweets that he'll just have to eat with you, earrings that glimmer in garnet. for now, though, he’ll get a little serious.

"you get a little sweeter when you cum too, y'know," satoru coos. he tugs at his blindfold, blinking as unfettered light filters into his retina. it's sensory overload, overstimulating and overwhelming, but it's exactly what he wants: to see you, feel you, taste you, smell you — be engulfed by you in every way he can. as if drawn there, his hand sneaks between the tight fit of your bodies, slipping under the hiked-up hem of your skirt and petting at your underwear — soaked, as he’d expected, coating the tips of his fingers. "like syrup. i wanna smell you like that.”

his tongue peeks out over your pulse point, touch reaching up and up and up to that fantastic little ball of nerves he adores. you let out a moan so loud that even he’s taken aback. giddiness bubbles in the pit of his stomach — giddiness, horniness, it’s all the same to him — and he shoves his nose so hard into your skin he swears it’ll bruise. ah, there it is. he’s barely even touched you, too. it’ll be even better when he does.

“g—god, you’re horrible,” you say, arching into him, like you can’t bear to be apart for even a second.

“me?” satoru laughs. you’re distracting from the task at hand, though he usually doesn’t mind. he can’t help but respond, giving you your own attitude back a thousandfold. it’s just now, when it’s been so long since he’s gotten his fill of you, he’s just… a little impatient... “oi, don’t get all embarrassed — you always get so mean.”

“then stop saying things like that, and i won’t have to be — a—ah!”

satoru suckles at the cold-hardened flesh he’s just taken in his mouth — your mouth falling open in wonder and your chest heaving as he takes your nipple between two dull rows of teeth, humming. between his fingers and his mouth, you’ll soon be rendered almost completely silent, shuddering and twitching in what he knows will be a strong, satisfying orgasm — sweet with sweat, salt and musk gathering between your legs. looking up at him with glassy eyes and calling his name. his mouth waters.

he better get a move on, though: you have plans, after all.

[sunderwight]

Thinking about a bingqiu Dreamling AU where Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua are both bored deities, just sort of taking a brief sojourn through the mortal world to shoot the shit and see some interesting monster or other that Shen Yuan has heard about, when they come across a tea house and decide to take a break and do some people-watching instead.

Shen Yuan is well into something of a shut-in phase, which Shang Qinghua doesn't like, mostly because when Shen Yuan is in those phases he doesn't do particularly well either. Shen Yuan's a social butterfly, for however little he cares to actually acknowledge it about himself, and his critique of Shang Qinghua's literary masterpieces gets so much harsher when he's not getting enough enrichment.

So when they overhear one of the kitchen boys solemnly insisting that he is going to do everything in his power to never die, and Shen Yuan laments that the boy would probably regret such a wish if it came true, Shang Qinghua decides to bestow a rare bit of godly power onto this mortal and grant his wish.

He doesn't make him a god, of course, that wouldn't even be in his ability. At least, not without using up more time and effort than he's prepared to expend on this one random kid. But immortality on its own is not that difficult. The boy will still finish growing up, and will still be able to be harmed, to know hunger and pain and illness. It just won't ever kill him.

Shen Yuan sighs that it's a cruel thing to do to a mortal, especially one with such low odds of ever cultivating other skills to mitigate the potential torment of it all. But Shang Qinghua just shrugs and they place bets, that this boy will ask for the immortality to be revoked in a hundred years, or two hundred, or so on, or else he won't. Shen Qingqiu approaches the kitchen boy and flusters and bewilders him by telling him to meet him back here again in a hundred years time.

A hundred years later, the tea house is larger. The boy has grown to be a striking young man, who looks at Shen Yuan with wariness and something else, something almost like awe, as he asks what manner of creature he's made this bargain with. Shen Yuan assures him that he has no nefarious intentions, and instead asks Luo Binghe how the past century of his life has gone.

Horribly, at least at first. Binghe's mother had already died by the time they met, but afterwards he managed to earn enough money to travel to a nearby sect. Working in the tea house's kitchen was just a minor stopover along the way. Shen Yuan was wrong, it seems, about his odds of becoming a cultivator -- Luo Binghe earned entry as a disciple.

Yet, he had no success. The master who took him on was unaccountably cruel and mercurial, and Luo Binghe's attempts to cultivate failed. Looking back he sees now that there were many times when he should have died but didn't, but when it was all happening he just thought himself lucky. At least until an enemy sect attacked a cultivation conference, and he suffered mortal wounds that absolutely should have killed him (or anyone) but still didn't die. (No demon race or abyss in this AU, but there are still demonic and fantastical creatures.)

His cruel master, upon witnessing this, accused him of heretical practices and tried to kill him as well by flinging him off the edge of a gorge. The fall was terrible. Binghe lay at the bottom in a horrifying state, injured beyond reason and yet, still, he didn't die. Eventually his body recovered enough for him to drag himself out, and once he did the only thing on his mind was getting revenge. For the next several decades he managed to ingratiate himself to all manner of potential allies, forging alliances, accumulating blackmail, and convincing people that he had to be some powerful cultivator through his supernatural resilience, lack of visible aging, and a lot of bluffing. He got revenge on his old teacher, drove his first sect into ruin, and rose to prominence as a feared and respected leader of the cultivation world.

Shen Yuan listens with clear interest, asking plenty of questions and seemingly quite taken up with the story. At the conclusion, Luo Binghe admits that his actual cultivation is still mostly a matter of smoke and mirrors, and wonders if -- now that the hundred years have passed -- Shen Yuan means to strip his immortality from him.

Shen Yuan asks if Luo Binghe wants that. When Luo Binghe says no, he accepts the answer, and tells him to meet him back here again in another hundred years. Luo Binghe calls after him, but before he can ask anything more, Shen Yuan has disappeared again.

A hundred years later, Binghe arrives back at the tea house with an entourage befitting of an emperor. The tea house has also expanded. Luo Binghe orders a lavish feast from them, which everyone hastens to provide. He's spent the past several decades consolidating his power, forging alliances with key political players via several marriages, producing heirs, and crushing his enemies. As he brags about the state of his massive harem to Shen Yuan, the deity's eyes begin to glaze over. He doesn't seem impressed. He also doesn't seem to care much for the food, and eventually his attention is stolen away by a conversation at another table. The diners are discussing the exploits of a promising new poet and novelist. Try as he might, Luo Binghe fails to regain Shen Yuan's attention before the evening is done. Shen Yuan doesn't think it's a big deal -- after all, if Binghe is still riding on top of the world, he's probably not going to want his immortality gift revoked just yet!

Another hundred years go by. The tea house has returned to a more modest situation, the next time Shen Yuan sets foot in it. He waits an unusually long while for his guest to arrive, and when he does, he's almost stopped at the door by the tea house's servers. It's only when Shen Yuan bids them let him through that Luo Binghe is able to come to the table, almost collapsing against it and desperately falling onto the arrangement of snacks with obvious hunger.

Shen Yuan wonders if this, now, will be when the boy (no longer a boy) asks for the immortality to be revoked. Surprisingly, he finds himself resistant to the idea, even though it's also clear that the game has run too long. Maybe hundred year check-ins were too short? He doesn't like the implications of what's gone on, even if he's not really surprised about it either.

Between desperate mouthfuls of food, Luo Binghe explains that without mastering inedia, going hungry but never dying is a deeply unpleasant experience. Shen Yuan orders more food. Once Binghe has finally eaten his fill, he begins, haltingly, to explain his situation. His clothes are ragged, he is painfully thin, and his gaze is haunted.

Apparently, several of his wives conspired to assassinate him, despite his reputation as unkillable. Realizing that most poisons and such didn't kill him, but that he could still be incapacitated, they hatched a scheme to dose his food with a powerful sleeping agent, and then walled him up in a famous ancestral tomb. They went to great length to ensure that it was impossible to escape from. It took Binghe decades to do it anyway, digging away at the floors, and when he got out he found that his power base had collapsed. In-fighting and the incursion of his enemies had led to the deaths of all of his children, and what wives had survived had either fled or remarried. Not that he particularly wanted them back at that point, since the ones actually most loyal to him had also been killed early on after his own "death". His face marked him, to the eyes of his enemy, as a surviving descendant of himself. He was hunted down, chased across the continent and back again, until he managed to fall into enough obscurity that his pursuers abandoned the chase. Except that he has nothing, and any time he tries to regain something, he runs the risk of being hounded again. Those who might see some potential in him still remember the collapse of his recent "dynasty" and slam doors in his face, or else try and turn him over to those now in power in pursuit of a reward. Those who don't know that much see only a dirty beggar, and usually run him off on that basis instead.

Shen Yuan, almost hesitant, asks if Luo Binghe would like to have his immortality revoked.

Luo Binghe declines. How will he be able to take revenge on those who wronged him if he is dead? He has a hit list a mile long by now.

Which is definitely not the most noble of reasons to persist, but Shen Yuan finds himself reluctant to ask twice. Instead he orders more food, and then even reserves one of the traveler's rooms above the tea house for several days. By then the sky is turning grey, and Luo Binghe is losing his apparent battle with exhaustion. Shen Yuan presses the key into his hand, thinking it's probably not enough, but there are limits to how much gods are supposed to interfere and Shang Qinghua already stretched them to the breaking point with this entire scenario.

He leaves, not seeing the hand that reaches after him just before he is out of the door and gone.

Another hundred years pass. This time, Shen Yuan arrives to find Luo Binghe already waiting for him. He isn't surprised to see that Binghe's situation has visibly improved -- maybe he was keeping closer tabs on him, just a little bit, for this past while. If only to be sure he wouldn't have to warn the tea house workers to expect an unorthodox visitor again! But no, Binghe has been doing well enough for himself. No more harems or thrones, though. He dresses more like a well-off merchant now, deliberately posing as his own mortal descendant rather than as a great immortal cultivator. The food at the table looks far more delicious than usual too (Binghe commandeered the tea house's kitchen himself this time). As they chat, Shen Yuan is regaled with the exploits of Luo Binghe's travels and adventures, how even though he initially set out to claim revenge on those who overthrew him, by the time he was in a position to actually do so they had already died of the usual causes (time, illness, their own schemes backfiring, etc). Subsequently, only their children and grandchildren were left with the scraps of power they had obtained, and when one of those children employed Luo Binghe as a bodyguard, his initial plan to assassinate them eventually fell by the wayside. After all, the wrongdoings weren't actually theirs. From that point, Binghe was able to restore himself to a more comfortable life, joining his new employer on their travels until he had set aside enough earnings to take his leave before his youthful good-looks earned him suspicion. He then began investing in travel and trade, specifically cargo ships, because never spending too long in the same place or around the same people helped disguise his immortality. He had found that, at least for now, this served him better than playing the part of a cultivator. It also gave him time to try and actually repair his ruined cultivation base somewhat, and fighting pirates proved very diverting.

Binghe is midway through recounting his adventures with a gigantic sea monster, while Shen Yuan hangs on every word, when they're interrupted by the arrival of a brash young mistress, clearly wealthy and trained in cultivation. The young lady declares that there is a rumor that a fallen god and a demon meet in this tea house once a century, that they wield strange powers, etc etc, and she intends to interrogate them both with the assistance of her hired muscle and her own spiritual weapon, and discover the truth of the matter. Then she whips out, well, a whip!

Before Shen Yuan can deal with the matter, Luo Binghe is already on his feet, disarming the goons and breaking a few arms in the process. Shen Yuan is so distracted that he almost misses the whip aimed right for him, but before Binghe can catch the barbed weapon with his bare hand (wtf, Binghe, no) Shen Yuan deflects it with a wave of his fan, and then efficiently knocks the troublesome young lady unconscious. The hired muscle flees, Shen Yuan arranges for their assailant to be placed in a room upstairs until she regains consciousness, and he and Binghe resume their meal and conversation in relative peace.

Even though it's clear that Luo Binghe has not yet reached the end of his tolerance for life, Shen Yuan nevertheless finds himself strangely reluctant to part ways at the end of the night. Still, he does, because that's what is expected of him, gently denying Luo Binghe's suggestions that they find some other establishment to continue their conversation at. He also has to investigate these "rumors" that the young lady mentioned. It's probably nothing (Shang Qinghua has a loose tongue when he's drunk, and a lot of imaginative storytellers have frequented this tea house over the years) but he doesn't like being caught unawares like that. Heavenly politics are... complicated, it's best not to court unwanted attention in any capacity.

Another hundred years go by. This time, when they meet at the tea house, Luo Binghe asks Shen Yuan why he keeps it up. Why did he pick Binghe? What is he really after? When Shen Yuan fails to give any kind of clear answer, Luo Binghe shoots his shot and makes a (very obvious) move on him.

Shen Yuan, flustered, gets up and flees. Ignoring Luo Binghe's calls after him. It just doesn't make any sense! Why would Binghe do that?! He's a man who once had a harem of wives in the triple digits! Clearly he's not gay, so what was that all about? Was he just messing with him?! How dare he! Etc, etc.

Another century passes. Luo Binghe waits at the tea house, which has fallen onto hard times again. With the construction of some new roadways, travelers no longer pass through as often. Binghe listens, worried, to the proprietor's laments that this old place will probably not be around in another hundred years. He listens because he has no one else to speak to, because Shen Yuan has not shown up. Not that morning, not during the day, not come evening, and not now that it is closing time. Binghe nevertheless charms and bribes the proprietor to let him stay even after the place has shuttered.

It seems damning, of course. He pressed too hard and now his mysterious benefactor wants nothing more to do with him. Except, no, he refuses to accept that. He's still immortal. And he has gleaned enough of Shen Yuan's character by now that he thinks that even if he was rejected, he would be let down more clearly and gently than this. The more he thinks about it, the less willing Luo Binghe is to believe that he has been deliberately stood up (also, since the tenor of his confession was different from Hob Gadling's, he never delivered an ultimatum about what it might imply when they met up again).

Over the centuries, Luo Binghe has built up a few contacts with similarly strange and supernatural stories. Cultivators, sure, but also others, fortune tellers and people of strange ancestry, questionable abilities, those who have interacted with powerful beings of mysterious provenance. He makes his way to a certain gambling den, frequented often by such people, and while he flashes around enough money to draw curiosity, he collects information. Shen Yuan wasn't the only person who started paying more attention to the kinds of rumors surrounding the two of them after their confrontation with the young cultivator a couple centuries ago. And in fact, Luo Binghe has been spending many, many years trying to find out more about his mystery man. Though, too many potential deities and immortals fit his description for him to have ever conclusively figured much out.

This is how Binghe gets wind of a rumor that an eccentric occultist has somehow captured a god in his basement...

[moongreenlight]

More on Soap and his f!demon!reader because you guys forced me like oooookay I get it you’re horny on main

Just kidding everything I do is for you. All you have to do is vaguely imply that you want something and I’m all over it baby anything you need.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Johnny’s demon who follows him everywhere after his first kill. Bound to him the moment the bullet left his chamber. A partnership of sorts. Cast into the pits and valleys of his soul. Gifted to him in the few intimate moments where the deafening blast of his rifle slowed time. Kept a secret even from him. A partnership between this world and the next. Quite literally a give and take. You sworn to him so long as he kept up his end of the bargain. Kill or be killed.

You stayed concealed in shadows for years. Flitting from corner to corner to make sure you always had an eye on him. Silently coaching him through little whispers carried to his ears on the wind. Watching him grow as a soldier under your care. Honing and refining his skill as you saw fit. Leaning your chin just over his shoulder during missions. Voice leading him through to victory like siren song.

Protecting him when it was necessary. Wrapping your big wings around him to shield him from an onslaught of bullets. Leaving his side only for a moment to gore a sniper with their sights on him with your blackbuck horns. Curling your fingers around his to force the trigger of his pistol back if he hesitated and put himself in danger.

It was a bit dirty in principle. Like forging his signature on the deed that signed his soul over to the devil, but he didn’t seem to mind. The cost of invincibility coming at a relatively low price all things considered. The only drawback was his ego. Sizable before, now bloated into something almost grotesque. Cocksure and arrogant but not without his charms.

Not to mention, you’d almost taken a liking to Johnny in your time together. Like a parasite slowly becoming fond of their host. He keeps you fed. Bringing you with him to the field, letting you gorge yourself on blood and carnage and pain until all you can do is drape yourself over his broad shoulders and lazily flick your magic around when it’s required. And he’s decently entertaining for a mortal. Has to be the best company you’ve been forced to keep in at least a few hundred years.

Though you found yourself getting increasingly irritated each time he came home from a mission and thanked God of all people. Letting him pick up a few more scrapes and bruises than you usually would on his missions after that whole bit started. Each murmured ‘Thank you’ making you hiss and howl down at him from your perch in the shadows. Wanting to show him just who he should be thanking for his survival.

Tired of his baseless belief and wanting to teach him a lesson on saying thank you; you revealed your human form to him during midnight mass on Christmas Day. Can’t say you didn’t have a sense of humor.

You sat alone in the pews. Feeling when he entered the church minutes after you. Skin erupting into goosebumps, hair standing on end, a heat starting under your skin like you’d been dropped into a pot of water being slowly brought to a boil. You watched from the corner of your eye as he and his family slowly made their way down the rows of pews, finding yours was the only one with enough room to hold the lot of them together. It all seemed too perfect when you and Johnny ended up knee-to-knee.

You felt his energy shift. He could feel you as much as you could feel him, but the sensation was foreign to him. The same discomfort you’d been plunged into when you took your human form. Trying to cooly fold the sleeves of his dress shirt up at his elbows and seem attentive to his mother who was harping on him about his hair up until the moment the priest stepped to the pulpit.

You didn’t get a chance at him until the congregation was finally prompted to greet one another. Some love your neighbor nonsense.

Johnny turned to you immediately. Standing from his pew with the rest of the crowd. Unable to sit still in such discomfort. His skin hot as yours. Buzzing just under the surface like he was inches away from a live wire.

You blinked up at him through thick lashes, wetting your lips with a flick of your tongue before pushing to your feet. Letting him shift his weight for a few more moments as you looked him over.

Standing in front of him, he dwarfed you. Always had- but especially now when you didn’t have your wings or horns to compensate. Not the tallest in the room, but carried himself like he was. Chest puffed out, arms subtly flexed by his sides, dress shirt hugging his muscled form just right.

He stuck a hand out. Brow cocked as he sized you up with glittering blue eyes.

“Peace be with you.”

He spoke first. You fitted your hand in his. Barely blinking when the meeting of your skin elicited something like a static shock. Relieving both of you from your discomfort.

“And with your spirit.”

You responded through a coy smile. He looked reluctant to take his arm back. The shock hadn’t deterred him. Instead he wrapped his fingers all the way around your hand, hanging on to you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“Alone on Christmas?”

He still didn’t let go of your hand. A sharp smile. Almost predatory.

“Nobody to spend it with.”

You shrugged, still gazing up at him with big doe eyes. Finally allowing your hand to drop from his and immediately feeling pins and needles in the absence of his touch.

“Don’t believe that for a minute.”

You caught his knee inching toward yours on more than one occasion as the mass carried on. Like he was testing the waters to see if you were truly the reprive he was seeking. Fidgeting slightly where he sat. Teeth clicking softly as he ground them. Cracking his knuckles. Clenching and unclenching his jaw. Shifting his hips slightly forward on the bench. To his credit, he showed an impressive amount of restraint. Never touching you. Not that it would have done much through his trousers.

The one true pitfall of your being bound to his soul. Forgotten until now in its seeming insignificance. It was near agony for the both of you when you took human form. Like your life force being torn in two and dangled temptingly close but just out of arm’s reach. A kind of pain that didn’t need to land blows on either of your physicalities. Felt divinely through each you. Not used to being separated, you had an almost instinctual need to be together. You’d known beforehand and he seemed to be picking up on it quickly. Skin needed to touch skin in order to provide either one of you any relief. Give both of your spirits space to knit themselves back together.

For being so tightly braided in the fibers of his being, you found it almost shocking that you hadn’t noticed how desperate he could be when he was looking for release. Body tense in his increased discomfort. No doubt grappling with the effects of your separation. Sweat beading at the back of his neck. Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Bouncing his knee. Looking up toward the rafters before fixing his gaze on you in an attempt to pass it off as a sweep of the room. The way he brushed your arm reaching over you for a bible nestled in a pocket just in front of you. Making contact with your exposed skin for a fraction of a second and nearly whining when the both of you felt your unease settle for a fleeting moment.

Trying to push up against you when you were down on the kneelers, murmuring a clipped apology each time. Still somehow finding time to rake his eyes over you. Nails digging little half-moons into the back of his hands where they were clasped in prayer.

On the tail end of the service, communion was given. You followed behind Johnny and his family. Just behind him like you had so many times before. His normal prowl substituted for a more casual saunter. Subduing his ego for something a bit more reserved in the presence of not only his family but also the good lord. Nodding his thanks as he took his bread and wine. You had to fight back the distasteful curl of your lip at the motion. Even now he was thanking God.

You saw the way he tried to casually turn his gaze back to you when you stepped up to take your Eucharist. Tongue laid out flat and long, head tipped back a few degrees. Intentionally pornographic in your acceptance of the wafer. Nearly tripping over his feet when he caught you staring straight back to him. You made a show of pulling your tongue back into your mouth, your best attempt at a demure smile curving your lips.

He tailed you closely on your march out of the church. You lingering on the walkway. Seeing the way his eyes flicked back to you as he walked his parents to their car. Mother still going on about something or the other. He needed to visit more or he needed a proper haircut or he needed to call more. He cut her off with a kiss on the cheek before closing the car door. Shook his father’s hand. And as expected, crossed the parking lot quickly to get back to you. Grinning wolfishly as he saw you stood with your winter coat folded neatly over your arms pretending to look around for who knew what.

“Still alone, are we?”

He queried, standing in front of you, folding his arms over his chest. You didn’t miss the way he flexed just barely, making the dress shirt bite into his bicep.

“You worried about me?”

You cocked your head slightly to the side, chewing the inside of your lip to dilute the smile threatening to curl your lips.

“Ken I oughta be, pretty lass like you.”

He chuckled softly, blue eyes glittering under the warm glow of the lights outside the church.

“Aren’t you sweet.”

You deadpanned.

“You’ve got no idea.”

He’s used to getting what he wants, that ego of his. And you’d made the mistake of not outlining exactly how quickly you’d play into his game beforehand. Mind now clouded from not being with him. Walls came crumbling down embarrassingly quick.

He’d somehow persuaded you to let him give you a lift back to his place. You making up some excuse about not being from the area, staying with a friend who must have fallen asleep instead of picking you up after church. Somehow allowed him to keep his hand fixed on the small of your back up two flights of stairs to his flat. Somehow wound up with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand, pushed onto the couch with Johnny sandwiching you against the arm.

Awfully smart for a mortal man. Figured out what it took to keep him comfortable and ran with it. His fingertips ghosting along the hem of your dress. Delighting in the goosebumps both of you got when he brushed your skin with his. The insatiable heat crackling within each of you dying down each time only to be fanned with a renewed fervor when he drew back. Eventually settling on not pulling away at all. Resting his hand on the top of your thigh, running the fabric of your dress between a few fingers. Careful to keep his palm flat against you. Infuriatingly comfortable with you seeing as you were a complete stranger to him. Chatting like the two of you were old friends. Flirting like you had done this time and time again.

He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Couldn’t be arsed to play the fool and try and skirt around the subject. A dog after a bone, really. Practically drooling over you as you made idle chitchat. And the worst part was that it was working. You’d try to blame it on your addled state. Not in your right mind. Only you knew how flimsy those excuses were. Trying to curb his advances with little success. Trying to keep the ball in your court.

You were still looking to assign blame to something when he grabbed your hips and tugged you under him on the couch. Circumstance. Mindset. Whiskey. Church. God. You couldn’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about. Something insignificant. Very well could have been the weather. You had a feeling it didn’t really matter.

Hovering over you close enough to feel his feverish heat all over. His knee forcing its way between your legs like he felt some kind of right. Using his big paws, still clamped around your hips to grind you against his thigh. A sharp laugh when you tried to hide the soft mewls that bubbled up inside you.

You felt smaller than you had in eons. Not used to being jerked about. Reduced to something resembling a true human under Johnny’s touch. Not having been material for centuries would do that, you supposed. No room to think about the needs of your physical body if it’s something that’s been shelved until now. And- fuck. It’s like somehow your body had found room to store up thousands of years of repression. Bursting at the seams. Somehow, the heat in your belly rivaled that of being separated from him. A feeling that couldn’t be sated like your bloodlust. Like a hunger that could claw its way up out of you if left untreated.

He was grinning at you like the cat that ate the fucking canary. Properly giddy. Tickled with himself for snatching you up. You wanted to snap at him. Hiss and spit like you had when he’d thanked God instead of you after a mission. Remind him that he wasn’t the hero he thought he was because this was all part of your plan, but the words died in your throat.

“Jesus. Thought you’d be a good girl. Meetin’ you in a church and all.”

His voice wasn’t doing anything to help your case. Nearly sending you feral under him. Unable to help the wetness gathering at your sex. You tried to press your thighs together. To buck his hands off of you, but it only made him snap his teeth in your face. His fingers bit in just a touch harder, pressing you down into the couch.

“Thought you said you were sweet.”

You bit back, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Dinnae know s’what you wanted. Don’t seem like it.”

“Funny.”

You shot back, voice a bit more obviously breathless than you would have liked. He’d let go of your hips, leaving you to grind yourself against the muscle of his thigh that was pressed tightly against you. He looked down, watching the way you moved. Whining at the sight. You were much too lost in your mind to notice the small damp spot that was forming on the leg of his trousers. Rolling your hips lazily against him.

“You like funny? Cunt get this wet for any funny bastard that comes along?”

You couldn’t muffle the high keening sound that tore from your throat in time. His filthy words taking you by surprise. Blinking rapidly and making a vain effort to still your hips, but he was quick to the kill. Snorting a laugh and tugging you up off the couch. Bullying you down the short hallway and into his bedroom. Walking you backwards using his legs to guide you. Puffed-out chest knocking you in the direction he wanted, kicking at your feet if you were going to run into the wall or a corner. Herding you like some sort of farm dog. There was a nasty look in his eyes now that you weren’t touching anymore. Even a few seconds apart seemed too much.

He shoved you backward onto the bed, not giving you time to adjust the awkward angle at which you’d landed before he was knelt before you on the ground. Yanking you forward by the backs of your knees which caused your dress to bunch at your hips. Leaving your dripping sex exposed to him. The thin panties doing little to hide your arousal. You yipped softly, trying to twist away from him. Give yourself the high ground, but he wasn’t having it.

He wasn’t the light, arrogant, charming Johnny you’d seen before. Nor was he the dark, rough operator you’d seen him be on the field. This was something different entirely. He looked like a predator that had finally caught some elusive prey. A flash of his teeth through an infuriatingly smug smile. Eyes raking you over like he was about to tear into you. It made something deep within you coil tightly. The heat in your belly now at a roaring boil. Your plan long forgotten. Lost somewhere to swirl among the fog that took over your mind.

Given the animosity he was exuding, he took his sweet time warming you up. Kissing, nipping, sucking, licking his way up your legs. From knee to hip on both sides. Leaving small, dark marks on your skin. Marking his territory. Panting softly over your barely clothed cunt. You making your situation even worse when you twitched and mewled softly under him. Cheeks burning a deep scarlet.

It was entirely too much and somehow not enough. The visual of him knelt between your legs that were hanging off the bed. His artful way of touching you. Your thundering heartbeat and the blood rushing in your ears. It nearly pushed you over the edge without him even needing to touch you.

He was a dog pulling on a taught leash. Doing everything he could to restrain himself. His breathing was ragged. Eyes steely. Pupils blown out. Unable to look away from the damp spot on your panties. Humming his approval at the sight. Working his calloused fingers under the fabric and guiding them down your legs. His muscles were tense, impossibly so, threatening to burst the seams of his shirt. Swallowing hard when he finally got a look at your drooling pussy.

“Jesus, bonnie. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He shifted slightly on his knees. Cock pressing uncomfortably hard against his pants. The muscles in his jaw twitched slightly. Sat stilled for a moment with his hands at your thighs with a white-knuckle grip.

You whined. A choked sound. Trying to squirm out of his eyesight. A bit uncomfortable being ogled. This sent him back into action, strong hands yanking you back toward him. Snapping his teeth in your face in warning.

He then spent more time working you out. Like he had nothing else he’d rather be doing. His mouth hot and wet. Touching anywhere but your clit out of some torturous principle. Spreading you open with his thumbs. Lolling out his tongue and allowing drool to drip down off it and add to your gathering slick. Blowing cool air on you. Watching your every twitch and shake with lust-glazed eyes that somehow seemed more attentive than normal. Committing you to memory.

You were nearly in tears. He’d ruined your plan. Turned you from an all powerful being into some shivering, whimpering thing. Overstimulated without him needing to wreck you with an orgasm. Sweating and whining and yelping at his touch. Trying to tangle your fingers in his hair and jerk him closer, but he just swatted your hands away or sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh to shut you up. Unable to be put off of his path even after you’d stooped well below your status and managed to ask nicely a few times.

And when he finally, fucking finally, showed you a bit of mercy; he only sunk one finger into you. Enough to make you let out a low, throaty growl, but not enough to satisfy you. He pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Biting his lip and panting as he watched the way your drooling cunt swallowed him so perfectly. You tried to roll your hips into him like you had on the couch. Tried to grind into his knuckles to give your swollen clit some friction, but he rewarded your efforts with a mean slap on the leg. It took you by surprise. Pain like that- physical pain- had been so rare that it made you cry out and jerk your head up to stare at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“Yer gettin’ bratty. Take what I give you.”

He shrugged, still unable to tear his eyes away from where you were clenched around him. Though he didn’t bother hiding the smug smile he was sporting.

“N-not enough. More.”

You whined, tossing your head back onto the mattress.

“Hell of a way to say thank you.”

He chided, tutting his tongue softly.

“You’re out of your mind if-“

He put a quick stop to your impending tirade by stuffing you full with another finger. A soft squelching sound as he began to pump faster that sent you reeling. Unable to form a coherent thought, you were left to fall apart on his bed. Legs hanging lamely off the edge as he had his way with your cunt. Treating it like you weren’t even there. Cooing pure filthy words of admiration to your sweet cunt. Pinching around your clit for a moment before sliding back down to hold you open between the index and middle fingers of his free hand.

Fuck. So pretty. Look how she sucks me in, mm? Needy thing. Never been treated this good? Need‘ta get you ready, yeah? Bet she’ll be prettier all stretched out.

By this point, you were sobbing. Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and creating little stains on the comforter on either side of your head. Rolling down your neck. Something coiled so tightly under your belly that you were certain you would implode. Turn yourself inside out before he ever granted you release. Pained and overstimulated and under-stimulated all at once. Rendering you useless in doing anything other than moaning and fisting the sheets weakly in your hands.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, until he could tell that you were getting pushed to your breaking point. Working up his pace. Curling his fingers more and more. Letting his breath fan you. Still uttering filth like it was prayer. Fucking reverent. Slowly adding drops of water to a reservoir until the dam burst. It sent you careening over the edge when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a gentle suck. Lewd, wet noises coming from the both of you. It took all of a few seconds for you to reach your orgasm. Whatever had been furled tightly within you finally snapping and exploding outwards. Wiping your mind clean. Only allowing you to focus on your release. Walls clenching and spasming around his fingers that did not relent. Crying out and moaning and gasping much louder than you’d meant. Clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. Bucking your hips up into him and re-starting the entire process when your now hypersensitive clit grazed his teeth or tongue.

He stayed latched on to you for much longer than was appropriate. Lapping up as much of your spend as he could. Working his fingers into you well past the point of exhaustion. Keeping you spread open and on his view the entire way. Paying no mind to the way his knees began to object to his position or how tight his cock was pressed against his pants. Obsessed with the way your body reacted to him. Obsessed with your pleasure.

It felt like he was trying to make you come completely undone. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were nothing but a puddle on the bed. He spared you no mercy when he finally pushed himself to his feet. Hands flying to his belt and tearing it off. Too impatient be bothered to shed his trousers completely, opting to tuck the waistband just under his heavy balls. Shucking your dress up over your head. Using the slick gathered on his hands to lubricate his cock before he started fucking into his hand.

His leaking tip bumped against your clit each time he thrusted forward, sending you spiraling. Seeing stars. And now that he was certain he’d gotten you to come, it seemed the only thing he could focus on was his own orgasm. Yanking off his dress shirt with one hand. Working his needy mouth across your chest, up your neck, over your jaw until finally he met your lips. Leaving a slick trail of spit in his wake. Meeting your mouth with such a desperation that your teeth bumped together. His tongue sloppily working it’s way past your lips and further into your mouth.

He continued to fuck into his hands, eyes rolling back each time he brushed against you. Hypersensitive by nature, amplified a thousand times by the throbbing hardness of his cock. Dipping into you just a centimeter at a time. Driving the both of you insane. The scalding heat of his skin pressed flush against yours. The taste of yourself still on his mouth and chin. Sweat on sweat. Your head spinning. Mind still clouded with blinding pleasure. You wanted to tear him to shreds. So frustrated with him and his effect on you. Ruining your plans. Like he’d taken a seam ripper to your edges and was pulling you apart without even needing to try.

He hummed something filthy that you couldn’t quite make out. Sound muffled by the blood thundering through your ears. Letting out something that resembled a scream when he finally sheathed his cock deep within your walls. No longer satisfied with the stimulation of his hand. Bottoming out on his first thrust. Finally slipping himself out of the collar that was choking him in his rabid attempt to bury himself in you. He gave you no time to adjust to his girth, and you found yourself truly connecting the dots as to why he was so insistent on stretching you out with his fingers and loosening you up with multiple orgasms.

Your back arching impossibly further up into him. His sweat-slick forehead pressed hard against yours. Noses bumping together as he set a punishing pace humping into you. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Groaning and whining about how good you felt around him. He was beating hard against your cervix. White-hot pain popped spots behind your eyes. Your body trying to adjust to the feeling of him buried so deep.

“Fuckin’ perfect. Takin’ me so good.”

His tone was stuck somewhere resembling a growl. Rumbling so low you swore you could feel it in in your chest. Teeth clenched. Huffing in sharp breaths as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly. All you could do was mewl and cry under him in response.

He reached his orgasm relatively quickly, burying impossibly deeper into you when he finally came. His face buried into the crook of your neck, teeth sunk into your collarbone. It irritated you that he didn’t think to ask if he should pull out. But that was yet another boundary he didn’t seem to care for. Like he knew there was no way you could deny him. Like he felt that same entitlement to any part of you that he wanted. And honestly- that thought rang dauntingly true.

He thrust lazily into you, riding out his high before collapsing down next to you. Still sporting that infuriatingly smug grin. Fucking glowing. Tugging you over into his big arms and wrapping them around you. Tucking you under his chin and suffocating you with his smell. Sex and whiskey and cologne and incense. You hated that it worked to calm your aching body and mind.

“Oughta keep you around.”

He mused, chuckling breathlessly over you.

You simply hummed your response. Sighing sharply and resigning to the fact that revealing yourself to him at all may have been a mistake. You were at his service indefinitely.

[hopefulkidshark]

Takachiho Gorge Footpath, Takachiho, Japan: Takachiho Gorge in the lush Miyazaki Prefecture of Kyushu will make you want to put all your travel plans on hold, and book a ticket to straight to Japan! Designated as National Place of Scenic Beauty, Takachiho Gorge is one of the most breathtaking natural attractions in Kyushu, as well as the whole of Japan – the waterfall pouring down over the iconic rowboats that slowly roam throughout the chasm. Nestled in a steep gorge forged from an eruption of Mt. Aso volcano, Manai Falls (the actual name for the waterfall) are the most captivating cascades you will see in Japan, with the walk through the gorge no less than breathtaking.

[corgiteatime]

Sorry everyone but this run I have Gale going for Lae'zel. (Sorry, getting a rambling about this vibe.)

Honestly this pairing does it for me. I'm already a big fan of "Not Strong Man x Really Strong Woman". But there's a bit more happening here.

Both of them are... kinky albeit in not entirely identical ways. Both of them clearly state they have scent kinks, even if I think maybe Gale is figuring that out of for the first time. Both of them are intensely monogamous, which is unusual for the Forgotten Realms. Gale with his "practiced tongue" and "consider my mouth shut until you have use for it" and Lae'zel's "Taste. Good. Lower." They sexually appreciate physicality in ways the other companions don't talk about as much. They are both people ruined by their utmost dedication yet cannot help themselves to be dedicated in future endeavors. Neither of them half ass anything.

Besides their contrast of strength, they have a lot of other pleasing differences.

Gale is a man who is used to a slow romance involving words and thoughts that builds into sex and, as his companion, he tells you he would never take things this quickly except for the looming end of the world for both him and everyone else. Lae'zel is very used to going directly to sex, using her partner completely so they may be easily discarded because it is not likely for their relationship to carry further... only for her to find herself in a world that not only has the passage of time but also people who appreciate time passing in a relationship so they can forge emotional bonds. And now she has to learn to appreciate beauty and softness in a way she previously despised.

A woman learning about an alien world even if it clashes against her arrogant outlook and a man who is all to eager to learn about any alien culture because he's not embarrassed about being curious.

Silver and steel vs velvet and old books. Battle wounds vs magical disfigurements. Good wine and rich food vs a culture where eating isn't necessary until you must gorge yourself upon returning to the physical realm. And yet they are both hedonists in their own specific ways.

[followcb]

Rhythm of Waterfalls

the river carves

forges gorges

crowns mountains

from deep valleys

what points

toward heaven

pierces fiercest blues

stunning hues

peaks honed from stone

resistance of persistence

poetic alchemy of time

arc of the continuum

evolution sublime

rhythm of waterfalls

elemental as rhyme

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

��️ @followcb ☆ May 25, 2024

[genericpuff]

watch, when RS returns from her extended stalking-hiatus, Persephone will now be absolutely gorging on food bc RS has to prove everyone wrong

hades would be concerned about it too like "don't you think you've eaten enough dear"

Side tangent, honestly she's basically been morphing into the 1950's "ideal housewife" since S2, I know she doesn't literally behave like that in the narrative but you can tell there's a lot of uh, undertones in how she eats and acts that focuses more on her being a "good wife" than an actual person, there's also a lot of old sketch art to kinda support that. Right from the moment Hades "accidentally" called her his wife without provocation was when I knew she had no agency left in the story.

Like, what does she even do, you know what I'm saying? Within the actual narrative, what does she do that isn't others dragging her along for the ride? What does she do that doesn't come with Hades stapled to her hip? She doesn't do anything, things happen to her and then they just either magically work out or someone else saves her. Who is she besides Hades' wife and Demeter's daughter? It partially feels like intentional lack of agency so she can just be arm candy for Hades, but also just a consequence of her being such a blank slate/mouthpiece so that both Rachel and the audience can project themselves into her that she doesn't have a personality of her own at all anymore.

Back in the day when I still enjoyed the comic (but was starting to feel like it was losing the plot, this would have been back during the trial), I was hoping the question of "who is she" was going to be answered when she became forcefully separated from Hades and Demeter. She was no longer "Hades' wife", she was no longer "Demeter's daughter", she was now put into a situation where she had to step up and forge her own path and identity. I was really hopeful that they were going to use these new circumstances to actually challenge Persephone and give her a chance to blossom into her own.

But nope, instead we got a flimsy time skip so that we could rush her back into being Hades' wife. That's all she's ever been and all she'll ever be.

[dongtopus]

Honestly the best bit of The Infinite & the Divine for me was the 2 conversations surrounding the circumstances of Trazyn and Orikans Biotransferrence.

Twice dead king and The Infinite & the Divine give us first-hand accounts of the horrific, devestating, traumatic act of Biotransferrence and I think it's one of the most compelling pieces of Necorntyr lore. I haven't read Severed yet, I would like a physical copy but that for some reason is hard to come by.

The fear, the desperation and reluctance to escape the cycle of pain and slow death from tumour upon tumour upon cancer. The horror of seeing these star gods gorge themselves on souls high in the sky amongst the billowing ashes of your former civilisation's inhabitants.

The miles and miles of corpses along the way, of those too frail and weak to complete the march, the carts of people just barely holding on just being tipped into the forge.

[horrorscoupes]

speaking of hush

i know the “hush is a shade” theories are already RIFE on here, but i wanted to suggest my own idea for some variety :] (timestamped as always)

as an avid lover of the sovereigns and all of their shenanigans, there have been a few things gnawing at my thoughts for quite some time:

1. if the sovereigns under the river used the inversion as a feeding frenzy to glean more power than they typically would get from the natural progression of death via the river (“Was this your plan all along? Not to invade—but to feast? How much stronger will this harvest leave you? How long before something greater than Shades breaks loose?” [All Along 30:36]), then why, almost two years later, havent we seen ANYTHING else about that?

2. When Min’ara and E’Laetum are discussing the things that “lie bound in Death” they say this particularly interesting thing: “Their Prima seeks freedom from their prison.” “Give him a new prison instead.” [Held by Ancient Gods 5:29] which, of course, has always been assumed to be referring to one particular sovereign separate from the bunch

obviously this could be way off the mark, and i’m totally game to accept it if i’m wrong here, but i wonder (since they very easily created daemons and then, once rebelled against, experimented on humanity until they created vampires and empowered humans) if during their time in jail under the river, the sovereigns began to create something else. brachium refers to something “greater than” the shades that ravaged the E&E games during the inversion, which leads me to believe he was either talking about the sovereign themselves escaping OR that he referred to something else created by the trapped sovereigns to use kind of like they use shades to carry messages out of death (“Crafted, by what lies beneath the River, made out of the magic they siphon out of the waters. When they first climb back into the realm of the living, they’re weak. Running on pure instinct, draining anyone close to sustain themselves. To build up their strength. If they get enough, they become tangible, like this one. And if they get even more—a lot more, really gorge themselves… they start to actually remember their purpose. To be a messenger. An envoy. A voice, for what lies beneath.” [Blakes Truth 13:30]).

it’s been two years since the wolf/vamp storylines have seen the inversion and still we haven’t heard anything about the re-emergence of the sovereigns, because i really don’t think that the power absorption was solely to start breaking out. obv we don’t know where hush falls on the timeline just yet, but i think the fact that we also don’t know where certain people (project meridian cast, vega, regulus, blake to an extent, etc) were the night of the inversion is ALSO very important and interesting. <- i can talk about how weird and intriguing it is that we haven’t seen anything past inversion for vega and regulus for hours </3

so, if they’re using all the energy for creation rather than destruction it would have been incredibly smart to leave hush core-less. he isn’t a daemon, and without a core he has no threads linking him to aria. this means that not only can his powers be tethered to the metric fuck-ton of power that the sovereigns just absorbed by killing 1500 empowered people, in order to “rift” (idk what to call it. or if he did at all. anyways) he wouldn’t have to pass through the meridian at all.

so if he IS a new creation of the sovereigns forged from their power and energy, then it would make sense that E’Laetum and Min’Ara may want a bite out of him. they are starving and rotting away alone between terra and aria, and he is looking like a snack. which brings me to my second point: do E’laetum and Min’Ara want someone to bring them hush (in this theory a piece of the sovereigns waning power) to tide them over and perhaps lure a sovereign out of death? that’s a little bit of a stretch (and so is my theory linking hush and project meridian), but think that it’s something we could all stand to consider.

ALSO sidenote: i think that hush surfaces after the inversion while D.U.M.P. is still spinning over all of the deaths and distrusting the Chorus, hence why the deaths of several “articulates” (erik tell me what this means NEOW) seem to be going completely ignored/unnoticed. during the aftermath of inversion, D.U.M.P. and the Chorus are not friends, and it would make sense for them to overlook d(a)emon deaths while they’re still trying to decide if the Chorus knew that the inversion was coming

sidenote #2: the spellsong, which i’ve seen people questioning, has been defined as the binding between magic users and magic/daemons and aria/magic users to one another/magic to the world. to Me it seems like a somewhat broad term used to fill spaces, since no one in universe really knows where magic came from in its entirety. daemons use the term most often in canon, describing it as something they can “hear,” hence why i defined it as the binding between magic and the world. (“I can hear them. Every voice in the spellsong going silent. Every emotion being felt inside this… trap.” [Voices Gone Silent 5:08], “Your kind is a part of the Spellsong. Our harmony. And even if time has made some of my people callous, we still feel the loss of any voice, be it demonic or human.” [Comforted by Your Demon 14:15], “Most of the Chorus was… genuinely horrified to hear what had happened. They’d felt those losses. Heard those voices in the Spellsong as they went silent. Our people don’t always get along, yours and mine. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they usually don’t. But there’s a bond there that neither of our people can deny. And in those that I could read, they felt that pain.” [Consoling an Elemental and an Incubus 27:27], and “When you bit into him and he bit into you, your blood met each other’s cores. Each of your spellsongs met a counterpoint.” [You Bond With a Vampire 19:45]) <- these are the ones i found on short notice, i would be beyond thrilled to add more quotes to the collection

this is by no means me trying to shit on other theories, i think it’s so wonderful that we’re all here guessing. stay curious

[owlespresso]

Uh uhhh, Ais: 😘? Pretty pwease and thank you in advance 👉👈

😘 - what do they do for foreplay?

A wildcard. Sometimes foreplay is chasing you through through the wastes, pinning you down while you fight him with tooth and claw.

Sometimes it's crimson smeared across your skin and over your lips because you've bit him so hard. Sometimes foreplay is you damn near pulling out the roots of his hair while he holds you still, eats you out with his arms curled tight around your thighs, hard and unbendable as forged steel.

Other times, foreplay is you getting tipsy. He lifts drink after drink to your waiting lips and waits until you're hazy enough to slump up against him, pleasantly drunk and all the more pliant for it. He's gentler with you, then. He pries no less than two, trembling orgasms from you with fingers and tongue, explores the expanse of your body similarly.

He can be a bit of a bastard about it, still. He likes to take his time when he's feeling all sappy and sentimental. If he gorges himself on you too much, you're liable to burn out faster. So just lay back and let him do all the work, okay? Even if his "work" brings his fangs dangerously close to your key arteries. Surely, you can manage that much.

[bradsmindbrain]

Lynel Headcanons

● They make their home in the large gorge that separates Hyrule from the rest of the continent, with several towns throughout the gorge.

● Along with Keese, Wizzrobes, Moblins, Octoroks, and Gleeoks, they’re some of the oldest recorded monsters in Hyrule.

● Along with Wizzrobes, they’re the most intelligent kind of monsters there is, actually managing to build a society that’s somewhat similar to the ones of the various races of Hyrule. That being said, due to the Wizzrobes’… eccentricity and their desire to cause mischief, Lynels come across as smarter.

● Due to their intelligence, the hold The Malice and Gloom has on them is less absolute compared to other monsters. This is why the often still allow passersby a “Grace Period” before attacking.

● Lynel society puts a large emphasis on community, strength, honor, and loyalty. Towns are often like one large family unit, even if all of the Lynels living there aren’t related. They’re taught to hunt and fight from a young age with females getting more direct combat training with some hunting while males are taught to hunt with some combat training.

● Honor is a major thing to them, and is taught to them from a young age, especially before their “Proving” ceremony. Lynels are also incredibly loyal to each other, but they can extend this to people of other races should that person prove themself, such as besting one of them in combat non-lethally or assisting them when they’re in a heavily wounded state. This doesn’t happen all that often due to their reputation.

● Their roles in their society are seemingly an inverse of lions, with males leaving their towns to hunt and gather while females stay behind to guard their towns. With that in mind, they still have things like blacksmiths, innkeepers, shopkeepers, and the like. Despite them valuing strength they understand that those professions play an important role and as such don’t look down on them.

● Female Lynels are generally slightly smaller and thinner than males, as well as lacking manes. They’re far more vicious than males, but they rarely leave the gorge.

● One of the most important parts of a Lynel’s life is “The Proving” when they reach adolescence. “The Proving” is a ceremonial hunt that these Lynels must partake in to be seen as adults. They are given standard Lynel-made weapons and are not permitted to return to their homes until they’ve hunted something particularly strong (such as a Talus, Hinox, or Molduga) and bring back a piece of it as a trophy. Not all Lynels continue to hunt after their “Proving,” it’s just a marker of adulthood.

● Their weapons are designed with prey that have thick hides in mind, and as such are incredibly strong. Ones wielding Savage Lynel weapons usually traveled to Death Mountain and harvested the minerals used to forge those weapons themselves. They’re none too pleased with The Gloom disintegrating their weapons and forcing them to use weaker alternatives.

● Outside of The Malice and Gloom they’re fairly neutral towards the people of Hyrule, as well as most smaller monsters. They prefer to be alone while hunting and give any passerby a “Grace Period” to leave before scaring them off or initiating combat if the passerby makes the first move.

● Despite the power of their bows and their ability to shoot fireballs, they much prefer melee combat. This is in part because it’s an honor thing and so they can continue to grow stronger.

● Despite their feline characteristics, they’re omnivorous, though they prefer meat. Outside of that they also enjoy carrots and on occasion, sugary things.

● They’re generally neutral to other monsters, but they hate Gleeoks. Despite their hides naturally protecting them from most of the damage done by a Gleeok’s elemental attacks, they find Gleeoks to be a nuisance to deal with and cowards due to their tendency to fly out of range and hurl volleys of projectiles.

● Some of them wear armor, though only for more ceremonial occasions or guarding places of great importance. Not at least coming close to getting hurt makes them consider a fight boring.

● Some of them worship Malanya, though it’s not really mainstream and Lynels largely don’t worship any “Higher Power.”

● A lot of the stigma towards them only really started in the years before The Calamity when The Malice’s influence was making them act progressively more aggressive. Before that the generally consensus between the races of Hyrule was “they like being alone so just leave them alone.”

● Like other monsters, they have a variety of colors and horn shapes, with certain kinds being strengthened by Ganon(dorf) more than others. Horns are generally asymmetrical (one Sabre Horn and one Mace Horn) but a few have symmetrical ones.

● They sometimes decorate their horns and hooves with metal jewelry. Males that hunt and females that guard their territory mostly only wear it for special occasions, while males and females who do other jobs wear them more frequently.

● There’s at least one book in Hyrule Castle’s library from untold years ago that records that there was a Lynel that served the Royal Family as a royal knight. Not much is known about the Lynel himself (possibly due to the writer being too scared to go and ask questions) other than that he existed, and the validity is dubious as it was written during years where Hyrule was rife with turmoil. That being said, in the registry of royal knights (started all the way back at Hyrule’s founding which lists all the relevant details about a knight when they’re inducted such as age, gender, height, and the like), the species of one of that was appointed around the time that the book was written is left suspiciously blank.

[radiofreederry]

L'Internationale (French)

Debout les damnés de la terre Debout les forçats de la faim La raison tonne en son cratère C'est l'éruption de la faim Du passé faisons table rase Foule esclave debout debout Le monde va changer de base Nous ne sommes rien soyons tout

C'est la lutte finale Groupons-nous, et demain, L'Internationale Sera le genre humain C'est la lutte finale Groupons-nous, et demain, L'Internationale Sera le genre humain

Il n'est pas de sauveurs suprêmes Ni Dieu, ni César, ni tribun Producteurs sauvons-nous nous-mêmes Décrétons le salut commun Pour que le voleur rende gorge Pour tirer l'esprit du cachot Soufflons nous-mêmes notre forge Battons le fer quand il est chaud

C'est la lutte finale Groupons-nous, et demain, L'Internationale Sera le genre humain C'est la lutte finale Groupons-nous, et demain, L'Internationale Sera le genre humain

Ouvriers, Paysans, nous sommes Le grand parti des travailleurs La terre n'appartient qu'aux hommes L'oisif ira loger ailleurs Combien de nos chairs se repaissent Mais si les corbeaux, les vautours Un de ces matins disparaissent Le soleil brillera toujours

C'est la lutte finale Groupons-nous, et demain, L'Internationale Sera le genre humain C'est la lutte finale Groupons-nous, et demain, L'Internationale Sera le genre humain

[shieldkeeper]

Writing Prompt: Morsel Word Count: 774 (Voidsent AU) ---> masterlist

Deep within the dark depths of the void were a whole world’s worth of voidsent. Malignant creatures who’s worth surmounted to their power and how much they controlled within their grasps. The more power you had, the more land and other voidsent were under your control. Those at the top could even have it in them to have their own domain seeping with their power… those that were not to be so easily trifled with.

Serphiantis was one of those few who were teeming with power. His domain a perfect habitat where he ruled in deep depths of dark murky waters. Voidsent who thrived in such waters also sought to thrive in his domain where they could not be so easily defeated—not when they could manipulate such a world to their advantage against your typical land reliant enemy. And manipulate the domain Serphiantis did… nigh impossible to be defeated should one dare to try.

However, his hunger for more power could not be satiated. He desired to claw his way into the Source much like any other voidsent. To sup upon bountiful aether and cause untold havoc among that mortal realm. This dark prince of a voidsent desiring only the best of the best as well—he would not answer the call lest there were royal blood up for grabs. A summoner worth forging a pact that could benefit him greatly and his peculiar tastes.

Before the War of the Magi would come to fruition in its entirety, twas a time where the voidsent were being summoned left and right to prepare for their feast. Serphiantis bided his time and awaited for the moment he had always been waiting for. To hear the call of a powerful summoner with the blood fit for royalty. To have his moment where his power would grow to even greater heights.

That call came from an absurdly rare point of contact. From Nym of all places. That in itself was a temptation impossible to ignore. A place wholly untapped by Mhach and one that could tip it ever further in their favor. Then… he smelled it. The summoner… or someone near the summoner… had what he had been waiting for. That undeniable aroma of potential power.

He clawed his way through that void portal which called upon him. Practically licking his lips as he traveled to that point betwixt worlds and entered the fabled Source. Arriving upon a world he had yet to know.

On his arrival… before him was a mysterious summoner. One who did not interest him in the slightest. Though there was bountiful aether surrounding this woman, she was of regular stature. Someone who wouldn’t get him far at all.

Nay. He sensed something far more delectable nearby. Hiding in the surrounding brush and thinking themselves invisible to his senses. Hah! Serphiantis marked the hidden princess easily as he turned her way. Something that the original summoner noticed all too late as he made a break and slithered the opposite way.

“Princess, please stand back…!” The summoner cried out as she tried to regain the voidsent’s attention—but to no avail as a sinister sneer ripped across his features.

“Royal blood! I sense it! And I would have of it my all!”

In a flash, it seemed as though Serphiantis swam through the air as it raced towards a miss Mylili.

The moment the voidsent descended—the pact was sealed. No longer confined to the voidsent world as he reached into the depths of Mylili’s soul… only to find himself incredibly wanting as there was but the smallest pool of aether. None worth gorging on… and definitely not enough to supply his thirst for power nor making use of his otherworldly abilities. The voidsent seethed as he let out a foul cry.

“You witches deceived me…!”

He had been tricked. Him… the most calculating of voidsent who had waited the longest for this moment. Fooled with the scent of royal blood. The girl couldn’t contain his presence either. His power far too much that it nearly drowned her essence out. The pact had been formed, yet he could not merge fully within her soul. Practically forced to retain his outside form with no place to go.

“Serves you right…” The princess muttered before slipping into unconsciousness. Which sent Serphiantis into a wild rage.

There was nothing he could do. In fact, he had been caged here. In the dangerous land of Nym where his kind were unwelcomed. Forced to make do with so tiny a morsel that left him so, so wanting.

Serphiantis would make this young princess’s life a nightmare worth reckoning for.