#to include a world tree

[technicalknockout]

ok ko episode: My Dad Can Beat Up Your Dad (season three edition)

[quicksilv3r]

HTF doodles except i lost motivation halfway through and the only one i truly finished was Mime

All my faves + Cuddles who's my best friend's fav :3

[camillathe6th]

See, okay, that's one of the things I want to kind of sink my teeth into regarding Sidestep and Herald, who's technically the ONLY politically active Ranger (despite his brimming with both guilelessness and a too many blindspots at this point in the story). Still, he does actively work to implement change, does try to circumvent the shackles of his functions, and helps his peers, especially those he manages to see as systemically underprivileged (see his behaviour towards the LDPD). An Anarchist Sidestep, because they are intensely political, intensely aware of power dynamics within the society they inhabit, and have been TORN free of the positive guileleness they hate in Daniel, present themself as someone who knows what's going on for real and who will, and I quote here, "break the wheel", usher in a new era, change the damn world. And yet they say this type of shit constantly*:

See my point: Sidestep often embodies political anger, which is GOOD and yields result, but they also embody despair, however much justice plays a part into their path--and while their plans fuel them, it's only towards an abstractedness, towards a one-scaled, personal project, and even then only through destruction--not construction, and certainly not ground-level or wider-scaled activism. They rely on the obfuscation that everything they do is a mean to an end, as if revolution WAS an end, instead of a constant progression and a perennial reconstruction.

In the end, they're mired in a similar guilelessness to the one they want to break in Daniel, one that relies on despair rather than idealism, but is still riddled with blindspots. Daniel is in the world, with all the bias that come with it, especially in his position of privilege; Sidestep is too often out of the world, looking at experience through the distorted lens of shortcuts, marginalization, amalgamation (and of course: the noise they hear is deafening). The blinders are on both ways; they just don't hide exactly the same shit. One doesn't exist without the other, which the book drives home even more sharply by constantly paralleling who Sidestep was and who Daniel is, and the middle-points where their experiences and skills intersect, despite very different backgrounds; but yes, as I was saying, idealism and despair cannot exist without the other, just like liberation doesn't exist without community action, and battle without care ethics; or they self-destruct.

Anyway, I feel like Herald's path COULD and might ask--what does that look like, this collision, this similar goal underpinned by contrary means, and how do you find common ground, especially when the two sides have been too-long fuelled and tormented by discredit and tamed anger?

*Case in point: their very twisted rapport to the Regene cause, despite purportedly working to support it in many paths.

[amelikos]

Genuinely fascinated by Spinel's desire to insert himself into Gibeon's legacy.

He wants to be like Gibeon himself (resonated with his desire to use the eternal blessing and deeply respected him for it, and asserted that he would surpass Gibeon). He seemingly wants to be Gibeon's closest confidant, Lucius (he cut Lucius off while he was talking and dismissed him as a ghost and seemingly wasn't pleased by Lucius's influence on Gibeon because it made him hesitate).

He simultaneously wants to be the favored son-in-law (Crave) who is entrusted with Exceed, and the favored grandchild (Amethio) who was set up to become heir to the Explorers and Gibeon's original will. He takes over both parts of Gibeon's legacy (Exceed and the Explorers) right after Gibeon passes on and entrusted his original wish to Amethio. He considered himself as more worthy of inheriting Gibeon's will and he is the continuation of Gibeon's mindset and fascination towards the Rakurium. He wants to be in that family tree.

[szaryherbatnik]

Goodnight szarempire!!! Sweet dreams everyone. Im thinking about virgil. Im thinking about how april just started 3 hours ago and i hate april. But im also thinking about gannji in his ladybug costume!!!!! And about virgil!!!! One of my favorite experiences ever was getting to touch a birds beak and talons and finding out theyre warm. I dont know why its surprising to me birds are warm but they are and its one of the best things in the entire world!!!!!! Goodnight!

[girlfox]

first things first, ahri's shan hai skin is mind-blowingly gorgeous. her soft wavy hair in curly cloud patterns .. her gorgeous painted tails .. the unique shape of her whiskers .. the swipe of red under her eyes .. the chunky earrings .. she's THAT GIRL. but also i'm in love with how she manipulates fire in her foxfire skin, nature/flowers/foliage in her elderwood skin, and now water in her shan hai skin. she can really truly do it all.

[pqrfi]

dess in the depths drabble/hc

There was a tree between the east room of the Depths and the west room.

Directions were futile, seeing as the darkness stretched on and on and on, but Dess liked to categorize it. She left her bat in what she called the west and a hair tie in her version of the east. Sometimes she had to walk a certain trail in order to get between them, and if she took a certain path, heel to toe, she found the tree.

Gaster liked to sit under the tree. Dess was confident that he had some sort of experiment going with it-- hell, maybe he was the one who created the singular tree in the void of nothingness. It didn’t really matter; she liked her tree.

She took naps beneath it sometimes, stretching on for what could have been decades. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but it was better than the feeling that sinking into the unperceivable ground came with. Her hooves no longer stood atop it and, if she tried hard enough, she could pull it up like a blanket the same way Gaster did. The cloak he gave her-- like a mage out of the games Azzy used to play-- was no different than the ground, simply another part of the endless void encircling her.

Dess remembered the first time she saw the tree. She’d been walking, as she always did, when she turned just enough invisible corners to find it. She still wasn’t sure the exact recipe of steps and backtracking-- if there even was one-- but she liked to think she’d grown a sixth sense when it came to finding her tree.

It was the most excited she’d felt in a long time. Gaster had been beneath it, his broken skull looking down at her in the only way he could, but she paid him no mind. She could almost imagine Noelle behind her as she giggled, shedding the cloak and sprinting fast enough to launch herself into the tree. She could still swear she remembered Gaster ducking out of the corner of her eye, as if she was going to fall and hurt him despite his noncorporeal state; it was an item on her relatively short list of times Gaster appeared to genuinely have a soul.

Unlike everything else in the Depths, the pink tree was real. It had bark that she could pick off, drifting onto the ground that gave them physicality, and leaves that crumpled when she squeezed them. If she leaned close enough, she could nearly see the vibrant colors, dimmed by the indomitable darkness. 

It was probably months before she left the tree, picking up her cloak and resting it on her shoulders like a chilly hug yet again. 

The tree became a waypoint. No matter how much she wandered, she always found herself back there. She’d sit under it, she’d lay across a branch that probably should have collapsed under her weight, and she’d even indulge in Gaster’s tests of physics and test the tree’s corporeality.

One day, however, Dess learned a secret.

If she climbed to the highest branch that she could, cloak snagging on every leaf and her old converse threatening to slip off, she heard things.

It was so quiet she’d thought she finally went crazy. Dess leaned her ear toward the nonexistent sky and cupped a hand around it, as if it would allow the sound waves to be any louder. It wasn’t like Mike’s telltale scratching, no, that was from within the Depths. This began as a thrum that she eventually equated to a car engine, and with that knowledge, she knew that she could hear echoes of Home.

She stood there, ankles straining and arm tiring, doing nothing but listening. It was so quiet that she might not have heard it at all, but her ears were so adjusted to pure silence that she knew how to catch it. 

Sometimes, there were shouts, startling her out of her skin. It took a long time to be able to comprehend words.

The first word she ever heard made her climb down the tree and run into the darkness, hoping for the thousandth time that it would swallow her whole.  

“Kris!”

The only noises Dess ever heard was the dial tone of a phone, Gaster’s warbling voice, and the incessant voice of Mike-- now that he’d finally learned that she no longer feared his scratching. She hadn’t heard so much as an engine rumbling since before she broke open the door to the bunker, let alone the voice of her best friend.

Asriel had shouted Kris’ name without an air of humor, and Dess had absolutely no idea what fight they were in this time. He sounded older, no longer a young teenager with shoes too small for him. 

Dess hadn’t heard noises of home in so, so long, and the last thing she’d expected to hear was Azzy. On one hand, it relieved her, knowing that he was okay. 

It also threatened to pull her soul out of her chest and shatter it into pieces.

After that, it became easier to hear voices. She never did hear Asriel again, but his mom filled the gap. She heard Noelle laughing and couldn’t come down from the tree for days, yearning to hear it again. Her mom’s clipped tone had never been so comforting before. Kris never resounded, but they were too quiet for that, no matter how much older they’d gotten. Dess could only hear those who dared to be loud.

When the Experiment began, it was as if the Depths exploded with noise. Really, it was only audible from her tree, but she didn’t have to strain to hear it in the usual silence. She heard the Dark Prince and Kris-- all grown up!-- and all of the objects that had been given life. 

She heard Noelle, snickering and crying for help and standing up to the computer in a way she never knew how to before. 

With a knife hooked on her jeans, ready to be thrust into the Earth again, Dess sat perched in her tree like a bird on the lookout. She heard every moment of the adventure in the Dark World, and she smiled as Noelle described the city that she’d always dreamed of taking her to. She didn’t really know if it would work, seeing as all she did was stab the Earth and disappear back to the Depths.

It worked. Noelle got to go to the city.

Dess dangled her legs from the tree and smiled down at Gaster, giving him a thumbs up that he wouldn’t respond to. It had been more than five years, as she learned from bits and pieces of sentences that she overheard, and Noelle was getting everything she deserved back then. It was all worth it.

[rainybraindays]

Reminder that I love the sisters ESPECIALLY PRUDENCE SOSOSO much

Like gossipy old ladies who are absolutely delusional 85% of the time? Having lots of social engagements everyweek? Each having been implied or confirmed to have had multiple husbands?Them all filling their sibling roles(prudence oldest +mercy and grace give SUCH middle energy) though they're all old and have even lost their 4th sister? Prudence specifically having this big social life; pulling no less than 5 husbands; potentially even having kids; and ALSO had a massive hand in mapping the tunnels throughout her life? Mercy and Grace(and potentially Constance) knowing about it but not saying anything so she can have that and feel special???

I love them so much oh my god. I want nothing more than i want a book following these old coots when they were in their prime

[paper-cup-phone]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

clearest glimpse of this group being who i'd wager is Not thee mister macabee

[musical-machinery]

looney bird... save me.. looney bird ... save me looney bird

[veraynes-blog]

Went for a wander through the woods yesterday and it felt very ✨️Magical Journey✨️

[lunarcry]

augh lemme ramble abut some of the newer song releases. but. 1) i am so eternally grateful 19-iku- has songs in proseka now like dear was a Big part of my teen years and even now i love it soooo much so 2) hide and seek......with leoneed....and honami at that ?!??! i alrdy tear up whenever i hear that song (themes about accepting & loving urself gets me so bad), and honami is....definitely at the top of the list of characters who makes me emotional. excellent choice. praying for a solo i think she sounds so good in it

niigo envy baby is so so so so good......mizuki especially?!?!? they Have to get a solocover right....no way there wont be one...also listened to the full ver of nonbreath oblige...T_^ the most typical figaro song no1 i know it in my heart, but niigos cover is ssooo great. cant wait for full ver of engeki (nanou fan) (will cry) (cant watch the 3dmv without crying) (struggles getting through the full song too)

[lmaster37]

When you were a child, you entered the temples of Stars and swore your life away.

Twelve long years you spent in Wiagsun, bringing offerings to Meissa, offering worship to Itonda, worshipping without cease Nenque and Tonatiuh. Your devotion you gave to Alcor: the fainter twin, overshadowed by luminous Mizar, ever steadfast and loyal.

Alcor was that which guided your hands as you healed your first scraped knees—which guided your mouth as it spoke prayers and gave thanks—which sealed closed flesh and replenished blood, strengthened bone, coaxed tissue.

It was merely the physical you could heal, of course, but it was enough. For twelve years, it was enough.

When the thirteenth spring of your life in Wiagsun drew to a close, Alcor's chosen Arundhati came to you and laid upon you a holy charge, and not a week passed ere the party of taskfolk arrived and received you into their number.

They were an eccentric bunch, but Alcor had acted well to place you with them. Wiagsun had begun to stifle rather than embrace you; now, you travelled the breadth of the continent. Here you were not a foundling or an acolyte. Here you were Starsworn.

---

Of course, removed from the temples, your skills no longer sufficed.

It was Lífthrasir's death which first revealed your lack; physical survival you easily ensured, but he could no longer tread the path to Hoddmímis, erasing centuries of mastery in an instant. In the end, it was a hordeling that felled him.

Anansewa was abandoned by her colony as her thread was severed. Yosoji's prayers for guidance went unanswered and he withered away.

In the end, it was only you and Occia. Wiagsun had long since fallen before the onslaught; the gods had retreated to the Temple of Vesta, cowering within as Occia alone stood guard.

Her death, at least, came quick. The last Vestal did not see the flame extinguished: it was only when you gently shut her eyes, hunched over her body becoming still, that Vesta's hearth grew cold.

And then, you were alone.

For the first time in fifteen years, you are alone.

---

Behind you, Vesta's temple gives in at last, yielding with a sigh of grinding stone and shattered glass. You're glad that this, at least, dies quietly. You are tired of screams.

Unthinkingly, your heart stretches itself towards Alcor, and finds—

Nothing.

The gods had fled to Vesta's temple. There is nothing left to believe in.

So nothing you must embrace.

---

The sky above the onslaught is emptied.

All the Stars have gone. The Sun set hours ago; no Moon ever rose.

You, too, are emptied. You reach, again, desperately, for the god you've loved for fifteen years—you howl your wrath into the black night—and nothing answers.

Its silence is deafening as it curls around your ribs. You are emptied: you become more empty still. It is the absence of warmth—the failure of light—your faith collapsing inward.

No sound escapes you as you struggle to your feet, leaving behind the ruins of all. It matters not that your shattered legs ought not to carry you, nor that the blackness set before you is absolute.

Your hatred fails you. Instead, you become hunger.

---

You tear through them with absent claw, drink down blood, bite out throats, silence screams.

You have no need for sight. Hunger drives you forward, devouring all that remains.

It is not revenge that you seek, of course. Your ribcage is a hollow thing. You are hunger made manifest: your heart was first to go.

It does not matter that, before you were hunger, you disdained the onslaught. They are all that still is.

You are the starving of the world.

---

And the world is empty, and becoming emptier, and still you are hunger.

Nothing remains but the emptiness of you.

You turn your teeth upon yourself—

You, devouring, are consumed—

And the world is empty.

You were the healer—the last light of your party. But now your final ally dies in your arms, and there’s no one left to save. The enemy jeers, calling you useless. You look up, eyes hollow and black. The light is gone. The Void answers. You're no longer a cleric. You're something far worse.

[theblobmaster]

i think what i most appreciate about what i have read of tolkien's world so far, is the nature and that most of the flora is species we also have.

there's talk of willows, beeches and oaks and so many other species known to us and that is somehow more magical than the things that we don't to me

[faithsmadhouse]

In the pines||Remmick x reader

MDNI+18

Summary—You wake up soaked from a dream you shouldn’t have had—one where Remmick had his fangs in your throat and his cock buried deep inside you. But it wasn’t just a dream. He’s real, watching, waiting… and when he lures you into the woods in the dead of night, there’s no turning back. You’re his. Body, blood, and soul.

SMUT WARNING (18+ only): This is a dark, explicit one-shot featuring Dom!Remmick and a sub!reader. Includes trance/dub-con, voyeurism reference, predator/prey dynamic, biting, bloodplay, venom/aphrodisiac drool, rough sex (doggy style and missionary), overstimulation, chain kink, degradation & praise, multiple orgasms, light breathplay, dirty talk, possessive obsession, and deeply feral energy. Read responsibly.

A/n the was requested by an anon on @ice-man-goes-bwoah

@abriefnirvana @spikeyfearn

The sheets were soaked.

You jolted awake with a strangled gasp, thighs clenched and pulse pounding between your legs. Your skin burned. Your tank top stuck to you with sweat, your panties utterly ruined. The ache in your core throbbed like a bruise.

Dream. You blinked at the ceiling. But it hadn’t felt like a dream.

You could still feel his hands on you.

Remmick.

A laugh, low and cruel, echoed in your skull.

You thought you were safe.

You thought I’d stay away.

You were wrong, darlin’.

Your breath hitched. The air in the room had changed. He was here.

You sat up. The window was open.

Cool wind spilled in from the woods, carrying the scent of moss and smoke and something darker. Your feet hit the floor before your brain caught up. You didn’t grab a coat. You didn’t even put on shoes.

Something in your body needed to find him.

The forest was pitch-black, but you didn’t feel fear. The night air curled around you like fingers, whispering in a voice not quite your own.

You walked deeper. Through brush and root, over moon-drenched patches of stone. The wind spoke.

“Come on, sugar. That’s it. Come find me.”

There was no thought. Only heat, and hunger, and the echo of a dream you were still wet from.

Then he stepped from the shadows.

Remmick.

Tall. He wore a button-up shirt that clung to his broad shoulders, and his suspenders hung down by his waist. His shoes were caked with dirt, and the thin chain necklace swayed around his throat, glinting as he tilted his head. And those eyes—glowing like red hot coals—devoured you.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he drawled, voice deep, lazy, laced with both Southern molasses and something old and Irish, ancient like the woods. “Knew you’d come crawlin’. You’ve been dreamin’ ‘bout me again, haven’t ya, mo grá?”

You swallowed thickly.

“I—”

“Don’t lie. I smelled it. Watched you fuckin’ grind on them sheets like a bitch in heat.”

Your knees buckled. Your thighs trembled.

He was in front of you before you could blink.

“Felt every little whimper through the trees,” he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. “Felt you clenchin’ ‘round nothin’. Cryin’ for me. So I came to see my girl. Thought I’d give you what you needed.”

His hand slid between your thighs. Your panties were soaked through.

“Aw, hell,” he hissed, grin curling sharp. “You are drippin’.”

A growl rumbled in his throat. “Should’a come sooner.”

You gasped as he scooped you up, your back pressed against the nearest tree. Bark scratched your shoulders as his mouth found your neck kissing it and biting marking you.

Once he was satisfied, he yanked back, fingers digging into your cheeks hard enough to bruise. “Open,” he growled.

You obeyed, staring up at him with your mouth wide. Remmick’s lips curled into a wicked grin, a thick string of drool sliding from the corner of his mouth. He leaned in close, breath hot and heavy, and tilted your head back like you were nothing but prey.

Then the venom spilled—slow, deliberate—onto your tongue, thick and burning as it hit your throat. You went limp with a strangled moan. Dazed. Blown open with heat. His saliva slicked your skin, and the world tilted.

“Mm. That’s it. Let go for me, sugar.”

He dropped to his knees and shoved your panties aside with no ceremony.

Then his mouth was on you.

Remmick ate like a starved man, tongue filthy, slow, teasing.

“So goddamn sweet,” he groaned, voice muffled. “Like honey and fuckin’ sin.”

You were writhing, sobbing, grinding helplessly against his face.

One thick finger slid inside you.

Then two.

“Can’t even fuckin’ wait,” he growled, rising to his feet, licking your slick from his lips like a promise. “Need this cunt now.”

He spun you around, bent you over a mossy boulder. You barely caught yourself in time.

“Back arched,” he barked, grabbing your hips. “Ass up. Show me that fuckin’ needy little pussy.”

You whimpered as he shoved his cock against your entrance, teasing.

“Beg.”

“Please, Remmick,” you cried. “Please fuck me—need it—need you—”

SLAP.

A harsh smack to your ass made you jolt.

“Damn right you do.”

And then he was inside.

All the way.

You screamed.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he snarled, rolling his hips. “Grippin’ me like you’re starvin’. You love this, don’t ya?”

You couldn’t speak—only moan, already clenching around him as the first orgasm slammed through you.

“Shit, already?” he barked, feral. “Just like that? Thought I was gonna have to work for it, slut.”

He didn’t slow.

Thrust after brutal thrust, he drove into you like a man possessed. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as he pounded into your soaked cunt from behind.

“You’re my pretty little fucktoy, huh?” he hissed in your ear. “Let me ruin you, sugar. Let me fuckin’ break you.”

Your legs were shaking. You couldn’t breathe.

Then he pressed two fingers to your clit—and you shattered again, sobbing.

He flipped you over onto your back, caging you in the moss.

His eyes were dark now, chain swinging freely over your face as he hovered above you.

“I love watchin’ you like this,” he purred, voice a slurred mix of drawl and brogue. “All wrecked. All mine.”

The chain hit your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you. You moaned around his tongue, tasting venom.

“Open your legs. Wider.”

You obeyed.

“That’s my girl.”

He slammed into you again, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.

“Count your fuckin’ orgasms,” he growled.

“I—uh—two—”

“Wrong.” He snapped his hips. You cried out. “Three. That one on my tongue? That counted.”

You nodded frantically.

He grabbed your throat, gentle but firm, his grip pulsing as he rutted into you.

“You’re gonna give me seven,” he snarled. “That pretty little pussy can take it. You were made for me. Made to be fucked like this.”

You were sobbing, begging, drooling.

His chain bounced with each thrust, smacking lightly against your lips, your nose, your flushed cheeks.

And then—

He bit you again.

You came with a scream, body spasming under his weight.

“That’s four, sugar,” he growled, licking your blood from his lips. “Ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you’re gushin’.”

You lost count.

You came until your thighs shook violently, until you were clawing at his back, until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

He praised you. He degraded you.

“Such a good slut for me.”

“Dumb little hole, just made for cock.”

“You’re so perfect when you cry.”

“Mine. All mine.”

When he finally came, it was with a deep growl and his fangs buried in your throat. He spilled inside you, marking you, biting hard enough that you saw stars.

You were boneless, trembling, completely ruined.

He stayed on top of you for a while, pressing kisses to your bloodied throat.

“You ain’t ever gonna dream ‘bout no one else now,” he whispered, voice soft and possessive. “I’m in your fuckin’ blood, darlin’.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked.

He smiled.

“Good girl.”