#tw body fluids

[zetterbabe]

05.22.24

[chaoscrawls]

body part, no go, and whatever the word is for p (cant see it and forgot it)

🐝  *  ―  𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 𝑨𝑳𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑻. 

[ body part ] ― what is their favorite body part? what kind of body / parts would they like their partner to have ( e.g. big boobs, long cock, etc. )?

They don't have a favourite part specifically but they have preferences. Since they are formless and rangy they like areas that have squish. Thighs, tummy, hips and fore arms are perfect places for them to bite down, because of this they have a preference for more shapely bodies but its not a set rule.

[ no go ] ― what wouldn't they do? what turns them off?

There are few things the god wont do. In fact, they are happy to try most things at least once or twice. Though they aren't keen on the fluids and other substances mortals' bodies produce. Crying doesn't do it for them, but if the person is an ugly crier (snotting all over the place) they absolutely cannot. The exception to this is blood and spit, of course.

[ positions ] ― what are their favourite sex positions? is there something they typically default to? a special position they've always wanted to try?

Due to the nature of their body the positions they get up to can be vast and varied so there's not usually a default. Their preference is a position where they can restrain their partner. There are certain partners that they particularly enjoy on having them on top, riding their tentacles or cock.

[bonefall]

i decided to come up with a dishonor title for my favorite oc of all time: duststorm. to preface, he has the same suffix his grandfather does, which means a lot to him. he probably defies his clan's deputy one too many times and is given the name Mudpuddle. It directly hits at his suffix which as i said before means a lot to him, it's the perfect dishonor title it doesnt matter what duststorm did he'll fuckin HATE being called mudpuddle

PUDDLE

I'll make it even better by making this translation VERY funny;

Puddle = Bwoob The pools that rain leaves behind

Sslopbwoob would be "Sticky mud" (and the same word sometimes used for really thick snot and phlegm) plus "Pool that rain leaves behind." A direct insult towards the old name that he valued so much, AND possibly a double entente for a pool of boogers.

[the-genesis-caveat]

Can whoever cursed me lay off? I can't deal with this bullshit

And also this literal shit from the sewage problem in this ""newly refurbished"" apartment

[lydiaisgrumpy]

Me: *comes out of the bathroom*

My mom: You okay in there? 😄

Me: Don’t judge me! I have a disability!

My mom: Not having a gallbladder is not a disability.

My sister: I dunno; it sure sounded like a disability.

Me: *proceeds to kill her*

[neon-pink-leitner]

TW: bodily fluids, vomit, dark humor about sickness

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Well the bad news is eating was a bad idea

The good news I didn't piss myself while puking which is what normally happens

[littletealight]

What scares me?

Happy Halloween to all those and I wanted to write about my fears because lately I have been having so many nightmares that are scary but not in the way you think. I watch horror movies and all kinds of uncomfortable thing and they do not bother me. If you know about LiveLeaks then you know what I am talking about when it comes to gore and upsetting visuals. Those do not scare me, dreams about…

[ronanxing]

RUN

[saltminerising]

Why are some of you incapable of simply disliking a color without comparing it to shit and piss or whatever? The items are yellow because they're wheat. Which is yellow.

[dilfslayer1080p]

LEAKED HLVRAI 2 FOOTAGE 100% REAL NO FAKE

[spectatorglitch]

It’s a good day, sun is shining, birds are chirping, dysphoria is taking a break then I look down and see that my chest completely blocks my feet from view

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

Damn that dysphoria got hands

[erin-draws-things]

Honestly, I might do more of these quick little sketches but for now I did these with some of the babies 🫶💗

[a-side-character]

(TW: brief but graphic descriptions of body horror)

I always feel a bit weird listening to podcasts in public, but sitting here on my college campus while the sounds of someone's liquefied remains sloshing out of the cryogenic storage chamber he was forced into are playing through my earbuds is a whole other level.

Like, damn Red Valley, a less vague warning would have been nice. I can handle horror but got damn.

[calpalsworld]

FOCUS LABS - ROOM 100

The air is thick and vile, full of dandruff and breath.

BIOMEDICAL - NANOTECH - BREAK ROOM

[xx-vergil-xx]

sanctus dentes/canem dei

okay u know what –– I just answered an anon ask that brought up the old cori fic I talked about writing months ago, so in the spirit of recollection I was excavating some drafts and I found a part I like –– all that to say, here’s the first vignette of sanctus dentes / canem dei for your consumption :) this is the prologue to the whole kit and caboodle, and it’ll probably get edited and expanded before I post it in earnest, but I really truly haven’t posted writing in so long and today I'm on a good wave of productivity and hey, seize the moment ride the urge etc etc

a TW for gore, blood, violence, and body horror (which I'll also put in the post tags)

SANCTUS DENTES / CANEM DEI (draft, WIP)

EPIGRAPH

“Epopteia, completed sight––meaning the sight that brings us beyond initiation (which only ‘understands’) to ‘contemplation,’ a ‘super-sight’ that is a ‘devouring of the eyes’ (the eye devouring its very self), a grasping and finally a touching: the very absolute of touching, touching-the-other- as being-touched, each being absorbed and devoured in the other.” –– Corpus, Jean-Luc Nancy

GENESIS I: THE PARABLE OF THE DINING ROOM FLOOR

“You don’t love me.”

The blood bubbles in tongues between the split lips. The young man has the eyes of a doe, his pupils blown wide enough they swallow the tawny ring of his shivering iris. His terror is so thick from his pores it might be swiped up with a finger, swept against the tongue, tasted in all its viscous splendor. He reeks of panting sweat, the tar and velvet of post-arousal pheromones crashing into summer-lightning adrenaline that crackles in the nose.

The Corinthian hums into the plate of the sternum. He cradles the tender cheek, licks the soft skin of the purpling undereye, where the threads of capillaries have split beneath the epidermis. The taste is not iron –– such a banal simplification, to call blood near-spilling only, reductively, “metallic”. It’s a bouquet of honeysuckle plasma, fatty satin like good gruyere, platelets of sour rhubarb pie and fresh raspberry. When he bites the thin skin, it tears easily, only so much wet tissue under perfected incisors.

“I don’t?”

"You––" The tears season the meat well –– the Corinthian appreciates the gesture. "You said––"

"Baby," the Corinthian murmurs into the open wound, "didn't your momma ever tell you not to trust a stranger?"

Languorous and immovable, the Corinthian pins the young man's wrists above his bleeding head. In the dark, all things become more and less than what they are. The thick cords of the neck pull taut, strung fierce enough that their columns emerge from the dimness as the spine of some deep-sea horror cresting the sea. He scrapes his teeth against the jaw, where the bone runs close to the surface, and prophesies the sponge of marrow under molar. The body shudders –– glorious, isn't it, how the rigid little mind might strive to save itself from that which thrills the flesh.

"Please. Please."

"Little lamb, what're you begging for?" The Corinthian lays a kiss against the mouth. From the man's overlapping palms issues the hilt of a thin blade –– the other is buried, arrow-like, between his second and third rib. The rasp of the voice is laden with lung collapse, breath that no longer fits into smothered struts. In the valley of the tendons, the heart courses, torrential.

“Mercy.  Merciful God, I can’t die like this.”

The Corinthian sinks his teeth into the muscle of the shoulder, at the point it meets the neck. A slobbery gasp surges from the open mouth –– no better music, thinks the Corinthian, as his canines meet the granite edge of the scapula. The heart is racing, ever the traitor. They are all like this. The space between suffering and ecstasy is so minute he could not slide a fingernail into it.

He severs, at last, the tendons, and a slop of meat comes free. The sheets of the hotel bed will be irrecoverable –– mark of a real good night. It's hot and fresh down his throat. He thinks about getting sashimi after he's done here. Though it'll be a long time until the meal has ended.

The man's mind is fading, even while his body yearns after the teeth that destroy it. He babbles, warbling prayers so loose-limbed and slurred they are only a horsehair bow drawn across untuned vocal folds.

"Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, hallowed be thy––"

"Shh, shh shh shh, baby." He chews and swallows, and when he kisses the hollow of the throat it's only to rip the skin loose from the clavicles, to see those nubs of bone glow pearlescent in the night. "Be not afraid."

"––thy king–– thy kingdom come–– thy––"

Once, when he was young, he had eaten only the eyes. He had popped the tart cherries of sight, reveled in the liquor of the vitreous humor, the plasticky chew of the cornea –– he'd gnaw on the lenses for hours, like wads of clear gum. But his life had been long, and his maker had sculpted him from famine, and famine knew no sating. Famine, blooming low in the gut, scaled the spine and hung from the jaw. It grew, and grew, and filled him with gaping mouths. There was no moment he did not hunger. He couldn't satisfy himself on eyes, these days.

"You fear what you don't understand," says the Corinthian. The man's arms are slack enough that when he releases them, they slump limb and immobile. He drags his hands down the flanks, sinks his fingers between two mirrored ribs, and the flesh gives so readily it seems almost eager. "I don't love you?"

With a squelch and groan, the intercostals split apart. The Corinthian curls his grip around the bone, on either side, and grins, threefold.

"––thy will be–– done–– on Earth, as it is–– in Heaven–– give–– give us––"

"Sanctum corpus," he breathes. "Baby, don't be cruel."

"––this day, our daily bread–– forgive–– forgive–– forgive––"

He snaps the ribs apart. The hull of skin and muscle is rent open, and the smell, sacramental wine, bursts forth in heavenly plenitude.

"Hoc est enim corpus meum. Eat of my flesh, and drink of my blood."

The man buckles, chokes. The whites of his eyes shine liquid, pale shells, spilled oil.

"I love you," murmurs the Corinthian. He does.

The Corinthian buries his face in the guts, and takes communion.