#and rediscovery!

[clcmentines]

who am i?

miles to go, kait kerrigan and bree lowdermilk / practice and science of drawing, harold speed / tumblr user @/avainblue / the sympathizer, viet thanh nguyen / come on in!, charles bukowski / this night has opened my eyes, the smiths

[thecorpsofrediscovery]

Coastal Bog Fort Stevens, Oregon - November 16, 2024 Photographer: Chris Rummel

[arsenicflame]

made the most delightful discovery about the shape of bees in mysims (SQUARE)

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

BTW RONAN RAFTERY I AM IN YOUR FUCKING WALLS FOR PUTTING THIS ON THE JIRV PLAYLIST

[dustykneed]

HAPPY (last day of) PRIDE MONTH!

i'm reasonably sure it's still june in the states. humor me

[molabuddy]

made a discovery yesterday about the freak telephone that i'm still thinking about

[nostalgelle]

"Beauty will save the world." By @nostalgelle

[roobiedo]

🎉🚲 THE POPSICLE BIKE IS HERE 🚲🎉

and its featuring all sorts of fun, fruity flavors! freshly picked from the food forests, blended and frozen into a familiar shape, then paired with a fancy floral cone. and all for free? F-YEAH

all the vendor asks for in return is to leave a nice message in the tags for him (or for his pet plant Pothony). so go ahead, choose your favourite!

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loooong exposition ahead, bear with me ok

when i was a primary school kid (like 7), there was a row of bushes lining the garden outside our classroom. and on them were clusters and clusters of tiny red flowers, bunched together like pre-made bouquets. they're called ixora, locally known as jejarum (needle).

somehow, mini me discovered that if you look real close at the center of each flower, you'll find a little tab in the shape of a sprout (that's the stigma). and if you gently tug on that tab, you'll pull out a flimsy, needle-like stick (that's the style). and at the end of that stick...... was a dollop of liquid gold (it's nectar).

at that age? it felt like hitting the jackpot! my friends and i we were SET. gluttony Gripped us as we descended upon those poor little flowers, sucking up every drop of nectar we could find, leaving a trail of bright red petals in our wake. yet it was never enough. of course it wasn't.

yeah i'm exaggerating but it really did feel like i committed a massacre ok 😭 i don't know that child anymore i've grown!! left their insatiable little shell behind!!!

anyway turns out that secret childhood hack wasn't much of a secret after all. my mum confessed to doing the exact same thing decades ago when she was younger, and a quick internet search shows that apparently its a pretty common bad habit/funny memory shared among people here. rite of passage. doesn't lessen my guilt though!

so here i am, exposing my baby crimes to the world, and holding myself accountable by making ixora-inspired concept art lol. sorry to these cultural icons my bad queens

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speaking of school, here's another nostalgic memory: the ice cream uncle.

this wasn't just a singular guy, but rather a League of Guys, with one common goal: make a quick buck from oblivious kids who, once again, were enthralled by the power of gluttony's grasp, and would pay anything for a taste of the nectarous after-school treat.

no guilt here though, was worth every cent.

they always had a diverse selection of goods: ice cream in cones, ice cream in cups, classic ice pops on a stick... but once in a while, we get what is essentially the local version of freezer pops. we call them 'ais krim malaysia', and under the burning sun they were a MESS to deal with. if you weren't devouring your icicle within 5 minutes of purchase, you'd be going home with a sticky bag of juice and a stained school uniform. and yet, i've never seen a kid walk away from an ice cream uncle without a smile on their face.

nowadays, ice cream uncles are an endangered species. big name brands and their store empires are chasing local vendors out of their niche. not to mention the hardships they face under increasingly abnormal weather patterns. plus, even if they did make a comeback, there's the issue of all that plastic waste. which brings me to...

————————————————

this concept art i made! (yeah we're finally getting to it!)

once again, i'm partnering 2 very loosely related pieces of my cultural backstory, with a sustainable twist. in my ideal solarpunk city, we're bringing street-side popsicles back into style, and packaging them in biodegradable membranes. in fact, our local favourite seaweed gelatin — agar-agar (the name originated here!) — is already being used for this sort of technology.

the pops also come with a reusable cone in the shape of an ixora flower. this way, we can still keep the tradition of getting a sugar rush from within its petals, without. y'know. stealing the primary food source away from native bugs who depend on it 💀

the umbrella could serve a function too... maybe the buds that make up the ends of its wire frame could glow in the dark? that'd look cool. oh and i did draw a classic motorbike here for the nostalgia factor, but let's pretend its an old model that got modded to run on renewable energy instead!

in terms of fashion... i highlighted parts of the outfits that are ixora inspired, including the shirt and bandana made from batik, a dyeing technique invented in our region. some other solarpunk aspects include a photovoltaic wide-brimmed hat, a layered frankenstein dress, and that... apron-skort thing that i made up on the spot. and that weird shirt. people in this city just like chopping up and swapping fabrics i guess!

so do u guys like pothony c:

[nights-at-crystarium]

the guy that got me into xiv replays it live and today's THE important day as you can tell from the thumbnail :> i can only give one youtuber/streamer rec and here it is

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for systems who have recently rediscovered their plurality!

For many systems, their process of plural discovery can be messy, complicated, or difficult to understand. Some systems may have members who completely forget about their multiplicity, only to rediscover it later on. There is nothing wrong with forgetting, rediscovering, or struggling to come to terms with or remember your systemhood! This post is for all those who are rediscovering or re-questioning their plurality!

🌸 Shoutout to those who rediscovered their plurality after being made to forget for their own safety!

🕊 Shoutout to those who aren’t sure whether or not they are plural despite having identified as such in the past!

💕 Shoutout to empty systems who have recently realized that they are in fact empty systems rather than singlets!

🦢 Shoutout to dualconscious systems who forget about their plurality from time to time!

🌸 Shoutout to systems who feel like they’re in a constant state of discovery or rediscovery!

🕊 Shoutout to those who rediscovered their system after forgetting due to being fakeclaimed, hurt, or traumatized in some way!

💕 Shoutout to those with complex dissociative disorders whose dissociative barriers makes it difficult for them to maintain awareness of their system!

🦢 Shoutout to those who rediscovered their system after forgetting due to having memory issues of any kind!

🌸 Shoutout to individual headmates who have recently realized or remembered that they’re not alone in their own minds!

🕊 Shoutout to systems whose process of rediscovery has been challenging, upsetting, or painful!

💕 Shoutout to systems who have easily embraced their plurality after their rediscovery!

Having multiple instances of system discovery is actually a normal and common aspect of the questioning process for many systems. If you have recently rediscovered your plurality after forgetting about it, hiding it, or brushing it aside for any reason, we want to let you know that we see you, we believe you, and your rediscovery does not invalidate your plurality in any way, shape, or form! Know that you belong in the plural community, and we are so very happy to have you here!

If you’ve rediscovered your plurality recently, please don’t go hard on yourself for forgetting or refusing to acknowledge your system. What matters most is that you have made progress on your journey of self-discovery! Even if you forget again in the future, that doesn’t negate your progress whatsoever. Please remember to take it easy and have some patience and compassion for yourself and your system! Thank you so much for reading, and take care!

[chanelpirate]

Jfc. I’m rewatching season 1 after like 2yrs and I completely forgot just how cunty silco is in every single frame. They really didn’t need to do that, yet they did

[thecorpsofrediscovery]

Mt. Adams 10/20/2024 - A quick larch hunting trip to the Glenwood area. While the larch aren't turning as expected this year, it was great to get a clean shot of Mt. Adams. Photographer: Chris Rummel

[dardisorange-blog]

Solas: (Sighs.) Could you... if you would remember her, could you do it as I would?

Cole: He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care in search of wisdom.

Cole: We share the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost, forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder.

Cole: In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before.

Solas: Thank you.

----

Hear me out, I have a theory that all of the evanrius were not just the first elves, they were also the first spirits of their kind.

You would have to be ancient to become so powerful and interested enough in the living world to make yourselves bodies.

Solas "knew wisdom as no spirit had before". He is possibly the oldest and the original Spirit of Wisdom.

Why else would Mythal seek his wisdom to win the war against the titans.

[des-no9]

take me back

Orpheus/Voss E 1.9k Where reality, dream and memory collide. What one do they really want? Tags: unhealthy relationships, oral sex, angst

Inspired by my dear friend @unaarista's beautiful art of Orpheus and Voss of the kiss prompt I sent her. Art is also included in the fic. Hope you all enjoy. Sorry it got sad <333

Full below cut including translation of tir used, or read it on AO3 here.

There was always something to Voss that had made Orpheus want to drop to his knees, to proclaim him my Prince, my mar. Sometimes t'var felt so contained on his tongue as he spoke it now against his one good ear (had scratched into the soreness of his other with the edge of his nail, wheeling the small lines of tir'su into his ravaged flesh, watching the way he'd squirmed, breathy, decadent in the pain to pain).

From that first vision of him as a challenger in the fighting pit. So tall, sinewy. Unafraid to belittle and harm the Prince, when so many had been hesitant. Voss hadn't held back in any of his punches that day, flooring Orpheus, tight between his thin thighs, but power. Orpheus felt comfortable stuck between them, beneath.

He was supposed to be fighting against submission that day. Instead he would give it all to Voss, from knees, from hands, from the last drop of my blood to you—

Their gaze hangs over the lightless Prism, heavy and sunk between Voss’ knees.

Vanquish had kept it. Attachment formed for what it had given, taken from her. Voss had asked for it back, useless to her now but a trinket, memento.

She'd seen the real meaning in his eyes. The way his touch had brushed over her hand instead of the Prism. An ask. A gentle ask from her beast. It was almost time to part, and letting go of the Prism was just the first farewell.

"And what do I get to take from you," she'd said, voice low, a rasp, clutching so hard to the Prism with him she'd near bled.

No words, no kiss. Had closed his eyes, dragged his sore forehead against hers, smearing a line of dirt, blood. Had wanted to say "all I can give" but what foolish sentiment for an istik.

"You kept me alive in there," says Orpheus, shaking Voss from the memory, of the promise to come back for her tonight, for that long goodbye, goodbye—

Voss feels Orpheus' knees dip down beside him. Hears the quickness in his breath that shouldn't be there; the too fast of a heartbeat; the suck of his teeth for muscles that ache, not moved in millennia.

"A version of me."

Armour, leathers long discarded. Just skin to furs and the stale air of their tent, a cocoon behind to the muffled joy beyond. The stir and embers of freedom, and for some the peeling of disbelief, of a new dawn, new life once inconceivable.

Voss turns to Orpheus, slow. Feels his touch fumble across bare chest, protruding bones, skin that sags, is sore.

You were inconceivable, he thinks, this touch so long a ghost, a marker of my dreams my waking wish. But now—

"You're here," the words slip out, unintended. A broken husk against his throat as his eyes dart around the visage of his Prince, of Orpheus, of the one he pummelled into the ground the day they met, bloodied and beautiful, z'varc z'varc on my tongue in my heart on your face.

"I am here."

"And just the same as that day I lost you."

Orpheus listens. Watches.

Voss runs a hand through Orpheus' beard, soft within, ends ragged. "I am a stranger." Before Orpheus can speak, Voss drags fingers along Orpheus' mouth, claws catching lips, threatening to cut. "Even to myself."

Then anger. Then a snap of that beautiful power and swell of rage as he feels Orpheus' psionics snap around his arm, as it smothers his fingers, lines of lust and fury, of sha va zai forgotten, now found.

"Then let me remind you of who you really are," he hisses, a firm fury of a hand wrapping around the edge of Voss' jaw, fang nipping at a scar he does remember.

Presses his tongue against it. Old and faded. Stale.

Voss' eyes dip down, teeth part bared as if preparing to snap.

Then feels Orpheus' tongue lap along the fresh and deep wounds on his cheek. Hisses at the touch, hisses at the deep warmth of tongue to flesh, at the prickles of his psionsics he feels underneath the pads of his fingers, and the pricks of his nails.

Here, he tastes fresh and flesh. Like raw meat he could bite down to eat. A tang and almost sweet. Dedication drips in these wounds, knees to the ground. Up up their walkway to the ragged chew of his ear. Rough and like it had been torn off with teeth.

Teeth that now scrape the edge of it, then tongue, wet flesh wrapping around the soreness that twitches. Orpheus knew Voss disliked his ears being touched. But maybe he didn't anymore. Had to make sure.

How much of you is memory, how much of you remains. He knows the question stings in Voss' mind too. Hears it too loud from the fringes of Voss' thoughts. It had been difficult to contain his power since freedom. You could say atrophy, but he was just stale. Stale.

Orpheus hears Voss sneer. Feels the angle of his head as he half pulls away, half pushes into his touch. Grins delighted at the visceral reality to the touch against his ear.

Real. It's real.

Breathes deep, smelling his swollen slit, wet and desperate, his scent always giving him away first. Unique and strong against a githyanki tongue, Orpheus had always thought.

A stray thought as he wonders what he tastes like to an istik tongue, a familiar mla'ghir tongue.

He licks Voss' scar harder. Rougher. Teeth scoring lines on lines–

Feels a hand wind around the back of his neck. Gentle. Firm. Grounding, like he'd always been. Something his psionics sought to tether to. A beacon that blared, called for him. That light that warned him of the shore, that reminded him there was one.

Their eyes connect, and Orpheus feels her name on the edge of Voss' mind. It's a bruise. A beautiful bruise he wants to press. To see the pain it pulls, to see the colour it blooms. Wants to wound it again to make it last.

Knows she already will. Her name soundless between them. Wonders for how long.

Squeezes his eyes shut, snaps back Voss' head, finds a scar he doesn't know, and licks.

Licks the feeling of its ragged skin. Deep down as he feels the rapid beat of his hearts, wondering why the scar is there. Making up his own story, his own mind. Will ask later. Doesn't matter now.

Voss on his back, lost in furs and the visage of his Prince above, hands roaming over skin he'd inked several times as his own. Bathed in ink and blood and washed his own face with it, licked lips clean of the baptism of his Prince from head, to toe. Would bathe in his body if he could. Will one day if he has to.

Deep claw marks over chest. Two harder than the third. A smaller hand than Voss, than Orpheus. But not fresh, not her. Wonders who, why. Follows the shape of his tongue with a touch of his own. And down.

Cut of a sword on your stomach, taut and old, bones like keys of an instrument, like broken blocks of stone protruding from an old building, worn, weathered.

Hands rove, reading what's left of him protruding through ancient skin. Leathery and taut. Stretched like hide in places, sagging in others, fingers sliding through the folds of skin stamped in age in spots of fade.

Lower.

He'd seen this scar earlier as they'd undressed. Curiosity, heart wild at its beauty.

Impatience as he feels the tip first. Shallower here, to down. Down where it's deeper as it drags over his slit, swollen, parting, tongue lashing over the ridges of his cock pressing against his slit as it widens.

He feels Voss' back arch, bones and elbows and mess of his hair scouring into the fur beneath as Orpheus licks, as some sort of love drips through the way he moves.

Hands spread legs, rough. Pushing aside his thigh as if meaningless. Feels a constellation of scars beneath his palm. Tries to count them. Loses number back to one when he rolls his tongue back over Voss' cunt, wet and warm and the only fucking thing that makes sense.

Voss dips up. Loud. Face freer, drawls a moan, restless hand over prickly skin.

What Orpheus doesn't know, was Voss had become a contained lover. Sounds restrained, methodical in his motions. Power. Beauty.  Orpheus knows the youth of him. The wildness of unleashed, no burden but the one we make.

Now, Voss acts strange to himself, but to Orpheus it's like always, like when we were us, skin and blood and the stars above, the water around us, laughter and death between our toes.

It drives him wild. Grounds him. Makes him whole.

Digs his tongue deep. Deeper. Feels the coil of Voss' cocks, digs his tongue between them. Keeps them there, as he rolls his tongue along the edges of his slit. Of the folds that turn to scar tissue. To the rough skin that would bleed an istik (did she bleed when you fucked her).

Voss snaps Orpheus' head up, hearing the stray thought bleed in his psionics, brush against his own mind.

"Va." It's breathy. A crack in Voss' throat. A sound that makes Orpheus smile. Lines of saliva and sweet cum lining lips, tongue.

Dips back down. Sees the tip of Voss' cocks peek out, dripping cum, their edges rough and starlit in the notches of his barbs.

A refusal as he pushes them back in with his tongue. Feels a whine of protest in noise, in motion as Voss arches of the furs, hissing a curse, clawing a scathe over his Prince's head.

But a smile on his face.

He trembles. Ears twitching.

Orpheus can feel him so close so quick. Presses a hand hard down on his pelvis, feels the motion of his cocks as they move inside, refused; as his tongue languishes against their swollen flesh, rough barbs. As he realises just how far and deep and wide this scar went.

He'll ask why soon. It doesn't matter. It just matters that it's there. A z'var'zai. From head to cock to cunt to toe.

Presses harder with his hand--

Rougher, with his tongue--

And soaks in the sweetness of his cum, and the noise of his moan.

Hands smear it further. Paints his scars and spots. Kisses blotches on his stomach, chest, to face.

Crawls up. Hovers above a shaky body, looks down at a knight, a constant, the light to his shore, the star to his home.

"Do you really think I've not changed?" says Orpheus, quiet, dipping down low, the words almost not there.

Voss, breathless. Sweat soaked saliva wet, closes his eyes, reaches out to feel the edges of Orpheus' face, claws skimming the slide of his ear, the silver of his piercings, the exact lines where he knows his tattoos cut. Remembers counting the dots as he'd inked him. The taste of ink, and blood.

Breathes. Feels more down his neck, shoulders. The walkway of his back. More he knows through the blind bliss of black, through the voice of his touch, infallible.

Voss doesn't speak.

Just a kiss

"Voss?"

a kiss a kiss

take me back to the night we met

a kiss

---

Tir used in 'take me back'

mar - all, everything mla'ghir - liberator t'var - my one, my star sha va zai - I love you va - yes, acknowledgement z'varc - blood wild; bleed me dry, fuck me wet z'var'zai - worth of blood; blood beauty. Aka, seeing beauty in someone's wounds/scars.

[vikasqo]