#arielshepard

[fatherentropy]

"get to know me" game

Tagged by @caliblorn thnx, it's been an age since I was tagged in anything ddoaiwe

tagging aaaaa?? feel free to ignore me @windup-dragoon, @kasayaw, @arielshepard, @whirlwyrm

LAST SONG: Anything You Need - Low Roar, probably the most boring one to end up with with all the things I've been listening to lately

LAST MOVIE: uh it was either Mobile Suit Gundam: Char's Counterattack or Friday the 13th (2009), I do not remember

CURRENTLY WATCHING: On my own I started watching Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans. Because my desk is set up in the living room we are watching Drag Race UK since mom ran out of American and Canadian ones. More excitingly on a personal level also Ahoska and Only Murders in the Building

CURRENTLY READING: Should be ffxiv moots ffxivwite prompts but Brain wired bad. Reading hard.

LAST THING SEARCHED FOR WRITING/ART PURPOSES: "Check" because that was yesterday/today's writing prompt but it's so broad I'm sitting here 2 1/2 hours from the deadline with no ideas

[xenoglots]

“The beginning of winter. The dying of the light, when warmth turns to cold.”

blue noon. / @arielshepard

                  ❛     sounds pleasant.       ❜

                  louise holds her tea close to her mouth as she holds audience with the –––– being in front of her. it is woman and not woman, it is something earth has never encountered before. and you know. this is coming from the linguist that figured out how to talk to heptapods.

                  at the gala, a woman she doesn’t recognize is there and shakes her hand and the handshake is cold. in her classroom, a person much older than the other students sits in the back and leaves before everyone else can shut their books. later on, she asks the one in front of her about it. she knows the answer. she doesn’t consider it now. not yet, not in this moment.

                  ❛     they told me three–thousand years and                   they’d need our help. but –––– that’s not the                   only thing that’s in trouble, huh ? that’s not                   the only end to stop.       ❜

                  there is no end, none, and she watches hannah take her last breath and be born again. she sits at this table, alone with a tea, with wine, with water or tea again or wine and wine and wine and she is alone at this table. she takes another sip of the tea, noting it’s cooling off. it’s gotten easier to ignore the flips and trips, how her brain sometimes stumbles within a moment. but she holds herself in this one.

                  ❛     what’s coming ? what already has                   begun ?       ❜

[conquestforged]

arielshepard replied to your post: important headcanon: hela will pet any dog

{ will she even pet the hound of tindalos? important question }

of course she’ll pet the hound of tindalos... she even brought it a bag of treats (i.e. human tongues)

[viperhiss-blog]

It was in black holes where he knew life would perish, crumbling midst storms of some ravenous dark. Swallowing whole beloved suns and the ever aging galaxies, these very chasms knew naught of being sated; they consumed with a great hunger, gnashing all in its maws asunder. Yet, sharpened teeth laid elsewhere, didn’t it?, soldered onto the wings of humanity’s Vipers. Apollo, heart thudding, gazed out from his fighter’s cockpit. Yes, he knew in time all would end in violent space, but this fleet... Why, they, too, held the air of endless dark. Where had they suddenly warped from? "Actual, we've got a problem here-- Actual, do you copy!" his voice rose in sharp alarm, static gutting him from the comms. Dread told him at once it was their doing-- "What are you?" he murmured to any who’d listen.

@arielshepard: end of all things.

[theratinthewalls]

arielshepard replied to your post:

I swear to god real posts are coming in a minute...

{ Corey going to all the Outer Ones for candy & they all give her something Creepy. She only gets candy from Ariel. }

Corey just... “You are literally the only one who understands. I even tried the great old ones. Cthulhu didn’t even answer the door, Hastur passed off The King In Yellow, Dagon gave me this fish???? I will treasure this candy. I will treasure and devour it like those weaker than us. Delightful little morsels.”

[charyka-a]

@arielshepard liked for an anglo-saxon riddle. | selectively accepting.

Should he speak in the old tongues, all fricatives and dentals and lost clicks? Should he whisper the words in the newer waterfalls, against the pit of unending language evolution?

He picks number nineteen for her. Nineteen as sacred as her rattle and her bones. His teeth bare in a blood-stained grin.

“Over the hillsides this air upholds bright little creatures, swarthy and dark-clad; bold of song, they fare in flocks and loudly chirp. They tread the headlands, sometimes men’s houses. They name themselves.”

[epivlavis-blog]

The stars above them have only passingly caught the eye of the serpent. A mystery in the darkness beyond that came to her thoughts in the late evening, when the first star stirs itself awake against the half-blackened sky, twinkling in fragments before illuminating. To the west is Mt. Targon - it is there that they believe in celestial beings. Noxus has no time for such beliefs. Her skyward philosophy lasted for a single evening, nursing wine.

Then, the sky opened itself. Men and machine. The harvest. Runeterra was not yet ready - Piltover was but an anomaly, the machines remarked. A flower budding in a growing garden. The machines will not take them. The Bastion, however, will do just nicely.

It is in the audience of an emperor that Cassiopeia allows her form to be revealed - the veils of shadow cannot hold her when there is a woman of black diamond to behold. Noxus has not had an emperor for several hundred years - the Grand General has made room for the galactic presence and her daughters. The word sits strange on her tongue, forked and curling, unfamiliar. Against the sky, the ship stands, visible from the balcony the women have collected themselves upon. The Emperor, her daughters taking watch, and the two women of House DuCouteau. Her sister has taken a momentary leave.

Cassiopeia believes she is speaking to the Hand about their company. Let them politicize among each other. Speak to one another about the concerns of ships and invasions. The stone that Noxus Prime stands upon will last. It is the words spoken between emperor and courtwoman that matter. Secrets are sharper than blades, after all.

‘Galaxy’ is a word the Machines brought. The Targonians call what lays beyond this planet apotero. But galaxy is a much more beautiful word.

“The audience you have gifted us -” she holds a stem glass made of azirite with champagne within. The red crystal colours the drink a dark colour. A similar glass rests next to the emperor, though it is empty, dry. “do you often grant it when arriving planetside?”

Planet is another word she is unfamiliar with. Cassiopeia lounges upon a half-back couch in order to sit at a comfortable height and match her company - her tail stretches away from her company, flicking slightly.

She drinks from her glass.

“It is an honour to be in your presence, nonetheless.”

@arielshepard

[mxdam-a]

{ ; 3 & 8 !! }

3. Is there a kind of music they associate with their loved ones or time spent with them? 

ooh! she probably associates ballroom music with francis, because. Party Couple. she definitely associates @monstricidal with whatever tunes Dad Alana plays while she’s building decks and grilling barbecues and whatnot…

8. What levels of intimacy does your muse have with others? Do friends get regular cheek kisses, cuddling, hugs? Or does it take more work for people to see your muse’s ‘soft side’?

margarethe does NOT get intimate with people quickly. she might generate a kind of false intimacy with others, by seeming to draw them into her confidence, or giving them unexpected physical contact (like a cheek kiss as though they’re old buddies when really they don’t know each other well), but that’s a powerplay, it’s about being controlling. (actual friends do get regular cheek kisses btw, but it’s way more likely to be an air kiss than full on Skin Contact.)

most people could actually be forgiven for thinking she’s as shallow as a puddle, for how long and how actively she keeps them at arm’s length. and of course because she’s so voluble you can’t really tell that she’s not giving everything away? so there are probably some folks who think they’re very intimate friends with margarethe when they really know heck all about her actual feelings.

you have to work VERY HARD to be emotionally intimate with margarethe, and you basically have to be willing to give a LOT of yourself up before she’ll give you even half a scrap in return.

sensual sunday. :: @arielshepard.

[conquestforged]

arielshepard replied to your post: some hot takes

{ eyezooms @ number 4 ……. be ariel shepard’s sister …… pls }

your wish is my command :’)

[reignofaffliction-archive]

@arielshepard liked for a starter

“Dear one...” She had no doubt that Ariel would have heard her coming-- would have caught on to her presence well before any part of her hit the ground or the air surrounding this place. She wasn’t a presence that was hard to miss-- perhaps not quite as strong as her mate, but certainly nothing to turn a nose at. “We’ve made something for you.” “Somewhat.” “An idea.” “A plan-- us and our beloved worked together.” “A gift.” Voices swirling and meshing with one another-- wretched and unpleasant with tone and volume that never quite seemed to correct itself and even out. What was the point in hiding yourself from family?

It was odd, in a way, the way that she had took to Ariel. Kismet had, overall, taught her to have a distaste for any and all the other outer gods-- as well as the great old ones. The God of A Thousand Faces having its own desire to not deal with its own kin-- save for the Nuclear Chaos that was its father. And even then? It seemed to hardly want to deal with it-- Courtney, or perhaps Nahab was a better name at this point-- one given to her when she had signed her existence away in the Black Book Of Azathoth when she had been the witch Keziah Mason. She wasn’t that pleasant human girl any longer-- at least not unless she wanted to be. But wasn’t this skin far more comfortable? Mouths upon mouths lined her body with long, needle-like teeth. Eyes all around her in sweat covered, fevered, and all too unearthly skin.

A claw hand reached out-- gently tracing along Ariel’s jaw. A pleased growl escaping the, numerous mouths of the creature as those three-lobed eyes directed their attention right upon the other. “Would you like to see?” “You’ll like it.” “We know you will.”

[mordreddeschain]

@arielshepard replied to your post: “two things; there's tacos in the fridge if you want any, also you...”:

{ growing boy eats the entire fridge }

@bisexualulfric replied to your post: “two things; there's tacos in the fridge if you want any, also you...”:

i said IN the fridge....

if you eat the whole fridge you get tacos PLUS EVERYTHING ELSE

win/win

see, mom gets it

[bcwblade]

@arielshepard

SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

The tribute calls to her across the veil that separates the worlds, across space & across time. It entices her, it urges her to come & answer this one’s prayers. A ritual performed, a plea to the higher, eldritch being. An arrived marked by the complete darkness, an arrival marked by the deaths of firstborns, an arrival marked by the sound. It is an immense sound, a machine’s noise so loud that it shakes buildings, it rattles teeth, it gouges a wound in the fabric of existence itself, a wound the bleeds & bleeds & bleeds. Darkness pours into the world.

From that black hole, she emerges. Glorious & beautiful & cruel. She is biomachinery & tentacles, she is beautiful & annihilating. Her vantablack hair eats the light. Daughters follow her, four of them, two on either side of her. They are like their mother in every way, made in her image.

O, how she drools, black saliva oozing from her black mouth. The flowers are beautiful, but it is the dew & the Bastard of Loran & the squirming pearl slugs that appeal to her the most. Her daughters hiss & squeal, saliva & resin drips from their mouths, their metallic smiles, their sharp teeth. Before she speaks to the one who laid out such tribute, she will devour, she will consume, there will be nothing left.

She eats the Bastard of Loran first, her skeletal hand wrapping around the corpse of the infected infant. Tentacles emerge from her mouth, curling around the little body, bringing it to her mouth where her teeth sink into diseased flesh, crush bone, devouring defilement, scourge, & rot. The flowers & the dew are all consumed as well. She gives her brood the slugs, their inner jaws extending from their mouths in excitement, their hands snatching the screaming, writhing things & eating them. Bladed tails happily intertwine with their mother’s tentacles.

The chalice of blood is lifted to her lips. She drinks it all. Not a molecule is spared, the cup is drained, it is made empty. The last of the pearl slugs slides into her mouth, teeth crushing it, guts gushing, iridescent innards a sublime finish to this most wonderful of tributes.

Only when everything is gone does she finally address the one who called her, summoned her, pleaded for her to appear. Closer & closer, she approaches. Reality twists into unspeakable shapes, mathematically impossible angles. Daughters leave the comfort of their mother’s writhing appendages to circle the hunter, as though he were prey. A lovely host he would make.

❝ Tell me why you have called for me, O hunter. ❞ Her voice is similar to the sound that heralded her arrival: deep, abyssal, & cold. A machine’s voice from the Mouth of God.

There’s a moment of stillness once he drops the infant corpse into the chalice, all ambient noise sucked away in an instant, the roar of a fire near by, the dull pull of the wind, he had been sure there were townsfolk patrolling nearby, groaning and treading along the brick streets. Yet now? There was nothing.

Nothing save for drops of blood dripping from the rim of the chalice.

plip, plip. plop-

But then there was everything.

A multitude in the heavens, the cosmos! It had to be, for the roar was so immense, so inhuman that it couldn’t have originated from anywhere else. It rattled his mind, resonated through his skin to touch his bones, shaking them and bringing him to his knees. As if all sound in this plane of existence had been absorbed just to be released in a violent torrent directed at only this present location.

Their arrival is marked by footsteps, the majority are erratic, quadrupedal... he thinks, but there’s no certainty to that claim, he merely makes it to steady his thoughts. It’s clear one set is leading them however, and that one is human enough to bring a tick of relief to his unsettled mind. The crushing of flesh and bone against teeth quickly turns that measure of welfare ineffectual. He doesn’t dare raise his head, for though his eyes were closed and covered, if just hearing the herald of their approach had this effect on him, it was inconceivable that his eyes would be able bare their likeness without severe ramifications. As if cloth would be sufficient enough to spare him their appearance. 

He could hearing a hissing and squealing all around them, the followers no doubt consuming the tribute of pearl slugs. The dominant one was before him and approaching even closer... closer.

Then it spoke.

Deep and immense, just like the noise of the multitude, maybe it had just been her voice then? He... understood. Her speech resonated through him, shook him to his core while feeling like it writhed through his ear to his brain: an impossible combination of feeling deep and solid yet also flexible and slippery. But still, he understood.

It drew him to her, it was enough to lift his head from being parallel with the floor to his forehead being tilted up, as if he would’ve faced her completely if not for his dauntless will to resist just that. He... wanted to. “I....”

Gods, he really wanted to. To rip those bandages and leave everything bare before them... Her. Let those arms, tendril squeeze and pull him apart. Crack open his head and let all the eyes within behold her without any barrier. Would she grant his wish then? Would that be the cost for- 

Simon gulped for air, he was drowning. Her presence pressed down on him, making air expel from his lungs nearly as quickly as he could inhale. As such his plea comes between frenzied gasps of air, palms quivering against the cold stone.

“Puh-Please. I ask... For a release. That the hunters, yet to come, would saved from damnation in the Nightmare. They... Our sins are not theirs. Please... I-” 

I’d give anything.