#emblazen

[risingshards]

is it so much to ask for the lesbians to be happy through all eternities

[lostintransist]

Soul Mate Tattoo AU Thoughts

Taking a quick break from school work. I actually used each guy as a reward. I can go write if I get to question this. Here are my thoughts about how each of the guys would deal with having a soul mate tattoo somewhere on their bodies when they started to pile up enemies like corded wood.

CW: mentions of self mutilation

Simon: This idiot man didn't want any ties to life beyond the miltary, and when he became a Ghost™ he wanted to be sure that no one could ever be tied to him in a way that left them with Tommy's fate. Simon burned the name from his ribs with a heated piece of metal one night on a job. The weight of the name near his heart stayed, even as the smell of charred flesh woke his teammates. John looked at him as Gaz and Soap fluttered about, taking the metal and patching up the wound. John knew. Had done something similar. The curves and lines of the name never left his mind though.

Expanded thought for Simon: HERE

Kyle: He loved his name. Emblazened across his forearm in a shimmer of gold across his dark skin he often could be found playing with the light of the sun and his name. To protect the name on his arm Kyle could always been seen wearing long, tight workout shirts or an arm guard on missions over his uniform. An extra layer of protection for the future gift of love, if he could live long enough to find it. If he wasn't wearing sleeves Kyle had gotten extremly skilled at covering the name in layers of make the look of his arm smooth and seamless.

Expanded through for Kyle: HERE

John: His name sat above his heart, the perfect place to stab between the ribs and reach the tender organ. John paid a pretty penny to his tattoo artist to cover up the name with the name of his first wife, and then his second. All that sat there now was the faded bits of ink the laser treatments hadn't blasted away. The name peaked through, dark and piercing. He would cover it again. Even if he found the person the name belonged to he wouldn't be able to keep them. John couldn't keep anything good in his life beyond his men.

Expanded through for John: HERE

Johnny: This artist would create a tattoo that gently hid the letters of the name on his thigh without covering them. He wanted to be able to trace the letters in the dark of missions and think about who the name might belong to, how they would love him. Sometimes random lovers would stare at his tattoo and know that buried among the lines somewhere had to be a name, but Johnny never shared it. He couldn't until he saw a matching name; birth name since his mother gave him an ascestors name though she recorded John in the family bible.

Expanded through for Johnny: HERE

Masterlist

[lemon-russ]

Look. I just........ you can't judge me. What were YOU doing at the devils sacrament?

Mortarion X F!Reader (Pt. 1?)

Next (technically prequel)

CW: imprisonment, dehumanization, human pet, oral sex, general debauchery

TAGS: @moodymisty

Look I dunno if you guys signed up for this but uhhh: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk

“Shhhh, there, there, pet.”

Mortarion reaches through the bars of your cage to stroke your hair. You blink away sleep from your eyes as you orient yourself in the plush prison. Master is home? You scramble out of your little bed- nothing more than a large dogs bed but layered in pillows and blankets- and eagerly press yourself to the bars.

You lean into his palm, grasping his wrist to urge his hand to your cheek and nuzzle into his massive hand.

The primarch chuckles a raspy sound out. “That's a good girl, so happy to see me…” he cooes, kneeling, with some effort and popping joints, to sit beside your prison.

“Now, were you a good pet today? Quiet? Played nicely with your toys?” He murmurs, running a calloused thumb over your lips. “I don’t want to have to make excuses again if you made noise and alerted my sons.”

You smile wide, nodding eagerly. You know better than to speak without being asked. Your master prefers you use your body over words to express your appreciation. You had been playing nice and quiet all day, drawing on your parchments and playing with the “toys” he leaves you for when he is gone for an extended time.

He smiles, the skin of his dry lips straining with cracks, unused to the expression. He withdraws his hand, and the comforting clammy cool with it. You resist clinging.

Your cage clicks open, and you temper your excitement. Mortarion is letting you out? That only ever means good things for his treasured pet. Is it bath time? Or does he want you to warm his bed? Will he finally take you out and show you off?

Your excitement must be showing on your face, because Mortarion lets out another weak chuckle before rasping out a few harsh coughs.

“There's a good pet, so eager to please. It's been a few days since you came out, hasn't it?” He says as he latches your favorite collar to your neck. A rich green, with his name emblazened in bronze. His fingers trace over your throat as he admires the band, sending shivers down your spine and rasing goosebumps on your skin.

He moves aside to let you crawl out. Your cage is large, but short. Not enough to stand in, so it is a special treat when you get to stretch your legs and spine out in your masters bedroom.

Your body protests the sudden change of position as you stretch. It feels more and more unnatural to stand like this, or even leave the safety of your plush cage. Soon you return to your hands and knees at the Primarch’s feet.

He reaches down to run a hand through your hair again, before clipping a matching leash to your neck. A tug tightens your collar, drawing a squeak of surprise from your throat.

“Are you going to be a good pet?” He asks, pulling you by the lead to the edge of the bed. He sits, pulling you forward with him.

You nod quickly, crawling across the hard metal floor to kneel between his knees.

He tugs your leash sharper. “Say it.” He rasps. His pale eyes grow heavy as he eyes you, in your proper place.

“I’ll be good.” You croak, voice thick with disuse.

He smiles again, reaching down to run a hand under your chin. He brings his face close enough that his breath tickles your cheeks.

“Good girl.”

He leans back, spreading his legs and tugging you forward again, your collar biting into the soft skin of your neck. You don’t need to be told twice, and start undoing the ties holding his loose pants up. There are still splatters of old blood and the remnants of harsh chemicals from the battlefield staining his clothes, and you assume he must have come straight to you after getting home from a fight. The idea makes you puff up a little with pride. Master came straight to you…

You tug apart the knots and look up at him for permission to continue. He answers by caressing a hand to your face, then snapping the leash with his other hand, making you yelp.

You quickly return to your task, releasing Mortarion’s half ready cock from his pants at last.

The sight of his pale flesh makes you stop and admire. Every time your master uses you, you’re still astounded by the sheer size of it. Mortarion chuckles at your wide eyed stare, brushing back hair from your flushed face.

“You like it, pet?” He croons, chest rattling with his deepening breaths.

You nod, fixated still on the rising organ. He smiles, running his hand behind your head to take a fistful of your hair. He pushes your head closer, pressing the head of his cock to your lips.

“Go on then, show me how much.” He demands softly, twitching his hips forward and parting your lips with the tip.

You happily comply, sucking what you can of him into your mouth. The salty taste hit your tongue, and the primearch’s grip on your head burrows him deeper into your throat.

His groaning is cut by a rattling cough, but when you try to stop to look up at him he pushes your head back down on his cock. His next moan is less labored, so you figure it best to keep trying to fit him in your mouth, stretching your aching jaw with his thrusts.

After what feels like an eternity focusing on relaxing your throat and jaw, a sharp snap of your leash snaps you back into the moment.

“That’s it, good girl-” he growls deeply, “swallow it little pet-” his voice hitches as he grabs your head and nearly gags you. He hooks a finger under your collar and yanks, briefly cutting off your already scarce air supply as he fills your throat.

With an airy, raspy whimper, you feel his cock start pumping down your throat. After a couple hitching bucks of his hips, he pulls you off of him by the hair, leaving you gasping and your jaw radiating with sore use.

He falls back onto the bed, wheezing and trembling, and pulls you up to him by your leash. You crawl up to him in a daze and collapse next to him, catching your breath as he tried to control his own.

Finally he lolled his head to look at you, cupping your chin to make you meet his cloudy eyes.

“Good pet.”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

A/N: Because I just had to write an editorial for Eddie as though Nancy had written it for the Hawkins Post. It's been years since I wrote one, and I might be rusty.

October 1986

Eddie Munson: Killer or Shepherd?

Editorial by Nancy Wheeler

It has been a rather heated debate in the town of Hawkins, Indiana, since the eventful spring break of March 1986 over whether lifetime resident Eddie Munson is a serial killer. While Mr. Munson had been cleared of all charges by local authorities, he has yet to be declared innocent by his fellow citizens of Hawkins.

This is a journey to discover the truth of Eddie Munson's innocence. It is the path less traveled for the people of Hawkins, but it's open for all who wish to open their minds.

Eddie, of course, is the most obvious choice. He's loud. He stands on tables while wiping his shoes on people's lunches, and he does this all while reigning judgment over everyone. His taste in music is just as loud and hard to comprehend, much like Mr. Munson himself. His beloved game, Dungeons and Dragons, is full of satanic imagery and violence. It's not hard to see why some of you have picked him to be the villain in your story. He's the kind of person your parents warned you to stay away from. So, if they don't trust him, why should you?

Except, couldn't basketball or football be considered violent? What about the devil depicted on his shirt? Couldn't the carnivorous, dangerous tiger emblazened on the player's jerseys be a symbol of evil as well? What about the feathers on the marching bands' hats? Would they be considered horns? If someone from the 17th century were to travel here, they'd look at you, your clothes, and your fancy gadgets as signs of witchcraft. They'd gather the torches and pitchforks as well. How would you defend yourself?

The truth is that Eddie Munson is a young man who wants to play his game, make his uncle proud, and give people a place to run to. The only thing that he is guilty of is selling drugs, being abrasive, and making assumptions like we all do.

So, if you want to find out the truth for yourself and, like a dear friend would say, maybe give Hellfire a try before you deny.

[joelletwo]

Companys big ol electric billboard on my commute had a Never Forget emblazenment. My company apparently had jgjdj Remembrance Fitness Challenges themed after all the ppl that died. Thats so cool dudes love that for us

[heyyallitsbeth]

It's wild that the best part of Dragon Ball is something so entirely divorced from the main story.

The History of Trunks is a fucking MASTERPIECE. The animation and storytelling, seeing the destroyed future, and that only 2 people could attempt to stand against the threats of the world, and that in the end, only 1 even made it out. Seeing Trunks kill Android 17 and 18 after watching the death of Gohan is so incredibly satisfying and leaves you feeling relieved, that now that these murderous cyborgs are gone, maybe the world can start healing again, even in the timeline of the "bad end".

And oh man. Gohan's sacrifice and death and Trunks going Super Saiyan... the best scene in the entire series. The Super Saiyan born of fear and sadness saved not only his world, but saved the world of the past, and eventually went on to save countless timeline's and multiverses. The time machine emblazened with Hope, showing that Trunks was not only the hope of the future, but everyone's hope.

It's such a somber and brutal part of dragon ball and I adore it.

and man. Seeing Future Gohan and Trunks finally be able to see eachother again in Xenoverse damn near made me cry because it was so cathartic. Gohan seeing the hero Trunks became, and Trunks seeing that he made his mentor proud.

[uruuk]

5d from the spicy meme u rb on your multi. you can't stop me

"ELROND -" SOMEHOW, THE LORD OF THE URUKS HAS NEVER QUITE FELT SO LORDLY AS WHEN HE HUMBLY BECAME THE THRONE. SPRIGS OF CHESTNUT HAIR FALLEN OVER EARS where the rest are tamed and tucked behind the point. HIS VOICE AS IT SPEAKS HIS NAME IS LOW. COARSE, BUT STEEPED IN WANT. leading, and inflected with a wave of pleasure as he finds he has little control of lithe hips winding midsection above his more sturdy form. THE METHODICAL AND LUMBERING BRUTE STRENGTH OF ORCS MEETS THE BEAUTY AND GRACE OF ELF'S SILK AND FLUID COMBAT. chin wrapped around and resting upon an angled ribcage, as the curl adorned head turned away to watch his debasement. ( something that had undoubtedly aroused him, achingly so ). for knowing now he could not truly taint him, the taboo of their union to his kind was admittedly pleasing when presented at this very surface level. ELROND IS NONE SO HATEFUL, NOR DISCRIMINATORY. not now . . . not anymore.

BLUE-GREYS FLUTTER CLOSED WITH OPEN MOUTH AS ONE OF TWO ANCHORED HANDS MOVES FROM IMMACULATE REAR MUSCULATURE, AND SWIPES ALONG THE SMALL OF HIS BACK. using the newfound leverage to tug his conquest closer, and perhaps regain his attention. lidded gaze open in a flutter of lengthy lashes, and chin lifted towards the exposed chest. PRESSING HIS HARSH CHEEK IN REVERENCE AND ALLOWING A LOSS OF HIMSELF ONCE MORE. . . . for shuddery breath escapes before he once again turns his gaze upward to peer upon him. SOMEHOW HE STILL FINDS HIMSELF OVERWHELMED, AND DOUBTS THIS WILL CHANGE WITH THE NUMBER OF TIMES THEY SHARE IN ONE ANOTHER. as he is so beautiful, and though hundreds of years may pass in the blink of an eye . . . his body lacks remembrance of such pleasure. black lined thighs spread wide and shuddering beneath sure hips, whilst sat himself upon the wide-backed chair where the two had first spoken. "elrond . . ." he speaks it again, lathing tongue over soft rose peaking hard enough to tempt his teeth to close in. a low groan escaping him as hips begin to push insistently into seeking, insistent heat -- TAKING TO NOSING HIS CHEST AS HE WORKS TO CATCH HIS BREATH.

HIS BODY, ALL OVER, BEARS THE SAME RAISED AND UNSIGHTLY APPEARANCE OF HIS FACE. CRISS-CROSSED MARKS, WOUNDS AND BLACK VEINS CAUSING A ROUGH SURFACE, MET WITH SUCH PERFECTION AS HE. soft pink blush of activity and soft sheen of elven sweat 'pon his perfect brow. "look at me." he demands finally as he leans back in his seat. his hands sliding 'round to grip hips and take control of the movements. even with his eyes singing wide and deep with pleas for affection. NOVELTY OF THE UNDOUBTEDLY SALACIOUS TRAJECTORY OF ELVEN EYES, LOST IN BEING ALL BUT IMPALED BY THE LIKES OF A URUK, HAVING WORN OFF. the soft furrow between his brows speaking wondrously loud, while fingers reach to toy with pointed ear. rolling his thumb along the curve. HIS NERVES ARE BEGINNING TO BECOME ALIGHT, EMBLAZENED WITH EACH INCIDENTAL BRUSH. urgency betraying him. "you would make me beg, for that which I have already lain claim to?" his eyes narrow softly.

@elr0nds. super secret meme.

[brightwingedbat]

Some Rhon story, putting him through the Commander traumas already.

---

Three options was Tharrhon Lionheart given to proceed on the advancement to Orr, of course a charr such as he who was brought up as a defender hesitated little on deciding to pursue the reports of a missing squad.

Central Orr however is a dangerous place, far more dangerous than anywhere else he's been, as he soon discovers while patrolling the land with the asura Kekt and a number of other Pact soldiers.

Corpses of the Pact litter the ground, further advancement causing further anxiousness to the group he commands. Tharrhon stays strong and leads them true, as true as he could...

But one by one, near all the soldiers he was with fall, by no fault of his own. But he doesn't see it that way, he lead them there. It's clear they're being hunted, a fact only proven as they all push onwards.

One of the missing squad, a norn woman with information and a warning. The squad has discovered that the Risen have a Searing Cauldron in their possession, secondly, their scout Ferghen was the first to fall and his risen corpse's expertise was abused to fell the rest. As is what happens to the woman standing before them, suddenly silent, suddenly collapsing.

Weapons drawn, snarling fangs. "Where-?!" Lionheart growls, hunting eyes scanning every corner he could.

But his attention is drawn away, Kekt flees, afraid to fall here. But that's exactly what the risen wants. The last Pact soldier chases after Kekt, to stop him separating from them all.

She springs a trap that pierces her cold.

At last the hunter appears, next to Kekt, striking him to the ground. Alive, but injured, the asura yells out. "Stay away! Someone help! Please!"

As quick as a flash, Lionheart charges with his gauntlet blazing with light. A strike against the risen, blue flames burst from its form as it recoils from his powerful strike.

Reflexes of a warrior, Tharrhon' pistols leer keenly towards the risen's torso. A barrage of light-infused bullets score holes through the rotten flesh.

A moment is all it took for the risen to fall. Unmoving. Nary a sound.

No time to double check, Tharrhon sheathes his guns and kneels before the injured asura. Armoured palm held over a bleeding wound, a soft blue glow emanates upon it. "Burn me, that was... You'll be fine."

Adrenaline still heavy from the encounter, the asura looks up to the Commander. "Ah, you did it! I thought I was a goner like the others, but you stopped him."

'The others...' Echoes in the charr's mind. He only managed to save one out of so many... His eyes darken.

Kekt continues about the information they learned however, oblivious to the look in Lionheart's eyes. "I've never seen one of the Risen act like that. We need to report this in, right now. And not just this... Trahearne needs to know about the Cauldron, too."

"Right, as soon as you're good to move agai-" Tharrhon's voice cuts off, a look of horror on Kekt's face. "What's...?"

He turns his head, snarling immediately, healing stopping to emblazen his gauntlet. He strikes behind, landing a hit upon the risen Ferghen, still with all the holes through the monster.

He holds the corpse back, roaring to the asura with bared fangs alike a wild animal. "RUN! NOW!"

With what healing he received, the asura gets up to a limp. Half dragging his aching leg across the eroded stone floor.

Lionheart wrestles the norn risen back as best he can, but he's strong, damn strong. Ferghen manages a clean strike to the side of the charr's head, dazing him for but a moment.

All that he needed to brush the Commander away and give chase to the asura one last time. He won't let a prey escape alive.

Lionheart pushes himself up to a kneel, scenarios rapidly assault his thoughts. What does he do? What can he...? A sword. Welling up his magic once more, he forms a sword of pure light. And with magic once more, sends it soaring to the risen's back. "LEAVE HIM ALONE, UNDEAD BASTARD!"

The light pierces, the monster holds eerily still.

The magic dissipates, and the corpse at last falls. Along with the clattering of a freshly bloodied sword alongside it.

"Kekt! Kekt?!" Tharrhon calls out, rushing forwards. He drags the fallen corpse away, revealing the asura beneath. Motionless. Heartwrenchingly motionless.

Teeth grit in anger, guilt, sadness. Tharrhon finds himself once again alone within a squad of corpses he failed to protect.

"This can't- Not again, not all of them..." He snarls mournfully, clenching his paw tightly. "Burn it all, BURN IT!"

"The hell am I meant to do? I can't even keep one soldier alive here, I can't...!"

His words are harsh, he's falling to them too easily.

'Remember the training in fahrar, remember to keep going like you did after you lost everyone but Euryale.'

'The risen have a Searing Cauldron. Trahearne has to know.'

'The risen have a Searing Cauldron.'

With a sullen shadow to his face, he takes his stand, and walks away from the scene of so much death. There's no time to lament, more will die if he doesn't move.

So move he must.

[big-mean-trans-dyke]

Halloween Party 2024 - Crime City

One of the more ambitious rooms is aptly named 'Crime City'. Not technically a room, it's a walled green space located just outside the garden, weeks of preparation spent setting up facades of buildings until the space looks like a small city block, then taking it a step further to even fill out a couple of these facades to be real, functional spaces.

A bank, a small theater, and a little medical center are among the fully realized buildings, and there's even a dingey little alleyway to stoop into for the brave of heart. Unfortunately, not all is well in Crime City. Poor, innocent transfems may find themselves accosted, stopped at the bank for money by cuntgirls in balaclavas that don't know their place. Hostage situations in the theater are more common than anywhere else in the world, and even the hospital, providing vital breast augmentations and hormones, isn't safe from the threat of these cuntgirls.

Thank god, then, for the main attraction of this space. Clad in colorful spandex, masked, and with a flair for the dramatic, cuntgirl superheroes defend the night from the evils of unsucked cocks and full balls.

When the redhead chosen to dress as Batgirl this evening hears the familiar twang of a slutty clown demanding someone put their hands up and hand over her money, she's there in a flash. Harley Quinn doesn't even know what hit her. Before she can say a word, she's on her knees, a hand in her hair and another prying her jaw open while her innocent victim pulls her cock out. By the time justice has been served, Harley's clown makeup is smeared into a red, white, and blue wreck all over her face, she's drooling cum from all three holes, and she's laying face-down in a puddle of her own juices.

When Black Widow hears the ranting of some dumb cuntgirl from the theater, saying words like 'hostages' and 'ransom', she's equally quick to intervene, sneaking up onto a catwalk, only to drop down onto the villain from above, pinning her. There's plenty of cable lying around the place to tie her, and it doesn't take much convincing to get her former hostages in the mood to take out their frustrations on her. One by one, they rise from their seats, ignoring her pleas as they stroke their cocks hard, then take turns filling each of her holes in a gangbang that lasts most of the night, the heroic Black Widow offering her services as a fluffer whenever her prey is busy with too many cocks to handle everyone who wants her.

When a sabotaged shipment to the health center gets all the transfems worked up, thank goodness for yet another hero. Nobody's really sure whether she has a name, she hasn't had much of a chance to garble it out around the cocks that've been filling her throat since she arrived, but she has a logo of a fleshlight emblazened on the chest of her spandex suit. Or rather, she did, before it'd been torn open to show off her tits, along with a nice, big hole at the crotch. The most altruistic of our heroes, there's no hiding behind a set of villainous holes for her, she sacrifices her own body to make sure every set of balls she sees leave at least two loads lighter.

Finally, for those with rougher tastes, a little cry for help from the alley is all it takes to draw a gullible superhero eager to help into the darkness. Despite the name, they're not super, and their costumes are there just for show, so there's nothing wrong with tearing their clothes to shreds, shoving them against a dirty dumpster, and making sure these 'superheroes' never, ever forget that they're nothing more than entertainment, there not to be taken seriously, but to empty transfem cock.

[artwithoutblood]

i did publish a thing for patreon [that i dont use anymore] that was supposed to be a sex game about dorian and erebus at a christmas party but they just went to erebus's office and chatted because i cant write sex

I thought it’d be more like Dorian reeling around obnoxiously hitting on the few colleagues he doesn’t dislike and trying to dance on things not meant for the purpose. Trying to swing around the poles of the floor lamps.

His hat is gone. Erebus is chasing him and growing increasingly agitated because Dorian has stolen Erebus’ collar chain and is wearing it around his head

He basically would. Maybe not the pole part but the rest I could see.

I'm using this below to paste the thing I wrote. It wasn't finished.

a few familiar faces. a few faces that blend in with one another. erebus is one of them, and he certainly doesn't want to be there. but it's rude to live with two demons who are organizing a party and not join in on the festivities.

aeron doesn't like to host parties. at their own events, they sit in a corner, legs crossed with a cold glass of water in one hand. their eyes gaze emptily into the crowds, consciousness scanning faces and bodies that are a million miles away.

genesis always has to beg them. dissonance loves the lights, the music, the celebration. he's grown to love christmas because of his time with his children over the years. "people in the human world get together and have holiday parties! they drink n' dance n' wear stupid outfits! they even do it at work! ain't that crazy, aeron? we've gotta host one. please? we can do it in the gallery!"

delusion agrees, as long as it's far away from any of the breakable art. they settle on a banquet hall, used often for receptions or special exhibits. aeron decorates with colorful lights and decorative pine needles. genesis caters food and puts together the perfect playlist of classical piano and ambient drones.

erebus never liked fancy suits. sure, his usual attire was regal, elegant, fit for an archivist who spent centuries combing through books. but the suit that scarlet had crafted for him was far beyond his usual dress.

"i had made this for your predicessor," she had explained to him when he begrudgedly came to pick it up, "but since he's…gone, i thought i'd modify this for you. to fit you better, y'know."

delirium always hated being compared to dreams. he just had to swallow it.

the suit was beautiful, emblazened with appliques of snakes, ancient words, and images of the sun. the brooches on each collar were handcrafted from celestial silver, meant for the demon of dreams and repurposed for erebus's small stature. beautiful shades of green and black and gray, matched against silver jewelry.

familiar faces pass by erebus as he stood near a row of paintings, away from the drink tables and towards a corner's emptiness. diana handed erebus a glass of water and told him to call her over if he needed anything. graves staring with empty eyes, empty words, and a small platter of cake in his hand. aeron runs their fingers through his hair and thanks him for coming. xinyue talks him down from his anxiety by filling his head with thoughts of the next few days and what work erebus can do once the party is over. that puts his mind at ease.

he treats himself to small, strawberry tarts, seated in his own corner. most attendees ignore him. and that's just how he likes it, sitting as quiet as one of the corpse statues that line some of the halls outside of this cheerful place.

erebus has always been used to eyes on him. he assumes aeron is always spying, even if delusion isn't doing it actively.

but tonight is different. erebus looks up, finds aeron in the crowd, and breathes a sigh of confusion when he realizes the painter has their full attention on a man that erebus has never seen before.

who's looking at him then? he scans the area over and over, puts down his dish and stands up to do so. sweat drips delicately down his forehead. erebus never thought he'd miss the prying eyes of delusion, replaced by something foreign to him.

all erebus had to do was look right in front of him. across the long hall is another man, adorned in similar glasses and a muzzle over his face, leaning against a bookshelf and swirling a fruity drink in his hand. he presses the straw through the bars of his muzzle and to his lips, stealing another glance at erebus.

he has met dorian a few times in the past. librarians of different fields come to know each other, share their knowledge. dorian just barely leaves his domain, deep in the circles. he occasionally visits the gallery to admire aeron's newest handiwork. the two of them exchange art for knowledge, sometimes vice versa. dorian has joined them for dinner before, but all that heresy does is sit patiently, drinking tea and listening patiently to whatever comes from delusion's mouth.

they lock eyes for a few moments before dorian breaks it, closing them to indulge himself deeper in his tea. what does heresy want? erebus isn't sure.

but he sighs. he knows he has to do the hard work of reaching out.

erebus stands in front of dorian, arms crossed, foot tapping gently against the floor. dorian doesn't notice him - on purpose, of course - waiting for delirium to speak for himself. erebus sighs, defeated.

"are you going to explain yourself?" he asks, his brows furrowed.

dorian pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. "hm, explain what?"

"you've been staring at me from across the room for at least five minutes now. is there something on my face?"

"besides your pretty eyes, no."

erebus hasn't been able to blush in centuries, but he knew his ears would be burning red at that if he could.

dorian just laughs. "i'm teasing you, erebus. i've just been debating on whether or not i move to talk to you, but i was too absorbed in this drink…"

"that you were too lazy to move and walk over to me?"

"that's right."

but why talk to me?" erebus doesn't seem to understand why anyone would care for his presence at this party other than his own coworkers.

"a few reasons," dorian places his drink on a nearby table. "first, you're the only person here who looks just about as lonely as i."

"you don't have people to talk to, dorian? you're important. you're one of the most important people here, i'd say."

"you know i'd say the same about you, head archivist."

"erebus. just call me by my name." he clasps his hands together, gently squeezing his palms together.

"erebus." his name is heavy on dorian's lips, slow, said with a soft taste of pine in his voice.

"…you aren't pitying me right now, are you?" it's what erebus hates most.

"no…" dorian shakes his head. he eyes the exit next to him, where the lights grow dim and the music would dissolve into silence. "i can talk to anyone here whenever i'd like. but you are a rarity. even at archives receptions, you are holed up in your office or pretending to be busy so no one approaches you."

"you of all people should know how important our work is," erebus is frustrated, eyes darting away from dorian, hoping that someone will grab him by the arm and whisk him away from this obligation.

"i do. of course i do," dorian nods, "but…"

"but what?"

"is it wrong that i've wanted to get to know you? know you past the formalities of work?"

"heresy is a liar, you know. why should i believe you?"

"i'd like you to use my name too."

erebus swallows. his eyes land on aeron, who is in the middle of putting on a haphazard theatric performance of some horrible story that happened to them recently. aeron notices immediately and locks eyes, smiling, waving their left hand.

god, sometimes his roommate is so innocent.

"why, erebus, are you acting like i want to hurt you?" dorian is serious. he may have been teasing earlier, but his eyes are dark, lips now neutral as opposed to curled upright in his default smile. "is it because everyone else you've ever met has wanted to hurt you? or, at least, that's what you think is happening?"

erebus swallows hard. he looks through dorian, rather than at him.

"because…i'm not here to do that," dorian shakes his head. "especially not here, surrounded by people. in fact, i rather admire you and your commitment to your work. but even so…"

erebus can't bother to look at him right now.

"i can tell you want to talk about other kinds of things. you love your books, but you love other things. but you don't feel like you're worth it past what you're good at. i'm right, aren't i?"

delirium falls silent, his head to the floor, inhaling deep breaths despite no longer needing to use his fragile lungs. dorian does not break the silence between them. he waits for erebus to speak.

and erebus does. "but why does that matter to you? why do you care?"

"do i need to have a reason?"

erebus rubs the dark circles under his eyes.

dorian makes his intentions clear. "i'm asking if the two of us can exit this loud, crowded room. i want to sit down with you, alone, and i want to hear erebus talk. not the archivist, not delirium, but erebus."

erebus looks back up, locks eyes with dorian. "you want me alone?"

"so i can focus on all of you, yes."

delirium will admit he would much prefer to be pulled away from the loud noise and the heat of other bodies. erebus can already feel the weight lifting off his chest, only to be replaced with nearly equal weight, all from one person: dorian.

erebus gives in. "fine."

dorian smiles.

erebus leads dorian down the hall, and the music that encapsulated them starts to fade. he knocks every so often against the wood finishings of corners, of the frames of old paintings. dorian cocks his head in confusion.

"i have a door somewhere between here and my office," erebus explains. doors are like small portals. genesis hides dozens of them in their shared space, all so he can steal trinkets and food from the other two members. he steals erebus's teabags and areon's sewing supplies, but he gives nothing back in return.

eventually, an old painting of a boat, ravaged by a stubborn sea, glows blue with absolute light. a small door opens, and erebus bows, inviting dorian inside.

"can i get you something new to drink?" erebus asks, "i know you just had…what were you drinking?"

"a shirley temple," dorian responds. erebus's office is small, ornately decorated yet humble all in the same visage. it was much like erebus was, strung with books on every wall, with globes and keys and small vials of ink leaving the place in its own orderly disarray. erebus pulls the chair from behind the desk to the front, allowing dorian and erebus to sit on equal footing. "i'm alright. thank you."

erebus nods, makes himself a cup of green tea with jasmine, and sits down.

it takes a few minutes, a few spits of reassurance from dorian for erebus to talk. sometimes, his eyes never leave the swirling liquid inside his teacup. eventually, erebus unravels. he talks about his greenhouse and all the plants he's been growing inside. he talks about his collection of antiques from before his own demonhood, all related to the stars above. he talks about some novels he's read, not novels he's written.

erebus has never been very good at reading emotions.he checks dorian's eyes, his mouth (or what he can of it due to the muzzle), but dorian does not break eye contact once. he sits with full attention on erebus, only moving to settle deeper into his chair. there seem to be stars in his eyes, admiration circling those irises of his. erebus swallows, adjusts his glasses, continues.

does dorian like it? is this just a ploy to collect information on him? erebus didn't really care; his mouth were running faster than his brain was.

but the intense staring, mind swimming…it makes erebus anxious, after an hour or so of infodumping all over this man who was barely more than a stranger.

"am i…bothering you? you look disappointed in me."

dorian refuses to break eye contact (erebus's worst nightmare) as he reaches two of his fingers up to his face. they slide between the bars of his muzzle and swipe gently over his own black lips. "i'm not disappointed in you, erebus. not at all. i'm disappointed in myself."

"why is that?"

heresy stands, his intricately-embroidered coat unfurling with him, revealing shimmering spider lilies and camellias. he gently pushes his glasses further up his nose. erebus is cautious and takes a stand as well, moving his body away from the chair.

"dorian? is everything alright?" erebus asks, but he fears his question will fall on deaf ears.

erebus has always been shorter than dorian, but as dorian approaches him, those silver-plated high heels on his feet, erebus realizes the size difference much clearer. it doesn't take long for erebus to find his back to a wall, with dorian placing one arm next to erebus's head, preventing any escape.

"i'm just disappointed that…" dorian breathes a heavy sigh. any twinge of shame lies behind that muzzle and refuses to leak out. "…i can't kiss you right now."

erebus's eyes go wide. "i'm sorry…?"

in most situations, erebus would have fished a pair of scissors from his pocket and driven them straight into dorian's chest. two problems arose:

one: he doesn't have his scissors, because this wasn't his usual outfit. he must have left them in the pocket of his uniform.

two: he doesn't really…want to, no matter how much his voice swims in confusion.

they sit in silience, whose pressure never bursts or dwindles, and dorian stares with those stars still in his eyes.

erebus is the first to break the silence. "why?"

dorian does not answer at first. that makes erebus anxious.

"…please let me go."

dorian responds immediately. "i'm trying to find a way to explain this that would help you understand. if i tell you that i have no reason, you'll panic. if i tell you it's because you're beautiful, alluring even in your mystery, you'll deny it. if i sit in silence, contemplating an answer, your hands will shake, as they do now."

he locks his fingers with one of erebus's hands. delirium's limbs make small tremors. dorian remedies this by pressing his forehead against delirium's. erebus's eyes light up, confusion being sprinkled with…wonder? relief? he wasn't sure. all erebus knows is that someone is using his name, is holding him and singing him sweet praises that he's never heard in his life (this isn't true, erebus just was not receptive, but that barely matters when heresy pins you against a wall in your own office).

dorian's hand slides back to erebus's face, gently cupping his cheek, thumb running along his jawline. "if you're so anxious, i can stop, we can return to our conversation, and we can pretend this never happened."

erebus does not respond for a long, long while. his mind was swimming, trying to drown his own complex. dorian was, without a doubt, beautiful; something about his mismatched eyes, his black lips, his off-white skin, it was all beautiful. dorian makes himself irresistable just by his existence, and erebus was still trying to wrap his head around why dorian was interested in someone as boring, mean, and hard to obtain as erebus.

maybe the last part was it. it didn't matter now. the bird has caught the snake, right on his own grounds.

erebus raises a hand up to one of the long pieces of dorian's hair. the rest had been tied into a delicate bun and secured with silver hair accessories, save for two sections that trailed down to his chest. his eyes focused on the variations in colors of dorian's hair. peach, off-white cream, gray, strawberry blonde.

"is…everything alright, erebus?"

"pretty."

"what?"

"your hair is pretty."

dorian laughs. "you really think so?"

"yes."

"it used to be curly," dorian explains, "but i suppose the first death and the ash somehow flattened it. thankfully, it's still soft.

"i like it like this," and erebus brings the hair to his nose, inhaling the scent. dorian smells like patchouli and rose with a hint of vanilla.

heresy's ears light up with red, making the silver jewelry glow even brighter.

"for someone so touch-averse, i'm surprised you had the nerve to…sniff my hair?"

"i like nice-smelling things. it puts me at ease." erebus opens his eyes and looks back up at dorian, and the anxiety flushes back in.

"you're a little weird, don't you know that?"

"i…i'm sorry." erebus looks embarrassed.

"no, that's a good thing. i like that."

[receding-tides]

20 & 30 for faye (and marie if i may ask)

you may! we're adopting her now

20. if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess? Both of them have full drivers licenses, Faye just has a bike one at first for driving a motorbike to work/etc but gets a full license before they move to their own place, Marie has had a drivers license since she turned Driving Age but she's never actually owned a car and driving gives her really bad anxiety so she has never used it, it's more of a "if there's an emergency and we need someone who can drive" thing. Faye's bike is silver and has a 3 emblazened on the side :) Once they do have a car I don't think it's kept reasonably neat just because if you need something while in a car you don't want to have to try and hunt around for it while driving

30. do they smell like anything notable? I don't think Faye uses any strong smelling soap or deoderant or anything since strong smells kind of give him a headache so he just smells like. a squid?? I guess. Marie is the kind of person who showers every day and idk if she would use anything with a particular scent but she does smell nice

[dullahandyke]

sidenote while im being crotchety abt d20, have an image

[ID: a listing for a mug emblazened with the phrase, "Capitalism is the bad guy", which costs €17.95.]

[venusofrapture]

you're just feeling bad because of what hapened.

⊹ ˚ . ♡ ┆・PROMPTS from THE TRUMAN SHOW  ━ !

Shiny, red-tipped fingers flipped open a pearly white cigarette box emblazened with RAPTURE'S FINEST across it. Plucking one free from the neat row, she absent-mindedly placed it between her candy red lips and frowned. For a moment, she offered one to Amelia before lighting the cigarette and puffing pensively on it.

“ I think you’re right. . . ”

She folded and refolded her legs, rocking her heeled foot in an anxious, restless gesture. A long draw, blowing smoothly in the other direction, and she pressed her lips firm with a lifted brow. Dissatisfaction mingled in her countenance, a searching look in her gaze that met Amelia’s.

“ Let’s go do something. You’re not busy, are you? ”

[risingshine]

🎩 + It's an outfit that Chiasa may find different, but it is something Harmony wanted her to have. It is a creation based on Harmony's own roots tailored to Chiasa and what she stands for.

The first item: A ribbon skirt made to fit Chiasa. It is a black skirt that will reach her ankles adorned with bands of ribbons in rich hues of scarlet, gold, and orange around the lower part of the skirt. The back of the skirt has a hole that will allow her tail through.

The second article: A black denim jacket with the entire back adorned with the traditional design of the sun including the the woodpeckers outside. The woodpeckers are not only a symbol of warriors but also a sign of good medicine. The sun is painted gold over the gradient of the setting sun as its background. The woodpeckers are painted in scarlet, black, white, and orange.

[[Note: Photo above and below as references)

The last item: A gorget necklace made of copper with the design of Grandmother Spider. In the stories of ancient time, it was Grandmother Spider who was small who carried fire and taught the humans to be keepers of the sacred gift.

Chiasa was gentle with assembling the new garb - it was clear it meant alot to Harmony, and she was doing her best not to damage it. She would even shrink a bit when putting the jacket on, in order to make sure she didn't risk tearing the jacket that was so lovingly made.

There was something to being gifted an ensemble emblazened with another culture that felt like it was cemention of her divinity - or perhaps just Harmony's adoration to her. Either way, it felt somehow more than simple fabric.

"I adore it, harmony...thank you."

[mahiiimahiiii]

Wynne, dating astarion: "what a silly drawing! I do like the rat king that emblazens the door. "

Li'ia dating gale: "this is a dead language I've come across in my studies! How romantic the poetry was from that period- it is surmized that shadowfel had some influence on the writing-" 🤓☝🏽

[risingoflights]

There was every fearful smile, there was every joyful tear

There was each and every choice that leads from every there to here

There was every cosy stranger and every awkward friend

And there was every perfect night that"s left initials in the sand

There was every day that filled so full the weeks would float away

And there was all those days spent wondering what to do with all those days

There was every lie that ever saved the truth from being shamed

And every secret you could ever trust a friend to hide away

There was the fortune of discovering a new face you might adore

And the thrill of coming home to find her clothes upon the floor

And the prideful immortality of children in the home

That the storm can"t grind the mountain down, it can only shift the stones

And there was everything your mouth says that your lips don"t understand

And every shape inside your head you can"t carve with your hands

And every slice of glass revealed another slice of life

Emblazened imperfections in a perfect stream of light

It all flooded through the window like rapids made of fire

And then God rode through on sunshine and sat down cause he was tired

He was tired.