#essence combinations

[litrpgburrito]

A Quick Dive into the He Who Fights with Monsters Character, Clive, and his Spellcasting Abilities

Let’s delve into the spellcasting abilities of Clive from “He Who Fights with Monsters.” Clive is a brilliant essence user and renowned member of the magic society. His ability to deconstruct complex magical concepts and understand them in all their intricacies is truly astounding. Here we will take a short look at Clive's abilities as a spellcaster.

Essences and Abilities:

Clive gains magical abilities through essences. When he uses an essence and performs the appropriate ritual, it becomes part of him, granting access to its powers. These abilities appear somewhat random but can be influenced by Awakening Stones.

Essence combinations allow Clive to enhance his magic. Some notable combinations include:

Empower (Recovery): Manipulating mana to boost physical attributes.

Overcharge: Increasing mana cost for significantly amplified spell effects.

Haste: Temporarily buffing speed.

Evasion (Matrix-style): Slowing time to evade attacks.

Obfuscation: Enhancing stealth and later achieving invisibility.

On the Battlefield:

Clive’s combat magic is versatile. He can cast offensive spells, create barriers, and manipulate energy.

His signature move involves combining essences for devastating effects. For instance, he might Overcharge a fireball spell with Empower, resulting in a massive explosion.

Clive adapts his magic to different foes, using precision or brute force as needed.

Off the Battlefield:

Clive’s magic extends beyond combat. He uses it for utility, healing, and exploration.

Healing spells with Empower help him recover from injuries.

Clive’s magical senses allow him to detect hidden threats or secrets.

He experiments with essences, discovering new abilities and applications.

Complex Abilities:

Clive’s most intricate abilities involve combining multiple essences. For example:

Temporal Shift: By Overcharging Haste and Evasion simultaneously, Clive can briefly manipulate time, dodging attacks with incredible precision.

Inferno Blade: Empowered fire magic infused with Overcharged speed, creating a blazing sword.

Shadowmeld: Obfuscation combined with Empower grants Clive near-invisibility.

In summary, Clive’s spellcasting abilities are a blend of creativity, adaptability, and raw power. Whether on the battlefield or exploring magical mysteries, he continues to surprise and evolve.

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[star-trekster]

Star Trek TOS: S4E20 The Brownie Incident

Also love of my life (hallucigenia)

Based on @/Punkitt is here Iconic MLP Comics: 1 2

[pureanonofficial]

Elphie, now that we're friends, I've decided to make you my new project!

[solphuruz]

Hello again pafl nation

I love traumatized teens

Im. So fucking normal.

Iam also in the progress of writing a fic if this goes well i might post it.

[int9]

A striking portrait of my spores druid Durge, Nihilas Fey-Branche, by @lorandesore! 🍄💀

[unwelcome-ozian]

[hwaightme]

bai my love you've probably already seen this before heaps of times but my algorithm recently has been hellbent on showing me atz with facial hair (i saw this cursed tiktok the other day where they all had full beards i-) and tHIS came up and i'm honestly with woo on this one

okay i'll see myself out hehe

Loren what if I cease to breathe for an alarmingly long time what then Loren my beautiful my love what then

This algorithm is on a mission and it is delivering particular ponderings that permeate the brain cells and collectively make us perish :)) so fine rn so fine boutta bust out lines in iambic pentameter

EXCUSEMEWHATISTHISTIKTOKYOUSPEAKOFI-

*oh*

*THIS*

THIS PARK SEONGHWA HAUNTS ME, HE IS ALWAYS SOMEWHERE IN THE CRANIUM, WOOYOUNG YOU ARE REAL FOR THIS

Did your algorithm suggest any ways to recover perchance?

*whispering 5 o'clock shadow hwa and evaporating*

take me with you I need to be airfried or something

[numberonesnarkfan]

a thing I wrote

In the moment after the explosion, it was silent.

He felt like he was falling and rising all at once, being lapped at by the cold black sea. He’d never tasted death before. He found the irony palpable that his first death would be his last. His kind weren’t supposed to only die once, after all.

In the moment after the explosion, he began to forget. He couldn’t remember where the gaps in his memory were as they expanded and grew and threatened to take everything with them. Scrabbling for purchase, he grasped onto one thing; one concept above all else: Stanley.

In the moment after the explosion, he began to sink. Slowly, falling under the waves of the sea, being consumed by the blackness. He had no body anymore - no mind, no thoughts, no memories. All were wiped clean in an instant, an instant that felt as an eternity.

In the moment after the explosion, he embraced death. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for the moment to be over.

Only, the moment didn’t end.

He felt an immense hand cradle him, drawing him up, out of the surf. He gasped in the crisp ocean air as he was lifted up to the large being’s face as it inspected him. Weakly, he opened his eyes, looking back at it - and out of the corner of his vision, he saw him. Stanley sat cradled in the giant’s hand with him, or what was left of him at least.

“Oh… You are scared to die, aren’t you…” the being crooned, in a voice unknowable, and yet ever familiar, as if he had heard it before he was even born.

It chuckled like a wise old man and giggled like a young girl all at once,

“Your spirit shines so brightly, so stubbornly. You insist that the end is never the end.”

“I could use you. You will be my page, and my laurel. You will perform for me eternally. You will never die.”

He felt himself lift, his being given form again. He grew into a yellow light, an orb and a staff, geometric shapes surrounding him as he formed an object - the sensation was incredible, a return of purpose and of being. His master, the Essence of Divine Art, held him gently in one hand, allowing the circular form he had become to rest on her fingers.

Gently, the deity placed him atop her splendid head. He was a golden circlet, resting delicately upon her hair - the Crown of Divine Art.

“You are a divine artefact, housed with a spirit. When you are without me, you will return to the darkness.”

The deity plucked him from her head, placing him back on her hand with Stanley. Quickly, his form shifted. Rather than the striking, shining diadem he was, he returned to the small form of a man, made of darkness. The only evidence of his true being remained in his golden eyes, staring up at his goddess.

“Now go.”

The deity dropped both him and Stanley back into the dark sea. As he fell, it did not occur to him that he did not remember his previous life. All of his knowledge had been replaced - he was the Crown of Divine Art now, he was immortal.

He was divine… He was the crown of… He was…

He made stories. That’s all he remembered.

He was The Narrator. That would be his name.

In the moment after the explosion, The Narrator was born.

[mantisgodsdomain]

Concept for your desire to do a specific bracket tournament that isn't weighted against OCs: EVERY character is represented by a Picrew or a stock image, and EVERY character has the name of their source work written without any indication if it's actually published (if the WIP does not yet have a title, a placeholder title is used without indicating that it is such). Voters won't know if the character is from something published that they simply haven't heard of yet

The problem with this is that it would still have the issue of things being weighted towards popular characters - people still know who The Knight from Hollow Knight is, even if we don't use an official image and instead used a stock image of the void or painstakingly reconstruct them in a Picrew. The main thing that gets people to vote in a tournament is connection - knowing the character or the people attached to them.

The thing that biases things against OCs in this tournament is, primarily, their limited spread - the lack of people who would be familiar with them. Though more well-known OCs can circumvent this enough to stand on firm ground with characters - someone like spotsupstuff's Three Sparrows On A Wire, for example, might have a solid chance in a tournament with canon characters, there will still be less people invested in Sparrows than there are, say, people invested Humans-B-Gone!'s Sophodra.

Because the thing with canon characters is that, by definition, you've already seen them in action. They already have a story that you can readily access, compared to an OC, where the creator has to write and present the story themself - and a story that's never been written is very, very difficult to invest people in. You can't put the emotional impact of someone you've followed for a million words up against the emotional impact of a cool design you saw in the interwebs, and if you have to create emotional investment in the space of a bio, you're naturally going to fare worse than someone who's had hundreds of pages to win you over.

Really, the only way we can see it working well is something like that @guess-that-ship's format of "text only, can't name anything that would give the game away in regards to who it is", and for obvious reasons, that's... not quite going to work the same way.

[dragoncarrion]

ive been watching dredge videos the whole day I'm so normal

[litrpgburrito]

In the captivating world of "He Who Fights with Monsters," confluence essences play a pivotal role. These magical combinations arise from the fusion of different essences, resulting in unique and potent effects. Let's dive into the depths of this enchanting system to bring you seven intriguing confluence essences:

1. Flameheart Elixir:

- Essence Combination: Fire + Passion

- Effect: The imbiber gains fiery determination and enhanced combat prowess. Their attacks burn with intensity, leaving enemies scorched in their wake.

2. Sylvan Harmony:

- Essence Combination: Earth + Nature

- Effect: The user becomes attuned to the natural world, gaining the ability to communicate with plants and animals. They can heal wounds using earth energy and manipulate flora to their advantage.

3. Chrono-Weave:

- Essence Combination: Time + Thread

- Effect: Wearing a garment infused with Chrono-Weave allows the user to manipulate time threads. They can glimpse into the past or future, alter minor events, or even freeze time momentarily.

4. Aetherblade Edge:

- Essence Combination: Air + Steel

- Effect: Forged weapons infused with Aetherblade Essence cut through reality itself. When wielded, they slice through barriers, teleport the user short distances, and disrupt magical defenses.

5. Luminous Veil:

- Essence Combination: Light + Illusion

- Effect: The user cloaks themselves in shimmering illusions, rendering them nearly invisible. They can create decoys, bend light around their form, and slip past guards undetected.

6. Voidshroud Cloak:

- Essence Combination: Shadow + Void

- Effect: Wrapped in the Voidshroud, the user becomes intangible, slipping between dimensions. They can phase through walls, evade attacks, and even briefly enter the void for glimpses of forbidden knowledge.

7. Celestial Resonance:

- Essence Combination: Star + Music

- Effect: When playing an instrument infused with Celestial Resonance, the user channels cosmic energy. Their melodies heal wounds, inspire allies, and temporarily elevate their physical abilities.

Remember, these confluence essences are as diverse as the stars themselves, waiting to be discovered by intrepid adventurers. Whether you seek power, wisdom, or wonder, explore the myriad combinations and unlock your true potential!

[manav2010]

[tronform]

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[monstersholygrail]

Ghost bf craves more than anything to taste the nectar that gushes from your folds whenever he brings you to orgasm. The fact that he can’t ingest anything that’s not on his physical plane slowly brings him to feel as if he is dying all over again. Your essence so close and yet unreachable.

He refuses to give up, pumping load after load into your sloppy wet cunt. He grits his teeth, staring at the wet sheets under you in envy. The way they so easily soak up your glorious release. He doesn’t stop as he fucks his cock into you, watching you arch off the bed like a woman possessed.

His hand makes contact with your clit and you jolt, pleasurable goosebumps trailing down your legs. Your body seizes, exploding around his ghost cock just as he releases another hefty load inside of you.

Your bf doesn’t hesitate to slip out of you, leaving you to hiss at the faint stinging sensation. Your pussy fluttering closed now that his invisible length left you. His hands push against your soft thighs and you see them spreading wider in what appears to be all on their own.

A moan rips out of you, a much smaller pressure gliding between your puffy lips. Your ghost bf laps at your pussy, his spirit aching for just one taste of your sweetness.

“Wait…” you croak out, legs shaking. This being the umpteenth time he’s repeated this cycle, giving you an idea what of what he wants and is not getting.

When you don’t feel what you assume is his tongue a moment later, you weakly rise onto your elbows. Despite being spent, pleasure swirls in your gut as you watch his spectral-cum ooze out of you.

Reaching down you whimper at the sparks of over sensitivity as you move your fingers through your folds in small circles, mixing your release with his. Your breathing picks up, the sight more erotic than you can admit. But you can feel yourself growing wetter and you can only imagine your bfs smug expression.

“That should work, right?” You ask into your seemingly empty bedroom, not expecting an answer as always.

A moment later you feel that pressure return, a gasp escaping your lips. Your bf slowly licks at your combined cum. His own musk crashes into his tastebuds and for a moment that’s all he tastes. But then, as if the door to the afterlife has finally been opened he tastes the most heavenly flavor as it coats his tongue.

Ghost bf moans, the sound moving through the wind and sending a shiver up your spine. You chuckle lightly but you quickly choke on it as your bf returns full force, happily slobbering up every last drop of cum he can find. His cock already prepped to do this all again.

[foone]

Given how wizards are themed around higher education, with their universities and ivory towers, I wanna see more fiction that goes into their published papers.

Like, there should be massive drama in the Wizarding world about how Fantasy Wikipedia says "There's no consensus about the origins of skydoves" when in fact, there very much is, everyone knows they were created in the first or second dragon wars, and that's uncontroversial. One single wizard at the University of Towers who thinks they're an offshoot of mermaids DOES NOT MEAN IT'S AN OPEN ISSUE.

Papers that are rebuttals to other magical discoveries. Like, look, that spell just won't work, and you can't call it a "theoretical exercise" just to cover up the fact that you've not been able to cast it. You can't combine Ichthyomancy with completely unrelated elemental summonings, that's just not how magic works, in all due respect.

Thesis defense would be significantly scarier when all your reviewers can cast Everburning Fireball on your ass.

Learning Theoretical Evocation from a hungover lizardman TA at 8am, because the professor for this course has been off on the Elemental Plane of Circles for half the semester trying to finish her paper on how Centaurs predate horses rather than the other way around.

Speaking of which, the life of a wizard graduate student... You keep getting called to go on "quests" which are just overgrown research expeditions to help out some professor's project. You spent nearly a month in that damp castle capturing all the spinfrogs you could find, all to help your professor's project on the possibilities of concentrated soul essences. To this day, you still get dizzy whenever you see battlements, let alone a donjon.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Cult. [M]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Raw Dogging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Implied Unwanted Pregnancy, Power Imbalance, Big Dick! Ghost, Soft Dom! Ghost, Cult Leader! Ghost, Submissive (and Breedable)! Reader, Implied Abortion Attempt, Fem Reader, Profanity.

He’s filthy in the way he treats you, like a common whore, spreading you out over his desk – once-varnished mahogany, now bleached with weeks’ worth of spend, of tears, rubbed raw in places, the phantoms of many a night relentless under your leader – and bearing your body like it’s his god-given duty.

In essence, it is. Albeit, a god he created – fabricated – to lead lambs into a wolf’s den. And with the primal, savage way he forces himself into you, his tip pulsing and throbbing with the many hours he’s subjected you to, you can very well believe he is the very image of a predator.

“Won’t stop ‘til you’re full – ‘til it’s– fuck– ‘til it’s taken,” Simon pants, his shadow cloaking you, the sweat from his broad chest dripping down onto your sodden back. Your cheek is pressed into the desk, and in the corner of your vision, between the narrowed eyes you fight to keep open amidst the electric annihilation sparking between your legs, just below your stomach, you see him with bared teeth and dark eyes that glint with some unholy purpose. A purpose that only makes the feeling writhing inside you stronger, heavier.

With a deft hand – his other planted by your head, a cage – he finds your clit and presses it between two fingers as if it were the stub of a cigarette. He squeezes. Hard. 

Your lips quiver around him and a strangled moan escapes you, euphoria becoming you, possessing you as something had him. 

You keen on his hand, desperate for contact, for friction, despite him already filling you utterly and without mercy. Your arousal drips into his hand, pools in his palm. It takes all his will not to drink it then and there.

“I know, Doll–” ‘Doll’ – the name he’d given you, the name that reminds you you’re his to use as he pleases. His fingers squeeze your clit between them, a flesh vice. You’re gasping. He doesn’t stop, subjecting you to a pleasure so carnal you know only he can grant you it.

His free hand finds your shoulder, slips down your soaked back – a collage of brutal love-making, of animal rutting, of feral and incessant breeding – leaving goosebumps in its wake. He finds your rump, squeezes it, his hand flipping further between your legs until he finds your epicentre.

You’re so sensitive, and so swollen. He’s done this enough times to know that you’re red there, too.

He finds the spot where you’re connected, the modest sliver of his shaft that hasn’t been consumed by your wanting hole – where your combined arousal slithers out of you, dripping down his tightening ballsack – and plays at the edges of your lips, those that create a milky ring at the base of his cock, those that twitch with the almost overwhelming orchestra of sensations he is subjecting you to, playing you as his instrument.

Your hips twitch, pushing back against him, inadvertently impaling yourself on the inch or two he’d spared you from. 

He’s swollen – painfully so. Plugging you, preventing you from getting away. Something you realise all-too late as you try to pull away, to ease the searing ache in your lips, in your womb.

You’re crying, he’s grunting, throat raw with hours of praise, of nothing short of feral growling – curses to something other than his god.

You whine as he withdraws his hand from between your legs, instead coming to cup your breasts and pull you flush against his chest.  Squeezing around him again, the bulge of his cock inside you becomes ever more apparent when his hand slips up to your throat and he shunts you forward with his hips.

You’re weak – a ragdoll against him – and you’re pushed back down against the wood. He presses your stomach to the desk, your head now handing over the edge.

“D’you feel it, love?” he rasps. “Gonna give you a baby – put it right there.”

You do feel him, like an eel, slithering into any space he can, any space he hasn’t already occupied. You feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and you feel his in the head of his dick, rabid. You want to sob, want the pleasure coursing through your every fibre to overwhelm you, to send you hurtling into a high nobody else can give you.

But you know this will have consequences.

You know there’s no morning after pill strong enough to overcome Simon’s seed, none strong enough to stand a chance against the sheer amount of his spend. You know this because you’re already pregnant.

You’d originally tried using a multitude of contraband substances – pills, medication, anything you could get your hands on – to stop the inevitable. To prolong it just long enough for you to find a way out of the hole you’d dug yourself into.

When Simon had found them – no doubt with the help of one of his disciples, one eager to please and who would settle for the simple pleasure of being the dirt beneath his boot – he made absolutely certain to undo all your hard work.

For days afterwards, when he gave his sermons, you had to stand, hands clasped in prayer, with his cum rolling down your thighs beneath your compound-issue garments.

 And despite how you know you don’t want this destiny he’s imparted upon you, you still urge your hips against his. Especially as you feel him twitching, your hole leaking and almost squealing with his semen and the memory of the many times he’s already pumped you full this same night. He’s ready to bust at any moment, ready to find and create any excuse to empty his load into you, his favourite disciple.

You finish first in a fit of euphoric fury, an outpouring of devotion, a static explosion that leaves you utterly spent and entirely limp, unable to move as Simon continues to pummell you, using you, not stopping until you hear him give nothing less than a guttural roar, throwing his head back as he empties every ounce of his spend into you.

Any chances of escaping, any hopes of the world beyond the company you’d embroiled yourself in – they’re all gone now. Knocked clean out your head and from your reach, your mind nothing but a post-haze. You feel full almost to the point of bursting, but your body settles for a ballooned discomfort in your middle. One which you know will only grow bigger and heavier over the coming months. And no doubt beyond that when Simon deems you capable – worthy – of bearing him more offspring.

Simon is panting behind you, hands planted either side of you, head hanging between heaving shoulders. As if he’s impregnated you with his very soul.

His hand slips across the desk down to your front, where he manages to levy his fingers between your exhausted form and the hard wood beneath. And, as if by divine intuition, he gives a hum. Presses a languid kiss to your exposed neck, uttering a “Well done, love.”

He’s going to be a father.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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