She put the head in her mouth, and slowly bit down, slowly, slowly, running her tongue along those green beady-buds that make the broccoli look like a mini tree. She resists for a time, sucking experimentally on the head, before she completely bit it off and chewed it.
Calloused palms smooth and find purchase along pliable flesh, lithesome fingers tangling with the leaves and pulling gently, the virid greens grasped ❛tween her digits which tremble and tremor with every beat of her heart. Breath escapes her lips as they part for but a moment, a soft sigh released like an angelic fart; it’s a susurrus produced by her own vocal-chords, pleasure welling within her core as she begins deftly rubbing, beckoning forth a squeal of protest from the cabbage which lay against her bare bosom ( her crème-smooth flesh puckered by scars, but the vegetable doesn’t seem to mind the imperfections of her body ) – she teases the leaves once more, pinching and pulling, intent on eliciting only the best from her current lover. She encourages the plant with little “ohs” and “ahs” of her own, breathy and full of absolute lust ( obviously she’s lusty or she wouldn’t be sexing up a vegetable lbr; she must have been devoid of any sort of pleasure for a span of probably her whole fucking life to get to this level of desperation ), frustration palpable in the wavering of timbre of her voice as she can’t so much as get it wet.
Honestly, did this shitty wanna-be succulent cactus have an ounce of moisture in it? What a terrible thing to use in a salad.
for ellasin. I just want you to know I wrote cabbage-smut to this..
your eyes the color of summer grass, something like
the front lawn you wanted to own together. your eyes
dulled by the years, ivy now, taking root, creeping up
the walls, blocking out the windows. clinging to dust
and abandonment. it must have suffocated your light.
you haven’t spoken a word since she left.
how terrible it is to have a graveyard in your mouth
that ghosts don’t even want to fill.
“he looked not like the ruins of his youth, but the ruins of those ruins”, s.a. (for mythaelogy)
The smile that blooms upon her lips widens like a blot of blood, a shy venture, small and un-sure of the gaze being thrown her way. Did they require something of the Wayfarer? Her attention is rapt.
A deep intake of breath fills her lungs, familiar scents sticking to her esophagus and tickling her airways —— it’s funny, how the smell has stayed the same despite all the time that has passed; one would assume a dusty or aged musk to it, but there is not, only electric and as vivacious as it had been the first time she had smelt it.
Ah yes, the smell of ( shit ) meme. It’s returned, strong as ever.
BECAUSE HE'S A prick, (was that ever in doubt?), he might as well saunter in here and act like everything's fine & dandy (either completely oblivious to the /months/ of absence, or unwilling to address them). He might even prop his feet up, murmur a soft, ❛ Yo. ❜ Ah, yes: the most informal of greetings known to man; he must have planned this, for so /few/ could be (act) as cavalier as this quarrelsome embodiment of Sin.
If he is a prick for not acknowledging his extended absence, then she must either be daft or equally as un-concerned with the lapse of time ❛twixt their last meeting and their current proximity; all that rises at his ( rather sudden ) appearance is a single umber brow, arched in a faux expression of surprise. How he managed — with the elapse of time — to pinpoint her exact location and the room in which she dwelt was truly a mystery. She would say that it was due to the fact they knew each other so well ( or, at least, so she presumed ) and it had just been a lucky guess on his part. But whatever the means, he was here now, and the familiar hauter ensconced in his demeanour and timbre was enough to assuage what little alarm had arisen at his arrival.
A hand wielding a slab of jerky is extended his way ————————— welcome back.
Wtf is a “Charlie Charlie Challenge”. Is this going to end in Sabbath making me cry again. Or me hanging upside down by my foot from a tree Or you making an entire plane of existence explode from the force of your emotions because if so
arms CROSS, irritation stemming from a L A C K of immediate PURPOSE;only growingas his fingers tap an idle tune across a forearm swathed in cloth && leather.
❛ –––– – ya stuck here too? ❜
Were the meaning behind what he said to eclipse upon her consciousness, surely it would spell the destruction of whatever infinitesimal thread of spiritual support held her afloat within the sea of misery that constituted her every day affairs. A brow quirks aloft, semblance a plane of curiosity as head cants e❜er so-slightly to the side, peering at the idle boy, the surceasance of muscle’s ripple enforced by a stalk-still conformation of her stout frame; it is, perhaps, ironic how he mentions ❛ sitting around ❜ in such an indignant timbre, and she ( all wrapped in iron and war-heralding armaments ) was all but active, rather lazy in her lax seat on a nearby bench —— comfortable to do absolutely nothing.
In place of reply, she simply stares, wondering whether he would venture further comment or recede into the silence to which she was so accustomed.
For some reason I've always held the headcanon that Kaal is kinda bothered by cursing/foul languange. Obviously she'd never bring it up, but still.
Anonymous
surdû.OH MY GOD OKAY SO THIS actually gives me a gr8 time to talk about her native language because it isn’t what you’d think at all and it’s literally the most sex-positive language that I’ve ever seen in my life like I didn’t even know that was a thing that could exist but it does. A few months back I made an extremely bad joke with a friend of mine ( Akkad vs. Sumer conflict … well, rly it was Babylonian vs. Akkadian BUT I DIGRESS ) and What I Had Written was Kālǐnn saying, ❛ Urūk. ❜ The whole butt of the joke was that Gilgamesh’s ancient city was called ❛ Uruk ❜ in Akkadian, which is similar to Urūk but, WAIT!!, it’s not even close, is completely different and was totally perverted. While ❛ Uruk ❜ was the name of the city, ❛ Urūk ❜ is a slang way to say ❛ pubic hair. ❜ She was literally making a joke at the expense of his pubic hair’s integrity.
The strangest thing about this dead language ( which I have discovered through my pitiful research thus far ) is that there is a word for cum, there’s slang-word which is equated to the modern meaning for ❛ pussy ❜, and a plethora of other equally-devastating and horrifically slang-ish words. They literally had a word for everything from a female’s orgasm to what it was called when a man pissed blood. There was nothing un-censored about the language. There are many many many things and I will now go into my own canon to explain this – the body is extremely important to the Akkadians, which explains her early de-humanization and them telling her that her body was not her own, that she was not human, et cœtera; everything they do is about the body and it’s ❛ perfection. ❜ This is why, were her father still alive and she would find some reason to return to Akkade, her father would kill her. For one, she’s covered in tonnes of scars, which in of itself is disgraceful to the Akkadian people, and for her status as a high-blood servant ( a.k.a. slave ) the thought of having any scar marring her skin is a direct reflection upon her Master. The fact that she would have allowed herself to be scarred meant that she was not the absolute best, meant that her status as a high-blood servant was compromised ( and by proxy that of her Master ) and would have been immediately been put to the death. Only those who were not the best were scarred in combat – and if you weren’t the best, what was your worth? ( Lmao Akkadian fop noble logic, everyone. What luxury the nobles have, so secure at the expense of their servants’ fucking expendable lives. ( Bless the fact that Gilgamesh isn’t such an asshole. And if you’re pre-disposed to the notion that he’s a gigantic dick meet me in the pit because I can literally shove 5,000 words of meta down your throat about how that’s a horrible misconception and how he’s actually a fantastic master okay. ) )
And though this is all seemingly off-topic, it all ties in to the main point, I promise. ESSENTIALLY, while their language was highly formal ( the equivalent of like, Shakespeare in an Antediluvian setting lbr. She and the rest of her peeps speak like somethin’ outta the Bible only a thousand times fuckin’ cooler hahaha ) there’s so much slang that when people aren’t having to make impressions or do foreign correspondence they speak in typical California slang tbh. So in actuality, Kāl doesn’t mind cursing in the least since she uses a lot of slang that could be equated to ❛ pussy ❜ omg I’m dying. It’s really not a huge deal to her because again it’s all that, acknowledgement of the human form and she equates everything to it tbh. If it’s not venerating nature, trees, water, or animals, you bet your ass she’s calling asses themselves structural perfection and someone’s face a monument to beauty, someone’s phallus a goddamn temple, someone else’s vagina a precious treasure. She covets the body tbh. It’s part of the reason that she always refutes her own attractiveness since she’s scarred and everything but she’ll like, wax poetic about someone else’s scars and such.
TL;DR KAAL IS DIRTY DIRTY DON’T EVER THINK SHE ISN’T OMFG it’s a TRICK
First it is a jolt of shock, then a searing of flame which scorches her insides with its fervent burning – a fever upon a worn pommel, hands blistered from exertion as the comely itinerant straightens a bowed back ( metal grinds and hisses a protest which durst not be uttered by the Silent Mercenary, for she’s a given mission to accomplish, either by her survival or death ) and rondels are set agleam by her fortitude. A mess of men lay about the ground, severed limbs and cleft bodies, the blood-soaked earth turning to mud beneath her feet and drawing her into it with wet sucks and violent grip.
What has she to do but breathe? A solemn inhale, preparation made for the next on-slaught of adversaries, only for eyne to widen and behold a man whose stance proves him a true warrior – perhaps a smile then imbues itself upon blood-crusted lips, aching fingers and battered body wishing for naught but to relax; she willfully does so as she gazes upon him, sheathing blade and head faltering forward in exhausted cant, eye-lids fluttering a rapid rhythm. ( Best to die to one as noble in posture as he. )
Be silent or let thy words be worth more than SILENCE.
S T A T U S .
original character. main blog. independent. private.
Original Character Blog. Private: strictly interacts with mutual follows.
I N F O R M A T I O N .
Hopefully that big ol’, “Original Character” blast up there was enough for you to know what this blog is – an Original Character. To get things right off the bat, this is my brain-baby. Theft of any sort from this blog is not tolerated, and don’t try spoon-feeding me that, ‘Oh but you just inspire me so much, Cath!’ bullshit ‘cause it’s theft and we all know it. There’s a difference between inspiration and stealing.
Kālĭnn is from an Empire rather like Mesopotamia, so it’s OLD. Old. The majority of the rest of the world within her canon resides is similarly Antediluvian; however, you will notice that she takes on the traits of many Mediæval Knights. No this was not a mistake, yes it is done on purpose. The best thing to keep in mind if you have any thought of interacting with Kālĭnn is that she is culturally displaced, MUTE, and is so stoic and calm in reaction to everything that it’s asinine.
☒ MAGIC ANONS. ☒ SEX, SMUT. ☒ ASKS PERTAINING TO SHIPPING/RELATIONSHIPS. ☒ GODMODDING, META-GAMING. ☒ HATE OF ANY VARIETY.
All of this is rather self-explanatory. Due to the nature of the muse, the themes dealt with inside my canon, and with a plethora of muses with whom I interact, content will include but are not limited to: blood, violence, and language. I don’t tag most ‘slurs’ unless they are ones I decide not to use myself, or am asked to tag. In which case, I probably wouldn’t use the word anyway. I do not tag gore in my posts unless it’s an image. I do not tag blood in my posts unless it is an image, nor do I tag weapons or anything of the like. Magic Anons have been used to insult the integrity of my character and myself as a person numerous times, and thus I’d like to not receive them; while sex jokes and talking about sex is fine, actually seeing sex or anything of the visual nature induces anxiety attacks for me due to reasons I am NOT obligated to share, and as such I will not write smut, and I ask that all sexual images be tagged. Everything else on the “don’t” check-list is due to personal preference – oh, and I’ll laugh at anon hate and delete it on sight.
S H I P P I N G .
Kālĭnn isn’t exactly romance friendly, if you hadn’t guessed. She’s resolute, stuck in her ways, waiting to die, and expends herself on people like you won’t believe. While open to friendships, romances are another thing entire, and she is single ship, ergo, I already have a ship parner and I don’t plan on changing this any time soon. If you wanna brOTP with her, be my guest! I mean, look at her borderline “something deeper” brOTP with Greed. It’s possible to become her friend, anyone could easily be her friend because she does not hold grudges ( except against herself ) so really, there’s always room for something, just hit me up with an idea.
C R E D I T S .
Chances are that if you’re seeing artwork on this blog, it does not belong to me. In fact, I keep a log of art credits on this very page. However, I do make edits and I take credit for the work that I have done that way, whether it be icons or banners or other miscellaneous graphics, they are mine, and taking from me is not tolerated because you do not know if I had the artist’s permission, and if you take from me, you definitely do not. Be smart.
The coding is mine. I made the code for this baby. I already released my code to the public, I’m sure you can find it on my personal somewhere ( my personal’s the credit link ), so honestly have away at it. I won’t answer coding questions unless it’s off anon, on my personal, or from a close friend. Sorry. I’m not that amazing at coding either.
ART CREDITS
Dashboard Icon:Era One – Concept 8 by Simon Goinard on ArtStation. Dash Banner:Goddess of Victory by EVentrue on DeviantART. Theme Art: I’m currently still hunting down the source, but it looks like the source was deleted. If anyone knows, lemme know? I wanna put their credit up. Icon Art: Mostly by Norihiro Yagi, from their manga Claymore. All other icon art will be sourced here as well. Graphic Maker: The ever-wonderful Stevie! A big hand to her genius~
DON’T STEAL. P.S. Sorry for being a total asshole in these rules. I promise I'm not as unapproachable as I seem ;w;
BITCHSTICKS
WAFFLENUGGS
BITCHSTICKS
WAFFLENUGGS
K A S Ū S U .
And no, it wasn't shame I now felt, or guilt, but something rarer in my life and stronger than both: REMORSE. A feeling which is more complicated, curdled, and primeval. Whose chief characteristic is that nothing can be done about it: too much time has passed, too much damage has been done, for amends to be made.
N Ā Š K A K K I .
Name: Kālĭnn. ( Kay — lynn. ) Alias(es): None. However, has accrued the moniker ❛Iron Talon❜ in certain regions. Age: Twenty-Eight. ( By Earth standards. Perceives self as being Twenty-Two Cycles of age. ) Hair Colour: Mahogany. ( A deep, rich brunette with flame-hued highlights and deep red colour whenever light hits it; could easily perceived as dark brown unless her hair is highlighted by light. ) Hair Length: Typically maintained within multiple braids, with her ( collar bone length ) bangs being braided and kept pinned on the top of her head so that her eyesight is not obscured; the rest of her hair, when braided, is approximately level with the small of her back. Eye Colour: A very lackluster hazel that appears to be grey rather than its true colour. Complexion: Dark, a very rich and deep tan. Sex: Female. Gender: Female. Nationality: Akkadian. Height: 1.85 metres ( 6 feet, 1 inch. ) Weight: 84 kilograms ( 185 pounds. ) However, when she is wearing full armour, she weighs roughly 157 kilograms, or 346 pounds. Body Build: Lean, robust and rippling sinew beneath layers of metal armaments, she is fit and athletic, and with no lack for muscle. Powerful and domineering physically, she has well-built hips and a graceful figure. Lean for lack of body fat ( by lack of proper eating habits and the frequency of the arduous and physically demanding tasks she indulges in ) but for no lack of muscle. She is extremely-well built. Could crush a man's head with her thighs. Physical Marks: A running from the bottom of her right ear across her cheek and over the bridge of her nose. It is wide and discoloured, the wound being more aesthetic than debilitating, however. Another scar trails from her left hip up across her back, cutting clean over the spine and around her right shoulder blade only to peak in severity at her right shoulder where the blade which has split her so had bit fiercely. ( Please note for all threads which are to take place post!Molymnias arc: At Molymnias, Kālĭnn's left eye is flogged out of socket. In addition to the re-opening of her facial scar, her lip becomes cleft and heals awkwardly so that she seems almost to sneer perpetually. ) Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic. Sexual Orientation: Pansexual. Marital Status: Single. ( However, taken heart & soul. ) Zodiac: Scorpio. Chinese Zodiac: Tiger. ( Element of fire. ) MBTI: ISTJ. ( Introverted Sensing Thinking Judging. ) MBTI Variant: Assertive. MBTI Role: Sentinel. Enneagram: 9w1 SO/SP. Temperament: Choleric. Element: Fire.
Rank: Hired soldier. ( Mercenary; wayfaring Warrior. ) Weapons: Seeming to be a most ordinary broadsword, Kālĭnn's preferred weapon is realtively unextraordinary at first glance, for it is neither gilded nor engraved with filigrees, and bears no crest or crust of jewels; the blade itself is modled after those of her homeland: wide, straight, and tapering towards the end into a rounded rounded ( yet lethal ) tip, and modified with the superior craftsmanship of an Akkadian blacksmith so that the metal is flexible yet retains its shape, aborbs shock through its core so as not to dull the edge or jeopardize the blade's wholeness. Make no mistake; it is a weapon of war and has slain many, and the blood of hundreds stains its guard crimson. As nameless as its master is to those she encounters, it is the most notable thing aside from her armour which is also modified after that of her homeland, as per her explicit request and exhaustive funding. Aside from that, she's several knives which she keeps stowed away, of similar craftsmanship ( though not so durable ), and, on occasion, she may weild a long-bow of exceptional height and draw-weight. However, her bow is nigh explicit in its use for hunting; she's yet to use it to loose an arrow into human flesh.
