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@kchortu
к чёрту.
THIS BLOG IS ARCHIVED. FIND LANCE AT @niratias AND CATCH ME AT @burnlikeme

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Lance is moving to @niratias !
I've already copied his bio over. I'm working on moving a lot of (not all of) my threads. I'll keep at least one thing with everyone, possibly not all duplicates.
This blog is now an archive. <3 Please come write with me there or on @burnlikeme!
Lance is moving to @niratias !
I've already copied his bio over. I'm working on moving a lot of (not all of) my threads. I'll keep at least one thing with everyone, possibly not all duplicates.
This blog is now an archive. <3 Please come write with me there or on @burnlikeme!
Lance is moving to @niratias !
I've already copied his bio over. I'm working on moving a lot of (not all of) my threads. I'll keep at least one thing with everyone, possibly not all duplicates.
This blog is now an archive. <3 Please come write with me there or on @burnlikeme!
Lance is moving to @niratias !
I've already copied his bio over. I'm working on moving a lot of (not all of) my threads. I'll keep at least one thing with everyone, possibly not all duplicates.
This blog is now an archive. <3 Please come write with me there or on @burnlikeme!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
NIRATIAS We sit on a throne, waiting for god to bend the knee.
indie, selective multimuse for canons and OCs semi-private para, multipara, and novella welcome OC, canon, and multi friendly 21+ only
written by Sarge rules and bios
Do not go gentle into that good night; rage, rage against the dying of the light. - Dylan Thomas
A study in finding yourself, rebelling against fate, forging your own happy ending, and fighting the system.
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car.rd | characters | about mun
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@kchortu continued from here
There are many long forgotten rituals that catch the ancient deity's attention, ones performed without the knowledge that it's even being done. On many occasions when such rituals are performed, Nettle will ignore it with nothing more than a brief glance of awareness to the mortal that they will feel as a cold chill at most, and think nothing more of it. It's rare to catch their attention fully without intention.
Rare, but not impossible.
The whole show unintentionally built upon an old worship practice of the death god, though it was more of a ghost that haunted over it. Normally this wouldn't even get a touch of Nettle's awareness. However, unknown to the demigod standing in the crowd, he managed to move just so, and spill his beer at just the right moment, that unintentional or not, he had made the whole thing spark Nettle's interest.
At first they are content to observe, always fascinated by humans in their life, but Lance stares too long at them, alerting them to the fact that he can, in fact, see them. After they speak they start to move towards him, shrinking to their 6ft6 height they preferred to take around mortals.
The crowd parts like water to allow them to pass without the crowd realizing they're doing it. Each step brings forth vegetation just to die as they step again, gone in a breath.
"Your time is not yet come, little demigod," they tell him, voice an echoing of several voices at once. "But you have summoned me nevertheless."
"What the fuck." The phrase is flat, but for once, he's emoting- raw horror on his face, dark eyes wide, and mouth hanging open in shock. He has the wherewithal to snap that shut after a few seconds, at least. A glance to his left and right confirms nobody's paying this any mind at all. If anyone's getting stared at, it's him, and only briefly before he's going to be determined to be high and/or drunk like everyone else here.
Alright. How to appease a deity you don't even know the name of? How to make this any less weird? Music. Music's common ground, isn't it? It certainly drew them both together tonight. So, hesitantly, as if walking over someone's grave, he tries.
"You, uh, like this style of music?"
"What?" A drunk girl behind Lance shouts, thinking he's talking to her. For now, he entirely ignores the woman. She'll get the hint and move on, or maybe think he said something nasty about her. Not that he gives a shit.

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❛ look how hard you get for me. What a good boy… ❜
Gods, but his shoulders are aching. When she'd asked if he had a tie, he'd had to admit that, no, actually, he didn't, but at least he had a belt that got the job done. (I'm going to need a new desk chair.)
She's been edging him for a godsdamn long time now and he's managed to follow instructions and pull back from climax several times, though his squirming and swearing has grown more intense with every one. Nails against skin feel like needles now.
"Bitch," he hisses out from between clenched teeth, the word pure affection and more than a bit of frustration. "Please, I've been good!"
praise kink
@kchortu continued from here
"You let me in mate. I'm hard to get rid of, like a mold. 'Cept I can blow you."
Murdoc's touch has changed, when they were together he would have not bothered with Lance's pleasure, only his own. Instead here he is, perched with his thighs against Lance's side and his claws trailing over a very sweaty scalp. He also asked permission, and seemed to back off if he read something different in Lance's expression.
"Is it bigger when you're hoofed up? I don't remember if we ever played like that. Y'know, cause I got a big fucking mouth and I never shut the fuck up, high chance a huge goaty throaty'll fix me."
As he yaps his hands circle around the base of Lance's cock, nails lightly scratching. He's trying hard not to go too deep, which is probably a nice sentiment. He's thinking about yanking on that tail too, or how it might feel to be stepped on just a bit.
Murdoc may be a top, but he loves the pain and loves being put in his place. It's an odd mixture of sub and dom he's come to enjoy, and rarely does he have someone close enough to match him like Lance.
At the mention of a forth her full attention is pulled towards him. Her drink is pushed away as she sits up straight. Her eyes zero in on him. Her eyes then quickly scan the room as if trying to see if there was anyone that was listening.
"Shit, fuck. Lance what the hell. I'm not sober enough for this." The talk of murder she is talking about. She is too drunk to think of what he did without knowing. She is pushing herself up before she stumbles a bit. She steadies herself before her brain tries to go into protect mode. "You need a place to lay low. Let's head back to my place. Ans isn't there this week, he's with." Dex doesn't finish that sentence it hurts her to think of her brother staying with someone else even if it was her best friend. "Come on, I'll be your rock tonight."
"Yeah. Okay." She's right. He's never been seen, never been caught- not so far. That doesn't mean the day isn't coming. That's his greatest fear, really- ending up rightfully imprisoned for shit he genuinely can't remember. What jury would believe that? Worse, what if he's shifted during? He always assumes he has been. What else would explain the fact his DNA isn't plastered all over the scene? (Fuck, but does that really make any sense at all, either?) "Fuck, Dex, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...we're walking, right?" She can't drive. He doesn't think he can, either.
"you're on your feet all day tossing mail into slots and you expect ME to cater to your appetitie?" There's a scoff. "I guiess I have nothing better to do...and I owe you probably like..." he pauses, counting on his claws. "Like at least a year of meals I'd owe you anyway."
This is nice. Being friendly with someone who should hate him instead of putting up his walls and rejecting them before he can be rejected is mentally exhausting. At least Lance has a good head on his shoulders.
"Ehm...I didn't know you'd be there yesterday. I don't think you're the drink and mope kind. Why were you there? Did you know I was playing that night?" He doubts it. His little black metal band isn't riding on the coattails of Gorillaz just yet.
"No. Genuinely, no." Lance knows plenty of the DIY spots in this town, but he's not a local to LA and he's never going to fit into this scene. (East coast, born and bred. West can't compare.) "That does to go to show you never knew me very well at all in the first place, though. Drinking and moping is...kind of my whole brand, actually." More nights than not, he's home alone doing exactly that. He's perfected the art, in fact- blasting heavy music, wishing he owned a dog, wondering if he chose the wrong career, worrying over medical bills, fighting the creeping dread of being just a little bit unsure of whether he's immortal or not (and if he fucking is, why'd he have to go and get type 1?)
"I've had a lot going on. Just...dealing with stress. And, I mean, if I'm not drinking at home, I don't feel any pressure to edit for my channel or write a script or...you know, sometimes the guitars stare me down and I feel guilty I'm not up to it. The pace of social media these days, it's hard to not feel like you have to be a constant content farm to be successful. I could be bigger if I was, but...not so interested in that."
is she following him? billie is the wrong damn person to ask that question, and boy does the look on her face ever show it. her brows and nose scrunched, billie casts a look like lance just grew a second head. "the hell you talkin' about?" so much for being so clever. "— you tryin'ta confuse me with riddles? what matters is what you miss, i don't even know what that's supposed'ta mean."
introspection is not miss wilma-lynn's strong suit. metaphors, thought exercises, critical thinking itself ... if it's not laid out in front of her face, she'll miss the trees for the forest entirely. "look, i ain't gettin' no mail or anythin' like that. i don't know anythin' 'bout any'a that."
(Что с тобой не так?)
He keeps that stray thought to himself, though the corners of his mouth tip up, just for a moment.
"Alright, alright- listen, everybody gets mail. EVERYBODY. Doesn't matter if you don't even have a credit score. They're still going to offer you card with some batshit interest rate and you're somehow going to get someone else's Sam's Club monthly brochure even if you don't live in a state with one. So why the hell aren't you getting any?"

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@lightning-arias continued
"Fuck that, I'd just seduce the giant sexy lumberjack. It's the angry blue ox I'm terrified of." Lance pinches a pick between his teeth as he talks, words muffled. "Why there in February? We're going to freeze to death. We could have waited for that date, like, at least one more month." It's still going to be snowy in March, but he doesn't want to consider that right now.
@kchortu | Send "Can I kiss you?" to see how my muse responds. [ accepting! ]
"Can I kiss you?" (thothhh)
How truly deafening silence can be at times.
The question hangs in the air with no acknowledgement, feeling to Thoth like a great beast waiting for him to turn and face it before pouncing. He feels his heart's thundering more than he hears it.
It isn't shock or surprise which seizes him- not even revulsion in the slightest- yet the God of Language is effectively rendered speechless by this one question. Quickly, now- recompose, craft a reply, say something..!
"That's awfully forward of you, don't you think?" Oh, dear- that didn't sound half as discouraging as he meant it to.
His glasses remain firmly in place as he continues looking out the window, thankful that he isn't so laughably flustered at a public event on this occasion. One leg resting across the other knee, expression forcefully blank, nails tapping a little too frequently against his staff- There are some things one will never grow accustomed to, not even millennia. There are reasons deities of such things should be watched especially closely.
(By the Waters, if Hathor has meddled in his affairs to entertain herself yet again-)
"It doesn't have to mean anything deeper if you don't want it to." Lance is tipsy- maybe more than he should be, given that he didn't eat before tackling that second ale. It wasn't a good one, but he finished it off anyway, seeking courage in the dregs.
He's not dressed for a date, which is to say he's dressed precisely for one. Lance has two looks- his work uniform (bless those little shorts) and its multitude of combinations, or his casual wear. He's made it clear he wants to be buried in one of his finer metal shirts when the time comes. (If the time comes.) Today it's a solid grey longsleeve, pocket over the left breast, and a solid black hoodie, unzipped. Bootcut jeans. Scuffed, thrifted combat boots. Pleather, peeling on more than one spot, somehow reflecting the state of him more than any other piece of clothing could manage.
He leans closer, closing the distance between then, dark eyes fixated on Thoth's cheek for a long moment before he decides the worst that could happen is, likely, a neat slap. He takes the risk. The kiss is brief, aimed to land at the corner of the deity's mouth. It's whisper-soft. It's an invitation for more, if desired.