#sanctitude
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Big ass aged extraordinary moments of rough amateur bondage
teen big boobs
Mature pussy fucked hard
Lesbian threesome with babes Veronica Avluv and Alice Lopez
Naked teen boys stripped and free school movies gay After school snack
Ifrit culona
EX novia se toca para el novio
busty girl bound, gagged and cumming
Tanner Sharp gaped anally with dildo and beads by Asian homo
AMATEUR kinky straight HUNK barebacks TWO gay friends on SWINGER
#insight's#depilate#mellow-tasted#synchondrosially#gousty#abrades#imagery#Salamandra#alemonger#fubby#winberry#Malinovsky#half-remonstrant#inactiveness#mkt#preregister#Sturgis#sanctitude#rubia#quotid
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THE METAL ROOM SESSIONS #katatonia #sanctitude #sweden🇸🇪 #vinyl #vinylcommunity #vinylcollection #vinyloftheday #vinyladdiction #vinylclub #vinylrecords #vinyladdict #vinyladdict #vinyljunkie #vinylcollectionpost #vinylcommunity #vinylporn #vinyllovers #mexicanvinylcollector🇲🇽 #projectturntables #metalroom #kscope @katatoniaband @jonasrenkseofficial https://www.instagram.com/p/CqBq4Y0p0AT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#katatonia#sanctitude#sweden🇸🇪#vinyl#vinylcommunity#vinylcollection#vinyloftheday#vinyladdiction#vinylclub#vinylrecords#vinyladdict#vinyljunkie#vinylcollectionpost#vinylporn#vinyllovers#mexicanvinylcollector🇲🇽#projectturntables#metalroom#kscope
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what do i have to do to get to a coastal mediterranean town with cobblestoned streets where i can walk to get ice cream and go swim in the pool and eat citrus fruits all day …?
#STOP showing me holiday adverts …#maybe there are some cats wondering around#i personally like the sanctitude of old churches#the quietness and grandness#so i would go there as well but very optional#lie on the beach i’m collecting shells and rocks#maybe paddling with my shoes just on the shore#one day i’ll go to a tourist trap shop and buy little things to bring home#anyway . just thinking
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It's like I'm the only bitch that cares about the delicate history and sanctitude of yaoi
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med! abby is top tier but what about
lawyer! abby + lawyer! reader
they have been rivals since law school, but when a mutual friend needs all the help they can get, they need to work together and maybe they'll find they have a lot more in common than they thought
I got so carried away with this, I’m obsessed with snarky lawyer Abby <333
Word Count: 704 💀
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Abby is a cutthroat defense attorney for a big corporation and you’re one of the top prosecutors in the city, so you’ve been on opposite sides of the courtroom more times than you can count.
Abby is mean and vicious and will go to any length to make her client’s case, and you’re a headstrong attorney who’s hellbent on holding people accountable for their actions. Maybe you went to the same law school or you had a very memorable case against her, but the feud between the two of you seems to go further back than anyone knows.
When your mutual friend, Yara, asks you for help on her case, you drop everything to be there for her. So does Abby, not knowing that Yara had called you both to work through her case.
When you show up to see Abby sitting in Yara’s living room surrounded by boxes of files, you have to bite your tongue to hold back your comments. Abby isn’t as gracious.
“I see she called in the B-team — you gonna do a coffee run for me, sweetheart?”
“Don’t know why she called you for help. What d’you know about innocent clients, Anderson?”
Yara quickly separates the two of you, leaving Abby in the living room and sending you to the kitchen table with your own stack of documents and a comment about how the two of you need to “kiss and make up”.
Hours later, you’re forced to leave the quiet sanctitude of the dining room to look for a document from Abby’s pile.
She’s hunched over the small coffee table, running her hand over the back of her neck and scrunching her brows together in deep focus. The floorboards creak under your steps and Abby quickly sits up to regain her composure.
“Did you need something? Or did you come in here to stare at me?”
You roll your eyes at her snarky remark, but answer her anyway. “Have you seen the last two pages of this anywhere?”
She looks at the papers in your hand for a moment and then snaps her fingers, reaching over to sort through the mountains of files that are sorted around her. The coffee table is a mess of papers and Manila folders and you wonder if she keeps her office in this state too.
“They’re right here,” she says, holding up the papers to show you. “I was looking for your half earlier, figured it was somewhere in this mess.”
She reaches for your papers at the same time you reach for hers, and you’re both left dumbfounded that the other had laid claim to the document in question.
“Let me see those,” you say, reaching further until your fingertips brush the edge of the papers.
Abby snaps them back towards her, holding them close to her chest. “No way, they were in my pile. Let me have yours.”
“You’re kidding, right?” You scoff, putting a hand on your hip. “You think I’m just gonna give these to you? I’m not messing around, Abby.”
She rises from her place on the couch to meet you head-on. “You’re wrong if you think I’m gonna let you fuck up this case,” she spits. “This is for Yara, she deserves someone who’s not afraid to get the job done.”
“What Yara deserves is someone who actually cares about her case.”
“Hey, I care!” Abby is practically red in the face at this point, shoving her finger into your chest to make her point clear. “I’m here because I want to get the best outcome for Yara.”
“Well so am I,” you say, stepping closer to her, faces no more than two inches apart.
She’s silent for a moment, eyes flitting over your face before she finally replies in a much calmer voice. “Fine, we’ll both read it. Let’s go.”
And then she’s storming past you into the dining room, her half of the document in hand.
You stand there shocked, not expecting Abby to be the one to compromise. Her head pops through the door way after a moment, a playful smirk on her face as she motions you towards the dining room.
“Well come on, big shot. Let’s get back to work.”
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
#lovely anons#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#the last of us#tlou abby#tlou#abby anderson drabble#abby x reader#abby anderson x you#lawyer!abby#calypso writes
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I dream in moonscapes.
Breath-woven sanctitude permeating the senses, so still
as we drift in the clouds. I fashion you out of the stars, you compose me from your soul-song, every note
made holy
by the light of a crescent moon.
© Anna S. 2024
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Vermilion Torii of Shirahama Shrine: Gateway to the Sacred
Location: Shirahama, Shimoda, Shizuoka, Japan
Timestamp: 07:43 on January 3, 2024
Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
ISO 3200 for 1/140 sec. at ƒ/8.0
Film simulation: Velvia/Vivid
A torii gate is a formalized gateway arch signifying entrance to a sacred area. Shrines may have one or more torii, such as here at Shirahama Shrine, where there are at least three. When multiple torii are present, the largest one is normally called the “Ichi-no-Torii” (first torii gate) and stands at the sando or approachway to the shrine grounds and courtyard.
Torii may also be found at various points within the precincts of the shrine to indicate increasing levels of sanctitude as one approaches the (本殿・honden), which is often located farthest from the entrance of the shrine grounds and behind the worship hall (拝殿・haiden).
Based on their present-day function, torii express the division between the profane and sacred realms. They are found not only at shrines but also at Buddhist temples, as seen in the famous stone torii of the temple Shitenno-ji in Osaka. However, when used as a map symbol, they generally signify the presence of a Shinto shrine as opposed to a Buddhist temple.
With the rise of Buddhist-Shinto syncretism in the 12th century, Shinto shrines began to appear within the grounds of Buddhist temples. Even then, torii were used to mark the entrances to such shrines. The origin of torii is unclear. In the writings of “The Inventory of the Properties of Otori Jinja in Izumi,” dated 922, there are references to torii that lead some scholars to propose that torii originated in Japan.
Regardless of the origin, torii in Japan share mostly similar basic designs with two upright posts topped by a horizontal cap beam (笠木・kasagi) that extends beyond the posts on either side. Beneath the kasagi, a horizontal tie beam (貫・nuki) is laced around the uprights and links them together.
Among the infinite variety of torii named for unique characteristics or the name of a specific shrine itself, basically all torii can be classified under two major categories: those with straight members, shinmei torii (神明鳥居), and those with curved members, myojin torii (明神鳥居).
The main torii of Shirahama Shrine, as seen in my photo, most closely resembles a myojin classification based on the following observations. See if you can identify these same specifications in the photo!
The top lintel (笠木・kasagi) has a strong upward curve.
The ends of both the top and secondary lintel (島木・shimaki) are cut with a downward slant.
The tie beam (貫・nuki) is straight, rectangular in section, and secured by wedges (楔・kusabi) inserted into each side of the pillars.
A strut covered with a framed inscribed panel (額束・gakuzuka) is attached at the center between the secondary lintel and the tie beam. (The inscription panel in my photo reads “白濱神社・Shirahama-Jinja or Shirahama Shrine in English.)
Finally, myojin torii can be made of stone, wood, or concrete or PVC (in the modern period) and are painted vermilion, although I have seen a few painted black.
For anyone interested in reading more about the different types of torii gates, I have provided links to reliable sources in my latest pix4japan blog post: https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20240103-shirahama
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Seven (JJK) Ch. 7 sneak peak!
Her forehead creased as her eyes bore into him. “What do you-… I am alive though? There had to have been a transplant.”
“No.” He bluntly denied it again. “Once you fainted after the Sukuna incident, we had a scan of your body done by the hospital and your heart shows no signs of ever being replaced.”
“But-” She traced the scar running down the center of her chest. “There's a scar. I know I had a transplant.” She grounded herself in her knowing that of course, she would know if she had a damn life-changing operation or not. It’s one of her memories that she does remember.
Gojo was already quite familiar with the girl's stubbornness. He picked up a piece of paper. (where did that come from, witch?) and slid it across to her.
“You did have an operation,” he clarified. “But, your heart wasn’t replaced. Instead, something was added.”
She felt like cold water was suddenly thrown upon her. The black and white X-ray crudely and intimately showed the most vulnerable and visceral organ. Atrophied, sickly.
“While the core of cursed energy normally comes from the stomach. Yours comes from your heart. Whatever was implanted is fueling your cursed energy and technique.”
They never replaced the heart.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
What was keeping her alive then?
“It’s called a tsukumogami.” Yaga circled a dark shadow at the median of her heart. “It’s ancient sorcery from the Heian period when there was wide belief that all objects, inanimate or not, possessed a soul. Tsukumogami is a type of curse in which an object will be possessed by the “soul” of a curse, and become alive.”
The densest fog clouded her head. She could hear the words coming out of his mouth but couldn’t process them. Or maybe, she understood all too suddenly what this meant.
“It seems your tsukumogami was a piece of jade that houses a cursed spirit, the likes of which we do not know yet, and it is where you gain your cursed technique from. Since your heart was sick to begin with, the tsukumogami must be working as a sort of backup generator so that your heart could stay beating with the help of cursed energy.”
So the woman in her dreams is not just a dream… she’s living in her heart.
Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum.
Her skin grew clammy at the thought, barbed wire encasing her like a prison from the inside out. Her body is not just hers. The only sanctitude she’s had over these years was spent with a parasite wriggling in her heart.
The fox-fire, the hand change, her siren voice…
If she could open up her chest herself and rip that thing out she would in a second.
Read more here.
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Fighting over what’s contextually disingenuous and what is contextually inappropriate is the bickering of the privileged. It’s the bickering of the comfortable. None of that is helpful, just help where you can and educate where you should. Extend yourself as thinly as you can while still taking care of yourself. Colonization and genocide is not willed away by your passion alone, but consistent sustainable efforts. Anything else is just soap-boxing. No one here can fight without comrades. Human life is what needs to be preserved, not social sanctitude. Free Palestine.
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@supersapphical sapphebruary day 6: sanctitude
#anna/ruby is a classic okay#i do wanna make rarepair content for some of the other prompts#my spn edit#sapphicnatural#usertabitha#spxcekya#meltingtracks#usermoogs#spn angels#spn demons#annaruby
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HAPPY SAPPHEBRUARY!!!!
In honor of femslash February, I've put together a sapphicnatural prompt list!
Stabbing
Parenthood/Childhood
Apocalypse
Forehead Touch
Possession
Sanctitude
Never Enough
Carrying
Teeth
Kitchen
Fated
Roadside
Engraved
Quiet Joy
Homoerotic Fight Scene
Endverse
Mommy Issues/Daddy Issues
Classic
Failing
Rage
Shimmering
Fabric
Home
Harmony
Otherworldly
Prodigal
Familiar Haunts
Endless
Hope these provide some inspiration! This isn't an "official" event but if you tag me, I'll try to reblog everything I see!
(And if you happen to add anything to AO3, feel free to add it to the sapphicnatural collection just check out the rules first.)
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"godly moment" - cotl one shot by me
-- how clauneck met the lamb, my headcanon. --
Darkwood buzzed with rumours. Villages were like pinpricks among the forest and foliage, each one carrying the same tale.
Just yesterday, a rumble overtook the realm. Their bishop Leshy had been silent for a while, no longer passing along, his head held high in blind pride.
People whispered to one another, flooding Clauneck's stall with questions that the cards could not answer. That is, until one fateful night, a rustle met Clauneck's collection.
"Good evening. The cards may deliver wisdom, like honey to a fly, one cannot be tempted with-"
A slash cut through the silence, and a red glow glazed the grassy floor. Clauneck squinted at a small figure approaching.
No bigger than any other villager he had seen, a small lamb sat himself before him, eyes wide with what looked like innocence and felt like malice.
Atop his head, almost comically shocking, was the red crown of the One Who Waits, its eye gleaming at him like they had met before.
Clauneck reached for his cards, shuffling them for something to do in the tense silence. Was he going to die? The cards looked at him at a loss. Clearing his throat, he spread 4 in front of the lamb.
A tiny hoof tapped one in the centre.
Clauneck silently picked it up, spinning it to reveal aqua illustrations. He swallowed thickly, meeting eyes with the lamb before him.
"..Godly Moment. You may taste, for a moment....sanctitude." he whispered, his words carried into the wispy breeze.
The lamb studied the card intently, tilting his head as if he were a small child. A small child bearing the weight of a devil atop curled fleece.
"I'm invincible?" The lamb seemed to question, sword by his side in an idle lean.
"No-one is invincible." Clauneck began, analysing his face, "Those who argue with fate are always defeated."
The lamb stood, dragging the sword with him. Red ink coursed down it like tears. The lamb's eyes glimmered in the moonlight. The eye engraved in the crown seemed to crinkle in a nonexistent smile.
"Fate's never met me." The lamb grinned, nodding briskly before turning on his heel, vanishing into the thick of the woods.
Clauneck held the card to his chest. The aqua art seemed to melt into a deep, shocking crimson. The same eye on the card looked up at him, mocking.
This lamb, by some twist of destiny, survived slaughter. Clauneck had not seen a lamb in months.
And yet here this one was, bearing the unmistakable Red Crown of the infamous ex-bishop.
Darkwood began to fear The One Who Waits a long time ago, and now?
Now they feared exactly what he was waiting for.
"The tides are changing." Clauneck whispered to the star ornaments above him. "I fear we are not ready."
#cotl#cult of the lamb#lamb#clauneck#one shot#game#video game#i love this game sm#cult#bishops cotl#fic#headcanon#cotl clauneck#tarot cards
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@duelmarks said : ❝ Hey doc, I had a fine idea — what if my next mod ain't just any ol' thing but an in-built music player? Y'know, like those gadgets folks carry around, but right there in my chassis. Just picture it, ridin' along with them tunes playin' right from within! ❞ // attacks Ratio
⸻ whenever the cyborg comes prancing along to his refuge of sanctitude , it can only lead to the brewing of a catastrophic storm. by the whip lashed to his waist or as a result of other measures , is a scenario the doctor does not wish to examine. nor , realise the dormant inevitability.
for now , the request remains guileless enough , though hardly anything can be ruled out when it orbits the gunslinger. since — by and large — repercussions move with him in every stride , sowing disasters in his very wake. leaving the scholar to deal with the troublesome aftermath , should calamity befall unsuspecting victims.
legs cross in his sat posture , addressing the consumer amidst the process of ordering an impromptu alteration. ❝ i would not waste my imagination on your trivial proposition. ❞ latched along ebony , his fingers drum against the arm of his chair , as if in deep thought — ruminating on this harmless but unnecessary adjustment.
pitched , his chin tilts , caught by an index and thumb whereupon he rests to mull over the outcome. ❝ this isn’t an attempt to bypass the capabilities of the synesthesia beacon , is it ? ❞ of course , the mundanite knows the dilemma associated with the revolutionary advancement. that pressing complication , by no means , indicates he has any intention of restoring it.
❝ besides , i dread the arrangements you would play. ❞
#* ✦ 𝐈𝐈. ❮ asks ❯ ⸻ ❝#* ✦ 𝐕𝐈. ❮ muses ❯ ⸻ ❝ 「 veritas ratio 」#* ✦ duelmarks#* ✦ duelmarks | boothill#hi robin#boothill im sorry i gave you like the villain sitting in his chair pose#maybe give him a sample then he'll reconsider#but if you play metal hes pelting you out of the room with chalk
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So here’s a fella I’ve had in my back pocket for quite some time, from a story that I have yet to tell amongst the millions of others that are rattling around in my brain. Maybe it’s just a part of who I am to have too many thoughts and ideas in a chronic swirl like laundry in a washing machine, rising and falling at the whim of my interest. But hey, I figured some late night digital art practice would be this guy’s best debut as one of many of those tales I’m struggling to tell. So here goes.
In the year 2225, Cade Thasar is the captain of the SunTrekker, a cargo ship home to a gallery of outcasts, misfits, and refugees. They traverse the galaxy in hopes of sanctitude and making an honest living, though the conflict of intergalactic politics hinders this pursuit. Cade himself hails from a society of spartan alien lycanthropes, and fled his home planet after discovering the evils of their weapons program.
Since then, Cade has been working as an independent contractor to deliver cargo, supplies, and classified items to governments, patrons, and other buyers, going out on missions to retrieve said items as well.
He is outgoing and extroverted, with the personality of a golden retriever, very charismatic and friendly, but also can be very serious and straightforward when it comes to getting work done.
I think I’ll showcase a few more original characters as time goes on and I practice my digital art style more. Until then, hope you like this guy! 🤷♀️
#Cade Thasar#space wolf#digital art#artists on tumblr#adobe photoshop#original character#ocs#oc art#sci fi#science fiction#worldbuilding
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A work in progress of Horus/Emperor(or at least the starting point)
Horus Wins AU.
~~~~~~~~~
What if Horus had won?
And what if he had spared the Emperor, for death would have been too merciful a fate?
~~~~~~~~~~
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.” - William Congreve
Horus should have never survived the duel with his father.
Blades flash, an exchange of poetry with no words, and each strike echoes, swelling up like a wave and crashing down like vengeance incarnate. Each cut upon his armor was the rending of a promise, a treaty broken.
Each blow is betrayal in a thousand forms, each gaping wound is a scar that shall never heal, never close. Each wound would never be stitched together by even the finest of physicians, for it was something so dreadfully broken it could never heal, never mend, like a bone that had been shattered and grew back together warped and impossibly flawed.
The Angel is dead. The Devil is laughing. And God has fallen.
They slash at each other, hacking with abandon, as father slayed son and son devoured father. Each cut burns like betrayal, living hatred that cuts deeper than their blades. They dance a song of blades that stain their armors a crimson red as they tread through where the Angel had fallen, and scattered all his feathers so carelessly over the halls of the Vengeful Spirit. A perfect plume of sanguine red tumbles, wavering naively amid the battletorn air, and a fraction of a second later it was gone as the Emperor’s sword slices it from stem to stern. The feather falls, and lands soaked in its master’s blood.
Even in death, Sanguinius was beautiful.
As they weave their poetry and as their song of blades rises to a crescendo, a Terminator tries to intervene. He dares to interrupt their perfect dance of blasphemy, of damnation, of a father’s fall foretold.
How foolish of him.
He dies with no glory, no song of vengeance, and no vengeance unfolds. What remains of him is quickly carried away by the speed of their duel, his ashes spreading scattered like the Traitor’s sins.
The next fool was clad in gold and auramite as a Custodian tries to save his lord.
Foolish boy.
Art thou dreaming, or art thou merely mad? What is a man to a god? Where is your master now? Where are your spears of so-called golden vengeance, why do you silence your warsong of gilded death? Where is your dear Constantin Valdor, your beloved Captain-General, and where he is now when his master lies broken before the Traitor’s claws?
Where is your duty now, child?
Not even ashes remain of the fool this time. Horus doesn’t even spare him a passing glance.
Their blows thunder like rain, and their slashes rain like thunder. Their blades cross with hatred reborn, love crushed and stamped upon and rebirthed in the forges of Malice and Vengeance. Their wrath echoes throughout the throne room, and the Vengeful Spirit enacts her vengeance.
The Emperor was nothing less than a god, not even the gifts of the Ruinous Powers could have ruined him, not even the vengeful adoration of a treacherous son could have slain the father. For if Horus was Lucifer and Adam, the son of all sins, then the Emperor would have been all that was divine, for not even all all nine choirs of archangels could have hoped to even match him in sanctitude, not even all of Terra’s worship could have even hoped to glimpse his divinity.
But Horus was his son. His beloved son. And he could not bring himself to kill his beloved son, to break the body he had molded, to tear the flesh and bone he had sculpted, to seize that perfect, naive and misguided soul and rend it to shreds.
The Emperor, for all his glory, for all his cruelties, he could not bring himself to kill his son.
Speak what you will of the Traitor. Speak of what sins he has committed, speak of what blood that stains his claws, and what madness has fogged his eyes and twisted his mind. But speak not that he had never loved his father.
Because Horus had loved him. Loved him too much perhaps, love so hateful and so brilliant it was more akin to obsession and possession than adoration.
Their song was nearly complete, the dancers exhausted and the music fading. Our curtain fall draws to a close, and this chapter's ink is nearly due. Horus slices open the Emperor’s breastplate with a single slash, lightning claws hovering over his jugular as time screeches to a halt. The Traitor glares at him with living hatred, his eyes fanatical and somehow wounded, and his father’s golden eyes stare back with irises as golden as the sun and as divine as its rays. The Traitor stalls, his claws flexing, in a single moment he could have slain the Emperor. He could have torn out his jugular, destroyed that beautiful man for once and for all, and ended his reign of terror.
He did not take that moment. Horus spares the Emperor, and instead digs his claws into the tender flesh of the Emperor’s wrist, chuckling with delight as he feels the tendons snap and the beautiful muscles yield give underneath his claws. The Emperor’s sword falls, his divine form surrendering to the brutal onslaught of his own son.
There was no one to save him, no fearless guardsman, no final race for the light, no merciful god to smile and grant his benevolence. There was only Horus’ laugh of dark delight as the Emperor’s blade clattered upon the Vengeful Spirit’s tiles and as the Traitor pounced upon his father’s prone form.
At that moment, a lone Loyalist warrior entered the bridge as the Emperor fell to his knees. The Warmaster gloated in victory, holding up the broken form of the Loyalist’s beloved Emperor as the Traitor’s laughter echoed through the Vengeful Spirit's halls.
Yet, the Loyalist did not yield. He roared defiance and held the line, the man stood before the god and dared him to die.
Horus gazed at him once and his skin opened up like a flower.
His flesh dripped like wax from his bones.
Yet, this time, there was no avengeance for his death. There was no grief for his loss, no pain for his failure, only the gloating howls of the Warmaster and the fall of the Emperor. There was only the tides of victory, and the sweet, sweet triumph that rang out through the hall of the Vengeful Spirit as he seized his father by his luscious black locks and forced his sire to meet his insane glare.
Victory tasted almost as sweet as his father's divine ichor upon his lips.
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Papyrus for the ask game 👀
papyrus ⇢ if you put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle, what’s the first song that comes up? what do you like about it / associate it with?
"the one you are looking for is not here" by katatonia, sanctitude acoustic live, came up. I like the vocals here, siljes voice is just angelic, plus jonas and the backing vocals too. instruments are beautiful, I just looove this song and this version is definitely my fav. I mainly associate my fic with it, if u know u know, but this song feels to me like spending an evening by the window when it's raining outside and you're just drowning in nostalgic thoughts, yk? I really like it, it's amazing
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