Hiatus
@woeGothic
If you must know, I was Rose Lalonde. I abandoned the Terrors and all that they upheld in exchange for the absolute power of becoming a First Guardian. Though, I failed even at that.
[A looping video is uploaded. Rose is in front of a mirror. GrimDark and all. Until she begins to unravel. Inky saturation drains from her like tidewater receding from a poisoned shore, leaving something untouched underneath. That is to say, not something necessarily healed or restored, just clearer. Where there had been void-black there is now a clinical white. Uniform, immaculate, perfect. She is like porcelain that has never known warmth. Her skin is almost reflective of light. A subtle inversion to what she was moments before. She is curated. Her hair follows suit. Going from a matte white to something more reflective. Each fiber on her head is splayed about in precision. She has no frizz, no disobedience, absolutely perfect. It is a grotesque echo of the sphere she had just cracked, her bob rounded out near identically against her skull. Her eyes take a moment. Lavender dimness and a light cataract seem to dissipate. Like a soul returning to life. The color is stately, saturated, and aristocratic. She looks focused in her gaze, it tracks the viewer with intent. Her uniform, an exaggerated almost parody-level "nurse" silhouette appears to unfurl. A fitted bodice, structured to draw the eye to the waste before flaring just enough to suggest mobility rather than modesty. A short skirt, only, slightly scandalous. Lengthened to provocation, as if calibrated for indulgence. The neckline coming over the flat of her bust. She is a titillating signal. A beacon, perhaps. White dominates the outfit. A sterile type of white. Absent of marks. Precise lines guide the eye about her body. It screams as though it were designed by the Doctor himself. Save for a small lavender belt she still wears about her waist. Elbow length white gloves, tight, almost like a second skin. Her chest has a single pin upon it. An abstract shape, somehow, suggesting a vaguely medicinal adjacent, whilst also showing off her role in snuffing timelines by having lines dissipate in directions. The overall effect is unmistakeable. She is a reflection of him. Not a copy. Where he is the Pristine Host and orchestrator, she is the curatrix. She preserves, organizes, and trims excess from the system. She does not serve, she implements. The difference is whose restraint she follows. His perfection was indulgent, hers was surgical. Standing there, no longer in the abyss she has been drowned in. She does not look free. Merely resigned. Then the video simply reverses. It would end with her reverting back into her GrimDark state.]
I am giving up on you specifically.
Woman, actually.
good choice :)
hi rose :B or um woegothe the session guardian
Hello Jade. Either works. The Session Guardian title is for my tabletop role-playing game. Do not fuss over that matter.
oh fun!! you should tell me about that sometime :o
Thanks.
｢(ノ´Д｀)ノ nyoooooo!!!!｣
(V)(',,')(V) n℧h ℧h
So many pretty puppies prancing in my garden. I wonder if this is my karma balancing out?
bark and other such things
ppretty puppy,,,? 🥺
Undoubtedly, yes.
Tsk, and other such things.
sorry i'll pipe down eheh-
Won't you humor me with a dance?
gladly!
That was awfully quick, Jade. I'm honored.
$ørr¥, nøt exa¢tl¥ a dan¢er. $ure ¥øu'll find $ømeøne tø have be ¥øur partner thøugh :)
well i do not want my grandpas etiquette lessons to go to waste and of course dancing is always more fun with a dear friend <3
wed look dumb asf
Dear readers.
Tavros is an absolute pervert. #Suggestive #NSFW #TheIntegrityofthisChatisCollapsing
what is it this time?
Woe be upon ye. Then you must imagine myself clambering into your lap.
wouldn't be the weirdest motherfucker i had all up on there.
yay puts on a video essay.
The Asylum Demon was no issue, per usual. However, Oscar couldn't inject her estrogen fast enough. #DarkSouls
I have modded Dark Souls to give my character, John Dark Souls, an Estrus Flask instead. The more I heal, the more feminine I become. In today's challenge video: Can you defeat Dark Souls before succumbing to a transapphic polycule?
hnn
hNN,
Cronus?
I hope I don't fail this challenge in game just as I have done in real life.
sup babe.
sEEMS A WIN-WIN, rEALLY OR, i GUESS MAYBE, a LOSE-W1N, wHERE, tHE WIN AND LOSS ARE, fLIPPED, gENERALLY,
Why did you comment hnn in regards to a forcefemme Dark Souls Post?
iwve newver seen it spelled forcefemme ovwer forcefem, is that the vwoke vway to do it?
Excellent dodge, however, your i-frames did not register for my assault. Answer my question.
for the sake of the chittr ecosystem i cant admit to being into genderplay on main, on either side of it, cmon babe use that big ol noggin of yours. #nsfwv?
Wowgothe Dating event where you affirm my identity and provide nutrients and enrichment.
Wowgothe.
B33c < whats your prefurred form of enrichment
Yes. Wowgothe. A sequel to my acclaimed joke Woahgothe.
Terrible video essays.
BX33 < it sounds like youre planning on just stealing mics and cameras furom the contestants then B33c < meowbe fur recording some kind of ttrpg pawdcast...
there's a video essay about metal gear solid 4 that i think would really set the tone for an enriching three and a half hours of your life. it uses music by the protomen for liquid ocelot... the only problem is i think it's actually a pretty good video essay.
A peak event, you say?
Explain your deep lore to me in simplified terms. I am curious if I can crack the full story.
You are a snarky, witted cobaltblood who hides a history of trauma behind layers of online irony, a strange typing quirk, and ceaseless trolling. You have been hunted for sport, and are used as a blood-source for a rainbowdrinker.
Your deep lore is published all over this site. It hardly counts. However, you frequently speak with your living counterparts and harass your alternates' friends. Your death came at the end of your planet. You died on a lawn chair while staring at the stars. You almost came close to seeing the apex of its beauty. Too bad your eyes popped. #Gore
Bitter sovereign slayer. You are violence manifest, though you've taken a life of reformation. I do wonder if you are as concerned as I am regarding the genetic disposition of personality traits SGRUB and SBURB so lovingly seem to entwine with DNA.
..Pinocchio?? But cooler
No, I don't. I've made peace with it, for going 8ack isn't something I desire. All I can do is move forward. ::::)
I mean I'm not really bitter tbh. I happen to like my life now. That is a other topic that I'm not sure how we ended up at. Could be interesting.
√(I was going to harp on the use of present-tense [I was rescued] but I just keep coming back to the typing quirk bit. Redundant I'll take. But strange?)²
Am I wrong?
voir dire testimony: i don't think i'd bother with a little sad face emoticon if you were wrong
Some of you wear the skin of my friends. I wonder if I wear the skin of Rose, myself. Am I a false idol? Oh, no time to ponder that, my food is here. #ImposterSyndrome
oh that one hit a little too close to home haha
i THINK THAT, yOU ARE COOL AND GENERALLY, n1CE ENOUGH AND, tHAT IS WHAT REALLY MATTERS, i WOULD SAY, mORESO THAN WHAT, yOU ARE WEAR1NG, oR NOT WEARING,
Breeding kink? That's base instinct baby. I have an infertility kink. #NSFW #RoseFacts
I prefer women, but accept the rest. Speaking of women, did you know that carapace cisgender women's clitorii look like little chess pieces? Another #RoseFact, #NSFW.
d໑ they call trⓘbbⓘng chessmate #nsfw
大嫌い。
I, too, love using the internet to spread misinformation.
Another #RoseFact, just for you, is that... nay. I shan't.
No, please. By all means.
the real catch is vwhen you find one wvith a knight piece instead of a queen, you just knovw the endgame vwas interesting there.
co0l rose fact's.
The next #NSFW #RoseFact is that if you pin a Carapace, they call that a checkmating press. Subs then often reply with the term 'King Me' to their doms.
Condoms still work for tentabulges if you use a rubber band and/or cockring to support it. #NSFW #RoseFacts
Her bed has a higher population than Thurmond, West Virginia.
bars
As the Supreme Queen of Darkness and Despair, I demand at least twelve more seasons of your least favorite show and for it to be so good the Fandom is objectively correct for enjoying kt.
please? i had a really bad day.
It is hard to deny such a pretty pout. Yet. I must.
Can I just go back to fucking bed at this point
okay i'll just. be over here, sighing dejectedly. perhaps even sniffling.
Joke's on you, it's already cancelled.
Ooh, brought it back. I am a necromancer after all.
I offer my handkerchief.
does a cool trick with it where it totally isn't obvious i hid it up my sleeve.
Oh my. How wonderful.
:D
The chthonic eye gazes. I gaze back. It blushes.
Lord English enjoys thighs. Interesting.
😒🤔💭🫰across ALL iterations? 😃🤭👌👈 🟢 CHARMS is ONLINE.
It may seem so, given he enjoyed my thigh essay.
Humanity, until now, has not assembled a definitive record of its most consequential thighs. Historians have chronicled wars, dynasties, plagues, inventions, schisms, and the occasional suspicious comet. However, the legs supporting these events have gone unappreciated and unnoticed. This is an unforgivable academic oversight. I will now correct it. We begin in antiquity, where every hero possessed thighs capable of crushing an amphora, and most interpersonal conflicts could be resolved by removing one’s clothing and wrestling in olive oil. Heracles naturally dominates the period. His thighs supported twelve labors, several additional labors invented by later poets, and an alarming number of illegitimate children. Achilles possessed thighs of similar distinction, although scholars remain preoccupied with his heel because historians are drawn toward irony and have very little respect for load-bearing musculature. Alexander the Great conquered most of the known world on horseback, which suggests either exceptional adductor strength or a truly miserable degree of chafing. By the way, an amphora is a type of clay pottery, not a combination of Eridan and an Electric-type sheep Pokémon. Greek sculpture complicates matters. The Discobolus has thighs shaped by divine geometry and the perpetual strain of preparing to throw an object he will never be permitted to release. Laocoön possesses the thighs of a man engaged in losing an argument with several enormous snakes. Every surviving statue from this period appears to depict someone who spent six hours each day performing squats and the remaining eighteen insisting that physical beauty was merely the reflection of inner virtue. My philosophical position is that one’s inner virtue is most exposed when their quadriceps are visible. Rome took the Grecian thighs of old and turned them into a militant force. Roman thighs marched in formation, built roads, crossed rivers, and stood patiently during debates among their owners. Spartacus deserves mention. His thighs carried a slave rebellion, as well as several seasons of premium television and the eroticization of gladiatorial events. Julius Caesar’s thighs remain less visually celebrated, although they successfully transported him across the Rubicon and eventually into a room containing entirely too many senators. Beware the Thighs of March. The medieval period represents a regrettable decline in thigh visibility. Mail, tunics, robes, and a pervasive fear of being accused of witchcraft concealed much of the available evidence. Fortunately, illuminated manuscripts preserve occasional glimpses of knights whose lower bodies resemble upholstered furniture. Armor required powerful thighs, especially when mounting a horse while wearing enough steel to become a municipal infrastructure project. Joan of Arc’s thighs carried her through military campaigns, imprisonment, hostile interrogation, and several centuries of increasingly inaccurate artistic interpretation. This earns them a place in the canon, although anyone attempting to discuss them lasciviously will be escorted from the archive. The Renaissance rediscovered the thigh with the enthusiasm of someone finding a forbidden book beneath a monastery floorboard. Michelangelo’s David possesses perhaps the most academically scrutinized thighs in Western art. They have been photographed, measured, reproduced, censored, and stared at by millions of tourists who wish to observe virtue but cannot seem to find it, no matter how long they look. Michelangelo also painted enough muscular prophets, saints, angels, and damned souls to imply that Heaven maintains an excellent gymnasium. Even his women occasionally possess the thighs of decorated military officers. I mean this as praise. The European courts subsequently developed a peculiar fixation on the male leg. Henry VIII was admired in his youth for his athletic build and well-shaped legs before becoming better known for matrimony conducted as a lethal elimination tournament. Louis XIV popularized stockings, heeled shoes, and poses designed to display the royal leg to maximum advantage. His thighs governed France through a combination of absolutism, ballet, and aggressively expensive fabric. Napoleon’s thighs, meanwhile, spent much of their career on horseback and have been unfairly overshadowed by arguments concerning his height. The man conquered half of Europe. It seems indecent to continue asking whether he needed a footstool. The modern era industrialized the famous thigh. Dancers such as Josephine Baker transformed the stage into a venue where legs could create international scandal, cultural fascination, and several diplomatic incidents without signing a single treaty. Marlene Dietrich’s thighs acquired such mystique that they practically possessed independent billing. Tina Turner’s legs became among the most famous in popular music, carrying performances with the kinetic force of an electrical storm that had developed excellent rhythm. Professional wrestlers then elevated the thigh into a blunt instrument. A wrestler’s thighs immediately communicate that the normal rules of anatomy have been suspended and that someone will shortly be thrown through a cheap Walmart folding table with a screw or two removed for ease of impact. Cinema provided further monuments. Marilyn Monroe’s thighs became part of the machinery of twentieth-century celebrity, endlessly photographed and endlessly interpreted by people who mistook access to an image for access to a person. Bruce Lee’s thighs belonged to a body engineered for velocity, precision, and the abrupt correction of anyone standing in the wrong portion of the frame. Arnold Schwarzenegger arrived later as a complete repudiation of subtlety. His thighs appeared less grown than quarried. Athletics naturally produced its own pantheon. Cyclists develop thighs that resemble anatomical illustrations commissioned by an anxious god. Speed skaters possess thighs large enough to make ordinary trousers seem like an insult. Footballers cultivate legs capable of transforming a ball into a ballistic event. Yet no survey would be complete without fictional thighs, which are historically significant because humanity has spent an embarrassing amount of time discussing them. Chun-Li occupies the imperial throne of this category. Her thighs have defeated international criminals, shattered masonry, inspired countless illustrations, and permanently altered character-design philosophy. Cammy followed with a costume apparently devised by someone who regarded fabric as an obstacle to aerodynamic performance. Zangief’s thighs resemble industrial machinery and may technically require zoning approval. She-Hulk carries the classical heroic thigh into modern jurisprudence, combining monumental musculature with the ability to file an injunction. Wonder Woman’s thighs have survived multiple continuities, divine wars, editorial revisions, and the persistent cowardice of artists afraid to draw an Amazon with the proportions of someone who could actually lift a horse. Video games expanded the archive beyond manageable limits. Lara Croft’s thighs have crossed tombs, cliffs, jungles, shipwrecks, and several generations of graphics hardware. Samus Aran’s remain largely armored, yet their implied strength has sustained decades of acrobatic extermination. Bayonetta’s thighs exist within a universe where anatomy obeys choreography instead of physics. 2B’s thighs generated a volume of cultural commentary wildly disproportionate to the amount of philosophy most players retained from the game. Lady Dimitrescu’s thighs briefly dominated global consciousness during a period when humanity was apparently desperate to be pursued through a castle by a woman of monumental stature. Some still yearn for this. Anime and manga further complicated the situation. Every tournament fighter, magical warrior, volleyball prodigy, horse girl, and suspiciously muscular academy student contributes to an ever-expanding leg-based mythology. Some thighs are rendered with loving anatomical care. Although I will not comment on every iconic set of thighs in the genre, I must state that the most powerful-looking thighs belong to Biscuit Oliva of *Baki* fame. Additionally, I must give an honorable mention to *Monster Musume* and other works of soft erotic fiction for depicting lamiae and their tails in lieu of thighs. Softer mentions go to Atelier Ryza, Erza of *Fairy Tail* fame, Hinata of *Naruto* fame, the various thick women of *Tougen Anki*, and many, many others. There are also the anonymous thighs of history. The farmer’s thighs. The soldier’s thighs. The courier’s thighs. The laborer’s thighs ascending ladders, crossing fields, hauling stone, turning pedals, pushing carts, and supporting the celebrated torsos of people who received all the portraits. Civilization was built from the ground up, and the ground was approached primarily by legs. Kings issued commands. Philosophers generated abstractions. Thighs performed the actual transportation. #NSFW #ThickThighThursday #ThighThursday #ThighMeatThursday
This was a beautiful breakdown on history and appreciation for an oft overlooked bit of anatomy. I especially appreciated the nod to Josephine Baker, and of course the ever fabulous Tina Turner. Well-written prose as usual, Miss!
Thank you, Peter. I will always strive for excellence in all things vaguely sensual.