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loligiary2022-08-06 03:27 pm
eightlazylegs) wrote in loligiary2022-08-06 03:27 pm
FFXIV Misc. Posts
For Eithyrs related threading.
Hythlodeus liked his job. Mostly. Honestly. He liked seeing people's creativity, their passions, even their silliest and stupidest ideas were charming in their own way.
But it had been nearly nothing but sharks for about a week straight and Hyth was starting to get very tired of sharks.
"This one doesn't even have a way of excreting, it's just a mouth on each end," he lamented, shoving the latest concept submission over to its designated pile. "I wish people would have a little more creativity in their designs."
It had gotten to the point that between meetings or concept reviews he'd started doodling notions of his own in the corners of spare documents. Strange creations, full of spiralling tendrils and bioluminescent fronds. Things he would never have the strength to make on his own, but...that was why you had powerful friends.
Powerful friends who would be home from their extended business trip this evening, as it happened.
But it had been nearly nothing but sharks for about a week straight and Hyth was starting to get very tired of sharks.
"This one doesn't even have a way of excreting, it's just a mouth on each end," he lamented, shoving the latest concept submission over to its designated pile. "I wish people would have a little more creativity in their designs."
It had gotten to the point that between meetings or concept reviews he'd started doodling notions of his own in the corners of spare documents. Strange creations, full of spiralling tendrils and bioluminescent fronds. Things he would never have the strength to make on his own, but...that was why you had powerful friends.
Powerful friends who would be home from their extended business trip this evening, as it happened.
The vaunted, untouchable Emet-Selch oversaw death, ferrying the souls of Men to the Aetherial sea, and tasked with making sure it stayed in balance, it's flow undammed and free through the universe. From aether all things sprung, and to aether all things returned -- whether it was Man's creations or Man himself. But some fools had played with concepts that came too close to one side of the line, something that was hungry and ready to tear holes for aether to satiate them. Thus it falls to him to care for the place, to make sure the rogue creations were dispatched and the Aetheric tears they made repaired.
Thus, the man called Hades is absolutely done with any sort of nonsense that requires his work presence, even if he knows full well that if a call for help went out, he would be spurred to action. But what he is this time is ready to rest, to cast off masks and be in the privacy of his own home. Let him simply be Hades for a few hours, with Hades wants and Hades needs.
Right now a nap sounds best. Especially when he knows Hythlodaeus will surely be by after working hours. So that's where he is; head back on the couch, having nodded off sitting there, finally having that spot of rest to let food and drink replenish his aether and body both, rest giving it time to work more effeciently.
Thus, the man called Hades is absolutely done with any sort of nonsense that requires his work presence, even if he knows full well that if a call for help went out, he would be spurred to action. But what he is this time is ready to rest, to cast off masks and be in the privacy of his own home. Let him simply be Hades for a few hours, with Hades wants and Hades needs.
Right now a nap sounds best. Especially when he knows Hythlodaeus will surely be by after working hours. So that's where he is; head back on the couch, having nodded off sitting there, finally having that spot of rest to let food and drink replenish his aether and body both, rest giving it time to work more effeciently.
Hyth swans in, all agrin. He's got his mask off even before he sees Emet-Selch, forthright as he is - the man knows he's been gone a while, he knows what Hyth is here for, and if he's surprised at all that Hyth is ready to be railed into the floor then this is an imposter in Emet-Selch's own home.
"People are so uncreative these days!" he calls out by means of welcome. "Did you feed yourself already, dear?"
"People are so uncreative these days!" he calls out by means of welcome. "Did you feed yourself already, dear?"
Lifting his head from where it's rested against the back of his chaise, Emet-Selech huffs softly, before he brings his legs up under him and then stretches.
"I haven't had time to do much of anything," he replies, airily dismissing the idea that he might take good care of himself. "Beyond rest my eyes some." Slinging one arm up on the chair's arm, while the other hang along his side, hand on his hip. He absolutely knows that he looks amazing, and makes no effort to hide it. After all, he knows why Hythlodaeus is here.
The game is now afoot.
"I haven't had time to do much of anything," he replies, airily dismissing the idea that he might take good care of himself. "Beyond rest my eyes some." Slinging one arm up on the chair's arm, while the other hang along his side, hand on his hip. He absolutely knows that he looks amazing, and makes no effort to hide it. After all, he knows why Hythlodaeus is here.
The game is now afoot.
Hyth pulls a few food packets of his sleeves - the kind that's sweetened enough to almost seem extravagent, though of course no one would waste resources purely on making food actually taste good.
"Then eat up," he says, beaming. "You'll need the strength for it." Hyth bites his lip just a bit as he finishes the sentence, letting the implication hang in the air.
"Then eat up," he says, beaming. "You'll need the strength for it." Hyth bites his lip just a bit as he finishes the sentence, letting the implication hang in the air.
"If I must," Emet-Selch says, so burdened by the needs of others, so terribly salty about it. He pulls open the packet, and eats his little snack cake still watching Hythlodaeus from beyond the fringe of his parted hair.
"And you?" he asks, still prim as he delicately nibbles his cake. "What, exactly, are you dropping in for?"
He knows why.
"And you?" he asks, still prim as he delicately nibbles his cake. "What, exactly, are you dropping in for?"
He knows why.
Hyth sidles over and then deposits himself squarely in Emet-Selch's lab, legs dangling over the chair arm. He tosses his braid back over his shoulder with a smirk.
"Ah, you know what I want. But is it more fun if I tell you anyway?"
He brought his cake to his lips and took a delicate lick of it, slow and deliberate.
Edited 2022-08-07 21:24 (UTC)
Emet-Selch, ever efficient, finishes his cake in two bites, and then brings his arms to drape around Hyth, one hiking up his robe to feel up his thigh, stopping short of groping him outright.
"Shameless thing," he murmurs, turning his face to hide it in the crook of Hyth's bared neck. "So utterly shameless. How can you bear it, being such a flagrant degenerate? "
Emet-Selch deals with a lot of shame. He just doesn't want to talk about that. But he's let himself soak up the warmth of Hyth for a moment, buoyed up just by the man's presence. He'll be back to himself in no time, but for now he lets himself take a scrap of comfort just for himself, with no pretense as to serving any of Hyth's needs in their game.
He wants a five second cuddle. So sue him.
"Shameless thing," he murmurs, turning his face to hide it in the crook of Hyth's bared neck. "So utterly shameless. How can you bear it, being such a flagrant degenerate? "
Emet-Selch deals with a lot of shame. He just doesn't want to talk about that. But he's let himself soak up the warmth of Hyth for a moment, buoyed up just by the man's presence. He'll be back to himself in no time, but for now he lets himself take a scrap of comfort just for himself, with no pretense as to serving any of Hyth's needs in their game.
He wants a five second cuddle. So sue him.
"You bring it out in me. It's those amber eyes, you see, they drive me completely around the bend." Hyth purred. His fingers carded through Emet-Selch's loose hair, pressing his face tighter against him. Yes, he knows what Emet-Selch wants. What he needs, beyond that.
"If I'm not stopped I may lose my robes entirely and be completely naked in your professional and chaste apartment," he giggled.
"If I'm not stopped I may lose my robes entirely and be completely naked in your professional and chaste apartment," he giggled.
"I could change them, if you'd find it less distracting," he said; and between blinks they are blue, then another, and they are green, though he barely shows them. It's merely a tilt of his head from where he's at rest to give Hyth a glance of one eye from beyond the curtain of his hair. "Will any other color prove less maddening? Can't have you messing up the place after I just got home from a long business trip for the Convocation."
They're going to mess up the place so much.
They're going to mess up the place so much.
Edited 2022-08-08 01:20 (UTC)
There's almost a flinch there as Emet-Selch changes himself. Such a tiny aspect of transformation, a flash of the proverbial ankle, but the allure it stirs in Hyth is unmistakable. He takes Emet by the chin and kisses him hard, savoring it, before pulling away.
"I have an idea," he breathes. "If you want to hear it."
"I have an idea," he breathes. "If you want to hear it."
Eyes still currently green (the deep green of old growth forests, of places of myth and mystery, the sort created to instill a sense of deep quiet and wonder) Emet-Selch sits up a little as he's kissed, and then says, "I suppose I can indulge your whims now and again."
His fingers start tracing patterns up Hyth's thigh; and then into his small clothes to stroke him. "Tell me everything."
His fingers start tracing patterns up Hyth's thigh; and then into his small clothes to stroke him. "Tell me everything."
Hyth let out a soft, relaxing sigh and melted into Emet-Selch's arms, warmth stirring between his legs. "It gets so dull, reviewing concepts, when there's no passion behind them. Sometimes I get ideas of my own. Not concepts to be created, but, mmm. Concepts I want to become."
He caressed Emet-Selch's cheek, his smile groggy and adoring. "Or to see you become."
He caressed Emet-Selch's cheek, his smile groggy and adoring. "Or to see you become."
"Not everybody can be artisans of creation," Emet-Selch chided, mouthing over the slope of Hyth's neck. "Just as someone must be a lowly aide, someone must be chief architect. You can't expect genius of everyone, Hythlodaeus. That's judging a turtle if it can fly or not in it's latest iteration."
Being a steward of Creation was so weird, sometimes. Sometimes one didn't want to be all responsible. Sometimes one just wanted to shift a little so his own hard cock was starting to be noticed, while he stroked another in hand.
"What concepts have devoured your mind tonight?"
Being a steward of Creation was so weird, sometimes. Sometimes one didn't want to be all responsible. Sometimes one just wanted to shift a little so his own hard cock was starting to be noticed, while he stroked another in hand.
"What concepts have devoured your mind tonight?"
Devour. Now there's a thought, but he'll save that for later. Hyth scoots around until he can get Emet-Selch's robes hiked up and his hand infiltrating them, letting his words pair with the physical stimulation to make Emet-Selch as agreeable as possible.
At the Bureau concepts are described in clear, detailed terms to specific parameters. This helps get across the creator's intent as clearly as possible and avoids misunderstandings, or artistic interpretation.
Hyth uses none of these when he describes his vision. He wants Emet-Selch to have control, that's the entire point. He describes the poetic image of a great, glowing thing with tendrils cascading down its back and another its perfect mirror, concave where its mate is convex, the perfect size to take and hold it.
"And I want to see you in the moment when you become it. And see myself when you remake me."
At the Bureau concepts are described in clear, detailed terms to specific parameters. This helps get across the creator's intent as clearly as possible and avoids misunderstandings, or artistic interpretation.
Hyth uses none of these when he describes his vision. He wants Emet-Selch to have control, that's the entire point. He describes the poetic image of a great, glowing thing with tendrils cascading down its back and another its perfect mirror, concave where its mate is convex, the perfect size to take and hold it.
"And I want to see you in the moment when you become it. And see myself when you remake me."
It is a curious thing, being a more generalized description than a precision one. An idea of ever reaching lover, fitted together perfectly. His brain sleepily curls around it, considering the way to work this sort of thing. He kisses Hyth as they tangle up more thoroughly; a snap and their clothing is gone -- restored to it's basic aetheric state. Emet-Selch grabs Hyth with both hands drawing him tight against Emet-Selch's cock so the Hyth's slides against it.
"I will change," he says, drawing inspiration from the way they rock together, "and then we will see about your remaking."
The first thought Emet-Selch had was that the flying naiads of late design could be manipulated for a most salt-water suited form, instead of their gently flowing fins, a man of sensory tendrils that can communicate desires, pleasures, wants, sharing the pleasures they coupled. Humanoid in shape, but legs are gone for a serpentine trunk that will make Hyth's legs spray to grapple it's middle.
By the time Emet is done, he is wrapped himself in a polished chrome scales, so that Hyth could see himself made on the flate glimmering planes of Emet's elongated belly.
It is still Emet: just larger, serpentine, metallic and gleaming. His tendrils go from brow to the middle of his spine. A hybrid of a chrome cobra and soft jelly fish. His genital configuration; mounds of soft flesh, milky-white and matching his tendril mane, slidinng through the scales of his belly.
Huge now, he around the couch and over it again, and drags Hyth over those thick, damp ridges.
"You want to be soft for me?" he says, drawing his sharp, gleaming talons over Hyth's still pink skin, letting it ripple silver in it's wake as he begins his work. "Then I will make you soft for me, hollow you out for me, and I will curl around you, and I will make you scream my name."
"I will change," he says, drawing inspiration from the way they rock together, "and then we will see about your remaking."
The first thought Emet-Selch had was that the flying naiads of late design could be manipulated for a most salt-water suited form, instead of their gently flowing fins, a man of sensory tendrils that can communicate desires, pleasures, wants, sharing the pleasures they coupled. Humanoid in shape, but legs are gone for a serpentine trunk that will make Hyth's legs spray to grapple it's middle.
By the time Emet is done, he is wrapped himself in a polished chrome scales, so that Hyth could see himself made on the flate glimmering planes of Emet's elongated belly.
It is still Emet: just larger, serpentine, metallic and gleaming. His tendrils go from brow to the middle of his spine. A hybrid of a chrome cobra and soft jelly fish. His genital configuration; mounds of soft flesh, milky-white and matching his tendril mane, slidinng through the scales of his belly.
Huge now, he around the couch and over it again, and drags Hyth over those thick, damp ridges.
"You want to be soft for me?" he says, drawing his sharp, gleaming talons over Hyth's still pink skin, letting it ripple silver in it's wake as he begins his work. "Then I will make you soft for me, hollow you out for me, and I will curl around you, and I will make you scream my name."
And here he thought he'd have to work harder at convincing Emet-Selch to go along with this. The breath catches in Hyth's throat as he feels his lover transform beneath him, the changing texture against his bare flesh. His hands reach out to eagerly grasp Emet-Selch's new tendrils, staring at them with greedy awe. So lewd of him to transform in public, and so selfish to have only Hyth have the pleasure of seeing it. "Gorgeous," he mutters to himself.
Then he feels the ripple of his own body begin to shirt nad he moans in open pleasure. "Yessss, make me yours. Fit me to your pleasure and your need..."
Then he feels the ripple of his own body begin to shirt nad he moans in open pleasure. "Yessss, make me yours. Fit me to your pleasure and your need..."
The only reason Emet-Selch can do this is because Hyth has no shame. He's wanton in his desire and it incenses him, to rage and passion both. Hands merely gesture and flesh unspins and reweaves itself, until they are tangled up again; this time with hands, first, as Emet rolls with him for a moment till they're wrapped up in each other. He presses him until he's flat-backed on the floor, laying under Emet's mane of tendrils. He's slick and glistening, finding hollows he carved into Hyth and slotting his penile ridges right into them.
But even as they couple like beasts, Emet-Selch holds both of Hyth's hands high above his head, pinning them in his claw, as he takes his pleasure from his lovers' body. Where tendrils brush against each other, biochemical messages pass back and forth, base carnal things that share pleasure and arousal, keeping them both at fever pitch.
But even as they couple like beasts, Emet-Selch holds both of Hyth's hands high above his head, pinning them in his claw, as he takes his pleasure from his lovers' body. Where tendrils brush against each other, biochemical messages pass back and forth, base carnal things that share pleasure and arousal, keeping them both at fever pitch.
The first moment that Hyth feels Emet-Selch reshaping him is like stepping off a cliff, terrifying and thrilling at once. This isn't the first time he's had Emet-Selch help him out by doing to his body what he can't do alone, but never with such...freedom of expression involved. Hyth couldn't stop the change even if he wanted to in the face of Emet-Selch's power.
He's being remade into a perfect partner, a tool to be used not for society's gain but for personal pleasure, and as his new tail wraps spirals around Emet-Selch's he cries out in joyful pleasure. Then Emet-Selch sinks in, adding physical pleasure to the mix, and it knocks the breath right out of him. Violet hair mingles with the tendrils about his face as he throws his head back, throat bare to Emet-Selch's attentions.
He can't even speak for how aroused he is now.
He's being remade into a perfect partner, a tool to be used not for society's gain but for personal pleasure, and as his new tail wraps spirals around Emet-Selch's he cries out in joyful pleasure. Then Emet-Selch sinks in, adding physical pleasure to the mix, and it knocks the breath right out of him. Violet hair mingles with the tendrils about his face as he throws his head back, throat bare to Emet-Selch's attentions.
He can't even speak for how aroused he is now.
It is strange lovemaking, but it's love making all the same. Emet-Selch dips his head to bite at that bared throat, mouth full of sharper teeth with which to nibble and graze, scraping them over the collarbone that Hyth still has.
He does have words, though, past silver'd lips. It mostly comes out as Hyth, Hyth, Hyth, because it's the only word he knows right now. Each roll of his undulating body brings it from him, stolen and precious.
One thing was missing from the creation, though: a means of climax. So there's no ending-- no plateau, no bodily release. It's literally going to just keep building until they're whited out with, till they give out and lay in tingling ecstasy, too fucked out and exhausted to even move. A bit of impatient oversight on Emet-Selch's part, but... it's hardly the first time they've fucked so hard that they couldn't feel their legs after.
Or anything else, really.
He does have words, though, past silver'd lips. It mostly comes out as Hyth, Hyth, Hyth, because it's the only word he knows right now. Each roll of his undulating body brings it from him, stolen and precious.
One thing was missing from the creation, though: a means of climax. So there's no ending-- no plateau, no bodily release. It's literally going to just keep building until they're whited out with, till they give out and lay in tingling ecstasy, too fucked out and exhausted to even move. A bit of impatient oversight on Emet-Selch's part, but... it's hardly the first time they've fucked so hard that they couldn't feel their legs after.
Or anything else, really.
Currently Hyth doesn't even have legs so it's fine. He doesn't even have to sit up, all he has to do is lay there and take it.
All he can do is lay there and take it, because Emet-Selch won't let him do anything else. That's part of the fun of it, really.
Tears are starting to form at the corners of his eyes as the stimulation lingers on.
All he can do is lay there and take it, because Emet-Selch won't let him do anything else. That's part of the fun of it, really.
Tears are starting to form at the corners of his eyes as the stimulation lingers on.
Emet-Selech is similiarly a wreck when he body finally crashes through the white-hot noise of pleasure and simply has to stop and regain itself. Still transmitting mad signals through tendril touch until finally they too too start to die down, Emet lays in a pile of tingling nerves and little else for a time.
Once the aching, finally fading, gives away to the ability to think again, he's quick to cast away the shape and regain himself -- push pleasure to a pleasant memory and reach out to start to put Hyth back together with something like worry.
"I forgot myself," he says, even as he starts to weave flesh into the semblence of an ancient instead of ... whatever that was. "Hythlodaeus, are you alright?"
Once the aching, finally fading, gives away to the ability to think again, he's quick to cast away the shape and regain himself -- push pleasure to a pleasant memory and reach out to start to put Hyth back together with something like worry.
"I forgot myself," he says, even as he starts to weave flesh into the semblence of an ancient instead of ... whatever that was. "Hythlodaeus, are you alright?"
Hyth makes a long, shrill tone like a dying machine, flopped out boneless on the floor next to his couch. Still, there's a shaky smile on his face as Emet-Selch puts him back together. "No, but it's lovely, so don't worry about it," he says dreamily.
Drawing his fingertips along the planes of Hyth's face, Emet-Selch allows himself this unguarded moment of naked concern, golden eyes so bright and wide as he checks and reaches the weave of his lover's aether. Everything is there, everything is put together right, but-- well, senses are senses regardless of body. Once he concludes his examination, he comes to the truth:
Hyth is just like this, and he was enjoying all of it.
"I don't understand you," he says, and he really means it.
Hyth is just like this, and he was enjoying all of it.
"I don't understand you," he says, and he really means it.
"You wouldn't," Hyth mumbles, giggling to himself. It's some time before he manages to put himself back together enough to speak, and he lays there petting Emet's hair and letting out little bursts of laughter.
"Anyway, even if that wasn't the most well thought out transformation, it was nice ot see you lose control. Just a little bit. Very nice to be the one you lose control over."
"Anyway, even if that wasn't the most well thought out transformation, it was nice ot see you lose control. Just a little bit. Very nice to be the one you lose control over."
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