#}Plot.

[saskia1x1s]

it's been a while but i'm back w a specific plot in mind — a 1x1 based off of i hope this doesn't find you by ann liang. basically, a student uses her emails to whine about her classmates/life & then her emails "accidentally" get leaked. cue enemies to lovers, slowburn, pining, the realisation that they've been obsessed with each other since day one!!! we could go in many different directions with this, but my only requirement is that we age them up to either university age or we could have it even be set in a work place(this opens a lot more doors tbh). anyway, either mxm or mxf for this one pls!! just like this post & i will send you a message. discord only. i'm also down for other plots too, i swear :')

[flthys]

plot idea i've been thinking about ... it's gross so 👀

plot where a brother and sister were involved in some incestious shit and the sister oops ends up pregnant. when their parents find out, they send the sister away and forbid them from seeing each other. some time later the brother, who is more of the perpetrator / obsessed one goes looking for his sister and child, only for his sister to be all reformed and tells him to leave or she'll call the cops. he's obv not happy with it so he continues stalking her and woah ... they had a daughter and she looks just like his sister when she was younger !! cut to him being obsessed with her now . either confronting her and telling her who he is and coaxing her into a relationship with him OR approaching her like a stranger and starting a "real" relationship with her !

[thefouraboveall]

❉ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃

——————————————————————————————————

What is destruction, but the chance for reinvention? What is destruction, but creation in abstract? It is the nature of things to change; slowly, as the turn of the seasons or suddenly, with the coming of calamity. Order, faux and imposed by men, always topples with time. The new world, with claws and teeth, always struggles to be born, ripping it's way from the corpse of the old only to become the old and die in it's own turn.

But this is not just true of men.

Change. Rage. Pleasure. Despair.

Magic. Hatred. Excess. Decay.

Hope. Strength. Pain. Disease.

Fate. War. Perfection. Stagnancy.

They are indelible facts of reality, holding fast to it's face no matter what shape existence takes, how it twists and bends them, or how it seeks to throw them into the mouth of oblivion. They are perennial forces, unlike the kingdoms of men and the worlds their stories are told upon, but the question of their power is a question indeed.

Destruction is creation, with a new and terrifying face. And from calamity the thrones of the Perennial Powers shatter beneath them, casting them to the earth to creep and crawl as the worm. To toil and suffer as the mortal. Make no mistake, for the Greatest of All Games will continue and the indelible powers are indelible still. But the rules are changed.

And the crowns of the Great Four hang above their heads out of reach.

——————————————————————————————————

Ⅷ. Ⅶ. Ⅵ.

---

Falling. He was falling. Why was he falling?

He tried to recall as his form screamed through this not-place, ablaze at the sheer force of his descent. There had been a disturbance, so profound that he had felt it's ripples through his own realm, as much his flesh as this vessel. It had come from the lands of his brother, the aftershock of some happening, yet it had ripped through him as if he and his lands had been the epicenter.

He was sure that was it; why he was falling? But he hadn't time to consider it further, as the endless sky turned hard earth. His vessel struck it like a world-ending meteor.

He was greeted with black.

---

" Terrible News, brother. I'm afraid he let lives."

The voice, warm and paternal in it's quality, spoke playfully. Not to him, but to another being, further away. The Blood God's ears swivelled that he might better hear them and his being recoiled when they did at last speak.

" Terrible news indeed." Came the words in low and sultry tones, caressing each syllable and dripping with resigned disappointment. Khorne knew that voice. He knew who it belonged to. And such was his hatred at hearing it that he did not immediately register the slimy talons wedged under his jaw, sitting right on his pulse. The stench that came with it, however, could only be ignored for so long. Blearily, the Blood God opened one eye and then the other. He was treated to a wide, friendly, and rotten smile from the mountainous form of his brother, the Plaguelord Nurgle.

" Kharneth! You gave us quite a fright, brother." The Fly Lord offered a hand, but Khorne pointedly ignored it, pushing himself to a sit. Slaanesh hissed from afar, arms crossed.

"Us?"

Nurgle flashed him a look, his broad head turning to look over his lumpen shoulders. When he looked back to Khorne, the Blood God was standing, hostility bleeding from every iota of his being as he behold his two siblings.

"Where are we?" The War God demanded, simmering rage and threat lurking beneath the words. " What happened?" He looked about, between the Fly Lord and Dark Prince. Two siblings-- only Slaanesh and Nurgle. His next words were measured, full of suspicion and menace.

"Where is Tzeen'neth?"

" Your guess is as good as our own, Kharneth." Nurgle answered lightly. He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the great yawning dark around them that echoed to their voices. The ground beneath their feet was there by their will alone, crumbling further off in the distance. Deeper in the black still, the Blood God could see darksome shapes curling and twisting. Nurgle continued. " This is one of the numberless subrealms within the warp, but we know not who put us here or why. Though I have my...suspicions."

"What has become of the topmost realms? Our Kingdoms?"

" We do not know." Again, Nurgle answered, the lack of information driving Khorne's snout to come out of joint. " But we live, and so our realms must. However, the Great Beast still threatens our sovereignty and we are not there to head up our forces. The Game still rages, but we are..." Nurgle gesticulated, as he searched for the right words. " ... removed from the board. Out of play, so to speak."

Khorne was pacing, the glyphs winding around his body flaring with a rage-to-come. Slaanesh's voice sliced through his warring thoughs, smooth and withering, carrying the slightest whisper of his beguiling magics.

" Be calm brother. The sub-realms lurk with nameless, hungry things. Your fury would draw them to us."

" I do not fear battle, Slaanesh."

" We are not as we once were, Kharneth. Can you not feel it?" Slaanesh responded sharply, resisting the desire to call his brother a fool. Khorne reflected upon the words, when his irritation waned, and found them to be true. When he looked down, he was without armour or weapons and he could feel it. A profound lack, one his siblings bore also. A dimming of their deific souls, the godsfire visible to his arcane sight lesser. Piddling hearth-flame where they had once been infernos, all.

" We need to leave this place, Kharneth. The waves of the warp no longer restrain us. We are free to move about as our daemons might; to wear flesh and perhaps find answers." Nurgle offered as a silver-lining. Khorne had wondered why the Plaguelord hadn't let Slaanesh slit his throat, among other horrific debauched things the Prince surely would've done first, while he was vulnerable. Now he suspected he had the answer. He was the strongest, now as then, and they needed his power to escape this purgatory-hell.

"Answers." He parroted consideringly, brow knitted in thought and frustration. Then, he snorted, smoke issuing from his nostrils. Khorne fixed his siblings with a glare, full of distrust but also resolve. " Very well."

Then the three theopanies joined their power, and their purpose, slicing apart the veil that seperated madness and chaos from serenity and order.

War, Decay, and Excess strode from the belly of impossiblity into the worlds of mortals...

[useless-greek]

καλλοποιός, -ον, beauty producer, Plot.

[greatcstarcherarchh]

me: not a t swizzle fan

also me & kate: needing a ship that feels like enchanted

plEASe dOnT Be In LOvE WIth sOmEONe eLSE

[anomiahq]

foi extremamente rápido. todos seguiam seus dias normalmente, inconscientes de que o fim já havia começado. tudo inicia em um incidente inocente num laboratório francês. um segmento específico de cientistas trabalhava havia alguns meses com a manipulação de um vírus na tentativa de gerar algo experimental, novo, que fosse auxiliar no tratamento de cânceres cerebrais. era esperado que esse patógeno sintetizado fosse atacar células cancerígenas sem a destruição de tecidos adjacentes, e os resultados iniciais haviam sido promissores… ou pelo menos até a pequena explosão que fez com que o material manipulado entrasse em contato com os cientistas. toda a equipe foi a óbito nos dois dias seguintes. alguns primeiro, outros mais tardiamente, mas todos eles voltaram. o resultado é bem conhecido pela população mundial.

foram necessários apenas dez dias para ser declarada uma pandemia. não muito depois de deixar a frança, o vírus wildfire se alastrou por todo continente, progressivamente derrubando países. as forças militares de alguns países conseguiram montar pequenas resistências, mas estas não duraram muito: maioria foi derrubada pelo povo ou pela doença dois meses depois. a anomia já estava perfeitamente instaurada, e pessoas representavam um perigo tão grande quanto os próprios infectados.

numa tentativa de proteger os mais fracos e estabelecer alguma espécie de resistência, nasceu o armagedom. negan tinha um propósito puro, em seu início (provavelmente), a tentativa de fazer com que os mortos fossem a única preocupação existente. as perdas e conflitos com outros grupos fez com que progressivamente aqueles que pertenciam ao grupo mudarem. algo sobre serem os detentores da arma, serem numericamente maiores e já terem perdido gente demais. uma nuance um tanto quanto agressiva, territorialista. todos aqueles que não eram ou não queriam fazer parte do grupo eram, automaticamente, seus inimigos. e àqueles, restava apenas duas opções: se submeter e servir ou morrer. era simples. 

em contraponto, constantinopla era uma pequena cidade “sustentável”, criada para ser um refúgio para aqueles muito afortunados antes do apocalipse. distante o suficiente do centro urbano, e ainda despovoada, ou pelo menos era antes de meredith fincar seus planos no bairro. esposa de um arquiteto, um pequeno grupo de pessoas foi responsável por erguer e iniciar o primeiro projeto de cidade, murando tudo o que ficou conhecido como constantinopla. os meses que seguiram a sua criação marcaram prosperidade para aqueles que ali moravam, que por vezes, se davam até o luxo de esquecer da existência do apocalipse. 

nos cinco anos que se sucederam, ambos os grupos se fortificaram, expandiram e eventualmente acabaram descobrindo a existência um do outro. não agradou nada para negan descobrir dois moradores de constantinopla em seu território. ouvir que estavam em algum tipo de missão? cidade? ele estava genuinamente feliz de descobrir uma nova cidade, pois estava sim sentindo que faltava uma faixa de prefeito sobre seus ombros. constantinopla, entretanto, não estava pronta para ceder.

eles não representavam nenhuma chance, entretanto. estavam despreparados. morreram todos aqueles que negan achou essencial matar para mandar sua mensagem: havia um novo líder ali. nem mesmo meredith e seu marido, fundadores da cidade, foram deixados vivos. mas, pessoas eram recurso, então todos aqueles que sobreviveram se submeteram ao que se arrependiam de não ter feito antes. agora, religiosamente toda semana, produziriam e entregariam tudo que negan mandasse. 

em dezembro daquele ano a população de constantinopla, junto de alguns descontentes do grupo armagedom e outras comunidades submissas, se revoltaram. o conflito terminou em perdas massivas de ambos os grupos, e acredita-se que em uma tentativa de salvar seu próprio pescoço, negan desapareceu. esse momento foi aproveitado pela cidade para tomar o controle da fábrica do grupo rival, o que a oficializou como a vencedora do conflito. 

como fruto da união, foi assinado um tratado pelas comunidades que cercavam aquele pedaço do país: armagedom, constantinopla, a islandshire e ashborne. um ano após este contrato, acreditava-se que haviam atingido alguma espécie de paz. não poderiam estar mais errados, sim? no primeiro dia do ano, os moradores de constantinopla encontraram seu mais novo líder morto, assassinado em circunstâncias ainda não esclarecidas. seria aquilo um indicativo para o início de uma nova guerra? a necessidade do fechamento dos portões? ninguém realmente sabe.

[fllthya]

kind of want something w a naive bright eyed up who's willing to do anything to make their dream come true & coming popstar and a sleazy music producer who's willing to do that for them, with a price

[thoselips]

hm   ,   kinda   want   a   t/lou   x   f/allout   kinda   plot   . . .   apocalyptic   vibes   . . .    maybe   even   y/ellowjackets   . . .   i'm   a   wh*re   for   it   all

[fairymint]

Sinking into his couch, he made it. A house of his own. A home. It took a little time, since it had to be built, but custom was....nice. Somewhat built 'into' a very large tree, but not supported by it, Branches and hollows twisting around the outside. A mutually beneficial structure, in all honesty, with the tree and beams able to lean into each other during heavy weather.

Deep into White Forest. It seemed like a happy medium between all of the unovan locations he'd want to be. It's a little secluded, but he'd promise his future kids access to the cities, whenever they wanted within reason. Not as secluded as Nuvema's distance, subway disregarded. And, reminiscent of Viridian's wild space, off into the mountains where Mintale was nested. Enough space to keep pokemon as well, if he wished! Daycare style, only for raising and protecting the property, nothing official...which was fine by him.

It was a place very hard to locate on one's own alone, without knowing the forest floor, what with the twisted trees around it.

Now to just rest for a while. He'd show close friends where it was, by his own discretion. It's the coziest 'tree' house, with modern amenities.

[canis-umbrarum]

lane. lane look away. i dont like them.

[flthys]

i need a f / f / m plot where one of the f is dating the m who is like ... a sadistic nasty fuck ( possibly a criminal or somethin ) and convinces his gf to help lure her friend / sister / enemy / etc to be his plaything n making them do nasty shit w each other .

[thefouraboveall]

" What do you mean the ocean?"

Khorne's face was twisted into an ugly sneer as he loomed and leered down at his youngest sibling. Nurgle, too, frowned at Slaanesh, who only shrugged at the familiar feeling of his brothers' discontent.

" I spoke plainly. Tzeen'neth hides beneath the waves, where neither of his foremost of enemies can access him."

" Crafty as ever, the bastard." Nurgle muttered, running a fat-fingered hand through equally thick tentacles. Khorne raged; Slaanesh deftly docked beneath the angry flap of his extended quartet of wings. He spun back on Slaanesh, a claw out. Pointing. Accusatory.

" The sea is your element, as it is not mine or Nurgleth's. Why have you not gone searching for him Slaanesh?"

" Am I to be your scenthound too?" Slaanesh bristled, and scoffed, moving the finger away from his face. " I do not search because there is nothing to find. The ocean he is in is not this ocean. Traces of him remain, but they grow fainter by the day. Even I cannot make them out."

Which means Khorne and Nurgle almost definitely could not.

" Useless!" The Blood God barked, whilst the Prince simply inspected his talons, used to the abuse.

" But he was here. In the same world as us. What are the odds, with just how many worlds there?"

" Tzeentch was always meddlesome. Wherever we go, I am sure he will follow, and be just out of reach."

Khorne grunted, " He is toying with us."

A collective disdain swept over the gods, who each silently hated their deceitful sibling for a few heartbeats. Khorne was the first to speak up, to grasp his fury and turn it into action.

"Scent Hound." He repeated. " That is what we need."

And not just any scenthound, but Karanak himself.

[gareis-archive]

mattie's dad letting him down one last time by becoming a hunter after mattie nearly fucking chomps him 4 trying to come back into his life after 20 years.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

[greatcstarcherarchh]

i   don't   have   a   plot   in   mind,   but   would   love   to   have   more   things   with   everyone.   so   pleas   like   this   post   to   plot   things   and   i   will   reach   out   to   you!

[tis-the-boards-season]

I just saw a theatre almost entirely full of men very audibly gasp and/or moan at the site of a shirtless Hugh Jackman and let me tell you if was a religious experience