#rubbing my hands like a fly

[nox-in-a-box]

Spotify Wrapped is out and therefore it is my time to be super annoying :)

[tea-time-gardens]

I'm gonna learn botany so I can forage and make yummy foods and teas!!!!!!!!!!! I will be the plant master, master of the leaves and berries

[cyberhai]

Election year so crazy I'm thinking about going into politics (after the moral quality of our elected officials I'm no longer worried about my digital footprint). I will be plotting my mayoral campaign soon. Glory to North Carolina.

[rahonn]

im cooking up some Eustass fic with wound fetish

[shininqstr]

you have done it again🙏

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-nine —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and child abuse. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

You trip over a tree root, catching yourself against the rough bark. You don’t stop. You scream for him again, your legs propelling you toward the road, boots sliding over loose gravel.

He pushes past the others and closes the distance.

You slam into him, nearly falling, and grab his shirt, using him to steady yourself. “Simon, we have to go. Now. We need to leave.”

“What’s going on?” Someone asks—Price?—but it barely registers.

"We need to fucking leave!" you urge.

Ghost clamps onto your shoulders. “Twix, breathe. What did you see?”

“There is a body—and blood, on the wall—I don’t know what it says, but it's fresh—” You shake your head, heart erratic. The words won’t come out right. You can’t explain the wrongness crawling under your skin, the terrible dread in your stomach. You thrust a finger in the direction of the chapel as if they will understand. The quiet air rolls through the flowers. You feel it now. It's too quiet. Too calm. You can only manage a whisper. “Someone had to have written the words. We’re not alone.”

You barely catch the unfurling of his eyes before the world erupts into black smoke, and then you can't see him at all.

They already knew you were here.

He grabs you, shouting something you can’t make out.

Your first thought is Blue, and your second is the bow.

Your hands fumble as you blindly slap an arrow onto the string, but someone's body slams into yours, and it falls. You can’t even see where it landed.

The cloud of smoke burns your lungs, and a string of coughs spasm up your throat.

Ghost’s grip slips from you.

"Blue!" you choke out. 

You stumble forward, reaching aimlessly, even though you don’t know what you’ll do when you find her. Your vision blurs with painful tears, and then you feel it—a sharp prick at your neck.

The pain is a numb, searing sensation down your spine.

Your muscles seize, then convulse.

"Ghost," you think you say. The soft ringing in your ears drowns everything. You try to take a step, but your leg won't move. You succumb to the numbness. The ground rushes to meet you, though darkness steals you first.

You swim between disjointed visions. Viewing them from behind plexiglass. At first, you are talking to Paul. It's a sunny day. The birds are chirping through canopies of oaks. Then, you are in a room bathed in white. Fingers prod at you. You can't react to them. A soft voice hums sweetly, almost soothing, but it twists and warps back into Paul’s voice.

"The world kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

You bite a smile. "You know I have those words memorized."

"Good. Don't forget them," he says, not looking up from the wooden bird he whittles between leathery hands. It is a raven, you think. Though, you're no expert like he is. 

"You missed the first part, though."

His brow lifts. "Remind me."

"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places," you recite. 

A weathered mouth stretches at the corners. "Which one will you be, then? Broken or killed?"

You look down at the knife in your hand, the one you've been using to carve the arrow for the bow he's made you. The blade is dulled. You drag a thumb over it, shrugging. "I guess only time will tell."

"I suggest deciding for yourself, Twix."

You look back at him. "What did you call me?"

He responds, but his voice slurs into something unintelligible. 

White sunlight catches on his knife’s blade, almost blinding you. You close your eyes against the glare, but the light doesn’t fade when you reopen them—it grows, washing out the blue sky until it shifts into a stark white ceiling. Paul is gone. The birds have been silenced. The crisp scent of fresh linen reaches you. Is this a new dream, or the kaleidoscope rolling before the surrender to death? Your body feels like a borrowed shell, your mind straining to instruct your fingertips to move. They manage a weak press into the soft sheets below, rubbing against the fabric as if to convince yourself it’s truly there.

You are alive, then. Or the brain is incredible at tricking you into thinking so. 

Moving your neck feels like a daunting task, as if the vertebrae in your spine have been rewired, so you shift your eyes, searching for clues, but your memory is faulty at best. The walls are all white and bare. There is a dark wood table at the far corner, and a single shut door to your right. Then, there are...bars. Metal bars stripe the view, and you realize with a sudden jolt in your chest that you are enclosed by them, kept in a confined rectangle at one part of the room. 

Awareness strikes as you realize you're nearly naked, clad only in a thin, white shift. Someone has changed you. You ignore the lingering ache as you crane your neck upward and steal leverage from your elbows. The small bed below you creaks with the shift in your muscles. 

There are two other cots in the enclosure, and in them lay two unconscious figures. One lays flat, limbs spread in an unnatural way, while her black hair curtains over the white linen like splats of ink. The other is a smaller girl, her body curled into a haphazard fetal position.

There is no one else in the room.

Only you, Nereida, and Blue.

Audibly dry breaths stagger up your throat. Your mouth feels like painful sandpaper no matter how much spit you try to gather. You try to sit up more, but your legs won't move the way you tell them to, and you end up almost crumpling onto your back again. 

"F...uck."

They are still asleep, or knocked out, or whatever it is that has been done to you. They are alive, though. This much you know, based on the steady movement in their chests. Still, you want to reach them. You try to lift up once more, managing to lean your back against the wall for support, but just when you are ready to throw your weight into swinging a leg over, a gentle creak comes from the door.

"Tu es réveillée!"

Your gaze snaps to a young woman—a stranger—dressed in a long white cloak with a hood and veil. She might look like a ghost if not for the faint shimmer of her features on the other side of the veil: soft cheeks, a slightly crooked nose, but still pretty. She can't be older than you. In her hands is a tray with three mugs of what appears to be a porridge. Nothing about her emits a threat except for the fact she is on the other side of the metal bars. A sharp intake floods your lungs, a scream caught in your throat as she approaches, tilting her head in a look that feigns concern.

"Forgive me, I forget you speak anglaise. Please, do not be afraid. My name is Salome." The accent is thick but ignorable. She glances at the other two with a gentle smile. "I am happy you are awake. Your friends will be awake soon, as well. Are you hurting?"

When you say nothing, frozen, she reaches a mug through the bars and sets it on the floor. "Here. For you. Eat it slowly. Your body is still recovering."

A stretch of silence hangs between you, broken only by your uneven breathing. The understanding sinks in with full force as you glance between her, the other two, and the mug. It’s an understanding spliced with confusion—missing pieces. All you know is that your nostrils twitch, and you have no desire to move an inch toward the offering of food.

You observe her in more detail. The cloak hangs loosely on her frame, but she isn't boney, in fact a distinguishable swell shifts under it when she adjusts the tray in her hands. She is pregnant. A pregnant woman is your kidnapper. No, that's not right. She couldn't have carried the three of you, nor could she have done whatever the hell has been done to the four males who are clearly not present. There has to be others. The thought digs your nails into the soft mattress. 

She looks ready to say something again when her eyes dart to the side. You follow her gaze to see that Blue is moving her leg, eyes still closed, but she is moving.

The sight gives the rush of adrenaline needed to rip the sheet off your body and bring your feet to the floor. On wobbly legs, you rush to her cot, ignoring the woman's presence in favor of cupping Blue's cheeks, checking her pulse. Her skin is warm and the artery is beating steadily. You give her a little shake, but her eyes won't flutter. 

"She might not wake for longer than you. Do not be worried. The dosage has a stronger effect on children."

You stiffen.

A snarl cuts through you as anger surges, ripping free from the pit in your chest.

"Dosage?" 

You whirl around, careening toward the bars, gripping them when you almost lose your balance. "Do not be worried? You drugged a fucking child and shoved us in a cage." Your hands tighten, the metal biting into your skin. You don't care that your voice hurts from disuse. "Where are the others? Why aren't they here?" She startles back a step, her soft eyes downcast.

"I see you are upset," she says, her tone soft and careful. "I know this is... much for you. Sometimes God works in ways we do not understand right away, but I promise, He has blessed you. You are safe here." A light touch to her belly. Whispering now, she adds, "You are coveted." 

Then, she lowers the other two mugs through the bars and slips out of the room, cloak silently brushing her feet. 

Breathing hard, the energy deflates.

You half-crawl back to Blue's bed.

Staring at her pink cheeks.

Head pounding.

She claims you are safe. The lack of hostility might suggest that, but the enclosure and fact that she could not answer your question about the others say different. 

You spend a strange amount of time sifting through the recesses in your brain, plucking the memories out, from the bloody chapel to the smoke to this, before Nereida shifts in her bed. Her eyes actually open, and then she is gazing around, the same process of understanding contorting on her face. 

"Twix," she breathes. "What is—where are we?"

You tell her about Salome and everything you know, which is next to nothing. 

"But the guys—"

"I don't know where they are. She wouldn't tell me anything."

The mugs of porridge go cold. 

You hear movement outside in the distance—someone stepping through the grass, a passing exchange between French-speaking men—but the window is on the other side of the bars.

"Maybe if we try to just..."

Nereida attempts to poke half of her face through the bars to look out, but by the way she claws at her hairline in frustration, you don't need to ask to know she can't see a thing. 

Your muscles feel mostly in control now, and despite the howl in your stomach, you refuse to eat.

Nereida does, too. She does some silent prayer—if that's what you could call closing her eyes and humming hypnotically to herself—and when she is done, she reopens them and says, "John will come soon. He will."

"They could be dead."

"We would know if they were."

"No, we wouldn't."

"I would know," she whispers, and circles her arms around her knees, thumbing the scar on her shoulder. "He isn't dead."

Neither of you speak for some time. 

You watch Blue, her pulse steadying you, even if by a little. Absently, you stroke her hair. The pieces of the puzzle fall together with grim clarity. No weapons. Ghost, Price, Kyle, and Ari could be dead. The thought is a weight you can barely carry. You shove it away, refusing to let it consume you. If you let yourself linger too long on the possibility, you'll break down. You can't—merely for Blue's sake, not when you're holding onto the fragile thread keeping you together.

As the sunlight through the window starts to fade, you try to determine whether it's been a day or more since you were knocked out, and when exactly Salome will return. That's when Blue finally wakes up.

"Twix?"

Her lashes flicker.

"Blue. Blue, I'm here." You carefully scoop her in a tight hug, breathing her in closely. 

"What... what happened?" She lamely pulls away, shoulders sagging, and trembles in confusion. "I can't—I don't remember anything."

"We were drugged. Someone—I don't know who or why—but someone is keeping us in here."

"Are they going to kill us?" she whispers.

"I think they would have by now if they wanted to."

Her breath staggers. "But where is—why isn't Ghost here?"

You swallow. "I don't know if he... I don't know where he is."

Her eyes dart around.

"You mean my dad—he could be..."

She clutches at the shift on her chest.

At first, when you see her eyes begin to gloss over, you fear she is in pain. But then the panic becomes palpable, tearing through her ability to breathe, and she starts clawing at her own skin. 

"My dad is dead! My dad is fucking dead! He's not here. Why isn't he here!"

Her screams pierce the room.

You grab her wrists to stop the damage from her nails, welts already beating red on her neck.

"Blue, stop! Stop it!"

But she won't stop. She grabs the pillow and stuffs it in her mouth, howling into it, her face red and wet.

She begins to rock violently.

"I can't survive without him."

You watch helplessly, trying to hold her. 

"Please, just—breathe. We don't know if he's—"

The door opens. Salome rushes in beside an older woman similarly dressed in white. 

"Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce." The other woman carries the tray this time, with what looks to be more food along with a syringe. She hands it to Salome. "Dites-leur que cela aidera."

Salome offers the needle through the bars as you glare at her, tightening your arms around Blue. "This will help her calm down."

"I am not giving her that. Stay the fuck away."

Blue is shaking so hard she bumps her skull into your jaw. Nereida touches your arm. "Twix, it could help her."

"You don't know what the fuck they put in that thing," you hiss at her. "I'm not drugging her even more."

"I will leave it here for your choosing. Your dinner will not be hot for long. Please, all of you, eat." Salome bows her head as she places the syringe and tray on the floor in front of the cell, and leaves with the other woman before you can demand more from them. 

It is only after minutes of listening to Blue scream, unable to stop her from scratching herself any longer, that you concede and ask Nereida to bring it to you. Carefully, you sweep the hair from her face, steadying the tremble in your hand as you sink the needle into a vein in her arm, with Nereida helping to keep it extended.

"There. Please, Blue, please calm down. We cannot think the worst. Not yet, okay?" Your eyes threaten moisture but you blink hard to keep it at bay.

Whatever it was acts the moment it seeps into her bloodstream. She sags into you, face turning sticky as the tears are given time to dry, and her wailing dies down to silence. 

"Are you hungry?" 

She shakes her head.

That first night is spent without sleeping. 

You entangle yourself with Blue in the cot, watching the evening turn to a sliver of moonlight across the floor. She doesn't fall asleep, either, oscillating between silent tears and a void stare at the ceiling. Nereida stays in her own bed, humming here and there in that way that she does. At one point, you hear her whisper into the pillow: "John, give me strength. You always do."

You keep your emotions steady by counting the notches in Blue's spine, one by one, then starting back at the top. As you do, you think about what Salome said. You are not just safe, you are coveted. They want you to eat. They are not trying to harm you. Coveted. She's touched her stomach when she said it. The connection between it all grows starker in your mind. 

You share this with Nereida at the break of dawn when Blue seems to finally have succumbed to fatigue.

"They want us because we are women. That's why the others aren't here."

She nods, whispering. "I was thinking the same."

"Then we use that to our advantage."

"How?"

You palm your temple. "I don't know. I mean, we have some standing here. They value us in some way, right?"

"But we don't even know who 'they' includes," she murmurs, leaning her forehead briefly against the wall, then sitting straighter. "There are men here, too. That much we know. And if they were able to take out all of us at once, then there could be many."

"But none have come to see us," you point out. "Why is that?"

"Because they aren't allowed to." She places a finger on the wall, drawing it around, as if it helps her think. "Why would they be? We are coveted, remember? Something to be protected. Why else would they bother feeding us and keeping us tucked away in here."

"So maybe the guys aren't dead yet," you exhale, wishfully. "Maybe they are just in separate... housing or something. Another cell of their own. Kept away from the women, that's all."

Based on the interior of the room, this feels it was once a small, detached home. Maybe on a farm. The walls are painted stone; cold to the touch. All of the buildings you recall seeing on your way here were old, little farmhouses. Perhaps they have an established settlement. 

Mewling it over, you finally touch the cold food, taking a small bite of the cut-up meat to confirm it's something you haven't tasted in years: beef. They have cattle. What else do they have? Drugs, apparently. Or at least some type of sedatives extracted from plants. They are well-versed in the land. They are religious. And women are coveted for reproduction. 

"But then what was the shit in that chapel for?" you whisper to yourself, the image of the mangled body staining the backs of your lids when you close them.

When they reopen, Salome is at the doorway.

"Bonjour, mesdames. I have some oatmeal—" she frowns at the tray on the floor. "Oh... my. You have not eaten for two days. This is not the Lord's wishes. Your bodies are chosen, and they are in need of—"

"Tell us where they are, and we’ll eat," you cut her off, rising to your feet. You grip the bars tightly. "Tell us if they're still alive. One of them is her father. If you don't want her screaming again, you will tell us if he's okay."

She stares at you, then nods. "Eat first. All of you."

The oatmeal is sweetened with ripe blackberries that burst on your tongue. Blue awakens just when you and Nereida finish scarfing the last bite. You hand her the last bowl of oatmeal and urge her to eat, knowing that Salome won't cooperate if she doesn't. Blue takes minuscule bites. She hacks some of it back up, but with a sip of water passed through the cage, she is able to finish the rest.

She wipes a hand over her mouth and looks at Salome. "My dad. Where is he?" Her voice is low.

"He is alive. Of course, he is. They all are." A tremendous sense of relief washed over you. She cups her belly, her fingers tracing the shape. "Life is sacred... and so is death. We must be careful not to let more death come than is needed. The world... it has already seen too much of it."

Your brow scrunches. "Bullshit. I saw that corpse you guys left in the—"

Nereida gives your wrist a light squeeze, a reminder to hold back. You bite your tongue, knowing this woman is the only one who might give you any answers.

Salome tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I do not mean the world does not deserve the plague it bears. Men... they grew too sinful. Strayed far from God's will. It was His plan for them to atone for it." Her lips stretch into a faint smile, a thin, almost sad expression. "Your friends—they cannot come closer to God until they make amends. They must atone before they can be worthy of the future we will bring."

You blanch. "What the hell does that mean? 'They must atone?'"

Her gaze drifts to the left, and she mutters something under her breath in French, her words faint, then lowers her head to collect the tray, her back to you. You can’t hold yourself back any longer, pushing your face between the bars. "Don’t you fucking dare. You’ve hardly told us anything!"

"I... I fear I cannot say more." She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. "You are in a delicate state, and Maman will see to you today. Please... trust me, this is the way it must be."

Maman?

The door quietly clicks shut and you growl at it.

A hand cups your shoulder. 

"She told us they're alive. That's what matters, right?'

You face Blue, leaning your spine into the metal. "Yeah. But we still have no way of getting to them."

The red rim around her eyes has faded to the same flush as her lips. She takes a slow breath through her chest, clenching and unclenching her hands, before asking, "What do you think they are doing to them?"

"I don't know," you say with a heavy exhale, your tongue pressing between your cheek and teeth.

G

Pennies.

When Ghost swims to the surface of semiconsciousness, the smell of pennies wafts up his nose first, then the feel of icy, hard restraints around his wrists hits him second. It is the kind of smell that is deeply woven into the floors and walls. Old blood calling for new. He could remember smelling it for the first time in Mexico when he'd awoken in a cell, stripped. The flush of air against his chest suggests this time is now different, but upon forcing his lids apart, a glance downward reveals he still has jeans on.

Ghost thinks he hears someone scream his name—Simon!—but it is merely a memory from right before the world went dark. He'd fought against it all he could, keeping the tail of Twix's shirt in one hand, and trying to seek Blue with the other, but then he had to choose one to let go of to grab his gun. The memory swims up to the forefront; the fumbling of his fingers at his belt loop, seeking the pistol, the loss of motor function as something pricked his neck. The pistol slipped from his grasp, and so did they.

He forces the reel of Twix's screams to the back of his mind where they play in a distant loop. Through hazy vision, he looks around, taking in the lack of light. No windows. It is a small room, with grey stone walls, and only one door at the far end. None of the others are here. Not the girls or Price or Gaz. There wouldn't even be space for all of them to fit in here. The shackles on his wrists are rusty, nicking his skin when he tries to shift around. His heart thumps steady and slow between his ears. Whatever they drugged him with is fading with each shake of his head and forced blink of his eyes.

He tugs on the manacles once more in vain when there is a voice from the other side of the wall.

It is muffled through stone, but grows crisper as booted footsteps close in.

Then they stop.

The door creaks open.

The man who steps in is cloaked in grey.

He waves a metal bar, whistling lowly, and kicking the door shut behind him. 

"You must be an early riser." His chuckle is wry. "Up before your friends. Tell me, Brit. What brings you all the way to l'Hexagone? Not a fun trip over the water, is it?"

The man circles him. A light tap of the bar on his bare shoulder blade. 

"No? Not much of a sharer?" The end of the bar presses in, just slightly, but the pain doesn't register. Only the cold wetness of a trickle of blood on his back when it pulls away. A hand fists his hair, and yanks his head back. "Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière."

His head is thrown forward with force. Ghost blinks down at the floor, teeth grinding. Through them, he breathes hard—

"Where are they?"

"Which ones? The pretty ones?" The accented voice lowers to the shell of his ear. "I would not get your hopes up of seeing them again. They will be saved for the most worthy of us."

- Nous devons expier nos péchés...We must atone for our sins. - Tu es réveillée!...You're awake! - Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce....The poor child is afraid. God show your grace. - Dites-leur que cela aidera...Tell them it will help. - Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière...We'll sort this out, you dirty scum. I'll be happy to help you get back to the light.

[midive]

The lizard in my head is screaming AU where Agent died instead of Mitsi

haha angst silly ‼️

Gnawing at the walls

why. why let the unconfirmed male antagonist get all the trauma. Sharing is caring 🫶

A treat (tiny goobers drawn by @genesisxj )

[girldriveroscar]

VEGAS GP up next so im forcing all of u to remember when oscar-drives a car for a living-piastri couldnt Act himself driving for 5 seconds bc there’s more important things to look at than the road

[shveris]

cut to my headcanon of the ribcage being yuuji’s and the red liquid being an accumulation of all the blood sukuna has ever spilled — yet it will never stain yuuji.

no matter how many horrendous crimes sukuna has committed or will commit, nothing could ever stop yuuji from getting up and fighting because he will always be above it all; above sukuna.

he could try for another 1000 years as the king of curses, ruling over japan, committing bloody crimes, and yet the rising levels of blood of sukuna’s innate domain would forever fail to deter yuuji’s spirit.

they are truly made for each other.

Can't stop thinking about the fact that Sukuna's sitting on a pile of skulls underneath the ribcage quite literally representing the heart. Considering he's in Yuuji, well... he's literally his heart

[morebird]

Astarion x Tav commission for @kittenintheden

[greenoakseevee]

kirbposting Have a magogijinka:3 my design for him changes alot often so imnot sure if i fully like dis one hhggkrnehjf . also i like to imagine hes a weird little cat owl thing. a Creature Feature dare i say

[vabam-fr]

FR Username/Numbers: Vabam #450994

Basic Clan Lore: An amalgamation of dragons willing enough to ally themselves to scholarly pursuits, the Rotting Woods is a deceptive name. The bulk of the clan digs beneath Arcane and Plague territories, studying how the pulsating magic intermingles and mutates the landscape. The Matriarch of the clan, Akeldama, abides the curiosity of one overly curious fae that leads the scholarly expedition. But the deeper the dig goes, the more history the clan uncovers. Freezing water and gemstone caverns meet the clan at unfortunate turns. Scholars and lair dwellers alike fall into freezing temperatures, crushing their bodies against jagged rocks. Gaolers that have patrolled the caverns for centuries are disturbed to find bodies so close to the prisons. Not all deaths were natural… Reluctantly, the gaolers seek aide from the burrowing clan with hopes to contain the Emperors that plot their return to the surface of Sornieth.

Plans For Dragon:

OKKAYYYYYY man i love the idea of the tattoos!!! and coincidentally I didn't draw her with any face paint either! (i tried getting a sketch done during my off hours orz) (fat dragons FTW!!!)

This is my "early years" concept for her, nearly fresh out on her own. I ALSO had the Alchemist tools in this outfit scry. The idea of using vials to upkeep her leg mechanics ... sharing that plague-brain cell...

• I imagine a lot of her studying pays off making her a sound tactician. While she's not the most proficient on her own, she learned from watching her sisters how to best utilize other people's strengths. (As she gets older though, she figures out how to make use of her tinkering and inventions for harvesting. Maybe she even has secondary, cleaver-metal weapons, like the Plague swords, in her case.) (Although im a huge sucker for a meat hook x) ..)

• I was also thinking about her becoming really proficient tinker-er, since she has to upkeep her prosthesis, as mentioned above! The vials help with the mechanical moving aspect (much akin to lightning robotics) but it also helps curb the ghost pains while using the rusty appendages. On good days, the prosthesis feels like a simple extention of herself. On bad days she has to take her rusty leg off entirely, spending the day to rest.

•• I already have thoughts about how the Godfall went for Riot! Most of it are rough first draft ideas, but I have a dragon planned (a lightning dragon named Ion) that opposes Riot for her strategizing, and thus causing the loss of her leg and tail half. (Mostly being crushed under Encore himself, close to the end of the hunt.) (She also gets a sick af face scar from the whole ordeal, but everyone just remembers the limb loss..)

• Her scholarly nature fits really naturally with my clan! I think her experience with the Godfall (and perhaps future returns to the event) makes her a very suitable strategist for handling the under-dwelling Emperors my clan frequently interfaces with later in the clan lore.

•• One of the emperors, Benzaiten, is very sound of mind, due to her own worship of the Stormcatcher (and various rituals that are preformed to keep her calm.) Riot meets Ion again while meeting Benzaiten, and they clash heads. They get under each other's skin often, but they try to agree to disagree on things for the sake of their respective clerical duties. Ion is there to help with the ritual calming and containment of Benzaiten, while Riot learns more about the other emperors being kept in the prisons. Benzaiten is pretty benevolent in this regard, and she refers to emperors as fallen gods or spirits.

• On that note, I think Riot's Deity-charge is the Plaguebringer, despite the internal conflict and peace it might grant her. She sees the loss of her leg and tail end in a more positive leaning light because of her dedication to the Plaguebringer -- despite, at first, being very bitter about being stuck with the caravan while her sisters ventured off.

•• My headcanon is that while waiting for her father to finish making her prosthetics, she works herself up from all the emotions she suppressed as a child, on top of the frustration she feels being "left behind" / "last out" despite knowing her purpose before her sisters. In consequence, she becomes sick with a fever, and has a spiritual moment communing with the Plaguebringer, which grants Riot insight where her journey will lead her next.

• She brings a very cerebral element to the "survival" dogma of Plague. Her intellect and care make her a force to be reckoned with when she sees needless cruelty. Oftentimes, the cruelty is a waste of energy or resources, but most of all, it simply gets under her skin. While she might not always kill the offenders outright, some dragons say she looks the most like her parents when she's angered (she's figured out how to make your life a living hell before anyone knows she's caught wind of it. The offenders just might disappear under mysterious circumstances....)

An "older" version of Riot! ( I think the glowing bit of her leg prosthesis changes color depending on the magic in the vial she uses!) (This scry also uses the underbelly gene, for color balancing reasons. I might keep her tertiary as is, if i can find / make a decent uma for her!)

I think she keeps up to date with her sisters quite often, sharing her tinkering ideas, as well as being the most familiar with the technology behind the cleavers outside of their father. If there was anyone to figure it out, it would be Riot!

Additionally, the caring and cerebral element of worshiping the Plaguebringer means she's very attuned to the concept of community and sharing. ( "When all you've got is nothing, There's a lot to go around!" )

She's better at holding her own in a fight, but since then, she's established her own "hunting corps" (Which is named The Hunting Corpse, as a gag). The Hunting Corpse was suggested by a team member, thinking it was a clever pun, since they "hunt corpses." From an exterior perspective, the rattling bones that hang from their bodies as prizes sound like one large, rattling beast on the move. The corps become a huge boon to the clan via trading and coin for the scavenged material they gather from their hunts. The "rustworn zealot" title happens during this time-period, since she dedicates the hunts to the Plageumother, and they often have ritual music to play before they embark and during the hunt. (Plague drums and chanting anyone?)

Other trivia/headcanons:

• She wears a lot of bone jewelry, both in reverence of the Plaguebringer and her aesthetics, it's very melodic to Riot. The jewelry are often trophies from Godfalls she was specifically part of, or other impressive spirits they felled.

• She has a very in depth understanding of Plague fauna and flora, which makes her the clan's go-to for beastclan knowledge. Incidentally falling into a political role between the dragonclan and beastclan relations.

• She definitely uses the Godfalls as a way of promoting the Hunting Corpse as a sellsword business when theyre away from the clan. Lots of mouths to feed, and skills to hone. For Riot, the corps reminds her of the caravan, and finds the traveling to be very nostalgic and freeing

Post-Godfall lore drop

RAAAHHH I love all of the Godfall lore so much!!! I'd love to bring that lore into my clan with Riot at the helm!!! All the ideas tinkering around in my head, I have nearly a full crisp picture of the dragons within The Hunting Corpse, amd the shenanigans that ensue.

I think Riot would form the Hunting Corpse as preparation for any eventual Emperors that would break out from underneath my clan. Theyre not as large as Luminax, since most excess heads or appendages have been stripped in an effort to control and contain them, but I think Riot would secretly hope they broke out, just at the chance of taking one down and harvesting the magic that keeps them pieced together.

----

I liiieed i already have dragons that i think would be great to use for the Hunting Corpse...

The Arcane skydancer, Odeta, would be a perfect Witness for the group (skydancers are canonically predisposed to sensing energy too!) And I was mulling over a geneplan foe the banescale, Huntsman, but she would be great as a Wind - Bane Torchbearer! Varg, the mirror, is covered in seemingly bottomless bags for Needling! Just to name a few

Intended Payment: perhaps.. art? i'd love an opportunity to draw pig, or any of your dragons! im very much good at drawing humanoids. perhaps a humanoid pig? yes.. yes a humanoid pig art would be very fun...

PIGLET APPLICATION #03 RIOT THE RUSTWORN ZEALOT.

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT:

These Piglets are for lore clans with a tumblr presence (sideblog, FR posting on mainblogs, etc you simply have to be a lore clan who engages with the community here on tumblr.)

Other players with their siblings (and myself with their parents) will be not only welcome to but encouraged to write interclan letters/in character messages to their siblings, and you'll have to be okay with everything that comes with that (On-Site DMs, the potential of a message going unanswered/etc) I would also appreciate if you ping me for the stuff you do with them because I want to see what they get up to <3

If you win one of the siblings, please refrain from applying for another, this is so everyone interested gets an opportunity and a fair shake at taking one of the girls home!

If you're the selected winner, the dragon is yours to do what you please with! (Regene, change species, rename, change gender identities/pronoun preferences, etc) I ask only that you have a lore/character reason for breed or name changes, as they'll be connected to a wider group of dragons that would need to know these things (What kind of dragon their sibling has become, What to call them in letters, etc) and if you can keep them a modern breed so they can keep their cleavers, well that'd just be nice for their old man Pig.

Please honor the basic lore of the dragon you win, you're welcome to rewrite/reinterpret the lore they arrive with, but please don't eliminate that history entirely, since they'll be interwoven with other clans/players!

[and a big thank you to Khadjin for reminding me I never mentioned this yet!] my lore deviates pretty substantially from site lore. however every aspect can be explained within the context of the site, please don't feel like you have to adopt my headcanons to participate in these!- my "Lesser Gods" are nothing more than magically afflicted/overcharged spirits or magically mutated dragons created in a reactor explosion somewhere in Lightning and some timeloop silliness, and the 'Gaps' are highly concentrated leylines caused by this incident. the eleven gods of sornieth remain the only true gods in my lore much like the site on the whole!- the Piglets and their parents simply lived under the affliction of spirits, cults, and mutated dragons and contextualized them as "Gods" the very same way we create urban myth/legends. While they would know of The Host and the Gaps because of the direct effect both have had on their parents, they are not required to have continued to believe in them as "Higher beings" and can have learned in their time away from their family that these things are likely, little more than the arcane gone haywire.

BLANK APPLICATION

Please copy/paste and fill this out in a Reblog here on tumblr or send it to me through my submit box here so I can keep track of things on a per-dragon basis for the course of the 48-hours each application will be active!

FR Username/Numbers: Basic Clan Lore: (just a general description of the lore/area of your clan you intend to place this hatchling in!) Plans For Dragon: (A little description of any of your ideas, headcanons, story beats, etc you're thinking of for the dragon you're applying for! This can be anything you've got in mind, scries, outfits, etc, feel free to go as big or as little as you want, I wanna see what's going on in your head!) Intended Payment: (These dragons will be PWYW, but I need everyone to acknowledge they're not free, so whatever you're planning on paying/trading for them, even if you change your mind when the time comes, stick something here.)

RINGLEADER'S HEADCANONS

These are just some smaller lore bits and pieces you're welcome to use or disregard for each child, things that I couldn't fit into the bios in a way that made sense. much like the example outfit photo up-top, this is for fun or stuff to help get ideas flowing, if you're stuck!

Riot is almost completely magically null, and her prosthetics run on the magic she harvests from her prey, or from the larger pockets of it around Sornieth. When she left home, Pig and Sow ensured she had enough filled cores to keep her leg and tail functioning for a few months, as they are both well aware she was already not exactly the most capable combatant.

While her relationship with her sisters is somewhat strained after an early life being spent teased for being "unlucky" they've all grown beyond this, and Riot doesn't hold it against them- she's the only one to lose something important in their Godfall, after all.

A scholar at her core, Riot is a seeker of intelligence as much as she is of her charge, flourishing in the pursuit of knowledge of all forms, she has a functional awareness of most everything, from invention to incantation, and is always seeking more alongside the "God" her charge calls her to.

While some of her siblings have chosen to paint their faces in honor of their parents, Riot instead wears her family loyalty through tattoos imbued with magic- the blood constantly staining her parents' claws and tail marked into scales as a glowing grasp on her three remaining feet.

THIS APPLICATION IS OPEN FROM 3:30 PM DECEMBER 6TH, 2024, TO 3:30 PM DECEMBER 8TH, 2024. REBLOGS AFTER THIS TIME WILL BE DISQUALIFIED FROM THE RUNNING.

And here's the pinglist! (Starting to think maybe you can only ping so many people at once?)

@hor-wod-flir @harpyartisan @fuiran @terra-tortoise @bawkrya @pocketmouse-fr @spongyspingy-rising @avalonianrising @clansunsharp @khadjin-fr

[yeloenk]

i think im experiencing a really bad friend crush right now.. a squish? i think that's what it's called. i wanna be someone in specific's friend so bad.... but i am frightened ! !! i can't interact with anyone normally for the life of me

ink in 0.8 is sosooo cute im gonna explode

art by @/jakei95

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part five ]

[ part one ] & [ part two ] & [ part three ] & [ part four ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: fluff, sfw, a bit of suggestive talk

word count: 2029

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

the serene atmosphere of your sunlit bedroom was suddenly disturbed as you jolted up in bed with a gasp.

heart racing and head spinning, you sat there, stunned.

was it … just a dream?

your brow furrowed as you looked up and around the familiar space. there was your bookshelf, your desk, your chair … oh.

you rubbed your eyes to do a double take at your chair. sure enough, atop it laid the two-piece outfit you had worn out with stanley last night.

slowly, a wide grin spread across your face. as you began to get out of bed and prepare yourself for the day, memories came back to you one by one.

let’s see, then … when we got back here, we had that conversation in the car. i remember being really sleepy, and kind of stumbling into the inn.

you wandered into your bathroom, splashing your face with cold water.

then, we parted ways. he practically skipped away to his room.

the faucet ran as you laughed softly to yourself. a certain warmth filled your chest, spreading throughout your body: an uncontrollable joy.

who would’ve guessed? me, in love … i’m so happy.

suddenly, everything was peaches, unicorns, and rainbows. you felt as if the butterflies in your stomach were throwing a wild dance party, and all the world was invited. ecstatic, you danced around your room, putting on day clothes and taking extra care as you groomed yourself. yes, this called for three extra spritzes of your favorite fragrance. absolutely, it required your nicest jewelry. after all, you were on a serotonin high, and you never wanted to come down—the person that you love loves you back!

as you made your way out into the hallway, a part of you was tempted to slide down the staircase like mary poppins, but you quickly decided against it as you recalled your lack of magical gravity-altering powers. instead, you settled for a regular-paced descent, walking down both sets of stairs until you came out into the lobby.

you waved to one of your employees at the front desk. “good morning!”

“ah, good morning, boss. you sound cheery today. did something good happen?”

“wellll, yeahhh, you could say that …” you beamed, covering your mouth like a child with an innocent secret.

the worker laughed, shaking his head. “i won’t pry, although i do have a guess as to what it is. you’re all set to take your shift, by the way.” he walked out from the desk, and you took his place, watching as he disappeared to go on break.

just then, a hand touched your shoulder.

“boo.”

you jumped, whipping around to the source of the voice. a smug stanley stood beside you, laughing at the reaction he’d managed from you.

“haha! hey, don’t be scared, toots. ‘s just me.” he winked, giving you a small squeeze before letting his arm fall down to his side. “ya look cute t’day.”

“you look pretty nice yourself.” you hummed, giving him a quick once-over. that earned a small blush from stan, who stammered as he attempted to think of a comeback.

“oh—oh yeah? well you—uh … ahh, i got nothin’.” he grinned sheepishly, pleasantly surprised at the way you were matching his energy.

at that moment, the little entrance bell rung as the front door swung open. a new guest had entered the building. recognizing this, stan took his cue to back away and let you do your job.

the stranger approached the front desk, and you offered him a smile. “welcome to the inn! just a room for one today?”

the stranger, who appeared to be tall and blond, stared at you with piercing blue eyes. “yes … that was the plan. but i must say, you’re a charming little doll. you might just make it a room for two.”

you were taken aback. “sir—”

“hey, can you blame me? i’m in town for a tour, and i’m awfully bored … why don’t you humor me?”

*SLAM*

stanley’s rough hand hit the desk surface with force as he positioned himself between the stranger and yourself.

“you got a problem?”

his threatening words rumbled lowly, striking through the air like thunder.

“what’s it to you, lowlife raccoon? do you really think you’re scaring anyone with that attitude?”

the bulkier man growled, his eye twitching. “you wanna take this outside, punk?”

“yes, let’s. i’d hate for your little crush here to watch you get hurt.”

immediately, alarm bells went off in your head. “wait, what—”

stan began to walk towards the back door with the troublemaker. shooting a glance back at you, he mouthed ‘don’t worry’ before closing the door behind him. of course, that only made you worry twice as much.

a part of you longed to follow them and make sure nothing bad happened, but you knew that you couldn’t just abandon the desk during your shift. an anxious breath escaped from your lips as you craned your neck to try and see if you could catch a glance of them through the window.

mere seconds later, there was a distant crash. you startled, quickly running over to the back door and opening it to look for the two men. much to your relief, stanley came walking back over to you from around the corner, completely unscathed.

“guy ran off all scared after i knocked his tooth out. said sumthin’ about his ‘career being ruined’. tch, what a wuss.” he rolled his eyes, sliding his arm around your waist and walking you back towards the front desk. “sorry he said that stuff to ya. i took care of it, though, yeah?”

you flushed a shade of red at his arm around you and his close proximity. “y–yes. thank you, stan.”

the brunet puffed up with pride. “anytime, angel. if somebody tries anything like that again, y’ come get me. i’ll take care of you.”

looking this way and that, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before grabbing his car keys and walking towards the front door. “i gotta thing to do. see ya later, gator.”

you stood frozen in place, processing what had just happened. explosions were going off in your brain, and stan chuckled to himself as he left the inn.

some time passed, and it was finally your lunch break. you’d been thoroughly distracted all morning by the way stanley had been acting towards you.

he’s so … clingy. ugh, i miss him already.

his hair is so pretty … and his eyes … and that stubble …

you were slowly being pulled into daydream land—but the rumbling of your stomach snapped you out of it.

“urgh. time to eat.” you mumbled to yourself, making your way to your room. there were some leftovers in the fridge that were practically calling your name.

after retrieving the box of food and a clean fork, you turned around to return to the lobby, but stopped in your tracks upon seeing someone standing in the doorway.

“heya, toots!” stan beamed, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “yer never gonna believe what just happened.”

this was the most excited and happy you’d ever seen him. intrigued, you set down your leftovers on the table, giving him your full attention. “what is it?”

“i just landed a security guard gig for the theater down the street. they figured out i could throw a punch or two, an’ offered to pay me full-time to keep troublemakers away from their shows!”

your eyes widened as you realized what this meant. “then … that means …”

“i can stick around n’ actually have a chance at making the green i need!” grinning, he threw his arms around you. “i’ll stop takin’ up space here, n’ get a place for us—i mean, me—i mean—”

you laughed, squeezing him tightly and resting your head on his shoulder. “stan, i am so proud of you!”

hearing those words did something inside of him. his whole body tensed, then relaxed, overwhelmed with emotion. “you … you are?”

“of course! i love you too much to feel any other way, y’know.”

tears stung at his vision, and he hastily rubbed them away with his sleeve. “... heh, thank you.”

stepping back to look him in the eye, you rested both hands on top of his shoulders. “when you first got here … i could tell how unhappy you were. i hated seeing you like that.” you moved one hand to brush some hair out of his face. “and now look at you. you’ve come so far.”

stan melted into your touch, leaning his face into the palm of your hand without thinking. “yeah, i … i guess i have come a ways, huh?” he sighed, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “honestly, you were the one who caused it. ‘f it weren’t for all your help, i … i’d prob’ly be in an even darker place than i was before.” turning his head, he kissed the inside of your palm. “thank you.”

you blushed, your whole body warm with happiness, gratitude, and excitement. “well, i couldn’t just ignore you.” you pulled him into another embrace, unable to wipe the smile off your face. “stanley, you’ve captivated me, mind, heart, and soul.”

he hummed lowly, pushing your hair back to press another kiss to your forehead. “you did the same thing to me. i … just can’t stop thinkin’ about you.” he pulled his head back to gaze at you lovingly. “... ‘bout how lucky i got to find you.. my angel.”

“i love you.”

“heh– not more than i do, toots.”

“no proof.”

you were just inches away from a second-ever kiss when a knock on the door rudely interrupted, causing the two of you to jump away from each other and stare as it began to open.

“oh sh–” stan slapped his hand over his mouth, diving behind the sofa to hide. all you could do was stand there as normally as you possibly could, pretending like nothing important had been previously happening.

“uh … was there someone else in here, too?”

it was your coworker from earlier that day.

“NOPE! nobody. just me. why would you think that?”

he narrowed his eyes. “right … you know it’s your property, it’s okay if there was someone.” shaking his head, he remembered his initial purpose. “anyway, i just wanted to come find you to see if you wanted to go out to lunch with me and liz.”

“oh. well, uh …”

“... it would also be a nice opportunity to tell us about any … juicy secrets?”

you snickered, shaking your head fondly. “well, fine. i’ll tag along, then—with a plus one.”

“I KNEW IT! —i mean, uh, cool, good deal. we’re meeting in the lobby in ten.”

“i’ll be there.” you waved goodbye as he shut the door, and stan reappeared from behind the couch. the two of you simply exchanged looks, and started laughing.

so, you had a lovely lunch outing with two of your co-workers and a rather nervous stanley. he was surprisingly shy for the intimidating big-guy persona that he gave off, which was adorable. it didn’t take long for him to earn the approval of the others—they were both moved to tears after listening to his life story. jeff, the male of the two, kept complaining about how it wasn’t fair that you had such a good man just suddenly show up on your doorstep, whereas liz warned stan that if he ever hurt you he would have to deal with her. all in all, the whole group had a great time.

presently, you were sorting through a mail delivery that had come for the inn, making different piles for guests and employees who had received letters and other packages.

it was just then that something caught your eye.

it was a postcard … addressed to stan.

huh … i wonder what this could be about?

you stifled your curiosities and stopped yourself from reading his mail, and instead chose to slip it underneath his door.

oh, well. i’m sure it’s nothing important.

… right?

end

author's note:

*holds stanley so gently in the palm of my hand*

love this guy ... what a guy

drop a comment to be added to the taglist for part six :)

tag list: @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @seahorrorz @blustalker @hay-needle @phanmai1002 @samanthastarss @bumblingbriars @arya-eats-chips @bihexualandferal @hello-i-like-owls @blurryface505 @ryethebrokengae @skeet-2 @thisisprettymuchafanaccount @loleeness @mothie-jpg @ryoiii @ghostieballs @dinsfire24 @put-a-cork-in-it-nork @moon-possom @doggosnoodles12 @spencerreidslittleslut @olivervallyn @samdrawzzz @lamiin @kawaii1369 @ford-pines-lover @inquiit @sleeping-cel

[grimst4rs]

i’ve started to compile a list what’s wrong with me

i have a handful of tattoo ideas for (modern au) sirius (however i think that would require a tw so if anyone’s curious i’ll just post with omitting that)

[hyuneblr]

cutiepie channie for @spohkh ♡

[c-kiddo]

honestly obsessed with this quote from the cool down thing from ep 1 of downfall from taliesin: "honestly, this is just caduceus' wildmother. this is literally just a version of caduceus going, "perhaps i wasn't clear. i'm hungry all the time, and i'm violent - hi, im nature. nice to meet you."" like, the idea that nature/the wildmother is not only beautiful and warm and holding (as depicted often with the wildmother and caduceus, she's often described as holding him in commune like a mother holds a child) but also the wild sea (for fjord) and also something that is always hungry. like the wolf that asha is, even when she's in the shape of an elf woman. and also like, i wonder if there's a connection there to caduceus being so thin (unhealthily thin, as described when he's first introduced. something like how uncared for nature gets swallowed up by vines, or dies without water. kind of like the savalirwood and the grove and and)

also inchresting to me that taliesin says this is a version of caduceus. like what do u mean by that. a version of what he worships? im guessing something like that. but also a person he’d be if he wasn’t treated with kindness? like how exandria is being ravaged and burned and destroyed, the air choked with smoke and ash, by the calamity? like hungry feral wolves?

and i am also thinking abt how the first conversation tmn ever have with cad they ask him if he’d be willing to kill people because he’s soft and among nature and standing in a garden making them tea, and he replies of course, have you seen nature? violence is extremely natural. (and thats not framed as something good or bad, its just true.) like word im hungry all the time and im violent! lets fucking gooooo!!!!!