#stinky rotting creature

[sofieartz]

[ Fnaf Fanart ]

//Blood and Slight Gore

Well, would you look at that.

I'm back to my fnaf phase....

I drew this a couple months back, finally had the time to finish it, just in time for the anniversary!

[shiftyyyy]

faggot ewww ewwwwwww ewwwww you smell ewww you like jimboooo ewwwwwwwww wwww

ewwwww alfred brown smells 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮 hashtag doll eye hate ewwwww mystery looks like ass i bet he smells and his rotting smelly balls smell like ass cheekz like ewww they’re hanging ewwwww old men balls ewwww i also hate your bunniez they smell like baddd ewwww yuki smells so bad she had shit all over her ewwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaa

OKAY NOW DONT START WITH ME YOU SODAPACK SMELLING FREAK. I KNOW I SMELL LIKE JIMBO AND THATS NOT A BAD THING TO ME ATLEAST. SMELLING LIKE SODAPACK IS TERRIBLE BECAUSE THE AMOUNT OF FRUITINESS THEY PROJECT OUT OF THEIR BODYS WHENEVER THEYRE TOGETHER ITS INTOXICATING. YOU NEED TO WEAR SOME KIND OF GAS MASK TO PROTECT YOURSELF FROM THEIR FUMES. THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE HAD TO MAKE A WHOLE NEW WEATHER WARNING BECAUSE PEOPLE COULDNT BREATHE TO THIS NEW GAS CALLED THE GAY AHH LICE INFECTION, AND YOU ARE THE MAIN REASON WHY IT SPREADS SO MUCH, YOU ARE A THREAT TO THIS WHOLE WORLD. YOU AND BOTH OF THOSE FREAKS ARE GONNA BE SENT TO DEATH ROW BECAUSE THE AWFUL TOXIN WHENEVER YOU GUYS AROUND MAKE PEOPLE PERISH IN MID ARE LIKE THE ASH BABY. YOU ARE WORSE THEN DEAD AURA WITH FLIES.

YOURE HATING ON ALFRED YOU FLYING SON OF A GUN. YOU WONT LIKE IT WHEN I GET MY HANDS ONTO YOU, THAT IS IF I CAN EVEN TOUCH YOUR FRUITY SMELLING AHH. IF I THREW AN AXE AT YOUR HEAD THE BLOOD WOULDNT EVEN BE BLOOD. IT WOULD BE LUCKY DAY FOR A KID WHO WANTS A FRUITY FLIPPING SUNDAE OR SOME CRAP. DONT EVEN START WITH MY WIFE NOW I SWEAR TO GOD. I CAN ASURE YOU HIS BALLS ARE JUST FINE. ATLEAST WITH MY WIFE I CAN GET IT AT NIGHT UNLIKE YOU. IM TIRED OF HEARING BRYCE COMPLAIN THAT YOUR 50 INCH SLONG CANT FIT IN THE TOP OF HIS LITTLE BOTTLE HOLE, “s-sorry babe it’s too big for me!!” TALK ABOUT A STINKY LITTLE LOSER. THE ONLY THING MAKING HIM SCREAM IS THE FACT THAT YOULL NEVER BE ABLE TO FIT IT IN. I TRIED TO PRAY TO KAO TO MAKE YOU GUYS STOP THAT NOT EVEN THE PUREST FORM OF HUMANITY CAN STAND SUCH A FRUITY PEBBLE SKITTLE BURST KOOL AID TUME YUMMIE HAWAIIAN PUNCH SMOOTHIE BLAST SMELLING CREATURES LIKE YOU TWO.

YOU BETTER WATCH WATCH YOUR BACK. I SEE ALL. I KNOW ALL. AND THE FACT YOU THINK ITS OKAY TO TALK ABOUT MY BUNNIES LIKE THAT??? BUNNIES ARE SELF CLEANING, THEY CAN ACTUALLY GET ALL THAT GUNK OFF OF THEM THEMSELV— **CoUgh— COUGH—** OH GOD WHATS THAT SMELL??? OH GOD ITS THE FRUITY SMELLING FREAK THAT CANT DO WHAT MY BUNNIES CAN. I BET YOU SAY THAT THEY STINK BECAUSE YOUR JEALOUS. THEY HAVE WHAT YOU DONT. SO YOU GO AND HATE ON MY BABIES FOR THAT? YOU DONT WANNA SEE ME WHEN IM ANGRY. IM FULL OF PURE HATRED AND DESPISE. IM EVIL. NOW BEFORE YOU GO AND HATE ON ME FOR “SMELLING SO BAD” TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT YOURSELF, GO TO A MIRROR. BUT WATCH OUT YOUR AURA MIGHT SHATTER THE GLASS TILL THERES NOTHING LEFT.

GOOD DAY. 😡

[raintailed]

a litany of silly beasts!!!!!!! for part of funguary week 4!

A bantam slugcat (same species as the Tiny) based on the dewdrop bonnet! They were adopted by a friend.

The Spiked, a scugial based on the false blusher. It was adopted by a friend. It is extremely dangerous perfectly friendly :)

Spike!!!!! (any pronouns) Based on the octopus stinkhorn! Spike finally has a reference hooray! Spike was created by Whispers of Light to be a companion, and the rot is sourced from a naturalized strain called red rot. Red rot is very stinky so Spike is too, although Spike doesn't smell nearly as bad as wild red rot lol

Floop (they/them), based on blue corinopsis! They're a flicker who INSISTED on their plush body being super duper fluffy. Also they are based on a little plush creature I have irl (I bought it online). The creature has a tilted face, so Floop has a habit of tilting their head too :]

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: A Word from the Worldly (Eldest Short)

(A/N: The basic thread of this one has been around for a while, but lately I've realized that the first time I 'traumatize' Eragon in MIC, beyond the death of Garrow and the like, is when he first sees Arya's injuries from Gil'ead. In the bits and pieces I have for later Escape series stuff, Eragon has intermittent trouble just looking at her without remembering the wounds and how physically broken she looked. He's shellshocked that another living creature could inflict such cruelty on another, and that others would stand by and not just let it happen, but participate. Other humans!

It still pops up on occasion, even well past the events of Eldest, well into the war and even a few times here and there post-war. It's not an image he can get out of his head. But he learns to look past the wounds, the physical, and more see Arya's spirit as time goes on.

Oh, and a lot of elves? They need an attitude adjustment considering they were nearly wiped out by Galbatorix, a stinky human, with help from the majority elf Forsworn. I'm jus' sayin', y'all are talkin' mad shit for people being in sword poke range once your wards go down.)

~~~

A WORD FROM THE WORLDLY

“A word of caution?” Arya tugged on her elbow behind her head, stretching out muscles stiff from spending days on end pacing around the rafts like a caged animal. “Other elves…” She paused, rethinking her phrasing with a wry grin. “Best way to put it is that I am a horrible representation of my race.”

From where he sat lighting a twig over Saphira’s handily offered nostril, Brom let out a loud bark of laughter. He lit his pipe before taking a long drag and chuckling again. “Understatement of the century.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you say.” Eragon knit his brows together. Brom had already alluded to Arya being…different. But surely….

The elf laughed. “Oh, it’s worse, but that’s beside the point. I wanted to warn you, though, that many elves seem to have the opinion that they are…eh, I wouldn’t quite say immortal, because we technically are, but…ah, indestructible.” She gestured in the air, as if pulling more adjectives from empty space as they floated by. “Infallible, untouchable, perfection personified, incapable of being wounded, beyond the rot and ruin of flesh, deathless in all forms, etcetera, etcetera.” 

‘You missed insufferable, if your description is correct.’ Saphira grunted. 

“That too. To the extreme in some cases.” The grin was a broad smile now, Arya quite happy that the dragon was catching on. “But Eragon, I want you to always remember something, especially if some elf starts harping on you for being human, or starts singing praises to just how ‘perfect’ they think elves are compared to your race.”

Eragon jumped slightly when the woman suddenly clapped her hands on his shoulders and steered him to look her dead in the eye. “We are but flesh, bone, nerve and brain, just like you. None of us are indestructible, none of us are quite as immortal as we think, and yes, we can be hurt, we can be killed, we can be dragged down by the limitations of our flesh and what our bodies can withstand. We are far from perfect, and far from truly immortal.” 

Her eyes took on a darker light, their flame flickering. “You and Saphira, of all people, know that better than most. I might be different in personality and culture than most of my people, but my body is just the same as theirs.” Eragon felt a rush of heat in his face when Arya slid her hands to his cheeks. “Do not forget that. If anyone says humans are inferior, remember that you did what I could not when you killed Durza.” She patted him on the cheek and beamed at him. “And if they don’t let up after Saphira has a go at them, send them my way.”

Unbidden, Eragon saw, for the briefest moment in his mind’s eye, Arya’s mutilated body as she lay unconscious across his lap, his hand shining with the first healing spell as he fought back nausea at the damage. Wondered at how she had survived, how she had fought in this state, shuddered at what else might be under the blood and bruises, the wounds long since healed before she had been sprung from her imprisonment. 

Elves could be broken. In body, yes…but not spirit. 

At least, not her.

Eragon swallowed. He could still feel the imprint of her hands on his face, warm and oddly rough from decades of life in the greater world. “I won’t forget.” 

“Good! Maybe you’ll put a few of them in their place.”

[s4lttted]

TETOCU + LOST IN VIVO

||Cover art was made by the amazing ;; @stinky-pizzahiney . As was the idea for the story. Originally meant to be a well! ,, but I changed it to a mix of my favourite game. Lost in vivo. Art by Lovleypink2005. Written by me.||

||This is just me experimenting my writing side of things ,, stories or small scenarios. Mostly for fun however.||

Chapter one ; Lost Companion.

A dull evening „ possibly past dinner time. But definitely last work hours , his corgi walking ahead of him , the lead wrapped around his hand once to have a firm grip on it , to ensure his pet didn't run away. Melvinborg looked around the street as he walked, it being a gloomy and dull evening.

As he walked „ the bright skies were slowly being overtook by miserable and grey clouds „ like a blanket of dust blocked out the light of the meaning brightness left and its chilly breeze of air. Stuck to a lamppost was a poster of a missing young woman. And the second , it on the floor in the grass , was a newspaper chronicling on about shocking , illegal experiments At a local research facility. leaked by someone named 'Doctor B.'

Interesting.

As he looked away , rain began to pour from the sky „ it not too heavy „ not too light. Eventually it becoming a storm , causing Melvinborg to loose his canine companion in a sudden swell of water.

It taking the terrified creature down a storm-drain. After a moment of panic, and persistence to find the dog, he entered the sewers system.

Underground.

The vulgar smells hit him instantly , causing him to grimace and scrunch his face in disgust „ holding one hand to his nose to block the smells.

The scurrying of rodents. Rats and mice. A few seconds passed and Melvinborg began whistling in hopes to hear from the canine.

Chapter Two ;; creepy Stranger.

Walking forwards , then making a sharp right turn around the next corner „ a flashlight he found to hand „ guiding and lighting the way in the disgusting sewer. After a second. then a third whistle he heard a Bark from the dog. Causing him to change direction and make a left. Trailing that way for a while , whistling. hearing barking.

Time passed and he was getting annoyed „ grumbling under his breath.

The pungent smell of the sewer didn't help either.

After a lot of whistling and receiving echoing barks from his dog , it was soon unheard. Making another turn and stumbling into a room. Stumbling across the residence of a homeless man 'a room? In the sewers? What the.' the half cyborg thought to himself, shaking it off with clear unease as he looked over. The room had a couch „ a red „ torn and old couch. An old TV with a large crack and break in the middle „ clearly it had no glass. Able to see inside of the TV.

It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

A man to his right „ rocking back and forth with a smile of craze „ probably from isolation , was sat on the couch. A red hoodie that had its hood up, staring directly at the broken TV. Completely focused. Melvinborg turned slowly to look at the item too , letting out an 'ugh..' of disgust , leaning closer and shining the flashlight on it. He was greeted with the sight of Bugs. And a lot. Eating rotten food from inside the TV. The crazed male seemed obsessed.

Completely. Engrossed in the disturbing sight of the bugs slowly eating the rotting flesh? Meat? It didn't matter. It was gross whatever it was. And definitely rancid.

He looked petrified. Crazy. Insane? Not normal.

Seeing a note „ set on the television set „ the mysterious yet crazed man wasn't paying attention to Melvinborg. And so he picked it up.

His eyes scanning over it , making sure to not miss anything.

The note read ;;

"There's not nuch on the TV nowadays, So I thought I'd make my own show, I started putting food and rancid meat in the useless old box and all sorts of little critters would come and play.

It was really relaxing to just sit on the sofa and watch them eat. But the small critters started attracting larger ones to the show.

Some horrid, putrid thing kept coming by to watch. So I would just pretend to be asleep till it passed. But I think it knows I'm awake.

I think it's watching me, not the show on the TV."

"..creepy.." he muttered under his breath.

He put it down instantly and looked around to ensure nobody was around. Luckily nobody was.

Walking into the conjoined room beside it was a sleeping bag in the middle of the room. The hygiene was so , very terrible. The smell was worse. Bags of trash in the corner „ and other things and items scattered around. His eye catching a rusty , yet item still of use. A sledgehammer. Picking it up and keeping ahold of it. Going to leave but dragged in by another note on the sleeping bag. Leaning down and picking it up , as he read it „ melvinborgs face was one of complete shock and horror.

"My eyes are useless.

All they do now is sting and show me stuff that can't be real,

If that rancid thing wants them, then I say let it have them."

[belosmobilityscooter]

One draft that I had stored up for awhile. this one took me forever and I really liked the opening but it was hard finding motivation to continue, ugh I still have brain rot for this awful stinky carcass of a man. This was going to be a x reader fic that had Belos being hit by a car and getting nursed back to health but I got carried away with the details… oops.. anyways here it is

A rolling streak of white lightning echoed through the dark night, thunder crackling hard above the branch-darkened forest floor. Wet, rotting mulch and bramble underbrush were crushed beneath long, crooked appendages as a hulking form barreled through the wilderness, a shrill shriek warbled out from a disfigured maw as another sound of angry storm boomed above the harsh pound of rain. God was angry with him. His heart pulsed wildly in between the bones of his disjointed ribs, pounding erratically in his ears.

God knew what he had done, and his fury was not unspoken. The world was so loud, so great and booming like it was about to split apart and swallow him whole. He had failed his righteous duty, his mission to protect humanity had been foiled, the sacrifices he had made, the toil he endured, for nothing. Torment was awaiting him.

The world no longer made sense, a shallow hollow reflection of what was, what he used to believe. Dark shadows swam at the edges of his vision, trees melding into trees and then into monsters in the corner of his gaze. An ensemble of a cruel and vicious mockery, red-eyed imitations giggling and cackling madly as they grasped and clawed and tore, trying to drag him under as he fled. Children and men alike, red eyes blazing like a kerosene fire, his failures, his monsters.They had come to take him. He was consumed by a fear he hadn’t known in so long, his very being degraded to nothing more than a beast of his own fabricating. He was no longer a man, or the Emperor, or a witch finder, or a prophet, he was an animal.

He was afraid.

He threw back his antlered head, shrieking. The beady, burning sapphires in the hollow sockets of his eyes turned upwards fearfully, following the churning, black clouds brimming above, stealing away the stars. His Lord would had forsaken him, he was left to the mercy of vengeful demons come to wretch him down to fire and brimstone.There was no reprieve to receive from the onslaught, the quaking branches hung above did nothing to take the brunt of the sheets of cold, icy water that showered down, hitting the gnarled verdant of his thinly-stretched, mud streaked skin. There would be nobody to lift him away from the enclosing vise of the hell-ish creatures agonizing the man. Another hot rod of lightning struck down, somewhere closer and he skidded.

A ghostly figure loomed right in front of him, wide, pale gaze illuminated against the black like a broken mirror left to rot in the blight of nature retaken. His pale, sickly face slick with blood of his own, shed by blood of his blood, his mouth hung open in a scream forever silenced. An unwilling muse of creation in a cycle of horror and grief. He let out a broken snarl, carried away by the viscous howling of the wind and ran straight through the spirit. Shards of decaying cedar exploded as he hurtled through a fallen tree, ripping roots from the sodden earth in the process.

Branches slipped behind and then, the wide expanding torrent of the storm was upon Philip

The forest around him disappeared as he burst into an open expanse, his concave nostrils flaring as something metallic and foul met his senses. The laughs and jeers fell away as he surged, going faster than he likely ever had in his life. Where or when he was didn’t matter, it was just him, fleeing for his life, afraid and unknowing of the world beyond the chase.

The wind and flood whipping at his battered form, trees, terrorizing mountains broken only by a dip in the path. He was going too quickly to slow his momentum as he lurched across a road, a deafening roar rising above the thunder. Twisting around sharply, he swerved, his confusion mingled with hot fear as a burning, white light eclipsed him.

A short gasp was all that managed to escape his maw before he was struck.

He was falling, numbness firing through his nerves before everything in his body erupted into sharp pain, like his muscles and bones were being torn asunder. Lights blurred with sound, falling together as incoherently as he was. His teeth gritted futilely, waves of stomach nauseating, churning pain crashing over his being more and more in an amalgamation of agony, skull slamming and spiraling. Plunging down and down until abruptly, it stopped.

He laid across the pavement, still.

The world was a blanket of quiet, blissfully calm and eternally deep. Everything was still, silent, more silent than anything had been in such a long time. His voice couldn’t reach him here, in this serene heaven of dark, nor could its accompanying demon chorus of accusations and shouts. It was pleasant.

Nothing else was important, or really mattered in that moment, not currently. And for once, he was okay with that.

And then, like a gunpowder cannon, sound exploded.

Everything came flooding in, an ear splitting ringing taking hold, sensations pouring back into the body that desperately fought to keep itself alive despite all. Philip lolled his head to the side, eyes twitching, following the shadowy outlines of his surroundings that faded in and out, black dots clouding his vision.

He felt like a creature brought down by an arrow, struck right through ribs before running a pace and then falling dead. An arrow. Were there any arrows? Were arrows supposed to hurt in such a terrible way? When was the last time he’d been hit by an arrow? Usually these questions wouldn’t have an answer, for Philip could hardly recall a time from before he went to the Demon Realm. So long ago as it was, that all melted away to venom in his heart.

However at this moment he recalled distinctly. Twelve winters, he had gone alone out to forest looking for game while his brother was out working his apprenticeship. He with remarkable accuracy remembered how excited he found himself on that day, considering he managed to provide himself two pheasants. ‘ We’ll eat as kings shall ‘ he had remarked, breath billowing in the frost-bitten air, hard-packed glimmering snow crunching underneath his ragged boots. Despite the fact his fingers were numb cold and he was shivering, trying to draw his threadbare coat over his shoulders, as if that would somehow retain the warmth that wasn’t there. And so, too preoccupied with his catch, he had not taken notice of the arrow that came whistling out of the underbrush. And cried out in pain when it struck him through his shoulder.

He remembered the pain, and in comparison that now seemed a lot better.

His mouth hung open, desperately trying to form words, a cry for his pain, but instead he let out a quiet, broken moan. He wheezed, the noise reverberating through his distorted, aching body as each ragged breath unsteadily filled his lungs.

Philip had been afraid he would die that day, and of course when one was so young they knew no better and couldn’t tell the difference between a mortal wound and a survivable one. The arrow, which had only gone through his shoulder, had healed after a month or so with the tender care of neighbor and the warmth and company of his brother. The only thing that resulted was a several year period of discomfort.

This however..

Philip was afraid.

He could feel his heat ebb from his body as the cold rain washed it away. He could handle pain- he could handle it, but being afraid?

He did not like being afraid.

Philip wanted to thrash and wrench and throw, he would not-

He would not go like this. He came too far.

But his body failed him, he was too weak and his body resisted against his mind’s commands, the pain was too much.

Philip didn’t want to die.

He couldn’t go-

…

What was that sound?

Then, he paused. Staring blankly ahead, as he strained against the ringing-vibrations pounding within his skull.

Distantly, like the noise of music from the next room over, faintly he heard singing.

Singing?

How strange.. Why would anyone be singing?

And suddenly Philip had to wonder if there actually was anyone singing at all, that didn’t seem so odd out of all the terribly horrible things that had happened to him yet. In fact, it wasn’t that strange at all. He was content with that answer as he felt himself slipping away, it didn’t matter as the other things didn’t quite matter anymore either. The man felt himself going numb.

Was he dying? The thought came to him slowly, like the dim light just barely seen in the distance against the cool orange sky of an autumn dawn. There was this vague feeling that he probably should have been fighting this harder, he needed to survive. As he had always done before, despite the gaping wounds, the weapons wrenched inside of him, the raging storms, the blood loss and sorrow, but he had done all of that for so long, and he was very tired. So as against his nature it was, like a sick animal, he simply stayed down and let the cold feeling envelope him.

His gaze shifted slightly, catching shadows at the edge of his vision, feeling them drawing closer to him.

A lone figure sauntering forth from the darkness enclosing him. “ Caleb? “

He mouthed the words but nothing came from his lips, just a silence, terrible and lonely.

The storm and song washed over the witchfinder, the world falling away as the calm blanket of death slowly fell upon him as he finally lost consciousness.

[mpsansy]

I sort of have new names for some Casper characters. I think I have established them, but I'd like to do it again. Just to be clear.

Stinkie is now Rot

Fatso is now Big Fella

And

HotStuff is Inferno.

I'd say they still go by their other names, but hey. Sometimes, having a new name be used is nice.

Anyway, I'd like to feed into my new obsession with some more concepts and junk.

-The desire for living comes and goes for Casper. Not that it's a bad thing when it leaves, yet nowadays? He sometimes gets too wrapped up in these thoughts that these feelings manifest in his corporeal form.

He can't even begin to realize it, but when he feels older. His form looks as such and vice versa. Sometimes, it can be a drag, so to not think about living is preferable.

-Ghosts do have a reflection, believe it or not. But it's so misshapen and blurred that it's almost impossible to take a good look at who they've become. Must be a bummer if a narcissist dies.

-As family relationships go, the one who does hang out with Casper the most would be Big Fella (Fatso). Second to them is Rot (Stinkie), and lastly, Stretch.

Stretch is really set on being slightly distant with Casper, but he himself doesn't know why. All he's aware of is that Casper makes him feel regretful. It's a package he doesn't want to unpack. Ever. So no one should try to attempt or there will be consequences.

-Dr. Harvey works more as a regular therapist in the daytime but does offer services to other individuals that are... quite frankly spooky creatures of the night. And maybe it's his calming nature that attracts them, but a lot of monsters do appreciate his help. So much so that he's been paid really well for giving many peace.

-Both Kat and Dr. Harvey aren’t so scared of the ghosts in their home now that some time has past. So to be spooked by them is proving to be a challenge. Most of which the ghostly trio were working on, but then stopped just cause spooking is meant to be fun. Not feel like work. They made it work and now it’s not even entertaining!

-I’d say it’s very rare, but Casper can be a real nasty fella as he can spit a real mean booger out. Having it stick for a good while. Again. He doesn’t do it, but he can do it. It’s something that his uncles would be so happy to see. They absolutely love to see Casper being a little brat and mischievous little thing.

Dang I’m really running out of ideas to write about :p

That’s about all I have for them

[histoires-en-bouteille]

She had been walking for days now - she imagined. She could no longer tell. Not that she cared anymore.

She could only care about the weight behind her, the one she had slowly been dragging for...for too long already. She could only try to ignore the strong smell of dried blood and rotting flesh. Open wounds were nasty creatures of death.

Death. Following her every step. But she couldn't let go of the body.

His body.

She couldn't let go. They had gone through the horrors of this world together, traveled through the darkest forests and loneliest deserts, the hollowest towns, through the most secret ruins. Until that evening, on the rampart.

Let's go home, he had said. Let's go home.

Home had never been a somewhere to her. Wherever they had been heading, it was no place of familiarity or warmth to her. Faded memories of another time, maybe. Nothing worth of her attention, let alone her affection.

But she had agreed anyway. If not for her, then for him.

Let's go home. What a fucking stupid idea. There was no home for them, the moment they had decided to leave was the moment they had drawn a red cross on that place and whatever could have remained there.

She stopped in her tracks, frozen in time. She exhaled deeply, her lips scealed by the sweat and blood, her nostrils dilated by the effort.

That smell, that... fucking smell.

She took a deep breath, her body barely shaken by a disgusted shiver, and resumed the course of her journey.

Inside her, the fire of a thousand suns, burning her muscles, swallowing her heart with insatiable hunger. Lit from the inside, consumed by an unstoppable force, she could only move forward.

_

She reached the village as the sun set. A deep shade of blood dripping through the intense blaze consuming the horizon, leaving behind nothing but the dark ashes of a dead world.

She took a minute to let the atmosphere pervade her.

There were no birds. No wind. Not a rustle, not a word. From that distance, the village seemed to be dying. Smoke floating above the walls, faint voices choking on hot dust. Animals, unable to scratch their way out of their cage.

She was wrong. This place, bathing in the guts of the apocalyspe, felt like home.

Slowly, she dragged the makeshift stretcher down the small hill separating them from the village. Every step was an additional effort to the previous one, eating through her like maggots through a rotting corpse.

Each step brought her closer to ghosts and monsters.

Home.

As she reached the wooden door, she thought of her itinerary. She would have to walk past houses, past living figures staring at her, through her, whispering tales of horrors, bringing back to life faint memories of lost children.

She would be their ghost. Their monster.

Good.

The door opened on two villagers, barely armed. They tried to talk to her, she ignored them. Who addresses the void never wish for an answer.

She walked through. Stares couldn't add weight to her burden. They were nothing but blurred figures fading in her peripheral vision. Nothing more. They could stare all they want, dig deep through the layers of blood and sweat and clothes, dig deep enough to try and she what she was made of.

Nothing but fire and death.

No one tried to stop her in her tracks. She imagined the corpse covered by a blood-soaked coat had something to do with it. The cemetary was still there. A few holes had been dug while she was away, as one could expect. After all, ghosts were birthed by the dead.

_

The night was well settled when she was done digging. The ground had been hard and cold. She had left the stretcher beneath him, but took back the coat. She couldn't bury him with that stinky, bloody coat.

She sat there for a moment, her feet suspended just a few inches above his body, her body half in and half out of the hole. Still, she felt wholly dead. She was wholly dead. It almost felt like an invitation to join, to let herself fall forward, to let the cold hard ground swallow her whole, to choke the fire raging inside of her guts.

She took off the necklace hidden under clothes. Somehow, it had survived every battle. Somehow, it had survived, all these years. She always imagined it was some sort of luck - twisted, dark luck. She knew there would come a day where the necklace would crack and break. Yet, here it was. Virtually intact between her hands.

She pushed herself down the hole, a foot on each side of the body. She had tried to clean the blood off of his face, but there were always a few stains that were harder to get rid of. She grabbed his left hand, pressed the jewel inside its palm. Rolled the chain around his fingers, two - three times.

Don't lose it, she had wished to say. But it felt stupid. He would probably open his eyes just to stare in disbelief, to mock her. Of course I won't lose it, he would say. I know what it means to you.

She looked at him. She was so close, she could see the pale freckles on his broken nose and under his tired eyes. She had forgotten about his freckles. Yet, when she closed her eyes, she could see all of his scars. Those, she would never forget.

She felt nothing. No sadness, no pain. She had run out of tears to shed a long time ago. He had known this. Yet, he had followed her to their death. Unconditional devotion.

She closed his hand around the necklace.

"Loosing what I don't deserve."

Her voice was hoarse, closer to a growl than to words. Words, stolen from monsters of her past. Monsters, haunting her even during funerals.

Always during funerals.

She let go of his hand, stood up. There was nothing more to say. She climbed out of the hole, grabbed the old shovel, covered the body until it disappeared under the ground, swallowed.

Villagers had gathered at the entrance of the cemetary, observing from a safe distance. They withdrew as she turned around to leave, opening a path in front of her. There were no questions. Whispers, at best, carried away by the cold breeze.

She stopped, a few feet before the wooden door. Bathed in the pitch-black night, barely anyone could see her. She was their haunting presence, the wraith birthed by one too many loss, twisted by one too many scar.

The door opened with a heavy creak. She almost resumed her walk, when someone called from the fading crowd.

"Who are you?"

Voices rose from the depth of the world, hushing and scolding. Who addresses the void never wish for an answer.

She stood straight, frozen in time. Any other day, the ashes within her would have set ablaze. Your downfall, she would have said. She would have drawn her sword. Made a bloodbath of the town. The least of a revenge over such provocation.

But tonight, there were no ashes to set ablaze. Deep, deep underground, they had been buried. Tonight, there would be no blood, no tears. Nothing but a shadow from the past, walking through a place someone once called home, haunting for a night only the thoughts of heirs who knew nothing about the horrors of her world. Tonight, she would be nothing more than what they had made of her.

"A ghost."

[brave-little-mouse]

>Head to town from here.

You decide against going through the shrine keeper's stuff and leave with Chives and Engelbert. You travel southwest for several hours. It's almost midnight when you see the town of Stoneford: A small but bustling mouse town built on the inside of the human well, on top of a small hill.

You manage to reach the gates get in just as the guards are about to close. A few minutes more and you would've had to either wait until noon or climb the wall.

The inside walls of the well are lined with houses and buildings, supported by a rickety network of wooden pillars, planks, scaffolds, stairs and walkways.

You're now standing on the district of Higher Stoneford. Living here is a luxury only the richest mice can afford, as it's the only part of the town that is reached by natural sunlight. Below it lies Middle Stoneford. It has no natural sunlight, but it's relatively dry and comfortable, and mostly free of the smell of the stagnant waters below. And deeper below lies Lower Stoneford, a dangerous district to traverse, as the wood from its structures is constantly rotting from the humidity of The Depths: The stinky, stagnant waters below the town. The only mice that come to the lowest platforms do so to fish the creatures that live there.

A continually lowered and raised bucket provides transport between stations in each district of the town, and the only means of access to the council manors, which are located on the roof of the well. However, at this late time the bucket is no longer being operated. You see a few mice going here and there. Some of them drunk, some apparently working late.

You gain 20 XP for the pips you recovered from the wreckage and brought to a safe mouse settlement.

What do you do? Propose actions in the replies and I'll use them to make a poll.

Yor character sheet:

[upper-moon-4askblog]

What do you four smell like? Do any one of you have different scents if so what is it?

Aizetsu puts his arm to his face and takes a big inhale through his nostrils.

— "Hmm.. Well, let's see.. When I breathe in, I smell the scent of.. death, decay, and blood.. It's a familiar smell to me now.. But it smells.. different for others.. it's not something they are used to.. So I think.. they might think I smell either strong or off-putting.."

He continues in thought for a moment before replying again, thinking about the question a bit more.

Sekido also takes a sniff from the air and tilts his head in thought.

— "I can also sense the scent of death and decay… It's a familiar yet sickening smell… Hm… What do I smell like to others..? Well, I probably smell like some foul and terrible creature of blood and flesh.. And I think my own smell is strong and sickening as well.. I'm a demon, after all."

He pauses to think more, seeming a bit curious about the question now.

Karaku tilts his head, seeming more cheerful and excited at the prospect of this question than the other two.

— "Ooo, interesting question!~ Hm.. What do I smell like..?"

He laughs and twirls around in the air before smiling down at the person who asked the question.

— "I am pleasure itself~ So, I would imagine that I would smell the best out of all of us~ I'd say I smell like warm vanilla, honey, and other sweet smells!~"

Urogi laughs and covers his face with his wings, trying to deny it and seeming embarrassed by the answer.

— "I mean… you're not wrong there.. I'm a demon after all, so you know I smell awful! Haha… I smell like death, rot, and decay! There's no way I can deny that! But hey, that's part of my charm! Right?"

He says with a cheeky smile, trying to deny that he's stinky while also admitting that he's stinky at the same time.

[nebulousmistress]

On Rot

Warning: I’ve had this planned since the beginning of the World State fanfictions. I’ve been mixing magic theory and surgical knowledge since the first. I also have no shame, am a pro-gore person, and I’ve taken enough Criminal Forensics classes for fun to know some Weird Shit. Thus, discussion of rot in blighted creatures under the cut right here >:P

According to Dragon Age lore, dead bodies don’t rot in certain areas of the Anderfells because there’s so much blight in the killing fields.

And yet... Grey Wardens can eat food.

No, really. Human digestion is really bad at its job. Absorption only happens because we have gut biota. And Grey Wardens are themselves blighted creatures per cleansing runes working against them in Dragon Age Inquisition.

This means one thing:

A Grey Warden’s Joining involves several days of antibiotic-induced GI symptoms as their gut biota gets largely wiped out and they recolonize with those bacteria that survived. After a few days/weeks the Grey Warden is fine and assumes they just ate something dumb. And their increased hunger helps to hide the cause of symptoms given they probably did eat something really dumb.

So let’s get realistic here. An ordinary person’s body might not rot in the blighted fields of the Anderfells. But a Grey Warden’s body would rot just fine due to their own blighted gut biota.

So consider a marsh. A Blackmarsh, to be specific.

A body left out in a marsh gets gross real quick. A Grey Warden’s body will get gross much less quick as external bacteria and fungi can’t get a foothold in the blighted flesh. Scavengers won’t touch it (source: DAI codex entries that say “watch for the crows”). But it will still bloat and rot from the inside like any other body as the blighted gut biota are no longer kept in check by the immune system. Blighted biota will break down the body from the inside out like any other body.

Justice is going to STINK. He is going to REEK. Luckily he can’t smell, or more likely, doesn’t yet understand how to tell good smells from bad and is just delighted to be here experiencing things like sunsets and memories of Aura and really strong smells, apparently.

Luckily, he knows a healer. The healer’s hands are the bloodiest of all. Kristoff’s body will need to be bled and gutted in order to preserve it. Then resins and oils to keep it from getting stiff. Perfumes and flowers and cleaning and preparing.

The Process of getting to that semi-preserved less stinky state is going to be overwhelming and incredibly, deeply intimate.

And ongoing. Amaranthine is on the Storm Coast, it’s not a dry place.

No wonder Justice needs to drop the corpse-possession and Entwine with a friend so quickly.

[raintailed]

hi i have some funny rot varieties :]

1. Red rot - a naturalized strain that is found in a few regions near Whispers of Light and Corals at Sea. Red rot is harmless (except for the spikes) and eats insects, which it catches by being extremely stinky. Usually red rot clumps are stuck in the ground but if bothered too much they’ll uproot themselves and try to run away.

2. Malware rot - a strain created by Shards of Orange Crystals for basically a murder attempt against Visions from Windows and Tempest of Rain. Malware rot is extremely virulent and fast-growing. In addition to having sharp hearing, it has very weak vision (can only discern light/dark) and has grabbies that are used to climb on things and to infect other lifeforms.

3. Cascading longlegs/cascading rot - a strain that is basically malware rot but edited by a supernatural moon-affiliated entity. It is only found in/around Visions from Windows. Instead of X’s the cores have crescents, which drip tears. Cascading longlegs are harmless but have a habit of picking up creatures that catch their attention. It is possible to steer a CLL by pulling on its tendrils, meaning it can serve as a rather awkward vehicle.

4. Comparison between normal, malware rot-infected neurons, and cascading rot neurons. Unlike DLLs, malware rot can infect neurons. The cascading rot neurons exist thanks to the same event that created the rest of the cascading rot.

[rhokisb]

Nelly Finds Love

So an IRL bestie of mine plays in my DnD campaign. She wanted to play a Dragonborn...in Dragonlance. Alright, bet Queen let's goooo.

So she's been playing her character for 7 sessions now and as per usual she's made him quite angsty. His name is Neltharion and he's got a bad boy with a dark past vibe like no other. He's currently running around with the heroes of Krynn, confusing literally everyone.

She likes making these angry characters and they generally stay quiet. Lately, her character (Neltharion) has made friends with the Assassin (Rodriggo) in the group and that's led to some humourous interactions which I adore, but I wanted a little more.

Enter a love interest, pre-written into the campaign. Her name is Laurana. She is an elf. She is SUPPOSED to be a love interest with a pre-existing campaign character. Those characters don't exist in my world so I could have:

A) Gotten rid of it

B) Kept the character minus the love interest bit

C) Have fun.

My motto is always have fun. So I wrote down my PCs names and rolled a dice.

Hehehehe. It landed on the Dragonborn. The angsty-ass Dragonborn who isn't a Draconian but still confuses and terrifies all who come across him. The Dragonborn whose main interaction with the party so far has been hiding a rotting fish in one of the member's packs (he also was the one who made BlipBlup his braided iron crown *sigh* my heart).

So they get to the city, have a lot of dialogue with the elves, and then BAM enter the gorgeous elven princess. Who immediately is taken with this strange creature gracing the halls of her father's nation. She's got diamonds braided into her hair. Her brown skin SPARKLES like it's been rubbed with gem dust (going for an Edward in the sunlight vibe here). Her eyes reflect shades of green, teal, and hints of amber. She is GORRRGEOUS.

And she is the first person to ever treat Neltharion with any sort of kindness. I even checked that, I asked his in-game friend (Aello), "How do you generally treat Neltharion? You've known him your whole life, is it a brotherly relationship? Are you friends? What's the deal between you two?" And Aello's player agreed that they would treat Neltharion kind of like a sibling (i.e. they're not "kind" to one another but would die for each other).

So I throw my poor bestie into this role-play scene where this elven princess is flirting with her 7-foot-tall Dragonborn and just being overtly caring and kind. Answering his questions, speaking quietly, lightly touching his arm, etc.

She could have refused it, kept going with her angst; but, she's BLUUUSHING, cannot handle her boy being romanced. Fully into it.

When the elven princess leaves, she looks right at the Rodriggo and says, "Nelly's in love."

She's never referred to her character as anything but his full name. Just the instant personality switch was amazing.

The princess later got captured and our Nelly boy (my heart forever) angrily roared in despair as he watched her disappear on the horizon on the back of a stinky Wyvern.

I can't wait to see how this plays out, I'm still reeling. It was a heavy RP session, only a couple minor combats, but it was so worth it.

[dragonpaint]

tagged by @godisnji and @lvoryking (i forgor to finish this when i got tagged the first time, thank u for tagging me <3)

favourite colour: green and yellow! love them so much that i have hard time making characters with different colors lmfao

last song: loose cannon by set it off

last movie: uhhhh i dont remember the last time i fully watched a movie from start to end, tried watching barbie and instantly gave up bc the mood wasn't right and had my brain rotted by good omens

other stuff i watched this year: mob psycho s1 and s2, trigun (both old and new, twice) and good omens both seasons (2 and 5 times, respectively :pensive:)

shows i dropped this year/didn't finish: ... im too embarrassed to admit how many shows i didn't finish, but to name a few, mob psycho 3rd season and jujutsu kaisen, liked both of them but my mood randomly dropped and couldn't bother continuing, i still want to watch them soon-ish, got a lot of things i wanna do hhhhhhhh,,

currently reading: the blade itself by joe abercrombie, librarian's suggestion bc i told them to give me any sort of fantasy book

currently listening to: set it off, pierce the veil and my chemical romance; brain has suddenly decided to fixate on Elsewhere album and i cant listen to almost anything else, i throw in a few ptv and mcr songs just to mix it up, i cant stop behaving like a rabid creature (positive) while listening to them, almost every day when going from work i take a detour just to listen to more music and imagine music videos with my blorbos

currently working on: fixing my totally dead pc, trying to get into more "professional" photography for work in hopes if i succeed i get some bonus, thinking whether i wanna learn music theory or how to make my own pants

current obsession: Elsewhere by set it off, good omens, manifesting mcr5, rotating stinky blorbo izzy in my head like a rotisserie chicken, the usual

uhhhhmmm @amatereysu @thevastnessof @cosmosredshift7 @buon-giornos @cyborgdragongirl mutuals whom i love seeing in my notes, no pressure if you don't wanna do it, anybody else is very welcome to do this, go ham!

[androgynousblackbox]

I would write a song about this if I knew how to write songs

I would like to write something about my dog Oscar. About how I avoid looking at his toys whenever I can because it breaks my heart. About how I still curl in bed as if he were to sleep close to me. About how much I regret moving him from right under my leg when he cuddled next to me because he was dirty and away from the blanket designated for him. About how I still sleep in a ball as if giving an space for him to come in. About how I tried to watch movies with dogs and happy endings for all his last night with me, and soon I passed to Winnie Pooh and Breaking Bad because I couldn't stay in silence while I pet him the entire time.

About how I don't know if I believe in an afterlife because an existence where you can't enjoy the food you like or the drinks you love or don't get to hug and your loved ones can't see you or hear you doesn't seem real to me. About how at the same time I don't want to accept that everything about him is rotting underground and there's nothing else, that all the love I had for him means now just me grieving over him and he doesn't know about that because he can't care anymore, and there's no place where he exists. About how unfair it is that love can't make you immortal. About how desperately I want someone to still be for him because, if he is out there, it doesn't seem fair that he doesn't have someone to tell him that he is loved, someone to play with and just accompany him because he never liked to be alone. About how he was just a dog and the phrase "just a dog" doesn't make any fucking sense to me actually because how can any creature just be anything? I am just a human. My life is important and his was too. About how I don't want to hear that it was mercy or there was nothing else I could do, that it was the best for him, that I did the most humane thing, because all I know is that I took him there for the last time and didn't give him the last belly rub because I didn't know the injection would act so fast. About how I am probably a selfish prick because I can't be more glad that he isn't suffering anything at all anymore, because all I have is the awareness that he is not coming back. About how how I cut pieces of his soft white hair to fill a small lilac heart and printed a piece of clay with his paw. About how I buried him with a piece of my hair, because it was only fair that he would take something of me like I took of him, and I buried him with my own hands until my legs hurt for days. About how I can't still talk about him without my voice cracking up and I wouldn't be able to sing this even if I could make it into a song, but I love music and I wish I could honor him with a piece of that inspired by him. About how I know someday I will forget the look on his face without looking at his pictures and I don't want that. About how I loved this stinky fucked up looking, overbite having, hips displaced haver, genetically predisposed to doom, little poodle that never did anything wrong in his entire 12 years of life and deserved the entire world, but somehow was happy with a piece of chicken and sleeping on his own bed. About how a stupid little part of me somehow wishes he could come back to me somehow and how I know that couldn't be. I already had my time to love him, you don't get that twice, and I understand that, but inside I am just the bratty kid that keeps repeating "but I want him now, not anyone else." About how his fur was so soft and I wish more people knew how much it hurts I can't pet him anymore. About how I just keep going and doing my job, about how my friends keep asking how I am doing and all I can say is I keep going because if I talk for longer I will just keep crying and I can't already see the fucking keyboard while typing this. About how I am not brave nor merciful, I just didn't want us to hurt anymore. About how much I miss him and I wish somehow he knew, that whatever little time he had here, I will never regret a single second of me knowing him.