#Rot in hell lizard

[finely-tuned-line]

RP:

Log 218

FTL: FTLR-3 has taken the form of the cyan lizard that was its host. It remains immobile, but the form it has taken is clearly that of a cyan lizard. One especially similar to the one from which it originated from. I've described my hypothesis as to why it would do such a thing in Log 216, but to summarise, it's for the sake of efficiency. Efficiency of movement, efficiency of existence. It's taking the best of all three sub-types of Rot and combining it.

FTL: I fear that this new form may grant FTLR-3 a much extended range of movement that, especially when combined with its apparent ability to learn, could result in it breaking out of the containment chamber. If all goes well, this will not be the case. I will carry on in my attempts at creating a potent corrosive substance, just in case LIFEGIVER's treatment does not arrive on time.

FTL: As for updates on the progress of my attempts to create such a substance, there aren't many. The progress has been lacking and it all is strikingly reminiscent of my attempts to create organisms without a foundation. I do believe that I am on edge of something, though. I cannot tell you what, only that it will aid me in my quest.

FTL: The time after FTLR-3 is eradicated is eagerly awaited. I cannot allow myself to get distracted from this process at this time, but the thoughts of experiments I could be doing now are alluring to me. For example, Eternal Anomaly (as our conversation has unfortunately not yet ceased) mentioned a slugcat-poleplant hybrid.

FTL: Creating a hybrid with a poleplant is indeed a curious idea. One that I wish I could afford the time to explore at this moment. Perhaps not with a slugcat, that seems to defeat the purpose. Slugcats are insanely adaptable creatures, they can withstand just about any modifications. Though a slugcat-poleplant hybrid would have its benefits, my interest lies in the reactivity of the poleplants leaves. What if a poleplant's genetics that pertain to them were implanted into say, a lizard? Forgive me for the amount of experiments that lizards have been the main subject of.

FTL: The 'leaves' could function as a warning system, though perhaps it wouldn't be that much of an effective one. Append them onto the tail though, and they could perhaps warn the lizard of any vibrations in the ground. The red colouring the lizard would be sure to inherit from the poleplants would also serve as a deterrent to predators, invoking the image of a typical red lizard. It could also potentially employ the poleplant's typical hunting method of ambush. Though it would lack the ability to blend in.

FTL: Perhaps if the lizard that would be modified were a white lizard... its camouflage abilities, if combined with the reactiveness of the poleplant. Truly could make a capable predator, armed with many ways to protect itself from any that may threaten it. Its red leaves would make it stand out, even when camouflaged, but everything needs a weakness, no?

FTL: I'll have to put this idea on hold. After this whole fiasco is over, this will be the project I pick up. Just another incentive to get this over with as quickly as possible. I tire of researching FTLR-3, it has too much urgency to it. But I shall carry on doing so, as though my interest grows weaker as my attention attempts to drift elsewhere, I remain curious about its nature.

[shivasdarknight]

NO SHADE TO THEM THEYRE FINE BUT LIKE

absolutely not??? LMAO

vanilla surkie is a skeletal jumpscare waiting to happen it isnt good chief

i mean fkn look at her, i paid good money to make her look this way

+ all the time to figure things out, edit it just right

no vanilla

nah.

[blackjackkent]

Down the parsed dialogue rabbit hole again, this time looking at Ethel's Vicious Mockery lines for all the characters, and goddamn, they are brutal.

ASTARION You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone. Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you? Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?

GALE I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle. Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?

KARLACH Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet. Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you? When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.

LAE'ZEL Your people will never take you back - illithid scum. Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith? A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.

MINSC How quaint! The hamster has a pet. Only evil here is what's inside you, ranger. Go rub your rat, soft-skull.

SHADOWHEART You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight. Pathetic. Why would Shar love you when no one else does? You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.

WYLL Do you think losing that eye made you a hero? Oh, look! It's daddy's regret. Fraud of the Frontiers!

DRAGONBORN Aww, where's your clan? Bet they'd exile you for that brainworm in a blink. Bet that honour of yours shatters easy as your scales. You foul-breathed little lizard!

DWARF No flabby dwarf's a threat to me. More beard than brains, the lot of you. Bet you'd trade your friends for a trinket or two, gold-eater!

DWARF (DUERGAR) Bow your head, slave. You remember how, don't you? Grey and useless as a stone comb. I'll squeeze that stone heart until it bleeds, dwarf. Need a new master, illithid lover?

ELF Fancy yourself immortal? We'll see how long that lasts. I'll show you what a true fey does, dearie. Elves are so pretty. Pretty worthless!

ELF (DROW - FEMALE) Filthy underscum! Just another of Lolth's pretty harlots. Slaver. Sadist. How dare you judge me?

ELF (DROW - MALE) Bare your throat, spider-bait. Kneel, boy. Just like the matriarchs taught you to. Bow to your betters, boy.

GNOME Disgusting burrow rat. Bet your clan's happy you're gone! Try laughing after I rip your throat out, gnome.

HALF-ELF I wonder which parent regrets you more, half-breed. How revolting. Another thin-blooded mongrel. Half-elf. Half-human. All useless.

HALF-ELF (DROW) Even the Underdark doesn't want you, half-breed. A half-drow? How grotesque. Surprised you show yourself in public, abomination.

HALF-ORC Come now, tusks-for-brains! Doesn't this make you angry? All that bloodlust. A little tap, and I bet you won't know friend from foe! Lumbering half-orc. Twice as ugly as your parents combined!

HALFLING Come closer, little softie. You'll be tender. A tiny, sweet morsel. Just for me.

HUMAN Another human rat infesting Faerûn. A human! So desperate to be special. Pity. That tadpole actually made you interesting.

TIEFLING I'll burn you alive and everyone will celebrate. You're everyone's punching bag and no one's favourite. I see the Hells spit out another tragic little tiefling.

[bonefall]

what are the main prey animals that Shadowclan eat in better bones? because in my rewrite, i can only find like 5 british marshland birds, the frogs like canon, and a common lizard, while the other clans have dozens of prey species. I don't think 7 prey species can feed 50 cats for the generations i need them to, yknow?

This is hard to find out because of the unfortunate reality that wetlands are an "unpopular" natural biome. It's hell out there. No one appreciates their local swamps and marshes </3

But I'M here, NUMBER 1 GOO FAN. Quickie on some of the most common species ShadowClan will be hunting, in an English wetland. 5 for your convenience.

Small intro/recap to BB!ShadowClan's food culture; For a mixture of several reasons, including early collaboration and trade with WindClan, living in an area heavily affected by seasonal changes, and cultural pride in being able to eat anything, ShadowClan has one of the most varied diets of any Clan. Mammals, fish, birds, if they can get their mouth on it, they will eat it.

(Yes. This means predators as well. Other Clans will avoid eating predators for culture and taste reasons. ShadowClan finds it offensive to just let good meat rot.)

The most important reason in that list must be stressed; winter is CRUEL to ShadowClan. The RiverClan river is a moving source of water which rarely completely ices over, most animals in ThunderClan don't hibernate, WindClan's rabbits are active in the snow. For most Clans, they will not feel the "bite" of winter until towards the end, when the prey populations crash. ShadowClan feels it immediately.

That's a problem because Prey Item Number 1 Will Surprise you. The most popular prey in ShadowClan is...

1: Ducks.

And with the most common species, mallards, at about 2 pounds on average (with males being slightly larger) you're looking at 5,442 calories each. Enough to feed 15 warriors for a day.

(Note: This estimate is low; actual value would probably be higher. This measurement is taken from this chart which measured whole carcasses and caloric value rounded from 5.9 to 6, and this particular duck was "dressed"-- so its organs, the most valuable part of the animal, were already removed.)

Ducks are SO valuable as prey it's hard to oversell them. They're huge, they're highly nutritious (thiamin, vitamin a, vitamin b, iron), and they're PACKED with fats. They also lay eggs, TONS of them, which ShadowClan will happily snatch from inattentive hens.

The problem with ducks is, they don't stick around in the winter. Mallards might stay if the weather is mild, but if the water starts freezing, they're a-leaving.

That means that right when ShadowClan needs them the most, they'll vanish. If the marsh freezes, which is VERY likely because it's stillwater, they can't access ANYTHING under the ice. So Prey Animal Number 2 ALSO becomes an issue;

2: Carp

Their size and weight varies immensely, but the european carp is a species that AVERAGES 6 - 15 pounds. Using our rough estimation numbers and only a 6 pound fish, that's 10,884 calories. That's a whole Clan fed, if it's rationed perfectly.

Many carp are larger and heavier than cats. Here is a picture of a human fisher with two 5-pound bass so you can get a feel for just how big fish are

The biggest problem with carp, aside from the fact that icy winter conditions will block access to catching them, is that their gallbladders are poisonous. Carp bile is the only dangerous type of bile Clan cats encounter (that I know about so far). When being eaten, Clan cats must take care to gut them gently and remove the organ without spilling toxic green slime everywhere.

(ShadowClan actually collects and uses this bile for other purposes. Dried and diluted, it can be used as a medicine for treating parasites, and wet and mixed into a poultice it can be used to dress wounds. If gargled, it can also dissolve and loosen stuck bones in the throat, VERY important for unknowing kittens who tried to eat cooked bird bones.)

These two are the most common animals in the highly varied ShadowClan diet. Hunt in the shallow marsh, and you're bound to bump into either a duck or a carp at some point.

But when winter rolls in, they start to rely on mammalian prey.

3: Rats

While some rats can breach 2 pounds (SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY NEW YORKERS) most of them only clock in at about half a pound-- 250 grams. That's 1,250 calories. About 3 cats fed.

(NOTE: These estimations of how MANY cats they feed assumes that these bites are being distributed evenly, such as if the animal was being put into a soup or meticulously portioned. It's more likely that a single rat is eaten alone or only shared between two warriors who then bulk up. The sensation of "fullness" is determined by weight rather than caloric value.)

Rats are highly adaptable omnivores, but most of their diet is actually plants! Humans associate them with garbage and filth, and yes, the rats from carrionplace would certainly taste awful. But most of the rats ShadowClan catches would be living in natural conditions, eating nuts, fruits, and smaller animals. So it doesn't make sense that canon sees ALL rats as dirty-- they should actually be a HUGE part of a warrior's diet!

Especially in ShadowClan, where the invasive brown rat has all but eliminated the native black rat population. Brown rats are huge, thick-tailed, excellent swimmers who stick around in the winter and find themselves right at home in a marsh or swamp.

In fact, ShadowClan thinks hunting them is a two-way blessing. A cat stays fed through the winter, and more resources are freed up for the rarer, but more delicious water vole. ThunderClan isn't the only Clan that understands population management.

And speaking of...

4: Squirrels

Significantly smaller than carp and ducks, gray squirrels are usually about 500 grams. I've heard it said that they triple in mass over the winter, but since I'm not sure if that means they triple in weight, I'll simply rule that a wintertime gray squirrel is 1000 grams. Which means about 5,000 calories, enough to feed 14 cats.

...but also. don't underestimate how big a squirrel is. You are a 200-pound bipedal ape, these are 10 pound cats. They are also eating all the organs you, a human, would usually toss.

The general term, wetland, refers to all land that is... take a guess... wet. The difference between a marsh and a swamp is that a swamp is wooded land, which means squirrels can live there!

ShadowClan often finds itself in conflict with ThunderClan over squirrels. The native, endangered red squirrel is a cultural icon to ThunderClan and they believe it's important to protect it at all costs by killing gray squirrels whenever possible. ShadowClan, meanwhile, agrees red squirrels are beautiful, but isn't willing to be aggressive with gray squirrel populations to protect them.

5: Cheating

In true ShadowClan fashion I do what I want and use number 5 to babble about several animals they turn into grub

And SPEAKING of grubs, they love to forage for larval treats. They regularly make snacks out of chafer grubs, stag beetle larvae, cutworms, and if they can manage it, baby honeybees. Chafer grubs are their absolute favorite, which is another reason why WindClan is so passionate about maintaining their moorland; when it turns into grassland, ShadowClan is energized to fight for grub foraging space.

The "problem" with the meat of predators is that it's said to be tough and taste strong and unpalatable. ShadowClan doesn't entirely mind it, but if they end up with a predator in spring and summer, they like to use the seasonal stream (called a syke) that cuts across ThunderClan to soak the meat in running water for a few days.

Not to mention that they really will just grab at any animal, in addition to those lizards and frogs they're notorious for. Hedgehogs, crayfish, waterbirds, snails. There's all sorts of spices they'll use to try to season a strange meat, between mushrooms, pellitory, juniper, rosemary, so on.

It's harder to find something they WON'T eat.

[cossmoluck]

FINALLY finished this

turns out soon means one week+ in my little lizard brain, that's cool

anyways!!! meg

megalo don content,,, food

also, as a treat for making myself take so much to finish this, some of my AU lore rambling thing under the cut (warning, pretty long)

in my design, most of his exterior Nitro armor is removable, being an extension of the augument inside his body, which pumps Nitro both through his lungs and bloodstream, crossing from front to back through his torso. His tubes would be attached to certain openings around his body, which could also have 'lids' put on for safe closing. Every area where the Nitro pumps directly into his body would have 'Nitro burn'- a less proeminent glow than the one in his fueled up form. I, as many others also do, like to think that his mask actually comes off (I haven't drawn him unmaksed yet, but I'll get to that too eventually). One headcanon I have is that when you take his medallion in game, what you take is actually his mask and use it.

For his body I went for a slightly leaner strongman build, as he doesn't seem way too bulky in his non-fueled form, but he's still considerably bigger than most others. I tried to give him a 'scarred shark' look, and gave him burn scars on one arm from a misfiring Nitro Fist hit accident

also his hair look so so fluffy in game and for WHAT

(note, this is all to be taken as an AU. i am by no means well versed enough in Fortnite lore to make something close to canon or actual on point headcanons lol,,, tl;dr at the bottom!!)

i feel like the whole theory with Meg and big chuggus being somehow related is true, but not necessarily in the way others present it usually i don't think they're snapshots of each other in any way, i just think that they've been basically created 'for the same purpose', maybe in the different 'realities?' I'm not 100% sure how the zero point reset worked considering Midas was technically the same and all

so let's say Chaos had created the Slurp legends and Slurp creatures back during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict i like to think that Meg might have been created sometime during then too- a more refined variant of the technology used on big chuggus, enough for him not to end up as brain dead as big chuggus himself (sorry big chuggus)

Megalo Don could have been a fleet leader for the naval forces, as he has an overall very reoccurring military theme with his insignia and stuff. Maybe he was hired by Chaos to aid him and willingly allowing Chaos to modify him into the 'perfect leader', boosted by slurp into near perfection I believe his Oasis style would be what his 'original' look was, with Slurp coursing through his pumps instead of Nitro

so how did he turn into the Meg we know? during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict, his crew got destroyed, probably, and they somehow ended up punished to the Pandora's Box, but not dead like Midas, just punished there I like to think that there is not only one Pandora's Box, technically, and that they're basically some sort of even higher security 'prison' for things deemed disasters under certain circumstances, putting mortal beings into their own personal hell. The ones imprisoned in the Pandora's Box arent necessarily 'dead', like shade Midas in the Underworld, but they're not alive in the full sense either. This particular Nitro filled Pandora's Box sprouted there, leaving behind veins of pure Nitro in the depths of the earth through which the Box had erupted.

in the Pandora's Box, stuck in an infinite purgatory loop of fighting and dying, the slurp that fueled his crew quite literally rotted into Nitro, and Megalo Don himself basically 'rusted' from the rot. The Nitro, essence of death, in a way, compared to Slurp, slowly and surely altered Meg's brain, turning him from a calculated leader into a terrifying tyrant, with nihilistic views regarding his crew and conquest, as he saw them all die over and over again… Another case of 'rotten' slurp beings being Sludge, maybe, as he could perhaps be read as a Slurp creature gone 'bad' (slurp to nitro)

Meg's mind got clouded with the only thing he could comprehend anymore- Nitro coursing through his veins, through his ship, through anything in the living hell he experienced in the Pandora's Box. (Ultrakill flesh prison sounding aah) Obtained by conquest or murder, with destruction being the only method he could even comprehend using to get it, his very life seeming to depend on Nitro at that point, and being released into the world again brought him bo purpose than to seize back all of his Nitro and keep fighting more and more

after he and his crew escaped from the Pandora's Box, Meg had intercepted a boat droning the Island from SHADOW, which had went to scout out Helios after Midas' escape from The Underworld, unaware of the Pandora's Box opening right then, and getting caught in the sandstorm. Meg had just the luck to capture Chaos (or a snapshot), the very man who had taken away his humanity and turned him into a (now) Nitro-fueled beast. From them he also took the island plans, which helped his crew settle in as fast as they did, the Redline Rig digging for Nitro the very moment they got there and the Nitrodrome building itself over the abandoned Fencing Fields, repurposing the fizz machinery there into the dome's car destruction traps

i also like to think that Meg has a father/daughters bond with Scarr and the Machinist, with the Machinist maybe being one of the original scientists on Chaos' team, whom had helped him stabilize his new equipment at the time, and Scarr being a dedicated member of his fleet since before getting banished into the Pandora's Box. Initially, both Scarr and the Machinist would have admired him for his courageous leadership and respected him as a leader, but through their decline in the Pandora's Box, their found family bond only strengthened, with the two of them being probably his only subordinates he actually cares about

i also like to imagine that he had made most of the transmissions particularly silly in hopes of having them tune in on either patrol or at the Nitrodrome and make them laugh with the over the top commentary

tl;dr: i headcanon megalo don as an ex-slurp legend made by Chaos who had rotted to nitro in the Pandora's Box. His Oasis style is what he looked like pre-Box. Also the Mechanist and Ringmaster Scarr are his found family daughters

[r0-boat]

Whb crack headcannons/things I can't explain

I can't explain this one. Just hear me out

warrior cats fans

Satan,

Naberius,

Leviathan(has the most cracked up Mary Sue character ever)

Zagen

My Little pony fans

Leviathan

Sitri (unironically ships Mordetwi)

Paimon(avid Fluttershy fan)

Belial (it's his comfort show)

Minecraft

Lucifer (got kicked out of the Christian Smp and may or may not is trying to get a Minecraft server with all the kings started)

Beelzebub (more of a Roblox person but Minecraft is all right)

Bimet is terrible at Monopoly. He is also a sore loser. But Leviathan is the king of sore losers. Do not play any game with him especially not smash. Satan has gone through many controllers many monitors and many walls. Mammon and Beel are instigators do not let them play with these two. Lucifer is just trying to play animal crossing in peace.

Mc: "smash; next question"

*in a movie theater*

Minhyeok whisper yelling: Godzilla?! That is a 50-ft lizard?! I can't take you anywhere.

The reason why they never watch movies together anymore

Demons having sex with humans is a very popular, fetish/kink in hell especially after Solomon. Demons having human kinks have rotted my brain.

The fact that dragons existed in hell is making me rattle at my cage.

Naberius is Team Jacob.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I don't know if this was asked before, but could kaijus realistically exist in the Twilight world? Or would Aro have considered them too much of a threat and wiped them out alongside other threats to humanity?

Man, I remember seeing this, but for the life of me I can't find it on the blog either so I may have just let it rot in the inbox. Oh well, we can do this now.

Can Kaiju Realistically Exist

Yes. Absolutely

The thing about the whole backdrop of Kaijus (I'm assuming from Pacific Rim) is that they're extradimensional creatures designed for warfare. They're not the true enemy but also they're not from here. The aliens showed up during the Triassic Age, looked around, went "ah shit, we can't actually survive here" and then waited for millions of years until we'd polluted the planet and made it habitable for them.

Namely, they showed up before human history, and the kaijus only appeared extremely recently in history (2013) with no way of the Volturi having been able to predict their appearance or close the interdimensional portal deep at the bottom of the ocean where they purposefully put it to avoid discovery/closure.

Aro would certainly have considered them a massive threat, especially since we find out their M.O. is actually to wipe out the dominant sapient creatures (humans) in order to colonize the planet and that these creatures are actually just designed weapons. The entire point of Kaijus is to exterminate mankind. That's a big no for the Volturi.

Would Pacific Rim Happen?

I imagine Aro's funneling all the money he can into the R&D efforts to stop these fucking things and would very well be trying to figure out where they're coming from, what are they, and how the hell do we get rid of them?

The Volturi may or may not find out about the rift as humanity does and they may be able to survive getting much closer to it without equipment than humans can.

Pacific Rim ends the Kaiju attacks initially when they nuke the portal, so the Volturi may be able to send someone to the other side before this point and kill everyone over there but given that the environment is likely markedly different (as the whole point is earth had to be polluted to a certain to degree to be remotely livable) I don't know if even vampires could do well over there.

But I imagine there's a lot of looking for "close the fucking portal" gifted vampire on Aro's end or "blow up giant lizards" gifted vampires. Both of which, sadly, Aro does not have in his arsenal (I doubt Jane and Alec would be effective as Kaiju brains != Human/Vampire brains at all)

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Crocodile gets this from an annoyance (Spandam)

You know what? Here, have a drabble. First fic using Lizard's official name.

No one in Impel Down got visitors, that's a given. Especially not someone left to rot in level 6, a level that even other prisoners didn't know existed. That's why Crocodile laughed when he was informed he had a visitor, having assumed it was a joke. The guard kept a straight face and said that the visitor would be there shortly, then left.

That certainly intrigued Crocodile and the other prisoners that had overheard the exchange. It didn't take long for the news that there was going to be a visitor to spread through out the entire block. Speculations about who it could be bounced between the cells, and the prisoners closest to him asked if he knew who it was. Crocodile shrugged off their questions. He genuinely had no clue. All he could do was wait for his visitor to arrive.

A door could be heard unlocking and opening down the hall, and Crocodile knew that that must be whoever has come down here to see him. His cell was around a corner, so he couldn't see who it was yet, but he could hear.

He could hear an onslaught of taunts and mockery coming from the other prisoners. Whoever this was appeared to be well known amongst these people, and most certainly not liked.

When the mystery visitor finally turned the corner, Crocodile had more questions than answers. Some battered, swollen man in a full body brace was being pushed towards him in a wheelchair. That definitely wasn't what he had been expecting to see.

The prisoner in the cell across from him started laughing hysterically. "Holy hell, Spandam?! And here I thought your mug couldn't get any uglier!" More prisoners joined in on the laughter, visibly elated to see this Spandam character in his sorry state. Crocodile had no idea who this man was, though he can recall hearing the name thrown around a few times.

Spandam is brought to a halt in front of Crocodile's cell. The ex-warlord smirked down at the weak looking man before him. He walked up to the bars and slid his hand and hook through them, grinning when he saw Spandam deliberately wheel himself back a bit when he saw the gleaming hook.

"Leave." The order was barked at the guards accompanying Spandam.

They looked at him incredulously, "Sir, this is Level 6, we can't just-"

"I said leave! I want to speak to him alone!" For such a thoroughly beaten man, he had a surprising amount of bark to him.

The guards hesitated, but eventually sighed and left, looking downright relieved to get away from him. Crocodile stared down at Spandam, curious as to what business he had with him.

"You!" The man seethed.

Crocodile chuckled, "What about me?"

"Your daughter!" That certainly caught his attention. "That little monster attacked me!"

For a moment, everything was silent. Crocodile took in Spandam's appearance, then laughed. Hard. Harder than he has in a long time. When he finally calmed down, he responded to the insane claim, "Sure she did. And I'm here because the Marines defeated me." He chuckled again, finding the bold-faced lie amusing.

Spandam's face turned red in rage, "She did!" He reached into his mouth and ripped out a bridge, "That crazy bitch kicked out my teeth and bit my fingers off!" The hand clutching the bridge only had three fingers, the pinky and ring finger absent.

Crocodile sneered at him, not caring for hearing this pathetic whelp call his daughter such a thing. "Nubia catches insects and gives them to her body guards to release outside because she can't stand to kill them, and you want me to believe she did that? If you're going to lie, at least make it believable."

The wheelchair inched closer to the cell as Spandam tried to act tough and yell. "I am a World Government official! I'm the chief of CP9! You can't even begin to comprehend the power I have!"

"And yet you couldn't fend off a little girl!" A prisoner called out from down the block, making many of the others laugh.

Spandam was practically foaming at the mouth. He turned his head as much as he could with his brace and casts and scowled at the offending prisoner. Then he looked back at Crocodile with a maniacal grin. He wheeled himself even closer to the cell, "You know why I came down here? I wanted to tell you in person that when I get my hands on that girl again, I'm going to make the rest of her life a living hell! She'll be begging for me to kill her whe-"

His words are cut off when Crocodile lunges forward. His hook sank into Spandam's shoulder and yanked him closer, and his hand locked around his throat to prevent him from screaming and alerting the guards. Murmurs of excitement echoed down the block as every prison clamber to watch the entertaining spectacle.

Crocodile glowered at the idiot before him, squeezing his neck harder and relishing in the panicked thrashing and gurgling sounds coming out of him. He spoke slowly but firmly, making sure that this fool would hear every word.

"If you so much as look at her, I'll rip your eyes out with my hook. If you breathe the same air as her, I'll eviscerate you, and if you ever touch her," Crocodile squeezed his neck tighter and dug the hook in deeper, "I will kill you."

With that, Crocodile released Spandam, making sure to do as much damage as possible when he tore his hook out. The scream that he let out once he could breathe again was ear-piercing and caught the attention of the guards. Despite the blood still dripping from his hook, they said nothing to Crocodile and just focused on removing the shrieking man from the block.

Everyone was cheering Crocodile on, happy to see him tear into the CP9 Chief. Crocodile didn't register any of their words as he stared at his blood soaked hook. His daughter was specifically being targeted by some very powerful people.

He needed to get out of here, and fast. And when he did, Spandam was going to be his first victim.

[dovnfeathers]

𓉸ྀི　DEAR GOTH ,, IT ‘ S BEEN SIX HUNDRED AND SIXTY SIX DAYS SINCE MY LAST CONFESSION . . .

Self indulgent Zheani themed NPT.

　✙ °・　　Names　Zheani. Lulu. Maenad. Bhel. Bhelial. Satan. Lucy. Lucyfer. Baphomet. Tarantalulah. Banshee. Cain. Eve. Ewena. Maniae. Lys. Lies. Erenyes. Limbo. Slush. Henness. Vennata. Odiumelle. Changeling. Kamisama. Deitysse. Pathetelle. Medusa. Asphyxia.

　✙ °・　　Prns　dae daem. vae vaer. vei vein. blea bleat. che hir. scre scream. mu moon. fe femme. hei heir. wan wasp. ra razor. ka kami. ve veal. vamp vamps. ly lyre. lie liar. bah bad. sney snare. san sanguine. gush gushes. vi viscera. he hen. fae faer. cry crime. sy syn. mea meaning. rot rots.

　✙ °・　　Titles　Prn Who Wants To Be Gone && Happy. The Perfect Wife. The Pocket Knife. The Biter Of Boots. The Lizard Queen. Prn With A Crocodilian Smile. The Magical Demon. The Cold Blooded. The Doombringer. Prns Divine Feminine. The Blasphemess. The Perfect Rot. The Blessed && Ageless. The Infested && Contagious. Pestilence. Prns Spoils Of War. Prns Fearlessness. The Liberated. Prn Wrecked By Rock’N’Roll. Hell’s Angel. Demon Snare. The Chaos Beneath Your Skin. The Suffocating.

[athina-blaine]

Bloodweave Fic Recs (12/8/2023)

I've been devouring fic lately and I figured I may as well do something productive with it.

Format from @inevitably-ineffable-husbands fic rec lists, check out some of their Good Omens fic recs if you're a fan ♥️

||

Four Eyes by trashmaven (G, 1.2k w || Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Fluff) Gale has a secret.

Of Jackpots and Sticky Fingers by Asidian (G, 2k+ w || Humor, Banter, Gambling) "The nerve," huffs Gale. "Imagine setting a jackpot and then punishing anyone who won it fair and square!" Astarion's eyes flicker from the stalking lizard to Gale, and then back again. It's entirely too innocent of a look.

Hoarding Tendencies by Asidian (G, 4k+ w || Hoarding, Trust Issues Past Deprivation, Past Abuse, Misunderstandings, Starvation, Gift Giving) "My word," says Gale, caught between taken aback and genuinely impressed. "Where does this all fit in your pack?"

Letters From Gale by Modmother (G, 5k+ w WIP || Epistolary) A series of letters from Gale Dekarios to Astarion spanning the year after the defeat of the absolute.

Out of Breath, Out of Time by SadinaSaphrite (T, 1k+ w || Asphyxiation, Strangulation, Hurt/Comfort) Gale is caught in a meazel's garrote and needs some rescuing.

Might Just Make It by lavvyan (T, 2k+ w || Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider) The group (sans Tav) meet Astarion by the beach. They don't meet Gale. If you ask Astarion, that just means they have to look harder.

in your arms I lie till dawn by shroomonabroom (T, 3k+ w || Hurt/ Comfort, Fluff, Sleep Deprivation) Gale hasn’t slept in several days; Astarion makes things better via food and almost cuddles.

A Practical Guide To Camping by Lunarwench (T 4k+ w || Pre-Relationship, Friendship) How the hell do these idiots have so much stuff when they were all abducted by a flying squid; A Character Study

Come To Mind by ZiGraves (T, 7k+ w || Memory Loss) Something has happened to Gale. Who was Gale, anyway? Well, Gale was himself, obviously, but what did that entail?

In the Dark by LeaXIII (T, 7k+ w || Whump, Light Angst, Tight Spaces, Blood and Injury, Impalement, Blood Drinking, Sexual Tension) Gale and Astarion are caught in a cave-in and no one has a good time. Takes place somewhere in Act 1.

Weakness Coming On by bloodweaving (shipwreckblue) (M, 5k+ w || Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Autistic Gale, Banter, Getting Together) Astarion’s expression settled into an alarming rictus of forced nonchalance. “Oh, please, darling, did you think I was serious?"

The things lost along the way (The things gained at the end) by ThatKorka (M, 14k+ w || Body Horror, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, UST) I can smell what’s under those bandages, Wizard, You’re all rot and ruin!

Deliverance by porcelain (E, 2k+ w WIP || Incubus Astarion, Angst/Hurt, Religious Guilt, Minor Character Death, Alternate Universe, Trauma/PTSD, Priest Gale) Third row, on the right, between a now awake grandfather and a nodding teary-eyed mother and bored children and still untouched scriptures. The red of the man’s irises narrow, and he flashes a smile at him, wicked in a flash of dagger-like teeth. He doesn’t look away, even when Gale does.

Rest, Indulge by ZiGraves (E, 6k+ w || Consensual Somnophilia, Blood Drinking) The slow, drowsy way that Gale’s eyelids flutter before they open fully is its own particular pleasure, and he leans into Astarion’s hand while still half-dozing enough to luxuriate without thinking. Consciousness comes back in a slow rolling wave, free of the stresses of their old camp life that might necessitate instant wakefulness. Astarion watches each moment as it builds, crests, breaks, until his wizard is awake and meeting his eyes with warm curiosity.

Friday Nights by SadinaSaphrite (E, 23k+ w || Alternate Universe, College/University, Modern with Magic, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Blood and Injury, Violence, Fluff, Medium Burn) Professor Gale Dakarios loses his research, his magic, and his lover Mystra all at once and only has himself to blame. When he goes to drown his sorrows, he meets a pale stranger with mysteries of his own.

The stars began to burn by peregrinefeathers (E, 33k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychic Bond, Emotional Manipulation, Blood Drinking) After two centuries of torment, Astarion has given up hope of escaping Cazador's clutches, until a chance encounter with a stolen book introduces him to the disembodied voice of a wizard named Gale of Waterdeep. With the fate of Baldur's Gate in the balance, they must confront their demons and win their freedom - together.

||

Let me know if you'd like a specific rec or want to share some recs of your own!

[stimmingandstruggling]

hell followed with us is just like. it’s about queerness and transness and it’s about monstrousness and it’s about those things in connection. it’s about reclamation. it’s about anger. it’s about acceptance of yourself and rejection of what they made you and it’s also about acceptance of what they made you that is now a part of yourself that you cannot erase. it’s about pain and fear and exhaustion. it’s about bead lizards. it’s about solidarity. its about silence and sitting next to each other saying nothing but thinking everything and feeling a little bit better. it’s about impurity and rot and feeling wrong and gross and unholy and finally finally finally reclaiming that and that wrongness feeling right. it’s about righteous anger. it’s about a boy whose insides boil in his throat and whose thoughts fight with each other who is just trying to survive and be good and make them suffer. and it’s about a boy who makes bead lizards and keeps it together and silently rocks and hits and stims alone and just wants to protect and has never been protected. and it’s about a person who laughs and grieves and cries and just wants to help xyr friends, and it’s about a girl trying to figure out what she believes and if she can believe what the people who hurt her so much believe, and it’s about a group of people who fight and hurt each other and cry together and are just trying to live.

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise l: Nellie

Summary: A dark stranger blows into town, bringing Hell with him. Little did he know, Hell was already here, in the form of you. The air here is stale and the residents stagnant. This town was as wild as the west was able, and you are the most wild thing about it. 

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, wet dream, smut included, feminine rage embodied and I gave her a gun

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading!

Find the series masterlist here!

When the dust blew in from the East, Hell came with it. 

And Hell hath no fury like a woman’s reproach. 

1890. From the ashes of the Civil War rose a phoenix of economic expansion and spurs the great migration west. Farmers, ranchers, prospectors, killers and thieves seek their fortunes. Cattle drovers turned cow towns into armed camps with murder-rates higher than those of modern-day New York or Los Angeles. Silver is discovered in Arizona, and the prospectors dragged their young wives and their Parisian fashions with them. Siphoned together out of greed, hundreds of Texas outlaws banded together to forge a new way forward, resulting in the birth of early organized crime. 

Out of this chaos came the great legendary lawmen, and none as mean as you. 

The air was stale this time of year, heavy enough to flatten a lizard, when the turn of the season brought the green back to the ironwoods and the snakes back from their hides. When it brought the heat back with a haughty laughter and a heart full of vengeance. The sun cast down a glare that warped the mirage of the desert backdrop of Cochise County, turning from a comforting radiation to a wasp sting when the night turned. The cereus blossom fragrant with rot that filled the stagnant night air and its timely beauty– and ultimate untimely death. 

He reaped a certain morosity with him, spurs scraping across the floor like a toll, steps sure as snow in the northern country– as they dragged the dust from his heels eastward. His skin was of alabaster, and his clothes of obsidian. He was not from here, and it drew a shudder from the mesquite doors upon their sun-dried hinges. The dirty faces of prospectors, drunks, and cattle drovers turning to peer at him under sweat-laden brows. 

The Whispering Sands was not the ritzy bar, no, that was the bar located in the lobby of the Grand Hotel up the holler. No, Your dealer was as straight as a Christmastime wreath, your doors hung as crooked as your dealer, and if you didn’t carry when you walked through, you had spares. There would be no clean men and women with their Parisian dresses and costly hat pins occupying this place. This was the lowest of the low. 

He peers at you from under the brim of a coal-stained, honest-to-God gunslinger wool Stetson, lined with the hammered silver and turquoise-inlaid band. It laid flat across the top and around the brim. You hadn’t seen one like it since your wedding night on the ritzy hardwood grounds of the Grand Hotel herself. He takes a seat in a singular fell swoop, frock coat flaring outwards and casting a soft breeze over your presence. Single-breasted, large notch lapels. Beneath it, his dark pinstripe trousers folded under the weight of his body, the silver brocade vest above the black cravat remaining stiff. From where your eye connected with him, you could see the nickel plating of a Colt 1873 single action revolver, sheathed under the oiled ellipse of the leather-bound shoulder holster. It was apparent he wasn’t here to push cattle. 

It was a fleeting gaze, the kind that rattle each of your vertebra and settled in your coccyx. A single golden curl slipped over a broad shoulder and swung heavy in the tension between your two bodies. 

There was a resonant patriarchal tenor that buzzed amongst the patrons in this space, tense on the outcome and flat-lining in deliverance. They tried to avert wandering gazes from this new resident— strung together words in staccato, interrupted by morbid curiosity and on-looking eyes. Michael Doten– amicably monickered “Mudsill”, shattered this hum like china. He was a worm of a man, slimy in all of the worst ways, and, on this day in particular, aptly under the impression of laudanum and drink. He shared these sympathies with his own father– a man no more than fifteen years his senior. 

He slinked through the door with the demeanor of an old tom-cat, crooked in stride and greasy to the touch— not that you could fathom anyone wanting to touch him at all. He demanded a house whiskey with a slovenly belch– a concoction made from your own sarsaparilla, burnt raw sugar, and chewing tobacco. 

“Michael, I’d say you’ve about had enough today.” You chided, firm in your answer. The stranger peered a doting gaze towards you, then turned it toward ‘Ol Mudsill from a downturned hat– wistful in demeanor and daring in residence. He watched as Michael cast a thumb of brown saliva onto your floor, intentionally ignoring the existence of the spitoon a mere few feet from it. 

He sneered towards you through leather-laden eyelids, a protuberance straight from the aforementioned spittoon, and filled with piss and vinegar, “Now,” He started, “ – if I wanted an old bitch telling me what I can and can’t drink, I would have considered marrying.” It was a slimy statement with a profound lack of remorse. It dripped from the gaps of his rotting teeth like a tar. 

“I wouldn’t marry you, even if I was fixin’ to face death herself.” It wasn’t the first time you had denied him a drink, nor was it the first time he had spoken ill toward you. You doubted it would also be the last. You were a harum-scarum, devil-may-care woman, tough as nails and pretty as a mink stole.

“You don’t listen too good, now do you?” Mudsill spit back, standing now. Your fingers grazed the pearl handles of the Remington Model 1890 tucked away in the fold of your dresses. You hoped to God you didn’t have to use it. 

Before ‘Ol Mudsill could think of something to say back, the dark stranger stood, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.” 

“Is that a fact?” Mudsill raises a wiry brow towards the man, standing erect in front of him. 

“Yeah, that’s a fact.” He said back, quietly. It was a discerning quiet, the kind where you figure trouble might be brewing. 

“Well, for a man that don’t go heels, you run your mouth kinda reckless there, don’t ‘ya?” The stranger said, standing a little more erect– like he was fixing for trouble, though, by the context of the rest of the conversation, you’d say trouble had already been brewing. Now, you waited for the pot to boil over, “No need to go heel to get the bulge on a tub like you, huh?”

Mudsill glared toward him though tight lids, a reckless abandon only a drunk could possess, “Is that a fact?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Well, I’m ‘real scared.” Musill replied with a bobbling nod of his head, reaching for the firearm tucked away behind his waistband. 

“Damn right, you’re scared. I can see that in your eyes.” The stranger followed the movement of his hand momentarily, eyes settling over the worn wood of the stock before meeting back up with his eyes,  “Yeah, go ahead, skin it. Skin that smoke-wagon and see what happens.” 

“Listen Mister, I’m gettin’ awful tired of you–” He was cut off, the stranger landing a stinging, open-palmed blow to his face. 

“I’m gettin’ tired of your gas, now jerk that pistol and go to work.” Mudsill stared back, stunned. Frozen like a scared lizard. Another blow. “I said throw down, boy.” A third blow landed across his cheek, harder this time. You could see where the blood filled his mouth and covered his teeth. “You gonna do something or just stand there and bleed?” 

“No?” The stranger raised an eyebrow, reaching upwards to put a forceful hand on mudsill’s shoulder, “Now, come on, Junior.” 

The wire snapped behind ‘Ol Mudsill’s eyes, and with a sleight of hand, he reached for the worn pistol tucked into his overcoat. The dark stranger was fast, but you were faster. The pearl grips cold and smooth against the sweat of your palms. Quickly and in one motion, you stepped out from the bar, hand forced steady only in fear alone. 

“You’re bluffing.” Michael sneered towards you, taking a step forward, closer to you with the barrel now in your direction. It was enough for the stranger to bear his arms as well, though, he wouldn’t need them today. The barrel met Michael’s forehead. 

“I don’t bluff.” Your thumb met the hammer, pulling it back enough for a deafening swell click, “Now your family may be back to rush me, but that won’t stop me from blowing a canoe through your head first, y’hear?”

His eyes widened, and he pulled the barrel back from you, finger leaving the sheath of the trigger and thumb only staying tucked around the grip enough to keep it held. 

“Don’t come back here. Ever.” You ordered, and he nodded slightly. 

“Yes’m” 

The stranger spoke then, pistol still planted firmly against the back of the offender, “And you’re gonna drop that weapon right here, Michael.” He ordered. 

The worn colt clattered against the floor as he tossed it from his waist-height to the ground. The stranger took this as the opportunity to grab Michael by the collar and drag him out the front doors like a calf. You could see the durst stir from outside, but didn’t sense a further commotion. You sat idly in one of your stools, letting free an exasperated sigh as you threw your head down against the bar. You didn’t sign up for this when you found yourself out west. 

You felt the stock of a pistol press into the meat of your upper arm, “Here. Keepsake. Hang it over the bar, Nellie.” The stranger spoke back to you, sliding the firearm across the worn mesquite bar top. 

You raised a brow at him, more at the moniker, but also at his enthusiasm, “Nellie?”

“I had a horse like you once,” He released a breathy laugh between his words, maybe more nervous at the fact that he was comparing you to a horse, “ —even after she broke she was meaner than hell, but prettier than a mink stole. It’s a pleasure, Mrs–”

He thought it was foolish, comparing you to that mean old mare, but he didn’t have time to dote on it before you stopped him mid-sentence. 

“Ms.” You corrected. 

He couldn’t help the way his eyes flitted down to the ring on your finger, a single thin gold band that he dwelled on for just long enough for you to notice the cogs attempting to turn in his head. 

 “Dead.” You clarified, and he felt his heart contract as the word left your lips. 

“Sorry to hear that.” He dips his head low, only now taking off the Stetson to greet you properly, “Name’s Munson. Edward Munson.” 

You shook your head, forcing that still-bruising ache away to push a smile, “Ain’t no changin’, may God have willed it, Mr. Munson.” 

He matched your smile, handsome cheeks creasing deeply around the curvature of his mouth, “Just Edward will do, ma’am.” 

You pulled open the humidor, nimble fingers gracing along the stack of cigars beneath its lid. You chose the one with the cleanest-looking wrapping, one that looked sufficient enough as a thank-you, before offering it to him. He took it with a nod of his head, thick fingers wrapping around the base gently before pulling the kerosene vase near him. You watched the smoke roll from between his lips in a vapid crescendo, all too graceful and all too beautiful. 

“I take it you're not a prospector?” You questioned him gently, voice sure, yet smaller than his resonating alto. 

He laughed softly, the kind that heaves itself from the chest. Hearty, “No ma'am.”  

“Then how does someone like you find yourself in a place like this?” You leaned an elbow on the bar, chin resting firmly in the warmth of your palm. You tried to ignore the sweat building between the flesh. 

He looked down at the cigar between his fingers, twirling it around and feeling the paper it was rolled in, “Well I find I could ask you the same thing–”

The bell above the door was shrill in the staleness of the air, the resonance of the prior entanglement floating back up in a cloud in an attempt to re-settle over the old furniture like silt. The man that waded through its wake was tall, but not gangly, no, he did not share the demeanor of a scarecrow. He looked like he meant business.

You pulled your attention away from Edward for a brief moment, your eyes tearing from his personage and settling over the familiar face, “Hello, Sheriff.”

“Hello, ma’am.” The sheriff tipped his hat towards you in greeting, peering briefly at the man sat at the bar in front of you, “‘Ol Mudsill seems pretty shaken up, did somethin’ happen again?”

“Nothin that Edward here couldn’t handle.” You watched as his eyes flicked back and forth between you and Edward, like he was trying to piece a puzzle together but there were too many missing pieces, “Sheriff, this is Edward Munson, just unloaded from the train in Tucson.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He reached a broad hand out to meet with the sheriff’s. 

He accepted the offer, hands locked together in a firm grip, “Steve Harrington.” 

“Pleasure.” Edward mentioned, politely. 

“You have a place to stay, Edward?” He asked, hand still interlocked with his for a brief moment. 

“Not as of yet. Know of anyone housing?”

“I’d say the Grand Hotel just across the way.” 

+

The walk to the other side of the road is brief, but the sun beat down against Eddie’s back like a brand– the eyes that followed his movement, the hands that held the iron. The dust kicked up behind him and collected at the bases of his boots seemed to slow his stride as he sunk into its softness. He would have to have them polished tomorrow. 

Steve turned to him, boots casting a hollow thud as they stepped up onto the decking of The Grand Hotel, “I am inclined to ask, what exactly happened back there?”

Eddie cleared his throat, righting himself, “Just some drunk. Got all riled up when she wouldn’t serve him and started waving his gun around.”

Steve shook his head, removing his hat to run a finger through the hair beneath it, sand ripplying against his scalp beneath his finger, “Christ, well, thank you for handling that for her. She’s been through too much this year.”

“She dealt with that right on her own, sheriff, the only part I took part in was getting him out.” 

Their boots made a clunk against the sun-rotted wood on the staircase of The Grand Hotel, stairs creaking in affliction. There was a moment of silence between the two men, tense and fleeting, like there was still something to be said. 

“Her husband died last spring.” Steve finally mentioned, understanding that it wasn’t his place to tell. 

“She mentioned it.” Steve felt a relief at him knowing. He didn’t want to be the one to have to bear the shock of the statement. 

He sighed before continuing, “Shot and killed on that bar floor. ‘Couple of bandoleros robbing the place.”

“Chist–- She seemed capable.” Eddie mentioned to him, raking his hair back under his hat. He felt the sweat bead around where the band met his skin. 

“But still, no woman should ever have to bury her husband.” The sheriff said, reaching up to place nimble hands on his hips, “‘Specially not that young.”

The Grand Hotel is the essence of luxury in the west. Well, as luxurious as they could ship by train. Mahogany covered the expanse of the palace in a grandeur scale, only being broken by the pin-striped wallpaper covering the upper half of the wayne-scotted wall on the second floor. The taxidermied elk that hung above the bartop was shipped from the northern country, as were many of the axis and whitetail deer that hung on other walls. 

This seemed to be the only place in this town that a fine layer of dust hadn’t settled over. 

The velveteen nature of the drapery that hung over the stage to the left in a heavy abismality had remained nearly untouched by the traces of the desert around it. The gold of the drawstrings that held them back still contained the luster under the light. 

He couldn’t help but to search for you in the madness of coiled, unabashedly tentative curls piled on the heads of the women in the large bustles that scraped between tables and each other. You looked like you belonged here, but he knew where you would be. 

This night’s show had ended already, the lingering patrons also taking residence within the palace. The backing curtain drawn to a close and the actors retired to their quarters. Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, overrun, overplayed. Edward thought about it. Of all the things in the world to know, why learn The Devil’s craft? He figured if it was the only thing left to know, he’d probably learn it, too. 

There is a man of about five foot, ten inches sat at the bar, elbows rested against the glossy finish of the bartop. He is a burly man, Eddie can see that even from his sitting position. Steve guides Eddie towards him, taking his own seat next to him. Eddie stayed standing. 

He looks back behind him, Steve muttering a few words that Eddie couldn't seem to hear over the drabble of lobby patrons, “Milt. County Marshall.” 

He sticks a rough hand out, and Eddie takes it in a firm clasp. 

“Edward Munson.” He shakes his hand once, Milt was a man of few words. 

Steve buys Eddie a drink. A golden bourbon, not watered down like many of the bars out west did for reserve. Real golden bourbon. An import. A thanks. 

They settled on a less-occupied corner of the palace, one that lacked faro tables and drunk patrons. On the opposite side of the baby grande that played anything its player knew how. 

“Her husband was a good man.” Steve said between sips, sweat dripping down the crystalline glass like glitter, “Too good if you’d ask me. It’s what got him killed in the first place.” 

He felt the pang in his chest, a tightening of muscles like tears, “It’s a shame. Pretty woman like that having to run that place by her lonesome.”

Steve chucked a bit in agreement, looking back over his shoulder like you would somehow appear, “That isn’t by our choice. She could have her pick if she wanted it.” He took another sip of his drink, and Eddie knew he was right. You were pretty, sullen skin like satin, hair like ribbon. He’d pay all of the money in his pocket just to touch. 

“She doesn’t?” Eddie questioned, looking over to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“I’d reckon not.”

He tried not to think about it, instead focusing on the piano. He watched the woman sat on top, the way the lace of her undergowns flowed upwards with the swing of her ankles. He watched the man play with skilled– albeit drunk– fingers. 

This place was lively, perhaps a little too lively for the hour. People still yelling obscenities and praises over faro, ice in glasses. He felt the sweat from the glass beneath his fingers, and it matched the band of it building beneath his cap. His collar felt tight, like someone had been pulling it from the back. Shouldn’t it have gotten cooler when the sun went down?

“I’d reckon I’d better turn in for the night.” He said suddenly, placing the glass down on the bar in front of him, about a milliliter of fluid left watered-down and pooling at the bottom. 

He ascended the mahogany staircase to his quarters, where he would retire for the night. However, as he stripped himself of his frock coat and underclothes, he couldn’t help to peer towards the luminescent glow coming from The Whispering Sands upper floor across the bend. 

The curtains billowed outwards towards the street below, casting a light over the sand beneath it like a halo. White linen backlit by yellow butane lighting. And there you sat, all woman. He’d have half a mind to buy you some night clothes, and the other half a mind to burn them if you even had them. 

He watched the way your skin rippled at your lower back as your bare skin pressed against your vanity stool, and the way your skin stretched over your shoulder blades as you pulled your hair to the side, raking through it with the brush in front of you. Your lips fell into a supple pout in concentration, and your lashes kissed your cheeks as you looked down. He could feel the windowsill digging into his palms, it grounded him– kept him from free-floating into the stagnant desert air. 

The Grand Hotel is a loud place, and it never sleeps. The faro games did not stop on his account, and he didn’t expect them to. He closes his eyes, a glass breaks. A fight breaks out downstairs in a triad of commotion, shuffling, and yelling. This was the first time he had been in a bed in days, yet, it felt horrendously unceremonious. Sleep would not evade him in the way he willed it. 

The flooring creaked, drunk patrons hit the wall outside of his quarters with intense, muffled thuds. Two people in the suit next to him were clearly of relation. He tried to ignore the way the oak headboard creaked and hit the wall in a rhythmic fashion. He tried his hardest not to think of you. 

This place did not sleep, and he knew he wouldn’t either. So instead, Edward collected his hat and gun, pulling his trousers back on and lazily doing his shirt back up. 

The night air had cooled some, less blistering than when the sun was out, yet it remained stale. He walked a bit, eyes still shimmering with the adjustment of light from the palace to the stark darkness of the desert. Light traveled a lot further here, darkness even further. The hum of the palace dimmed as the distance between them grew, air heavy like a barrier that stopped the noise from traveling. 

He settled himself in the soft sand beneath him, back planted firmly against the knotty base of that twisted old ironwood. Someone else still awake at this unholy hour plucked delicately at old piano keys– these ones slightly more out of tune and reverberated off of the walls with a static hum that resonated through the otherwise empty streets. Sleep evaded in a thankless percussion. 

And there you were. 

He allowed his fingers to trail over the delicate expanse of your shoulder, brushing soft curls over its bridge. Soft presses of his mouth trailed from your year to the valley of your clavicle. He pressed your gowns down your shoulder as he went, the loose garment sliding off with ease.

In your glorious, supple nature. All woman all the time. Your hands, nimble and soft, were forceful against his chest as you pushed him back against plush white linens. Fingers as sure as death and as right as rain. The haze from the butane lamp cast a glow around you, baby hairs illuminating around your head like a halo. 

Slowly now, but with an urgency, you right yourself in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his shirt in a way that made him want to beg just to feel a finger brush against his skin. He whined as he watched you with wide eyes.

His buckle made impressions on the inside of your thigh, a welcome breeze blew through the open window, gracing the overlaying flesh in a ritual of human intimacy. Songs of “Oh- Gods” and small giggles creating perfect songs- a gathering drum backing and an underlying hum of the desert around you. You could feel his hands on your back, fingers his fingers unwrapping you from linen bed sheet confines and introducing you to your own bedroom like an heirloom– a home in which you yourself haunted. The palms of your hands feeling the smooth surface of stone beneath the skin, and the dewey droplets from his own flesh dampened them with a waxy residue. 

His fingers pressed firmly into the plush of your outer thighs, and your skin was soft. Calves skin, another import. Too soft for this place. Too soft for this sadness. 

“So soft.” He whispered, voice a tenor to its usual pitch. 

He watched where your bodies connected, the way you slid up and down on him, the way his fingers rippled your skin where they dug in, the gyration of your hips. Your hair is down this time, braid long since combed through, and the ends of it tickle as they brush against him. 

“God, Nellie.” He isn’t particularly introspective or anything, but he does know that he’ll never feel something like this again. 

Your tender touch a velvety petal trailed down the expanse of his chest where it heaves, nothing left to impede your touch. No overcoats, no holster or gun. Your hands like the claws of the bobcat pawing into the sand where his heart lay in an unmarked grave.

“Edward,” You whispered against the shell of his ear, his hands pressing the center of your back to bring you close against your chest. It was a plea. It read like a prayer. “Take me, please.” 

His upward thrust slowed from long, meaningful bass crescendos to harsh uneven staccatos. Your breaths became erratic in nature to match. Your release washed over you like a storm, rolling and violent and all at once. His own followed suit. 

Edward realized then that this was how the west would be won. If it wasn’t, he’d wage the war himself. 

[kateis-cakeis]

"No, it must go free."

"Dragons cannot be used like that! They must be left unshackled, free to roam the earth."

"Dragon’s are magical creatures! They belong to no man! They are for the benefit of all!"

These are Merlin's lines during his confrontation with Borden (34:50 S4Ep4)

I know many in this fandom assume that Aithusa was under Kilgharrah's care after they (using they/them here because of the canon 'he' vs the fanon 'she') were born. But there's nothing to actually suggest that's true.

Instead, with Merlin's lines here, it heavily suggests dragons raise themselves. They go free, unbound from men (even Dragonlords it seems), and are left unshackled - in a world that lets them.

And this is directly seen in S4Ep13 as Aithusa seems to just be hanging about when they fly down to heal Morgana (and while they do fly away after, maybe they just felt the need to check in and got attached to Morgana at some point :P so I don't think it was an explicit betrayal)

Likeeee, let's say this was the Triple Goddess's way of prophecy being like yeah no, to letting Morgana just rot on a forest floor :P

But based off this, I think it's more than likely that dragons in BBC Merlin mirror many lizard species - where they just lay the egg and leave. This seems true and coincides with how Aithusa's egg ended up in a tomb to be protected (hundreds of years before the Great Purge).

And because a Dragonlord is needed to hatch it, this very much seems to be the case - that dragons are not raised but rather left to the wild to fend for themselves.

So Kilgharrah was never looking after Aithusa, and Merlin was never meant to either. Both left Aithusa to their own devices because that's how a dragon is meant to grow and live. On their own.

I know from the deleted scene in S4Ep1 that Daobeth was destroyed by dragons, suggesting that dragons can work together and be known to one another - so it's not like they're entirely solitary.

But I don't know! I think this is one of those things where it's like there's an assumption that's turned into a kinda blame game. (A bit like how some people believe in that Kilgharrah theory that feels sooo out of place to canon and the real story of the show).

Anyway, here's a different interpretation that doesn't put the blame on Merlin, or Kilgharrah, or Aithusa. Little dragon is allowed to make mistakes!

And hell, Kilgharrah's theory about Aithusa doesn't have to be wrong, 'the light of the sun' being a positive and fitting meaning could simply be about a new dragon at all. It could be about post canon even. There's a lot there, Kilgharrah only had a theory, he literally says 'I believe'. Cut him some slack!

sdfhhsdf all this to say, I think you can do some fun worldbuilding with dragons based off canon, and this is just one example of that.

Dragons roam free and have no parents :D It's fine, that's nature and magic ;)

[fruitless-vain]

Bean sends his best wishes after all of this. I told him the whole saga last night and he was horrified. We're happy the gross man is finally gone. Holy hell that sounds scary and I hope you're all okay <3

We’re just a wee on edge and now have to deal with some mouldy drywall downstairs that we found after cleaning his room. Dunno what he was doing down there that rotted out a hunk of drywall but alas we gotta slice that out now

Animal wise everyone’s a-okay just a wee bit of stress. Dogs know that somethings gone wrong and are needing some extra lovin, birds are pissed that they’ve not been sleeping in their luxury 5star penthouse but they’ll bounce back in a day or two especially now that they can get a good nights sleep without someone coming and going at ungodly hours and blasting music so loud you can hear it word for word through the floor. Cat, fish, and lizard are all none the wiser to anything that’s happened

I’m sure this next couple weeks he’ll try to ask for more money or try to come by for some random thing so I expect a small bit of stress to follow for a short while still. But we scoured every last inch and gave him every last thing in one fell swoop so there’s No excuse for his ass to show up around here again. And Jack and I have both agreed on a Zero Cent being given rule so he won’t be getting anything from us ever again. It’ll just be some annoying manipulation attempts and guilt tripping we’ll have to shut down.

The drug dealer will most likely not want more collateral damage than necessary so as long as we steer clear of him we’re unlikely to be targeted. Girl just wants the money she’s due, got a business to run and harming everyone you see is a sure fire way to get caught. So they’ll sort out that he’s moved (hell I’d gladly hand them his new address and wave them goodbye at this point) and leave us behind

This storyline can come to its peaceful close and with any luck I will never have to dial 911 again

[gregorybacon]

fuck it boys I have a slugcat oc that I literally designed during a class

This is Keeper! Five Pebble's messenger friend. They're a regular dark furred slugcat with a backpack that has some remains of the Rot stuck onto as a some sort of camouflaged to not be eaten by the Rot or be killed by Daddy Long Legs. This Rot however manage to spread across onto their tail, but don't worry, it doesn't harm them, they're pacifically made to not be hurt by the Rot because Pebbles wants to make sure they don't fucking DIE when trying to crawl out from his chamber. (They use an optional Vulture Mask in defense against Lizards)

Here's a whole doodle page of them.

Since Keeper literally has the virus of death on it's back the whole time, many creatures see them as an instant threat and will be active to kill you (Ex: Scavengers, Noodleflies, and Rain Deer will be automatically have a negative reputation with you). Hell, even slugcats are afraid of them.

Keeper, being a very social butterfly, makes them very upset, and will go into self destruct mode when they realise they can't get any bitches after a few cycles. They will literally force the Rot to suffocate them, pretty brutal. Other than that, they do get the optional ending of completeing their messenger task and will live safely with Pebbles til they both stop existing... I like them very much

TLDR: Five Pebbles creates a slugcat messenger, slaps on the deadly rot onto it for safety against the rot when escaping, and has a hard time making friends cause of it's appearance. :]