#CASKET MUSH

[w111cca]

Casket mush ⚰️

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 6)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

SotR SPOILERS

Part 5

“Y/N’s become too Capitol for the districts, she’s losing her pull there.” Anyone with eyes can see that’s been Snow’s plan all along. Sever her ties with the people.

“How do we fix that?” Haymitch wonders.

“We don’t,” Plutarch decides. “We let her play her hand and wait.”

“How long?” How many recordings? How many tributes? How many of her tears will waiting cost?

Plutarch lifts a shoulder. “Your guess is as good as mine. But when the time comes, she’s our in with the Capitol.”

This news does subsequently nothing to make Haymitch feel better. If anything he feels worse. Downing the rest of Plutarch’s prized liquor bottle before returning to the tribute center. They won’t be provided passage home until the games are over.

The penthouse is quiet now, without Maximus and Denali. Y/N can’t cry anymore about it, not now. She’s had one too many glasses of champagne. Making quick work of the buttons on Haymitch’s shirt, as the door of their suite closes behind them.

Alcohol is nice, drugs are better, but nothing brings the temporary tidal wave of euphoria like Haymitch. His mouth pressed to hers, reducing her brain to mush.

Haymitch rests his hand over hers. “You ok?”

“Not really,” Y/N admits. “Need something to take the edge off.”

“I can get you-”

“You,” she breathes, “I just want you.”

Haymitch tightens his hold on her. I want you too. More than I want to want anything.

Her dress joins his shirt and then his pants, until they’re laid bare. Not district, nor Capitol. Perhaps because they are meant to be neither; they belong to each other.

Nothing exists outside of the gentle rocking of his hips. Nothing to do but breathe him in.

Y/N’s fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him closer.

————————————————————————

They aren’t made to stay past the announcement of Cashmere’s victory. The tribute’s caskets are loaded onto the train and they’re off to twelve.

“Do they have family?” Haymitch asks.

“No.”

“Not even extended? No aunts or uncles?”

“I don’t know, Haymitch.” Y/N sighs. “They’d been going it alone all their lives, if they had someone, I’m sure they would’ve been there.”

Haymitch nods.

“I can ask Cherry and Tucker if they have room.” Tyson’s parents have a little cemetery outback, couldn’t bear to be parted from their son. A few others from the seam take up residence in the spaces beside him now.

Again he nods, before tipping his empty glass upside down and rising to his feet. “I’ll be in the bar car if you need me.”

Y/N lowers her gaze, waiting until the door slides closed behind him to stand. She is headed elsewhere, to the car where two coffins rest, side by side. Collapsing to her knees in the small space between them and resting a hand over each.

Her gut tells her that under her right palm lies Denali, the spitfire of a girl who showed up the careers. And beneath her right is the little boy who clung to her in the elevator. Maximus. But Y/N has not the want nor will to push back the lids and prove her theory.

She remains there, holding vigil until her legs ache. Shifting position enough to lie down and cry herself to sleep.

Once he’s nice and wasted Haymitch stumbles down to the train car farthest from their sleeping quarters. The sight of Y/N’s feet poking out from between the caskets is an unwelcome reminder that this is standard practice for her.

He crouches down, giving her leg a little shake.

“Haymitch?” Y/N lets out a sleepy sigh.

“Come to bed, angel.”

“I don’t wanna leave them.”

“I know,” Haymitch breathes.

“You can go, it’s ok.” She won’t be alone.

“I’ll stay,” though the notion is still foreign to him.

————————————————————————

Y/N’s first stop after departing the train station is the Carrell’s front door. Her district partner, Tyson, had taken care to list off each of his siblings favorite snacks, then his Ma and Pa. Y/N takes equal care to make sure she never comes to them empty handed.

His parents, Cherry and Tucker, embrace her with open arms. Growing together through their collective loss.

Today is different. His siblings are sent to their rooms and Y/N finds herself strapped to the dining room chair.

“What are you doing?” She laughs. Surely this is a joke of some sort.

“What are you doing?” Tyson’s father bites out.

“I brought you cinnamon rolls.” Y/N stammers, “you don’t like them anymore?”

“Don’t do that.” Cherry snaps.

“Do what?” Y/N is starting to panic now, struggling at the rope binding her hands behind her back.

“Act like you’re the same. Nothin’ about you is the same.” The woman says. “You stopped goin’ to the hob, stopped comin’ to see us. Married a man who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, started chummin’ it up with those freaks in the Capitol.”

Tucker shakes his head.

“Uh, uh, not my girl.” Cherry presses on, “I started askin’ around, tryin’ to make sense of what I was seein’. Turns out, somethin’ like this happened before. With the McCoy’s girl.”

“What are you-”

“They took that baby for the games, but she didn’t make it that far. Those animals did somethin’ to her, replaced her with somebody who had a bug in her ear. Didn’t fool her parents none.”

“Like a body double?” Y/N asks.

“The Callow boy died a while before she did and didn’t smell half as foul when he got home.” Tucker recounts.

“I don’t understand.”

“She was long gone before anybody knew and that was over a decade ago.” Cherry murmurs, “imagine how good they coulda got at passin’ people off for somebody else in fourteen years.”

“You think I’m someone else?” Y/N frowns, “a body double from the Capitol?”

“Maybe not a double, maybe they did somethin’ to you.”

“Nothing like you think.” Y/N assures them.

“I love you like my own, so I’m only gonna ask you once.” Tucker drawls, “did they put something in your head?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head. “If you have questions about what happened to the girl in the Capitol during the Quarter Quell, Haymitch might know.”

“I don’t trust Haymitch any further than I can throw him,” Tucker runs a hand over his grief stricken face. “And right now I’m not even sure I can trust you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Then tell us what happened. And it better make a hell of a lot more sense than what you’ve been saying, little girl.”

Y/N pauses, collecting herself. “Snow was going to sell me to the highest bidder. Haymitch made him a deal.”

“Why would President Snow give a damn if you married him or not?” It doesn’t make any sense.

Y/N tells her. “A victor has never married a victor before, the curiosity was there. Snow just took advantage of it, he recorded us together and sold that instead. Threatened my family, if I didn’t perform, I’m willing to bet that includes you too… So I performed.”

The room is silent.

“It’s up to you, believe me or don’t. I came here to make sure you were ok and to ask if I could bury my kids in your backyard.” No secret Capitol agenda.

“Tell us something only you would know.” Tyson’s father demands, wanting to believe her but needing to be sure.

“The first flower I left for Tyson was a dandelion. When it died, I replaced it with a daisy, and a bluebell after that.”

This is Y/N, as best they’ll ever be able to tell.

“Should I keep going?”

Cherry cuts the rope around Y/N’s wrists. “Why do you want to bury them here?”

“They didn’t have a family before, I thought it might be nice for them to have one now.” Y/N massages the blood back into her hands.

Tyson’s mother joins his father, in front of the younger woman. “Sorry about all that.”

“It’s fine.” Y/N sighs, “no one has ever gone to the trouble of tying me up for an intervention before. You guys must really love me.”

“You do what you gotta, from now on Ma and Pa are with you.” You’re the closest thing we’ve got to our boy.

Y/N thanks them, allowing them to hold her for as long as it suits them. The same way she always has.

Eventually she finds her way back home, back to Haymitch and the house in Victor’s Village. He’s the only one who understands her now.

“What’d they say about the kids?” Haymitch wonders.

“They said yes.”

“You were gone a while.”

“They tied me to a chair for interrogation.” Y/N tells him.

What in the hell? “You wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah, actually. They thought I was a Capitol body double or that I had a bug in my head.”

Oh.

Part 7

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[lolitakirstein]

Sleepy men

How the men of Aot sleep/cuddle and what they wear

Ft: Eren Levi Jean Reiner

Cw: nothing really, fluff? Hint of smuttiness. 

EREN: He’s a restless sleeper. Constantly tossing and turning. Mumbling. Slinging his arms over and around you when he rolls over to curl up next to you, mushing his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it. He generally just wears his boxers, nothing fancy. “I sleep hot,” he admits. And good god yes the guy is a FURNACE, you sometimes have to push away from him during the night because he gets so warm. “Get back here” he’ll whines, reaching blindly for your body across the bed. “You’re burning me up!” you say, putting space between you and his hot body. He’ll groan and then throw the covers off of you, exposing you to the cold room. He smirks as you yelp at the cool air and immediately curl back up into him.  The heat DOES pay off in the winter because you sneak your cold feet onto his back. “Goddamn, get those ice cubes off of me!” he mumbles sleepily into the pillow. “But your sooooo warm,” you giggle. 

Levi: He sleeps like a Victorian child struck down with the plague. On his back, hands across his chest like he’s in a casket. He doesn’t move once during the night. “I don’t want to mess up the bed that much,” he says. He wears luxury silk pajamas with his initials on them. It was difficult when you first started sleeping together, you didn’t know if he was a cuddler or not so you just laid on your side next to him for the first few stays over. However, you got brave enough and ask “Do you like to cuddle?” He takes a beat before answering, “Its been awhile since i’ve done such activities but i’m not opposed to it.” You take that as a go-ahead and wrap up against his side, his arm curls around your shoulder, gently stroking your bare arm. “Is this ok?” you ask. He sighs, “Actually this is perfect.” He loves having the weight of you on top of him, sometimes your legs thrown over his. Even when you turn away in your sleep, he will reach a hand to keep on you, just a reminder that you are there with him. 

JEAN: This man is a fucking BED HOG! No matter how big the bed is, they cant contain his tall frame and long legs. He sleeps in a band tshirt and basketball shorts. He will let you wear one of his tshirts to bed as well. He’s a blanket snob too, always stealing them from around you. “Jean I’m cold!,” you pout, trying to tug the covers from around him. He’ll laugh at your pathetic whining and pull you to where you are both on your sides facing each other. His long legs tangling with yours. “Better,” he’ll ask, kissing your nose. “Much” you mumble into his chest, inhaling his scent. When you have a nightmare and are fretting around in your sleep, he will wrap his lean arms around you, kissing your sweat-damp head trying to soothe you. “Hey i’m here, its ok.” he’ll murmur. He easily relaxes you back to sleep. 

REINER: He sleeps in flannel pants and shirtless AND he is a CUDDLER!!!! From the moment your ass hits the mattress he is dragging you close to his body. He loves spooning, the feel of your naked back against his bare chest and the smell of your clean hair is like a sedative to him. “God you smell so good,” he says into your neck. He’s always struggled falling asleep, but once you started spending the nights, he was finally able to get the best sleep he’s ever got. He loves it when you spoon him, draping your tiny body over his muscular back, sometimes tracing your fingers up and down his back and kissing the nape of his neck as you both drift off. When you sleep on your back he lays on his side to face you and wraps his arm over your torso, legs intertwined. He loves watching you sleep, and how peaceful you look. It makes him feel so incredibly lucky. You always wake up to him stealing kisses on your neck or chest or even between your legs. He is ALSO ravenous in the morning. 

[senka-mesecine]

Could you write for the neglect prompt “If you won’t take care of yourself I will be forced to do it for you.” For yandere Barnes? Thank u

A Beautiful Death.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

lovely idea inspired by @atmostories

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

---

I.

It occurred to Robert Barnes he's been walking side by side with mortality for years.

Irony being, that even though he's been as accepting of the fact that he and all men must die eventually, he's rotated back to the world burdened with every bit of baggage, bullshit, nonsense and figurative sacks of bricks attached to his personhood except for the one definitive status that seemed to elude him like an uncatchable shadow regardless of how much he welcomed it and even deliberately sought it out at times; he returned alive instead of dead. On his own two feet instead of a casket. Now, yeah, truth was, he felt robbed and cheated. He felt robbed and cheated he wasn't KIA. Felt robbed and cheated in some anger-inducing, quintessential, profound way that was difficult to entirely put into words without yapping on about it for hours and mayhaps even missing the point --- not that he ever relished being anything but entirely precise --- but the easiest way to describe it back to himself was like being a fish that was thrown out to dryland by a high tide, left to wiggle around left and right, struggling for breath under the frying sun and while he could've personally taken matters into his own hand and ended it all, the notion off offing himself always felt strangely defeatist and weak minded to him, even during the worst of days. Like he went down the way a soldier and a fighter never should; outside of combat, bloated, rusted, bogged down and ultimately broken by the mundanity of peacetime, left as a husk of unfulfilled potential. Fact is, the idea made him want to spit on the ground in disgust and righteous wrath.

Maybe why he was so pissed off when he stumbled upon you in the woods.

Catching you doing what you were about to do.

Handful of pills and kneeling down on the frost touched, white grass, just through observing you from afar it seemed like the intention was to swallow them all and lay back down, just falling asleep or more or less freezing alive. Never waking up again. A backpack and some shit you carried with you resting in the shadow of a nearby bare, blackened oak tree. He was on his second smoke as he watched you prepare the whole process with the uncertainty of an amateur who was still weighing all the available options in the back of their mind; Do I want this? Do I not want this? Do I? Or do I not? Truth was, if you wanted to die, you would've been dead by now and you wouldn't have gone to the effort of all these theatrics. Or maybe you simply never counted on the fact anyone would be all the way out here? Possible. But then again, you came into what was effectively his backyard, not the other way around, so he had the right to be fucking angry. Had the right to step in too. If you were a man he would've slapped that white shit right out of your mouth, but as things were, he merely shoves a finger down your mouth. First one, then two, watching your hurl up the contents of what you drank down with an emptied, fogged up canister of water discarded mere inches away from you.

For a moment there, you're sleeping beauty laid up on the fogged up grass.

The next moment the contents of your insides, all brown, watery mush are regurgitated and spat out unto the ground in heavy, heaving coughs as he has a firm grip on the back of your hair so you don't go lounging back and swallowing your own tongue or biting it off in a fit of ire when you realize you were just woken up, back bent forward, as low as the soil. When you're done vomiting and your chest calms down; the haziness of your reddened, bloodshot eyes clearing, realizing that he was there, you look at him like there wasn't a person in the world you could ever imagine loathing more.

Good.

He lights his third cigar about it.

-

II.

Two whole weeks pass and you don't utter a single word to him.

That's when he remembers, albeit unwillingly, something Red always had the tendency of asking, all nerves and neuroses and shaking fingers included; 'What are you gonna do about that, Bob-o, huh?'

And yeah, shit, what was he gonna do about it?

Wait, he supposed. Quiet, calm and patient, not unlike an ambush --- he didn't need talking from you or anyone; fact is, he found it futile and could go indefinitely without; but, one of these days, your form laid up on his bed, huddled up like a newborn in a state of perpetual sleep and being half-awake, face turned towards the wall would turn around and face him instead and you'd ask to shit or eat, piss or drink; you'd inquire if you could go and he might just say that no, you, in fact, can't. Then, you'd argue. Maybe you'd get bold and ram your little fist against his chest and scream your tiny heart out. Bang at the door. Bang at the windows. At the pots and the pans and the walls like a little bird rattling against a cage. Plead, cry and vail. He doesn't know, but drinking bourbon straight from the bottle and watching you with your arms and legs huddled around in bed from the bedroom window open and leading towards the corridor where he was sat up, imagining all the ways you could grow spirited and lively gave him an amused tingle. Them intrusive thoughts. Maybe you could grab one of the said pots. Smack him with it. Maybe a knife. He envisions it flashing gripped by a pair of five fingers and the world bleeding red. His mouth purses around his cigarette and the drag he takes out of it is deep. Yeah. A beautiful death. Not quite what he would've wanted, ideally, but as good as it could get, given the circumstances. A desperate bit of self defense? The will to live and fight coaxed forth by a sudden need to survive? A dormant instinct? You being afraid? Feeling cornered? Suddenly bereft of your freedom? Drunk on the indignity of it all in spite of all your prior wishes relating to death? Why, he could almost imagine you trying to kill him for it. For the chance of restoring your own humanity. Not that you'd ever have a chance if he genuinely set his mind to it --- not a chance in hell --- but he could provoke it out of you and demand that you do it, and judging by that hateful stare you gave him ---

Well, you might just take him up on his offer.

You wordlessly sleep through the night.

And by the time he's up from the table, his bottle of Jack's empty.

-

III.

-"If you won't take care of yourself I will be forced to do it for'ya."-

Is the first thing he says to you when he actually finds you sitting at the edge of the mattress, hair knotted, unwashed, greasy, eyes heavy with the dust of oversleeping, lids heavy, lips chapped and dry, face swollen from the pillow and the outline of its creases imprinted on your cheek, vaguely reminding him of what he had on his own face. You were being confronted and he intended to seem confrontational too. This wasn't kindergarten. You weren't going to get a golden participation star. You stare up at him like you judged him, if only meekly, apparently fully understanding what transpired back there in the woods and that he's carried you here; your spiteful, wounded stare gave away that much. Well, shit, that was a start. He could stoke that into something worthy as of yet. But, baby you? That he wasn't gonna do. -"I'll be shovin' a spoon down your mouth if ya push it. Feedin'ya like a toddler. Pickin'ya up and throwin' you in that rainwater barrel out there since'ya aren't keen on washin'. Hose'ya down for lice. Put my foot against your keester when'ya aren't gettin' up from my bed on time. Whole nine yards."- He describes it all very vividly, looming over the mattress, watching your mouth move, opening and closing like you intended to say something only to change your mind, looking down at your feet and finding your footwear removed and nowhere to be seen. Yeah, it was in the shed. If he could get you riled up on the subject of your shit being thrown out then he'd be a happy camper.

-"I wanted to kill myself and I would've succeeded by now if I wasn't interrupted."-

You manage, shaking your head, appearing aggrieved.

He's been trying to visualize what your voice would've sounded like.

Figured this wasn't an honest representation in its entirety, what with your raspy, dehydrated, sleep-ridden throat and all. Didn't mind it, though, not even in this form.

Sounded like you smoke two packs of cigarettes.

The picture of that was entertaining.

-"Last thing I need is taking care of. It's literally the very opposite of what I want! I don't even know who you are!"-

You accuse and he catches your fingers gripping the edge of the bed's lower frame as you spoke, if only slightly and ah, there it was --- anger. Say, even a worm could turn.

-"If you could only please let me go so I could ---"-

You try, your body moving forward, torso leaning from the bed, pleading.

He shoots that crap down.

Yeah, right; he wasn't gonna let you loose only so you could fling yourself into a nearby creek.

-"Finish that sloppy-ass attempt ya'started?"-

He closes your sentence for you, scrutinizing your expression and the way your cracked, dry mouth stood half open, eyes staring up at him, almost as if you were thinking of a comeback, wheels desperately turning, only for nothing to come to mind; he think it's only then that you actually have time to notice his scar and fully take it in; he could tell by the way your pupils widened, lingering on him. He decides to startle you on purpose, extending the hand he had behind his back and drop a pair of old leather combat boots down on the floor in front of your feet; the sons of bitches are so heavy that them hitting the ground practically booms across the room. You jump, surprised. -"Who's gonna polish these boots for me if I do?"- He cocks his head, choosing to deliberately taunt, the same way he made sure that particular bit of footwear was as mangy, crusted in mud, dust and worn out as it possibly could be to make the task as irritatingly repulsive as it could be. You glare from the bed, frozen and incredulous, like you were trying to assess if he was joking or not. -"They ain' gonne clean themselves, beaut. You earn your keep here."- He clarifies, laced with joviality as he turns his back, slowly easing out of the room; wasn't in a hurry. Taking in your reactions was far too amusing; so, he stops at the doorway, practically gripping the top of it like lingering was just as gratifying. Once your subdued, confused reaction relays you were lost by the lack of black shoe polish and a brush, he decides to clarify, not sticking around to watch you comport yourself, nonetheless, he liked to savor the notion that you were quietly infuriated as well as scared. Certainly better than being hangdog, he reckoned.

-"Use your spit and your sleeves if'ya have to."-

Is all he says, leaving the door ajar behind him.

-

IV.

-"You eatin' that or should I?"-

He breaks the silence, days later, over dinner, eyeing your plate.

Barnes couldn't imagine what could've been more silently infuriating that interrupting a suicide attempt, keeping the suicidal person hostage and turning them into something of an unpaid housemaid not even having the privilege of living rent-free, paying for lodging with work; he knew that if he was in that predicament, he would've killed the son of a bitch who did that to him with his own two hands. The sausages on your plate have cooled and you've made them yourself; the white steam curling from their tips about half an hour ago having fully disappeared. You're miserable and he can tell. Perfect. Excellent. He was giving you something to despise about him every day and in despising him, you'd distract yourself from wanting to die; might just do him the favor one of these days and snap well enough to end him. He'd just about allow you too. -"This is illegal, you know."- You manage, staring off the precipice of the table emptily. A thousand yard stare; his old familiar companion. -"Keeping me here against my will."- You clarify like it wasn't obvious. -"This is practically a hostage situation."- Not practically about it, Barnes corrects you in his own mind. It was a hostage situation in its entirety. No half measures. -"I'm an indentured domestic servant kept as a prisoner."- Your voice is calm, hopeless, entirely flatlined, but nonetheless, on occasion, something indignant in it crackles like an electrical static.

-"And that's illegal. It's immoral too!"-

You add, bitterly. Oh, shoot, no way!? Immoral too!?

You saying he wasn't gonna be invited to the next church cookout then?

Barnes snorts without making a sound, having cleared his own plate.

Grabbing your own without asking and digging in.

If you ain't gonna eat it, there's always someone who will.

Never in his life has he cared what's immoral or what's illegal.

All water off of a duck's back to him.

-"Offin' your own ass is frowned upon in most of them cultures too, so I've heard, here we are, though and here we're stayin'."-

He cocks his head to one side, deliberately smug, goddamn nearly spitting the word culture and using it purely sarcastically, rendering you momentarily silent, the odd shame and regret palpably etched into your expression; something pained there replacing the odd bits of spitfire for just a second ago. He speaks up, pushing your buttons further, ignoring that very often as of late, or even since day one, he had to wonder what motherfucker of a person or what motherfucker of a situation did you in so badly you wanted to end it all?

-"Clean the dishes."-

He orders bluntly and calmly, pushing both plates in your direction.

Somehow, your portion tasted better than his.

He eats it with more relish, that's for sure.

He wondered if you took a spit into his side of it when he wasn't looking or if you had it on hand, you'd slip poison for mice in there for good measure.

-"I'm not a maid!"-

You seethe quietly in a sudden bout of rebellion, moving your hands furiously, your elbow accidentally grazing the ceramic edge of the dish and pushing the plates unto the floor, causing them to slide and break in half; one smashing into the foot of the table next to his boot, the other cracking in half right across it, greasy and smeared with uneaten food. Barnes looks down and then back at you, fully unimpressed. Couldn't give a rat's ass about this shit, but if it meant riling you up, then so be it.

-"Now you'll go 'bout not only cleanin' the dishes; you'll gonna broom 'em up too."-

He watches your fists ball and you shoot up from your chair.

-"No!"-

Oh?

There it was.

Something inside of him grows, peppered with the sensation closest to being fucking impressed.

Proud of you.

Barnes was proud of you.

-"No?"-

He repeats, dangerously low, challenging.

For a second, he watches your sudden flash of bravery vax and vane and you hesitate, your whole body fidgeting and your eyes darting left and right almost as if you were reconsidering angering someone who could do just about anything to you up in the hills and nobody would ever come to rescue you. A someone who looked like him, sounded like him, carried himself like him. No one would ever hear you scream on this side of the mountain. Little do you know he was, even now, being gentle. Taking it easy with you. If he really wanted to scare you, you'd be covering in the corner, piss running down your thighs. That was the whole truth of it.

-"Intendin' to do sumn' 'bout that 'no' or is gonna sit there shakin' its lil' fist at me without makin' a move on?"-

Barnes prods, finding your gaze downcast once he holds it with his own for too long; the brave little frog leaping out of the boiling kettle earlier having settled back down into the heated water. He decides to up the ante, pointing his finger towards a nearby wall; you nearly flinch once he even partially raises his hand to direct you. -"There's a cabinet full of arms in there. It's unlocked. Open it."- His voice is soft, simple, and he follows the way your brows nearly twitch as you dare to throw a careful glance over your shoulders to see what he means, taking a tentative, uncertain step backwards, your torso still facing him like you weren't keen on turning your back to him.

Smart.

Good instincts.

-"Open it. Go on."-

He encourages with a wag of his chin.

Your hand falteringly grabs the cupboard's wing, haltingly squeaking it open.

Observing your throat taking a loud, visible gulp does something to him.

So does your expressing going pale at the sight of what's inside.

If the devil himself was sat up in the pantry, you probably wouldn't be so befuddled.

-"Pick one and do it."-

He suggests nonchalantly, leaning back into his chair like someone waiting for a foot massage. Yeah, he had a whole arsenal in the larder adjoined to his kitchen, and that wasn't the only one on the premises either. He just didn't think handguns were serious enough to be kept anywhere else but next to the cups, mugs, forks and knives. Next to all the teeth cleaning miswak twigs. -"Preferably that big one over there. The one they shoot elephants with."- He instructs, pointing his nose in the vague direction of the 500 S&W Magnum hanging from a leather holster attached to a hook. Speedloader cartridges and all. You filled him up with that and he'd look like the scene of a bombardment afterwards. Kill me, kill me, kill me, something within him chants, quelling once the terror in your eyes becomes impossible to ignore and your voice becomes small. If he had a hard on until then, at the very notion of your elbow straightening to point a Magnum at him, it promptly dies with your capitulation. -"I'll clean up."- You offer, penitent and resigned. Barely audible. He's so angry at your behalf, although he never lets it show, that he needs to drill the nail of humiliation in further, hoping you'll snap out of it. -"Sir."- He corrects, throwing his jaw out, hoping with the last of all of his hopes that you'll find him insufferable enough to do something about it. After all, you had enough guns just inches from you to put most people, even in this county, to shame. Instead, you do fuck all, no matter how much belief he placed into you. -"I'll clean it up, sir."- You scoot down quickly and out of breath, knees against the carpet, collecting the shattered plate pieces with your bare hands even at the risk of cutting yourself on the sharp shards, being in such a hurry that he smells your empathy in every mousey, scattering movement of your eager fingers; like you'd rather be a maid under duress than ever hurt anyone. Didn't have it in you, did you? The tenacity to kill. Not really. Not even towards yourself. Now, if you were his sister, his daughter, his wife, he would've shaken you to your senses for letting some scarred, ugly ass, bad tempered mountain hick treat you like a sack of shit and then he would've ripped that motherfucker a new asshole too.

If you were his wife.

The thought sits there mutely. Germinating.

Barnes never moves from his chair, throwing his legs up.

Watching you tidy up without a word.

-

V.

The woods are dark, deep and they resound as the deer collapses.

Tangled in its own legs, having stumbled over old, dry branches, left laying limp.

Barnes's first instinct is to throw you a look as you stood behind him.

Watching the scene.

-"Sad as a cucumber."-

He remarks. You were, admittedly, crestfallen. And he didn't even make you haul his hunting equipment out here; made a point out of doing it all of his own --- all you did was accompany. Part of him hoping you'd make a wild dash through the woods. You never do. As things were, it was enough for you to see who he was so you'd get no wild delusions about him being some misunderstood hermit who was merely a bit rough around the edges. Make whatever disgusted notions you had of him only grow, cultivated and watered by him on purpose. He observes his handiwork for a second, taking a drag out of his cigarette, relishing the moment. -"You ain' gonna give me a good talkin' to how I gone and done bad by takin' this sack of shit to the grill?"- He inquires after he figures you've gone a little too quiet; you were a little too quiet ever since the plate incident and he found he didn't like that very much. You all blue and shit. In fact, if you whipped around and called him the human equivalent of a dung heap just about now, he'd flat out smile. Instead, all he gets is more melancholy. Sweet melancholy, admittedly; like a candy he could suck on and crush under his teeth. -"No, but ---"- You try and falter, looking at the felled animal in the grass and then promptly averting your eyes, off into the dusk. -"I'm not going to cheer on it either."- You mutter and Barnes makes a point out of not moving away from the fresh, warm carcass, instead, leaning his leg on the fallen tree trunk that broke the animal's body as it was shot so you'd have no choice but associate him with the kill, not unlike a hunter posing with a trophy. So you'd have a chance to regret you didn't take him out when you had the entire cupboard at your disposal.

Still did, in fact; it was always unlocked.

He never averts his stare from you.

Instead, you avert yours a second time when you find yourself watched.

Struggling for words.

-"I could never kill another living being. I don't know, I ---"-

You murmur, realizing the ironic, double edged blade of your own comment.

Could never kill a living being, sure. No living being but yourself, tried as you failed.

He was a living being too. Were you gonna spare him too, your own abductor?

So, fuck you, he was gonna give you a reason to hate him.

A fawn slithers through the tree line, startled by the presence of people, bleating for its murdered mamma and he promptly lifts his rifle and fires a round into the tiny body before scooting down and throwing the grown deer over a shoulder, leaving the offspring shot for sport behind, piercing you with his gaze as you stood there frozen, wrapped into the oversized jacket he gave you. His face close enough to touch yours as he bypassed you, invading your bubble, deliberately taunting.

Did you think he was a good man?

That he deserved mercy?

-

VI.

A line of bedsheets flutters in the breeze.

Now, he wouldn't consider himself a sloppy motherfucker by any stretch of the word, the army having drilled control and tidiness into him like second nature, but by no means was he someone conducting springtime washing as a ritual, finding he rather enjoyed it against all odds however perplexing and strange it was; like something out of those old picture books --- a fence of clean, white linen flapping windswept as he had his boot propped up on your knee after you've done polishing his boots, sat up on a pine log opposite of him. A whole winter spent here making way for an early spring. Why didn't you do it yet? Furthermore, why weren't the papers making an uproar about your disappearance? Why wasn't the radio mentioning it? This country has really gone to the dogs if a someone could be missing for six months and nobody gives a hoot to look or be bothered by it; he tosses aside the periodical, scowling and grumbling in displeasure, uncrossing his legs, having previously smeared the lower part of his face with a shaving brush packed with creme; a washing basin and a rag long since prepared and set down on a nearby wooden table accompanied by a cracked standing mirror so he could watch you do it.

-"Eyup. Now grab the razor."-

He instructs after you're done washing your hand of black boot grease.

Part of him hoped --- calculated, rather, that if he kept putting sharp objects into your hands sooner or later primal instincts would take over and the temptation to slice him open clean would take over all empathy and withholding because you were no saint; you were an animal too, just like the rest of them at the end of the day and an animal bites when cornered. But, just in any case ---

-"Where's your folks at? Why aren't they lookin' for'ya?"-

He prods as you take your position behind him, blade in hand.

-"Y'got your people, right, Orphan Annie?"-

He tries again once you say nothing, carefully dragging the steel on the side of his good cheek, leaving behind nothing but smooth skin.

-"Yeah."-

He murmurs, feeling his own voice grow distant yet intentionally smug.

-"Must've not wanted you very much if they let me find'ya."-

Was meant to be a cruel comment, sure, but he discovers a seed of truth in it even as its uttered; and again, he circles back to the same old, same old he's been circling back before --- if you were his, he'd search far and wide until he found you. Had to be some simple motherfuckers, whoever you considered your kin if there wasn't a Stateside search warrant out for you along with your face plastered on every milk carton and missing persons poster around and he'd know, because he went down to the nearest city, the city next to it and every surrounding no-exit street settlement, honky-tonk rathole and he's checked. Shit grinded his gears. Simultaneously, would he really let you go even if someone came looking? If someone came out of the woodworks claiming you? That's my daughter, that's my sister, that's my niece, that's my grandchild, that's my woman, that's my someone? Would he really say, here, get her off my hands, I'm done feeding her?

-"Like throwing' out a stray dog in front of a meat grinder factory."-

He mutters as you dragged the blade along his jaw.

He realizes too late how bitter and sore about it he actually sounded.

Like something about the whole premise bothered him.

A reverie interrupted only by the fact that the razor's blade scratched him.

Albeit, accidentally.

You pull back, startled.

Cutting the rough side of his face was always a task, even after all these years.

-"Oh!"- You stutter, practically tip toeing in a half circle to come around and face him, looking at the no doubt miniscule scar you've caused; he could tell its miniscule because he's known what an actual scar is and feels like and the sensation is stark, so far beneath the line of pain he doesn't even feel it. At this point, he didn't crave a beautiful death; just any old death would do. Take the razor, his mind bids you wordlessly, take the razor and cut, he thinks, as you dab away at a droplet of blood with a dry washcloth, looking profoundly apologetic before walking around him and returning to your work. The sight of you is like a true north to a compass; he never takes his eyes off of you, and when you're behind his neck, reaching around to shave him, he finds he's nothing interesting to watch anymore. The house. The woods. The long string of clean linen that filled the air with something soft; yeah, well, maybe the freshly washed laundry was interesting due to the fact you did it with your own two hands. -"I didn't mean to."- You assure him as he exposes his neck so you'd better work and coverage, leaving himself entirely vulnerable as a last ditch attempt to make this all too laughably easy for you, leaning fully with his spine against you, but there you were, continuing your work gently, borderline tempting him to simply grab your wrist and force the blade into himself like some sort of rabid animal gnawing its own foot off, craving to be put down. He says nothing, leaving you to your ministrations. He believed you just about; couldn't kill another living being, eh?

He contemplates that quietly after his face is shaven and done.

Your hand there pouring him a drink before dinner.

He wouldn't deny that he was keen, in part, to see you go rotten; outside of regaining what could only be considered a zest for living pushed into existence by a man who yearned to die, he did want to get carved up by you, but the fact he was being willfully and cluelessly denied for months, it brought him no pleasure, that part. He's seen hostages and POWs grow gutless and soft after too much time in captivity and interrogation like a wild animal being broken in and domesticated and he figured that's what happened to you, even as you come close, setting down the plates, one for you and one for him and he can't help but itch to comment, ashtray present for his cigarette. -"Make sure y'dun' go 'round breakin' my plates again."- He taunts with a cocked head, blowing the smoke into your face, gaining only you willfully ignoring him in the process and a downcast look focused on the task at hand, returning to the kitchen counter and the business of preparing the oiled skillet. You don't even do as much as cough. Enough, enough, enough; he thinks as he stands up, slowly, leisurely, not at all in a hurry, taking in your back turned to him. If this didn't anger you, if this didn't serve as a push and an incentive, the last droplet in a cup of water long since overdue on overflowing, nothing would. At that point, he'd just place a gun into your hand himself and press your finger down on the trigger, calling it a day.

His nose close enough to your hair to inhale your scent.

He places his arms around your waist like something he owned.

The blow comes down swiftly and he predicts it.

The unheated frying pan oil comes leaking down on his scalp and smacking him straight across the forehead, splitting something there, drawing blood; not enough to floor him by any means, but Barnes slumps against the counter, fully wide eyed and aware as you run out the front door, wearing not much else on your foot but a worn out pair of house slippers, the thumping echo of your footsteps growing more and more distant with each passing moment and the worst and simultaneously best outcome that could've taken place for your sake happens; You mustered up the guts to run off. The worst? You mustered up the guts to run off and left him behind. The fire in the cot is still crackling as he grabs a bottle of something strong from the counter behind his smashed up head giving it a swig, setting down beside him on the floor as company; if he, in the meantime, got ahead of a handgun from the pantry in between doing that, it wouldn't have surprised him one bit, finding the notion of playing with the safety of a firearm particularly wretched and fun right about now; the blood leaks into his eyes and he seems red. Chasing after you and bringing you back would've been easy pickings, but you fought for yours fair and square and you he could never fault anyone who tries and wins. When he feels something brushing against his cheek he nearly flinches, thinking it's the draft of the front door left open tickling his face.

-"Robert, I hit you."-

You confess gently and fuck sake, how were you real?

Just you saying his name alone makes his entrails coil into a knot.

He's told you what he's called, knew what you were called too; found that out.

Didn't recall if you ever were on a mutually first name basis, though.

No, you weren't.

-"My hand just flew and I hit you."-

You explain, in all honesty, croaching right in front of him, as real as daylight.

-"And ya'had to be simple enough to come back too."-

Barnes reproaches, chugging the last bit of Jack from the bottle, drunk as a skunk.

But, you were tangible; having walked across that threshold as tenderly as can be.

Shaken to your senses; that what you sorely needed since day one.

That and an ass whopping for good measure.

He does just that, grabbing you and rocking you furiously.

-"Why'd you come back!? Sumn' seriously wrong with your brain!"-

He grits his teeth, probably never having met someone with a disjointed sense of survival and self-preservation that jumbled and unhinged. You had a way out right there, he wasn't going to be hot on your trail --- he'd give you leave to slip away and make you think it was all your doing, that you somehow got the best of him, and what you go around and do!? You come back! Didn't you have an ounce of sense!? -"Y'let some motherfucker take you and keep'ya locked in his house for months!? Make'ya do his dishes!? Cook his food!? Wash his fuckin' socks!? Talk down on'ya to your face!?"- Barnes seethes, squeezing your shoulders and arms tight, finding this a running thing by now; him getting pissed at your behalf infinitely more than you seemed to be pissed at your own. In a figurative sense, he'd contemplate what would've happened if you ran into some worse sack of shit than him, but with no false sense of humbleness, you couldn't have done that even if you tried, so really, it was lucky you still had your head attached to your body at all. -"What if he made'ya warm his bed!? Would'ya let that fly too!?"- He barks, spittle flying out of his mouth, utilizing a crude example to sober you up to the reality of things that you could've been cooped up here and fucked and raped seven ways from Sunday until you're a bleeding, limping, crying, used up mess and you'd have no say in it whatsoever. Did that shit ever cross your mind!? A loaded Magnum by his left on the floor and an empty, heavy glass bottle on his right; his nose gesturing at both as direct suggestions if the open pantry above head wasn't clue enough. -"You had a cupboard full of shit to blast from and ya take a skillet to a grown man's head!?"- He judges and yes, he judges hard. Should've shot. Asked questions later. He looks at the dented, turned over frying pan on the parquet with particular disgust.

-"You're bleeding."-

You practically whisper, fingers hovering above his bleeding forehead.

Not daring to touch.

Eyes red and shiny; looking like you were crying on the way back.

He doesn't like what he infallibly recognizes in them.

-"That's why I came back. Because you were bleeding and I just couldn't ---"- -

--- Couldn't leave you behind, he finishes your sentence for you inside of his head and the onslaught of softness he feels creeping into his belly is so startling and violent he finds he needs to yell to mask and momentarily quell it or he'll go insane, like a broken machine going haywire all over the place. Fuck your sentimentality! -"What's it to'ya!? Men bleed all the time! Everyone bleeds! A chicken bleeds when'ya stuck it! That don't mean y'don't gotta butcher it to eat! You gonna rather starve yourself!? Finish it!"- Grabbing a hold of the discarded Magnum, he forces in it into your hand, watching it shake and shiver there like a trembling branch, practically growling his order, when he finds you hesitating, mouth agape and eyes frightened, the command is roared; ugly, without decorum, without holding back, his fingers squeezing your wrist like a cuff, forcing it against his temple. Why spare him? Did he do anything good in regards of you? Anything at all!? -"I said finish it!"- He hollers and he stops only when he spots a trail of tears streaming down your face. You sniffle, your white knuckled fingers shaking viciously. -"You saved my life last winter."- You manage and he lets you go of your arm, allowing the lowering gun to slither back to the floor; in a desperate attempt, you give it one final push, ensuring it scoots as far as possible from you. Save? Now that's a word he hasn't hard in association to himself in...ever, probably. What were you gonna say next? That you love him too? Is that it? You just sit there and whimper, on the floor, opposite to him sprawled out against the foot of the counter, a trail of blood leaking from the wooden handle's edges. Your voice cracks. -"If you had so many guns from the get go, why didn't you ---"- Aggrieved and in a sudden flash of fury, you question and Barnes instinctively covers your mouth, the fullness of his palm on your lips. If he had so many guns, why didn't he just shoot you when he found you in the woods and end your misery there, is that it? He didn't even want you saying shit like that. He didn't even wanna hear it.

He doesn't answer.

Holding you like that and observing your face, finding the gesture returned.

Until his grip on you falters and melts into an embrace.

Holding each other on the wooden floorboard.

[playandchill]

HAHA DEAD CAN SPEAK.

Here is my attempt at Victor guessing game (couldn't get things more wrong OH WELL GOODBYE PINK HAIR DREAM)

Next is just some doodles of Berry Basket + oc stuff xd

Fixed the problem of Berry Basket never being in a basket

So now you can get a Berry Mush

Or a Berry Casket for Halloween

Also still liked these doodles of Aerie and Nova

I thought about the idea of "flipping" Kor's and Hepi's appearance and this is what i got. Siblings just got turned into cats xdd

You don't want to hear them joke

[leonsleftbicep]

sleep token headcanons because the body be healing but also be aching

the vessels purr, you pet their favorite spot, boom! mush in your hands.

Vessel has a raspy purr thats almost but a hum in his chest. its favorite spot to be pet is his neck and sides.

II has a calmer more tongue roll like purr. his favorite petting spot is his hair, shoulders, and back.

III oh boy they have a very loud purr, so loud in fact that multiple of the vessels cant sleep because of their purrs. their a big thigh pets enjoyer, idk why i just feel like they like when people pet the sides of their thighs.

IV his purr is soft and silky, the type that would sooth you in any situation. his favorite petting area is his face, neck, and the back of his ears.

(i felt this was fitting to let out of the casket with todays events)

[twidiarie]

I would rather be alone then be lonely

In a marriage arranged by two sets of families, a union, a tie between both branches

Brittle branches

To slowly or quickly fall in love, wouldn't that be lovely? Scary, but wonderful, yet I remain wary

Committing my life, this and a next to a man who barely knows me?

Leaving up my fate to destiny, riddled with uncertainty

Only God knows what will happen and I can only pray for the best

The thought makes me turn and toss at night, not able to get an iota of rest

I would rather stand naked and bare in front of a strange man than to axe open my chest and bare the seed, my heart, my vulnerable, tender, heart

Bury me alive without a casket, under heaps of dirt,

I'd rather choke on depths of soil than to unearth my soul, my love, from its roots and present my affection, my trust, the fruit it bears first

An offering of commitment, together forever

But humans are such fickle creatures, emotions come and go and explode and implode and change into one form into another, varying in intensity,

random and fleeting like the breeze that brushes past leaves gently or the storm and whirlwinds that tears them off brutally

What will I do when the man I love turns cold and distant suddenly?

marinate in my own solitude and spout melancholic soliloquies? Hibernate underneath, or burrowed in a nest up high from where I can not be seen or perceived?

What if he wakes up one day and decides I'm too much or too little, overbearing and annoying and emotional and plagued and diseased with weeds that cause constant turmoil

He is Goldilocks and I am every other porridge, not just right. I am not homeostasis, not stable, unbalanced and like streams of water, will constantly disperse

I am comfortable but I am not perfect I am imperfect and I am flawed and I am not a dream but not quite a nightmare I am far worse

I am boring, dreadful reality in a boring dreadful reality

The fruit I give will bruise and decay and rot at his feet and he will stamp on it with his heels and the juices will flow out and the fibers and pulp will seep through his toes and the pain of turning into mush will deform the once ripe once tender once sweet creature I once was

rotten fruit turns into wine, bitter, throat burning alcohol, a toxin and poison that flows through my insides, its existence like the shame of an endless stream of past faux pas

I will be used broken goods sold at a discounted price, in rotten barrels lined with mildew made from my own flesh, the wood, the bark, growth rings exposed and cracks shown, easily traceable,

my history obvious, my state irreparable

lucky to be sold, lucky to be bought, lucky to be wanted, I wager

Emotional vulnerability in the face of cold uncertainty is the little sapling who stands weakly in the face of winters unforgiving nature

Nature is cruel and nature is real and men are nature and their nature is cruel and it is real and loving a man of my own choosing when I am so young and so naive will be my own undoing

I fear of it, I fear of it

[occxlt-actixn]

If a band never officially releases a song is it corny to rip its composition for ur own production y/n?

[artemis-lynn]

*spawns* Wassup

Nickname: Artemis/Artie

Newsie name: Pepper!

Age: A number that exists

Hobbies: Drawing, acting, reading, role-playing, scrolling, avoiding sleep, drinking caffeine, singing, writing

Fave musicals: Newsies & West Side Story

Favorite role: -Ensemble member in Matilda

*-Firm believer that theatre is a sport-*

Dream Roles: -Spot Conlon (Newsies) -Racetrack Higgins (Newsies) -Riff (West Side Story) -Anita (West Side Story)

Fave musical songs: First Burn (Hamilton) Dear Theodosia (Hamilton) Candy Store (Heathers) Sincerely Me (Dear Evan Hansen) Requiem (Dear Evan Hansen) Santa Fe (Newsies, BOTH VERSIONS of the song but especially Christian Bale's), Letters from the Refuge (Newsies) Brooklyn's Here (Newsies) Once and For All (Newsies) Gee Officer Krupke (West Side Story 2021) I Feel Pretty (West Side Story 2021) America (West Side Story 2021) Tonight (Quintet) (West Side Story 2021)

Fave non-musical songs as of rn: Long Live (T.Swift) When Emma Falls in Love (T.Swift) Never Grow Up (T.Swift) Dorothea (T.Swift) Champagne Problems (T.Swift) (I'M A SWIFTIE SHHHHH)

Fave movies: Newsies (1992), West Side Story (2021), The Princess Bride, Cruella, The Amazing Spiderman 2, Across the Spiderverse, Wonder Woman (2017)

Fave TV show: High School Musical the Musical The Series

Fave books: I Must Betray You (Ruta Sepetys) The Princess Bride (William Goldman) The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise (Dan Giemenhart) Alone (Megan Freeman) Dark stalker (Tui T Sutherland)

Fave book SERIES: SIX OF CROWS SIX OF CROWS SIX OF CROWS (Leigh Bardugo)

Fave characters: Spot Conlon (Newsies) Blink (Newsies) Racetrack Higgins (Newsies) Sarah Jacobs (Newsies) Riff (WSS) Anita (WSS) Valentina (WSS) Kaz Brekker (SoC) Inej Ghafa (SoC) Nina Zenik (SoC) Jesper Fahey (SoC)

Fave ships: Sprace (Spot x Race, Newsies) Blush (Mush x Blink, Newsies) SPARAH (Spot x Sarah, Newsies) Riff x Tony (WSS) Anita x Bernardo (WSS) Kanej (Kaz x Inej, SoC) Helnik (Nina x Matthias, SoC) Wesper (Wylan x Jesper, SoC)

"If any of you survives, make sure I get an open casket at my funeral. The world deserves a few more moments with THIS face."-Jesper Fahey, Six of Crows

[ask-ciaphas-cain]

Oh man imagine the tension of trying to transfer his rickety old bones into the dreadnought without dropping even the smallest tarsal bone. Would he be able to help with the process? Could he puppeteer himself to get in? Do they have to kind of just mush him into the life support casket and hope for the best? I'm sure it would be a process of great ceremony and awe but let's not lie to ourselves and say there isn't something inherently awkward about having to armor a living corpse.

"The Emperor of Mankind dons his dreadnought armor for the final battle with chaos" by Wolfdawgartcorner

[efe-vegas]

About death

I never understood why people wanted to bury their loved ones in wooden, polished caskets. There, they rot, slowly, sunken in soil but abandoned from light. Eventually they are digested, nature has its ways to crack open the impermeable shell of a casket door, and shared back into life.

The casket, serving an aesthetic of respect and permanence, tries to prevent the thought: them, lying in the soil, decomposed, degraded by the surrounding organism. And even at that, it might have done a bad job.

To most of us, a human is a monolith, an identity with values, experiences, relations, occasionally stricken to its core. To think of her, flesh torn apart, turnt into a mush, continuing to breathe in a million worms and fungi and bacteria… She used to have morals once.

Now she surrounds us, she came from the mothership and returned exactly there. She, born from a million other deaths, rose to a singleton for a good 75 years, living as a leaf in the branches of the most fruitful tree. And neighbors, who looked so distant and different, high and above, stemmed a million branches away, born from the same root, and fallen into the same soil.

Once, we won’t know it then, we will again breath in the same tree. Just like now, when we are those who lived centuries before us, carrying the grieved lover and the late wife in the same arm, same leg.

[onlyhurtforaminute]

CASKET MUSH-RUPTURED THROUGH THE DEPTHS OF HUMAN ERROR

[mark-of-chrysus]

#10

Once was already too much. Twice was beyond cruelty. Thrice...thrice was not meant for the human mind to comprehend.

So when you have to do it a thousand times and then some you become rather desensitized to certain things that could make others writhe.

That's how Daniel found himself looking up at the paling faces of his friends, vaguely aware that his body wasn't supposed to be able to bend that way. There were tears, of course, pleading for him to say awake, to hold on until the ambulance arrived. The worst part though was the reassurances, because both parties knew by that point that they were just wishful thinking.

Like, no Zack, I just got hit by a truck going over 200 km/h, I'm not going to be okay! The bloodied boy tried to voice these words but they only came out as strangled moans, which elicited more sobs and, to his everlasting indignance, shushing.

"Nnnghn hngh!" (Don't shush me!)

"It's going to be okay."

"Mnghnh mnmnth nghgh ghngfngh mnghnghhtt! mnggggg hnghnght mthght." (Vasco, I adore you but I'm literally twisted like play-doh and I think I can feel my bones trying to escape my body and form their own army for world domination!!)

"Shh, just hang on."

Danny shot him a dirty look, though he had to guess which one of his friends the bald white egg shushing him was. Probably Jin, he had always been a little bitch like that. If he squinted the alien-like thing looking down on him was pretty similar to the dumbass.

"Mhnh mgthhhhh-." (Bitch if you shush me one more-)

"Shhh" Zack placed his finger on his lips, before quickly retracting his hand and massaging the bite marks on his pointer with what was supposed to be aggravation. The tears and snot running down his face ruined the image.

Finally, through the constant ringing in his ears, Daniel could distinguish the sound of sirens. People shuffled around him and someone tried to get his attention, but their voice turned to mush in his ears. He threw one last look at his friends and reached towards Jay through the paramedics.

"Mnh nhghn Macarena mngh." (Bae, you need to play Macarena at my funeral!)

And with that, the world went black. Then white, then black again. Then he came upon himself, literally.

"They did a pretty good job with my body, you can't even tell that half of these are missing" He poked at one of his limbs, his translucent finger going right through it. There was no bone, just a metal rod kipping the arm in place.

Danny shuddered and retracted his hand as if he had been burned. No matter how many times he ended up as a ghost it never got less weird touching things. He shrugged and floated upwards, passing through the lid of the casket and angling his body so that he no longer felt like he was lying down. Gravity didn't apply to ghosts, so getting his body to sit straight was really tricky until you got the hang of it.

The venue was pretty packed, with people balling their eyes out. They were all dressed in black and looking at a picture of him smiling that had been propped on a stand near his casket. In the front row was his mother, at whose appearance he cringed.

It never got easier seeing her so utter;y devastated, but that was always the way it went when he died, his bigger body would vanish without a trace, and his smaller one would remain, lifeless. His eyes scanned over the other people at the venue trying to get the image of her dull eyes and sunken cheeks out of his mind.

Next to his mother was his beloved jay. Oh, how he wanted to wrap his arms around the boy and wipe those tears that never stopped rolling down his exquisite face! Instead, he caressed his darling's cheek lovingly, making the boy shudder at the feeling of sudden coldness. He didn't dare linger, unable to bare the heartbreaking sight of his lover's grief.

If Daniel had been drinking he would have done a spit-take right then and there. (Was it disrespectful to spit at your own funeral?)

Nestled between a sobbing Crystal and a mostly-unbothered Kouji was Diego Kang himself, having a whispered conversation with an ashen-faced Gun. The latter must've taken the death of his masterpiece and the subsequent disappearance of Daniel's bigger self as quite the blow. 'He did waste a lot of time training me and seemed very eager to get taller me to be his...something, whatever that was...' the boy mused, making his way across from them and to the audio system. He didn't have time to ponder such things. He was a ghost on a mission.

Possessing humans was rather simple if tiring, but messing around with electronics had always been a favorite of his whenever he ended up as a wandering specter. The speakers, placed strategically in the four corners of the room, simultaneously crackled to life, startling the people in attendance, before:

Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena Hey Macarena, ay

Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena Hey Macarena, ay

Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena Hey Macarena, ay

Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena Hey Macarena, ay

Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena Que tu cuerpo es pa' darle alegría y cosa buena Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena Hey Macarena, ay!

[ginwhitlock]

For the Sensory Asks, want to do 28 and 29 for Emmett and 69 for Jasper?

yes yes these are fun

Emmett’s a smell guy. That sounds weird I know but he is! I think it’s his greatest sense, his ears aren’t as sharp as Jasper’s, his eyes not as quick as Edward’s or Rose, he’s not as fast as half of them, but smell is his thing. He grew up surrounded by a wood burning stove, the scent of meat and starch wafting out of the house. He also grew up in the blood and dirt, less playing more fighting with his brothers and the men he did bad business with (he was a gambler and a drinker). But I think that’s all mush now, as an immortal blood is his everyday and dirt is a way of life. But the fresh scents— the breeze carrying wet laundry and the smell of lavender and honeysuckle, that’s his bad place. Sometimes it’s of the girl he killed, out there with her laundry line, sometimes it’s his sister, sitting in her casket older than he ever thought he’d see her, or the musk of a funeral home, all the guilty Cullens in audience, his stomach swirling in memory, not in physicality.

Jasper’s Hair!!! The topic. The Topic!!! Now I don’t think Jasper cares how it looks. Almost. Like I know for a good chunk of his veggie life Alice did it, slicking gel into each strand and then pushing it this way and that, as she does her own. But sometimes. Sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched in such a way. He can’t stand the stench of the gel and the way it sticks to his skin without washing out. So here’s his routine: wash it. Condition sometimes. Run hands through it. Dry. Run hands through it again. Run hands through it. Run run run run run. Get it wet. Run—

Send me a number!

[lowkeyclueless5137]

The Old Cathedral II

:v

Hooo booooiiiiii

There will be so much to unpack in here...

So let's get things in order before we roll.

What we will cover:

-Deadline information from Kalim

-More palace exploring

-Jamil's role

-finding out more about the black creature

These are surely sum interesting points...

Now onto the action!

Welp... The group immediately assembled once Kalim made it clear that they had a deadline. Jamil was also there, which brought more confusion to anyone.

First point was calming down Kalim. Which was easier than expected... Second, Kalim told them the whole story. Why Jamil was there and why there was now a deadline hanging around their necks.

Jamil saw them entering and exiting the palace. Kalim couldn't lie to him about it, but since Jamil had pictures, Kalim ordered to delete them. After that, it was more or so, the wierd eye app appearing on Kalim's phone and the 2 accidentally stumbled in mementos. It was a whole series of shenanigans before Kalim actually awakened a persona(Jamil said, with quite the detail, that he was horrified at the whole bloody face and fire). Later on, in shril survival need, Jamil also awakened.

But the 2 main points were:

1. Kalim and Jamil saw a black creature roaming in mementos. It was smaller and crawling around, but the 2 saw how it immediately obliterated a gigantic shadow, which prompted them to hide and run away from it.

2. When returned to their hotel room, the 2 found out that Kalim's mother, Mrs Asim, who was a widow for some years, was dating in secret none other than Taka Koizumi. Jamil spied on him and found out that the man will try to propose at the party on 5th of June as he was his mother's plus 1.

And damn, Epel sure blew immediately a casket. Like how dare this man?! It was the same case with Mrs Ashengrotto: he will stay with her until he can no longer milk money out of the family.

Kalim was panicked because he didn't want his mama to end up with a rotten man like that and Jamil was supporting him with this because neither did he want a superior like that from what Kalim told him about the man.

So now their deadline: 5th of June.

Epel immediately demanded that they should go on in the metaverse, but first, they had to tend to both school and babysitting duty. Malleus, Kalim, Jamil and Epel were the lucky mfs who were either homeschooled or just here for a trip.

So to cut off some time, Epel called over Malleus to help him out with his assignments. Kalim tagged along with Jamil since also Kalim needed to polish his Japanese while Jamil was just a natural talent at learning. Mrs Ashengrotto was a bit surprised to see that Epel made buddies, but she was happy for the boy and even served them homemade snacks for their study breaks. She did inform that she will be out for a few hours, so the 4 have food in the fridge and Azul also has keys to the apartment, so they don't need to bother about door knocking.

Once the woman was out of the hearing range, the 4 studied a bit more until Epel and Kalim's brains got fried and so, they took a break.

~~~~~~~~

Azul really only wanted to plop on his bed and snooze until the afternoon. It was a hard day at school, which made it far more reassuring to see the familiar apartment door of his home. He will just take a few minutes break before checking onto Epel's work and then get himself a nice relaxing bath. Just the thought of a warm bath and mushing in there until his fingers became wrinkly was a temptation Azul could bearly stand against.

*we can't possibly wait!*

Azul froze in his place, key millimeters away from entering in the hole. Epel was inside, talking with someone? Maybe he argued with their mother?

"if we want to steal the treasure... We need the others... The palace is quite big..." "But the treasure has to be in the tower... Can't we just... Climb it?" "It's not that simple... Most likely we would be spotted if we tried to climb it like a mountain..."

3 other voices, all talking in Japanese. Epel had someone over?

*Well... Maybe we can drive our way up and then use the roof as a launch to the tower?* Epel suggested. Azul frowned even more.

They were in the living room, which was directly connected with this door. And Epel understood perfectly fluent Japanese. Something wasn't adding up. And what about stealing? And a tower? Was it some intricate D&D session?

"Leader said they are out..." "Well... I believe we shall go..." *Hell yeah... Ready to beat that geezer's ass!*

So finally deciding to open the door, Azul entered over the group, taking a deep breath so he could ask what was going on.

But he found himself in a bush maze.

~~~~~~~~

While Azul was in the bush maze, our 4 guys were in the safe room, along the others from the group. Now Jamil, Kalim and Epel had to gain each a codename.

Jamil was now Sailor

Kalim was Gold

And Epel was Axe (Heart: how come he gets a badass weapon name too?!)

And they were absolutely ready to explore the palace. Going up more floors, they immediately cleared them at how many they were. Sailor's persona was a more balanced one, while Gold and Axe were going ham on damage dealing.

And so, they reached the top of the floors, only to realise that there was no more exit towards the tower. No door, no secret passage, not even a window they could use the grappling hook from.

Going up was useless! They wasted time over it in hopes they could reach the tower...

But, before they could come up with another plan, they heard screams and someone protesting. Looking down through the balcony to the ground floor, they could see the shadows of nuns dragging in someone.

It was Azul, who showed to have some incredible force as there were 4 nuns holding each of his arms as he tried to get out.

Knight and Axe immediately wanted to jump in, but Flame was the rational one who told them that the fall was too high to avoid getting down safely. They had to get down the stairs so they can avoid attracting too much attention.

But they were by far too late, as Azul was shackled on that little stage and the shadows kneeled down, starting a ceremony.

~~~~(Tw for blood)~~~~

The rattling of shackles made Azul more and more desperate to get free. The metal chains were heavy, holding his hands close to the ground as he was kneeled down. He couldn't get on his legs, the chain was too short. Fearfully looking, Azul came to turn around, seeing the gigantic stained window.

"Isn't it beautiful? Unfortunately... A monster like that couldn't have been tamed so easily..."

That voice... It sent Azul shivers as he immediately turned around to face the one who spoke.

Lavish clothing made out of fine silk. A quite Extravagant gold crown representing a halo. If those weren't meant to be a sign of luxury, Azul didn't know. Unfortunately, he knew all too well that face.

"You bastard!" He spat, trying to lunge at him, but Azul was met with failure as the chains kept him in place. "This is how you considered mother?!" He yelled again. "Why not... Your mother was such an angel... Almost a Saint if you will..." The man smiled as he came closer, grabbing Azul's chin with force.

"that beast unfortunately got the human form of you... And it must be exorcised at once!" The man declared with a serious tone before throwing Azul to the ground. "You shall be liberated of sin at once!" He declared.

A beast of sin... This is what we are...

Azul gasped like a fish for air, a headache coming over him as he groaned, struggling into the chains which rattled louder. He could hear someone screaming his name, numerous voices chanting in an aincent language and that man's cruel laughter.

If sin is what it takes to be truly liberated... Your sorrow might find it's aid soon...

Letting out a pained scream, Azul yanked upwards his hands, the chains finally breaking from their link to the floor as the white haired boy holded his hands up in the air over the silent room. Heavy breaths escaped his lips as tears fell in front of his knees.

I am thou...

"Thou art I..." Azul trailed, hands descending down to his face, which was lowered. His voice sounded wierd, almost as if 2 people were speaking instead of one. "If you want a monster to defeat..." He spoke again, the elderich voice echoing through the cathedral.

"THEN I'LL BE THE DEMON OF YOUR DAMNATION!"

SPLAT!

Azul holded onto something as he rose his head at an immense speed, hands dropping the now black mask on the floor, blood dripping off the boy's face as his lips turned into a maniacal smile, evolving into a laughter to match as something started to move from his back.

Blue flames ignited as a being rose from Azul's back, long Claws tearing into the ground before the being soared into the air, letting out a battle cry, leaving the boy to be eaten by the blue fire, which dissappeared once Azul rose his hands in a praying position, now wearing a new attire, his coat resembling long tentacles that flowed down the floor.

"get him, my Saint of Corruption." he whispered as the persona lunged down in an explosion that threw off everyone into the walls. Raising up, Azul smiled as he heard a soft crack behind him. Poking his right hand fingers, the persona reacted as well.

CRASH!

The gigantic window cracked all, shattering as the shards fell akin to a colorful rain of glass. Azul only spread his arms wide with that same devilish smile on his face.

"Come at me and see what this demon is made of!"

~~~~~~~~

It was the first time the palace ruler showed up. And unfortunately, he retreated just as quickly through a secret trapdoor, while the shadows cluttered the whole place. The thieves finally reached as well, helping out Azul as Draco was the one who took him bridal style after the low stamina kicked in, retreating to a safe room.

To say Azul was took aback by the whole story was an understatement. He did give Draco a look before focusing all his worry onto Epel, who did reassure that he was alright and that he wanted to steal this man's rotten desires.

After that, the group decided to go back to the real world. Azul found himself back in his home with Epel, Malleus, Kalim and Jamil, who initially were there for a study session. Malleus seemed to be a great tutor as Epel did improve a tiny bit in his Japanese, even if now they could understand him speaking in English as well, with or without prior knowledge of the language.

In the late afternoon, Riddle and Ortho were visited at Leblanc by Azul and Epel. While Epel and Ortho were messing around, Azul demanded to have a talk with Riddle.

And in there, Azul notes that he only wants to aid in this heist as his prize will be revenge. After that he doesn't want to tie himself more to this whole metaverse thing. Riddle accepted his terms with the condition of keeping confidentiality after that. With that out of the way, Azul confesses that he was blinded by rage in that moment, yet still, he could clearly recall that someone was speaking to him before his persona.

Azul said that when he looked around, he saw them coming, but a few floors above, he saw a figure covered in all black, blurred a bit by smoke. It felt like that figure was the one talking to him before the persona. Riddle asked what it told him, but Azul said that he couldn't remember.

But even so, after that, Trey and Che'nya visited! And ofc Riddle had to spare sum time for them. (in the back Ortho and Epel probably egg on each other to eat raw coffee beans).

Che'nya points out that Riddle seemed very changed now that he moved to Shujin. The redhead does ask if by chance he was missing the old strict Riddle. This makes Trey to raise a brow since 'when was Riddle teasing someone?'. Riddle seemed as if he was on a thin rope, every little thing gaining his attention or making him to flinch, which was a bit of a difference from his main, relaxed tone.

So after leaving Leblanc with Che'nya, Trey voices his worry that Riddle might have gotten himself in some trouble. Che'nya brushes it off, saying that it's impossible since it's Riddle! Man won't leave the house if he wasn't told he's allowed. Che'nya quotes a western movie he saw, saying that 'it's more likely for pigs to fly'.

He then asks Trey if by chance, he doesn't trust Riddle anymore. Trey does try to defend himself, saying that he was just worried for him, because he was, after all, in a new place and it didn't look like Riddle was fully blended in. Che'nya just brushes him off, telling him that he trusts Riddle. Riddle is their friend! He wouldn't lie to them if something was amiss.

Trey still doesn't brush off his worries, but he does give Che'nya a bit of acknowledgement. Yeah, Riddle wouldn't lie to them... Right?

Meanwhile, Riddle planning the cathedral heist with the others. And still having a crisis about breaking rules. Yusuke is there with some warm tea and cookies. :'3

Speaking of Yusuke, he was sleeping on the couch in the attic this night. Futaba nagged him for getting again paint on the carpet. x'3

Yusuke did know a few things about how it's that culture shock due to being raised a certain way. While not really as strict as Mrs Rosehearts raised Riddle, but Madarame was after all, a rotten man, of course there were some rules Yusuke had to follow then. And sometimes they still haunt him up to this day.

And when brought up about Madarame, Riddle knew about the case. He didn't bring it up, but he figured that the og Phanthom thieves must've taken down then Madarame's palace.

He wondered about a possibility, but decided against it. He knew better than to ask about every small thing.

Instead, Riddle asked Yusuke how exactly did Futaba and his father met. Yusuke says that it was in a dire moment. Futaba was pregnant with Ortho at that time, but they visited a lot of doctors who said that the baby couldn't survive, since it was way too weak, even if they took the same cautions as with Idia, who had no problem being brought to the world. They couldn't really tell little Idia, who was just 2 years old and so eager to have a little sibling.

But then, Mr Rosehearts showed up. He was running around since it was hectic at the hospital and he had to book his flight for the next month to London. At that time, Yusuke was covering for Futaba at Leblanc, when she called to say that her water broke. It was a chaotic day. He still vividly remembers that he yelled at the phone so loud that poor Mr Rosehearts spit the coffee on him. He tried to offer his help as he was a doctor, coming with the coffee stained Yusuke to their house. After that, Futaba told him he fainted on the couch, so Futaba birthed Ortho on the coffee table. Poor Idia was told to hold his dad's hand and don't look, but in the end, Ortho was brought to the world and rushed to the hospital.

Riddle was a bit shook at that, especially since Yusuke said that for all the effort, Mr Rosehearts still apologized for spitting a whole cup of coffee on Yusuke. He was the one who helped out bringing Ortho to a healthy child. After that, he became a close family friend. Although he rarely had time for himself, let alone other people.

Yusuke would describe Mr Rosehearts as 'way too kind for his own good'.

For a moment, the 2 didn't really have anything to discuss on more, until Yusuke spotted Riddle's notebooks. They were full of notes and whatsoever. Yusuke is impressed by the boy's calligraphy, since it looked like Riddle wrote very fast.

Then he stumbles upon some biology sketch. Riddle explains that since his mother expects of him to become a doctor, he had to know how to visualise and identify such things as organs and human body.

And Yusuke gives his own side of critique, saying that a side of the sketch was a both rough or if he wanted to make a difference in between muscle and fat, to make them stand out, he should glide the crayon in a different pattern.

And all night, the two drift into the various sides of drawing. Riddle looked genuinely interested and Yusuke was more than happy to show him how he could have his sketches more accurate. He was knowledgeable about anatomy after all and he was more than happy to share information and help out someone to shape their drawing skills.

In the end, Riddle wanted to learn more about anatomy and how he could portray it more realistically and Yusuke was more than happy to show him. They kind of hype each other... :'3

The next day, Trey visits in the morning. He said he was in the zone and also offered to walk Riddle and Ortho to Shujin, since it was on his way to his own school.

At the train station, the 3 happened to bump into Jade. Apparently nor Akira or Haru could drop to school the twins, so the 2 had to take the train, much like Riddle, Ortho and Trey.

And ya know... Those Okumura/Kurusu genes are truly smth, since it was obvious Jade had the looks meant to make heads turn. Add the fact that he is TALL, easily standing out in the crowd.

Riddle introduces Jade as his classmate. And boi did Trey turn awkward. He tried to say something but it was all in between the lines of 'your eyes look like grapes'. Ortho cringed so hard he refused to look at Trey. Riddle just got himself drowned in a book he borrowed from the library.

Jade tho? He found it amusing.

After Trey left them at Shujin, Jade mentions how he looks like a pelicular guy... Riddle tells him 'pls don't toy with his heart' getting Jade to play the 'I don't know what you're talking about' and innocent eyes. Ortho just knows this will go down horrendously.

After school tho, the group reassembled at the park near the courthouse. Azul picked up Epel from home and Malleus just came on his own along Kalim and Jamil. Vil had a photoshoot, Rook was God knows where and Jade was in the aera.

Knowingly to them, Trey was spying. He got busted by Jack and Jade immediately got them into a conversation, drifting them away as the others left for the metaverse.

At the Cathedral, Azul was assigned a codename. Knight really wanted to name him takoyaki or octopi, but before he could bring up why, Azul shut him up. They settled on kraken, since Azul was seen by the palace ruler as a powerful kraken that had yet to be defeated.

Now, instead of going up, the group goes down, through the secret door they saw last time in here. That door lead them to the dungeons of the cathedral. Dark stoney walls and arcades. Money bills from different countries were scattered on the floor, predominantly yens. The doors were wooden, having on them the symbol of yen as well.

Their first noticeable constable was a room made out of mirrors, but the floor was all deep water. A lever was all the way down under the water, bur the door was way too far to be swimming in your own. Rose didn't know to swim, much like Heart and Gold. Axe, Spade, Draco, Sailor and Flame said that they were decent. Knight said that he, his brother and Kraken were quite good at this. Mona was a no-no with water... So they had that...

That's when Draco noted how the mirrors all have a wooden back. Perhaps they could use the wooden backs as makeshift boats.

So taking out a few of them, everyone split up in groups of 2, using their long weapons to sail to the other part. Mona was additional in one group.

But the door was locked. With no other option, Knight offered to dive in and get the lever. This is what opened the door and had them proceed.

Unfortunately as they progressed, it was clear that they had to sail more and more as they passed around.

It was a sign that they went deeper and deeper underground.

And right now, a few of the passages to the surface had them get out in already different parts of the cathedral they already explored.

If only they had a Navi who could actually scan the place. :'3

So they had to call it off for today and see what exactly they could do to pinpoint where the tower entrance was without sailing aimlessly in the dungeons and fighting shadows that lurked in the water. It took too much time and stamina as they didn't have the high ground.

Riddle still had to take things from Jade regarding the Trey and Jack distraction.

But in the late afternoon, the group had a meeting at Leblanc. It was clear that without someone able to scan the place like oracle or at least sense danger like siren, they wouldn't meet the deadline. Ortho suggests that maybe they should make their own way to the tower, without the dungeons, but Azul cuts him off that it's more likely for the shadows to 'clean' everywhere in between their visits.

Unbeknownst to them, someone listened in.

Ortho got a text from Leona, saying that since today cheeka wasn't free, neither he was tomorrow. Ortho wasn't having anymore need as he already got the sum he needed, but still going for some extra pocket money never hurt anyone... Right?

The next day tho, once going in the metaverse, Mona did say that he smelled something foul in the air. And Heart did say that he had the feeling of something watching them.

Their worries were proven when they heard a bird sound, akin to some sort of eagle battle cry, yet far more delicate and melodic.

And a bird landed on flame's head. The thief immediately tried to get it off, but it would put itself again on his head the second he stopped flapping his arms around. It didn't want to leave Flame alone, so the others agreed to keep the bird. Wierdly enough, once the agreement was made, the bird stopped perching on Flame's head and flew above them or sometimes staying on Flame.

And the bird proved to be far more useful than anticipated, as it helped them navigate the dungeons, reaching finally a ground tunnel with many doors.

~~~~(Tw for gore)~~~~

The bird let out a chirp as it flapped it's greyish wings. Leaving Flame's head. The tunnel was lit by small torches. "I think the birdie wants to the end of the tunnel." Heart mumbled. "So far... It was nothing but a guiding light for us..." Draco mused. "What is the call, Rose?" Kraken asked.

"We follow it..." Rose mused, getting a faster pace as the group's steps were faith on the lone Hall.

Yet as the bird reached the end of the hall, it seemed to stop as it got into a more darker, unlit corner, chirping.

CLANK! SPLAT!

Something was thrown out of the said corner, towards the group. Spade and Axe immediately pulled their melee weapons, pointing them at the said object. It was an amour piece.

Except there was a hand in there. A shadow's hand as it moved a bit, oozing with black substance. Everyone backed away one step, breaths hitched as their gazes were only on that lone part as it sizzled and dissolved.

Pop pop...

A popping sound, akin to someone licking their fingers of cake frosting, was heard. Something stepped out of the darkness, holding something akin to a bat, on their supposed to be shoulder, the bird that guided the group resting.

It was the black creature...

Long dark Claws, dirty with dripping shadow matter clenched onto the said wooden object as the creature halted in front of a door. It was silence, the group of thieves having their weapons out and ready for any movement.

FWOSH!

Immediately the thick smoke engulfed the whole wall at an immense speed, putting out all the torches. "DAMMIT!" Heart cried out.

"Persona!" Rose demanded as he summoned a persona, using a fire attack to hit a nearby torch.

Silence...

The hall was empty now, excusing the pile of thieves who punched into each other, squeezing together. "I-is it gone?!" gold whispered.

Draco was the more courageous soul who approached the dark corner with a torch, getting the light to vanquish the misterious coroner's mistery.

Armour... Pieces of thorn clothes and armour, in a pile pushed in the corner.

"It seems... Like this creature... Has not just an affiliation to personas..."

~~~~~~~~

With that, the group hastily returned to the real world, the new information sinking in.

And despite their skepticism, they decided to put the palace mission on hold for a moment.

BAM BAM BAM!

*epic drumroll*

This is a mess✨

So I'll let y'all ponder over this :3

Until next time! Buh bye!

[hmshermitcraft]

Pt. 2 of historical hermits being called “Just friends”

Hermiton herald

Breaking news:

The caskets of two well known founders have been found, leading to historians asking many questions:

The caskets of both Sir Ren the Dog and Doctor Macmillan the 7th have been found under a historical landmark of a van the two close friends shared together, along with the casket of an unknown man, which DNA testing has shown to be the body of RenBob, a close relative to Sir Ren. Found on their bodies were matching rings and photographs that indicate a connection more than friendship. Along with this, letters depicting the events of affairs between the two, who had never taken lovers of the opposite sex, have been discovered, hidden by direct relatives of theirs because of the lack of acceptance at that time. Those letters were forgotten about but we hope this news will be taken well, as times have changed. We interviewed the last living Hermit about these matters, and here is what he had to say.

Reporter: We’ve found evidence that two close friends of yours, Ren and Doc, may have been dating. What is your opinion on these matters?

Mumbo: Us hermits always knew, and they were legally married. It was only after most of the remaining hermits died that homphobia was pushed on to the newer generations. None of the original hermits would’ve stood for this. We were all very accepting of them. Hell, I had two husbands of my own. I don’t believe any of the hermits were Cisgender or Straight. Most of us were polyamorous and slept around with the others. You only found theirs because they didn’t try to hide it. They were brave. You only idolize us because you’ve been trained to think that anyone in a position of power mush have conformed to roles forced upon us. You know nothing about us so you make up what you want.

Reporter, now in shock: So, you had two husbands and never bothered to confide in the press?

Mumbo: Of course not, why would I? It is none of your business and the press is full of nonsense gossips who make up stuff half of the time. I’m ending the interview now, I will disclose later information when I see fit.

Reporter: Good day Sir.

Mumbo: I wish I could say the same.

-✨(Aka forgot to tag the original)

Well now I’m invested. Who was responsible for the straightwashing of the hermits?