#Forever Open Source Jam

[ratgrrrlgames]

Some More WIP and Stuff

To prove I'm not just making making TTRPG memes and shitposts masquerading as 'games' or whatever (I don't know if these will necessarily make that case, but they are are at least higher effort).

I previously posted some a WIP of Hierarchies of Circles:

Cuplets: A Collection of Libations for the Comprehensive Universal Poem System WIP

So, there other night I was checking out entries to the 12-Word RPG Jam, because 12-Word RPGs have taken over my life, and I came across CUPS (Comprehensive Universal Poem System) by Chubby Crow Games (@harperthejay) and became absolutely obsessed with the simplicity and brilliance.

My neurodivergences were already already loving the 12-Word RPG constraints and adding poetry and/ or rhyme was just too much for my brain not to latch on to.

(I see the glaring error here. Let's call it an ode to Game of Thrones)

I'm using Fancy Animals Art Pack by the incredible Diwata ng Manila for the cover and internal illustrations in which they will be explaining something about the history or form of the poetry aspect being used.

I'm using couplets for optional rules and d8 encounters.

Each separate element in Cuplets uses the rules of the poetic form (that doesn't necessarily mean well or accurately) and are all under 12 words.

D8 NPCs are in haiku, or rather, English haiku, which is simpler than the traditional Japanese form, focusing solely on the 5-7-5 syllable pattern. (obviously none are pictured above as I have yet to put them in).

I took a lot of inspiration from some real life inspiring people, taking aspects of them and making them more fantastical:

1. Deer druid scholar

Teaching the forest critters

Its patience, endless

2. Natural artists

Shaping saplings and briars

Goblin witch sisters

3. A brutal butcher

Mountain wolf of the Black Lodge

Bloody meat sculptures

I am still worked on the d8 (might be pushing it) item acrostics:

1.

Stab

With

Overpowering

Righteousness!

D6 + d4 Hubris (randomly determine attacker/ defender)

2.

Stop

Hitting me

I don’t

Enjoy

Lacerations!

-D4 Mundane, Engender Passivity (Move slower)

I so excited to be working on this and to hopefully have it finished soon and submitted to the the 12-Word RPG and Forever Open Source Jams. [In the context of this jam, I again make cleared that my work will always be at least CC-BY-SA, but art liscnced from artists may have their own liscnces].

A huge thank you to @harperthejay for the inspiration and their fantastic CUPS system!

[lsdoiphin]

Foods of Vestur

@broncoburro and @chocodile provoked me into doing some illustrated worldbuilding for Forever Gold ( @forevergoldgame ), an endeavor I was happy to undertake. Unbeknownst to me, it would take the better part of a week to draw.

In the process, I conjured about an essay's worth of fantasy food worldbuilding, but I'm going to try and keep things digestible (pardon my pun). Lore under the cut:

The Middle Kingdom

The Middle Kingdom has ample land, and its soil, landscapes, and temperate climate are amenable to growing a variety of crops and raising large quantities of livestock. The Midland palate prefers fresh ingredients with minimal seasoning; if a dish requires a strong taste, a cook is more likely to reach for a sharp cheese than they are to open their spice drawer. Detractors of Middle Kingdom cuisine describe it as bland, but its flavor relies on the quality of its components more than anything.

KEY CROPS: wheat, potatoes, carrots, green beans, apples, pears, and grapes KEY LIVESTOCK: Midland goats, fowl, and hogs

ROAST FOWL: Cheap and easy to raise, fowl is eaten all over Vestur and by all classes. Roasted whole birds are common throughout, but the Middle Kingdom's approach to preparation is notable for their squeamish insistence on removing the head and neck before roasting, even among poorer families. Fowl is usually roasted on a bed of root vegetables and shallots and served alongside gravy and green beans.

GOAT RIBEYE: Vestur does not have cattle – instead it has a widely diversified array of goats, the most prominent being the Middle Kingdom's own Midland goat. The Midland goat is a huge caprid that fills the same niche as cattle, supplying Vestur with meat and dairy products. Chevon from the Midland goat is tender with a texture much like beef, though it retains a gamier, “goat-ier” taste. It is largely eaten by the wealthy, though the tougher and cheaper cuts can be found in the kitchens of the working class. Either way, it is almost always served with gravy. (You may be sensing a pattern already here. Midlanders love their gravy.)

FETTUCCINE WITH CHEESE: Noodles were brought to the Middle Kingdom through trade with the South and gained popularity as a novel alternative to bread. The pasta of Midland Vestur is largely eaten with butter or cream sauce; tomato or pesto sauces are seldom seen.

CHARCUTERIE WITH WINE: Charcuterie is eaten for the joy of flavors rather than to satiate hunger, and therefore it is mainly eaten by the upper class. It is commonly eaten alongside grape wine, a prestigious alcohol uniquely produced by the Middle Kingdom. The flavor of grape wine is said to be more agreeable than the other wines in Vestur, though Southern pineapple wine has its share of defenders.

BREAD WITH JAM AND PRESERVES, TEA SANDWICHES, & ROSETTE CAKE: Breads and pastries are big in the Middle Kingdom. The Middle Kingdom considers itself the world leader in the art of baking. Compared to its neighbors, the baked goods they make are soft, light, and airy and they are proud of it. Cakes in particular are a point of ego and a minor source of mania among nobility; it is a well-established cultural joke that a Middle Kingdom noble cannot suffer his neighbor serving a bigger, taller cake. The cakes at Middle Kingdom parties can reach nauseatingly wasteful and absurdist heights, and there is no sign of this trend relenting any time soon.

CHOWDER, FARMER'S POT PIE, GRIDDLECAKES, EGGS, CURED MEATS: If you have the means to eat at all in the Middle Kingdom, you are probably eating well. Due to the Midland's agricultural strength, even peasant dishes are dense and filling. Eggs and cured meats are abundant, cheaper, and more shelf stable than fresh cuts and provide reprieve from the unending wheat and dairy in the Midland diet.

STEWED APPLES AND PEARS, JAM AND PRESERVES: The Midland grows a number of different fruits, with apples and pears being the most plentiful. In a good year, there will be more fruit than anyone knows what to do with, and so jams and preserves are widely available. Stewed fruit has also gained popularity, especially since trade with the Southern Kingdom ensures a stable supply of sugar and cinnamon.

NORTHERN KINGDOM - SETTLED

The Northern Kingdom is a harsh and unforgiving land. Historically, its peoples lived a nomadic life, but since the unification of the Tri-Kingdom more and more of the Northern population have opted to live a settled life. The “settled North” leads a hard life trying to make agriculture work on the tundra, but it is possible with the help of green meur. The Northern palate leans heavily on preserved and fermented foods as well as the heat from the native tundra peppers. Outsiders often have a hard time stomaching the salt, tang, and spice of Northern cuisine and it is widely considered “scary.”

KEY CROPS: potatoes, beets, carrots, tundra pepper KEY LIVESTOCK: wooly goats, hares*

GOAT POT ROAST: Life up north is hard work and there is much to be done in a day. Thus, slow cooked one-pot meals that simmer throughout the day are quite common.

VENISON WITH PICKLES: Game meat appears in Northern dishes about as much as farmed meat – or sometimes even more, depending on the location. Even “classier” Northern dishes will sometimes choose game meat over domesticated, as is the case with the beloved venison with pickles. Cuts of brined venison are spread over a bed of butter-fried potato slices and potent, spicy pickled peppers and onions. The potatoes are meant to cut some of the saltiness of the dish, but... most foreigners just say it tastes like salt, vinegar, and burning.

MINER STEW: While outsiders often have a hard time distinguishing miner stew from the multitude of beet-tinged stews and pot roasts, the taste difference is unmistakable. Miner's stew is a poverty meal consisting of pickles and salt pork and whatever else is might be edible and available. The end result is a sad bowl of scraps that tastes like salt and reeks of vinegar. The popular myth is that the dish got its name because the Northern poor began putting actual rocks in it to fill out the meal, which... probably never happened, but facts aren't going to stop people from repeating punchy myths.

RYE TOAST WITH ONION JAM: Rye is hardier than wheat, and so rye bread is the most common variety in the North. Compared to Midland bread, Northern bread is dense and gritty. It is less likely to be enjoyed on its own than Midland bread, both because of its composition and because there's less to put on it. Unless you've the money to import fruit spreads from further south, you're stuck with Northern jams such as onion or pepper jam. Both have their appreciators, but bear little resemblance to the fruit and berry preserves available elsewhere in Vestur.

HARE DAIRY: Eating hare meat is prohibited in polite society due to its association with the haretouched and heretical nomadic folk religions, but hare dairy is fair game. Hare cheese ranges from black to plum in color, is strangely odorless, and has a pungent flavor akin to a strong blue cheese. It is the least contentious of hare milk products. Hare milk, on the other hand, is mildly toxic. If one is not acclimated to hare milk, drinking it will likely make them “milk sick” and induce vomiting. It is rarely drunk raw, and is instead fermented into an alcoholic drink similar to kumis.

MAPLE HARES AND NOMAD CANDY: Maple syrup is essentially the only local sweetener available in the North, and so it is the primary flavor of every Northern dessert. Simple maple candies are the most common type of sweet, though candied tundra peppers – known as “nomad candy” – is quite popular as well. (Despite its name, nomad candy is an invention of the settled North and was never made by nomads.)

TUNSUKH: Tunsukh is one of the few traditions from the nomadic era still widely (and openly) practiced among Northern nobility. It is a ceremonial dinner meant as a test of strength and endurance between political leaders: a brutally spiced multi-course meal, with each course being more painful than the last. Whoever finishes the dinner with a stoic, tear-streaked face triumphs; anyone who cries out in pain or reaches for a glass of milk admits defeat. “Dessert” consists of a bowl of plain, boiled potatoes. After the onslaught of tunsukh, it is sweeter than any cake.

NORTHERN KINGDOM – NOMADIC NORTH

Although the Old Ways are in decline, the nomadic clans still live in the far North beyond any land worth settling. They travel on hareback across the frozen wasteland seeking “meur fonts” - paradoxical bursts of meur that erupt from the ice and provide momentary reprieve from the harsh environment. The taste of nomad food is not well documented.

KEY CROPS: N/A KEY LIVESTOCK: hares

PEMMICAN: Nomadic life offers few guarantees. With its caloric density and functionally indefinite “shelf life,” pemmican is about as close as one can get.

SEAL, MOOSE: Meat comprises the vast majority of the nomadic diet and is eaten a variety of ways. Depending on the clan, season, and availability of meur fonts, meat may be cooked, smoked, turned to jerky, or eaten raw. Moose and seal are the most common sources of meat, but each comes with its own challenges. Moose are massive, violent creatures and dangerous to take down even with the aid of hares; seals are slippery to hunt and only live along the coasts.

WANDER FOOD, WANDER STEW: When a green meur font appears, a lush jungle springs forth around it. The heat from red meur fonts may melt ice and create opportunities for fishing where there weren't before. Any food obtained from a font is known as “wander food.” Wander food is both familiar and alien; the nomads have lived by fonts long enough to know what is edible and what is not, but they may not know the common names or preparation methods for the food they find. Fish is simple enough to cook, but produce is less predictable. Meur fonts are temporary, and it's not guaranteed that you'll ever find the same produce twice - there is little room to experiment and learn. As a result, a lot of wander food is simply thrown into a pot and boiled into “wander stew,” an indescribable dish which is different each time.

CENVAVESH: When a haretouched person dies, their hare is gripped with the insatiable compulsion to eat its former companion... therefore, it is only proper to return the favor. Barring injury or illness, a bonded hare will almost always outlive its bonded human, and so the death of one's hare is considered a great tragedy among nomads. The haretouched – and anyone they may invite to join them – sits beside the head of their hare as they consume as much of its rib and organ meat as they can. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan processes the remainder of the hare's carcass so that none of it goes to waste. It is a somber affair that is treated with the same gravity as the passing of a human. Cenvavesh is outlawed as a pagan practice in the settled North.

HARE WINE: While fermented hare's milk is already alcoholic, further fermentation turns it into a vivid hallucinogen. This “hare wine” is used in a number of nomad rituals, most notably during coming of age ceremonies. Allegedly, it bestows its drinker with a hare's intuition and keen sense of direction... of course, truth is difficult to distinguish from fiction when it comes to the Old Ways.

SOUTHERN KINGDOM

The Southern Kingdom is mainly comprised of coast, wetland, and ever-shrinking jungle. While the land is mostly unfit for large-scale agriculture, seafood is plentiful and the hot climate is perfect for exorbitant niche crops. What they can't grow, they obtain easily through trade. Southerners have a reputation for eating anything, as well as stealing dishes from other cultures and “ruining” them with their own interpretations. KEY CROPS: plantains, sweet potato, pineapple, mango, guava, sugarcane KEY LIVESTOCK: fowl, marsh hogs, seals

GLAZED EEL WITH FRIED PLANTAINS: A very common configuration for Southern food is a glazed meat paired with a fried vegetable. It almost doesn't matter which meat and which vegetable it is – they love their fried food and they love their sweet and salty sauces in the South. Eel is a culturally beloved meat, much to the shock and confusion of visiting Midlanders.

NARWHAL STEW: Narwhal stew is the South's “anything goes” stew. It does not actually contain narwhal meat, as they are extinct (though the upper class may include dolphin meat as a protein) – instead, the name comes from its traditional status as a “forever soup,” as narwhals are associated with the passage of time in Southern culture. Even in the present day, Southern monasteries tend massive, ever-boiling pots of perpetual stew in order to feed the monks and sybils who live there. Narwhal stew has a clear kelp-based broth and usually contains shellfish. Beyond that, its ingredients are extremely varied. Noodles are a popular but recent addition.

FORAGE: The dish known as “forage” is likewise not foraged, or at least, it hasn't been forage-based in a good hundred years at least. Forage is a lot like poke; it's a little bit of everything thrown into a bowl. Common ingredients include fish (raw or cooked), seaweed, fried noodles, marinated egg, and small quantities of fruit.

HOT POT: Hot pot is extremely popular, across class barriers, in both the South proper and its enclave territories. This is due to its extreme flexibility - if it can be cooked in a vat of boiling broth, it will be. Crustaceans and shellfish are common choices for hot pot in the proper South, along with squid, octopus, mushrooms, and greens.

FLATBREAD: The Southern Kingdom doesn't do much baking. The vast majority of breads are fried, unleavened flatbreads, which are usually eaten alongside soups or as wraps. Wraps come in both savory and sweet varieties; savory wraps are usually stuffed with shredded pork and greens while sweet wraps – which are much more expensive – are filled with fruit and seal cheese.

GRILLED SKEWERS, ROAST SWEET POTATO: While a novel concept for Midlanders and Northerners, street food has long been a part of Southern Kingdom culture. You would be hard pressed to find a Southern market that didn't have at least three vendors pushing grilled or fried something or other. Skewers are the most common and come in countless configurations, but roast sweet potatoes are a close second.

CUT FRUIT AND SEAL CHEESE: Fresh fruit is popular in the South, both local and imported. While delicious on its own, Southerners famously pair it with seal cheese. Which leads me to an important topic of discussion I don't have room for anywhere else...

THE SOUTH AND CHEESE: Since the South doesn't have much in the way of dairy farming, cheese is somewhat rare in their cuisine – but it is present. And important. Cheese is the domain of the Church. Common goat dairy imported from the Middle Kingdom is turned to cheese by monks in Southern monasteries and sold to the Southern public, yes, but as you have noticed there is another cheese prominent in the Southern Kingdom diet: seal cheese. Seal cheese is unlike anything else that has ever been called cheese; the closest it can be compared to is mascarpone. It is is a soft, creamy cheese with a mild flavor and an indulgent fat content. It is used almost exclusively as a dessert, though it is only ever mildly sweetened if at all. It is extremely costly and held in high regard; the most religious Southerners regard it as holy. Dairy seals are a very rare animal and raised exclusively in a small number of Cetolist-Cerostian monasteries, where they are tended and milked by the monks. Due to their status as a holy animal, eating seal meat is forbidden. Eating their cheese and rendering their tallow into soap is fine though.

(HEARTLAND SOUTH) SOUTH-STYLE GOAT: The Heartland South is a Southern enclave territory in the Middle Kingdom. Visiting Midland dignitaries oft wrongly assume that because the Heartland South is in Middle Kingdom territory, Heartland Southerners eat the same food they do exactly as they do. They are horrified to find that familiar sounding dishes like “goat with potatoes” are completely and utterly unrecognizable, drenched in unfamiliar sauces and spices and served alongside fruit they've never eaten. Meanwhile, Heartland Southerners firmly believe that they have fixed the Middle Kingdom's boring food.

(BOREAL SOUTH) “TUNSUKH”: If Midlanders are afraid of Heartland Southern food, Northerners are absolutely furious about cuisine from the Boreal South - the most legendarily offensive being the Boreal South's idea of “tunsukh.” Southerners are no stranger to spice, so when Southern traders began interacting with the North, they liked tunsukh! It's just... they thought it needed a little Southern help to become a real meal, you know? A side of seal cheese soothed the burn and made the meal enjoyable. And because the meal was enjoyable, the portion sizes increased. And plain boiled potatoes? Well, those are a little too plain – creamy mashed sweet potato feels like more of a dessert, doesn't it? ...For some reason, Northerners didn't agree, but that's okay. The Boreal South knows they're just embarrassed they didn't think of pairing seal cheese with tunsukh sooner.

ARMY RATIONS

The food eaten by the King's Army is about what you would expect for late 1700s military; salt pork or salt chevon, hard tack, and coffee. The biggest divergence they have is also one of Vestur's biggest points of pride: they have the means to supply their troops with frivolous luxuries like small tins of candied fruit from the Midland. A love of candied fruit is essentially a Vesturian military proto-meme; proof that they serve the greatest Tri-Kingdom on the planet. Don't get between a military man and his candied fruit unless you want a fight.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Can you do a Yan! Burning Spice x Golden Cheese one-shot?

It's okay if you don't want to.

I was going to save this for a later date (and also direct you to my fics on AO3, there's plenty of Yandere Spice in those lol)... BUT SINCE DEVSISTERS DECIDED TO JUST GO AHEAD AND DUMP SOME QUALITY MATERIAL INTO MY LAP, I'LL TAKE THE COSMIC HINT AND DO IT TODAY! This one's for you, Anon! You can thank that extremely suspicious trailer for this!

"Mine Forever More" - BurningCheese Short Story #5

WARNING: This is one-sided BurningCheese/GoldenSpice, with Obsessive, Possessive, Yandere-esque Burning Spice. This is not like the other wholesome shorts with the budding romance and cute bickering, Burning Spice is a sick and dangerous man in this one. I politely demand that only adults read this one, please and thank you.

Cold... Why is it cold...? Cold and damp... Where...?

Both light and shadow flickered and danced across Golden Cheese's vision as she struggled to remain conscious. She was... being carried. Someone had peeled her off of the ground, plucked her from the blood-soaked dirt in which she lay beaten and broken, and cradled her in their arms as they ventured away from the cliff and off... somewhere. Somewhere... dark. Dark and cold and damp. A far cry from what she'd come to understand this strange place to be.

Someone... No. She knew who it was. She recognized the strong chest her head was being held against. The thick, powerful, tattooed arms enveloping her body, holding her close to his own. Though she couldn't see his face, she nevertheless sensed his fiery eyes staring down at her. Devouring her. Swallowing her whole.

"You disappoint me, little thief," Burning Spice told her. He spoke quietly, with chilling calm; his words were meant for her and no one else. "I expected better from you."

She did not respond. She wouldn't, even if she could. Even if that wretched taste of iron didn't fill her mouth so completely and the skin and flesh of her back weren't on fire.

"I waited for this. For you. For such a long time... You are not weak. You know this, and so do I. Destiny finally arrives for us both... and you choose to turn it away. You devastate me, little thief. Truly."

There was less vitriol in his voice than she imagined there would be. From screaming bloody murder right into her face as she dangled from a cliff, to... murmuring to her with such... disappointment, for lack of a better term. Sadness, even, if she dared to read into it any further. Perhaps she'd underestimated his... investment in their duel, after all.

"You're lucky..." he told her. "You are very lucky I care for you. You were wise to have stolen my heart as well as my Soul Jam all those eons ago. I would have drawn and quartered you otherwise."

"Care... for me?" Her voice came as a pained rasp, rising from an aching throat and forcing itself through bloodied lips. "Stolen... your... what...?"

"Of course I do," Burning Spice said - so simply, as if it was a fundamental truth of the world. "Would I have dedicated so much of myself to you if I did not? To hunting you? To our battle? Do you think you would be here now, safe in my arms as I carry you to your shelter, if I did not care for you?"

"Shelter...?"

At the cost of a worsened migraine, Golden Cheese opened her eyes wider and focused, scanning her surroundings the best she could. Torches hanging on the walls - the only true sources of light, as far as she could tell. A long, dark corridor. Walls of cool, jagged rock, all dyed deep blues and purples and reds. Dark. Cold. Damp.

A cave... No. Worse. A dungeon.

"Of course," Burning Spice said again. "It wouldn't do to leave you by the cliff, now would it?"

"But-" She coughed harshly. Little droplets of blood splattered onto Burning Spice's chest. She felt him tense instantly, his grip on her tightening. He held her up higher, bringer her head closer to his face... and she felt him lean down and... nuzzle his face into her hair...?

"Hush," he murmured. "We're almost there."

She did not hush. "Why..." Another harsh cough. Another tight, instinctive squeeze that accidentally (or was it?) agitated her aching wounds. Something wet and surprisingly soft pressing into her forehead. A gesture she knew of, one meant to be comforting... but how could he give this to her? Why?

"W-why... why didn't you kill me?" she finally managed to get out. "I don't... understand... Not... like you."

"'Not like you'? You claim to know me so well, pretty bird? I'm flattered." She could hear the teasing smile he wore as he spoke. It made her head ache more. "But if that was true, then you would know why I didn't kill you."

She shook her head weakly. He chuckled.

"What would I get out of killing my beloved?" he told her. "You are the woman I've been waiting for. It was you and your image that kept me alive and sane in that prison. That unspoken promise of a great duel, a struggle for power between me and my other half... I am sorely disappointed in your embarrassing loss, my little thief, but not even that is enough to make me want to kill you."

Beloved? Other half? What in the world?

"No... I simply want you, little thief. I wanted our battle. I wanted your eventual defeat. I wanted my Soul Jam... but I want you, too. Desperately."

He was smiling at her. Grinning. Sharp teeth glinting in the torchlight. A starving predator, ogling his captured prey.

"I hunger for you, Golden Cheese," he whispered to her. "I craved you from the moment I laid my eyes upon this pretty face of yours. I waited ages for this moment... for the day we could be together at last." He brought a hand to her pretty face, caressing her cheek with startling gentleness. "And you look so beautiful," he purred. "So stunning, even like this... I can see why they called you 'Your Radiance'."

The words 'Your Radiance' made her suddenly jerk up, eyes wide. "M-my treasures," she stuttered. "My kingdom, my- my p-people- I- I must-"

"Ah ah." The loving hand on her cheek quickly morphed into a punishing one, reaching up and yanking hard on her hair, earning Burning Spice a wince and a soft cry of pain. "No more of that," he growled. "No more of them. No more of your so-called treasures. They're gone. Crumbled to dust. It's time you make peace with that, little bird."

"N-no," she said, turning her head just enough to be able to shoot him a weak glare. "Nonsense. They... they're here. They're mine. I... I'll never let you..."

She paused. Suddenly, her eyes widened again. "Smoked Cheese," she said, her face now frantic. "W-where is he? What did you do- mmph!"

Now that hand was clasped over her mouth, silencing her. Squeezing her face, digging its sharp nails into her cheeks.

"Be quiet," Burning Spice hissed at her. "Your precious little pet is following along behind us, chained up by the spice warriors."

He saw her gaze soften. Felt her shoulders sag, if only the slightest bit. She was relieved.

He hated it.

"Why do you still cling to your little possessions?" he asked. "To these worthless creatures? Those hero friends of yours, where are they now? Where were they, when I took your wings from you? Where were they when your precious kingdom fell? Hm?"

She couldn't answer; not with that large hand still covering her mouth. But the pain and sorrow that briefly flashed in her eyes was answer enough for him.

"I am here," he told her. "I have always been here. Through our Soul Jam in the past, and now standing beside you in the present. In the aftermath of your near-death. Is Smoked Cheese cradling you in his arms while you can't stand on your own? Is Smoked Cheese graciously taking you into his house and home? Is Smoked Cheese willing to look past this act of grand larceny and keep you by his side, for he's come to value you just as much as what you stole from him?"

The visceral hatred that dripped from Smoked Cheese's name made her wince. She tried to lift her head again, aiming to peek over Burning Spice's shoulder and at her old friend - but that hand forced her head back down the moment she did so.

"I will make you see," Burning Spice said. "You're a clever woman. You will understand eventually. None of this matters. None of it! My way is the only way that's fair. That's interesting! You will see it, when I raze this miserable world to the ground."

He stopped walking. He finally pulled his hand away, letting her suck in a breath. The air tasted slightly less stale in this spot. A pale light shone in the corner of her eye- from a hole in the ceiling far above, she eventually saw.

This one beam of light, trapped behind thick, iron bars.

Burning Spice stepped aside and allowed the soldiers behind him to take his place before the cell door. It was open with the swift insertion of a key; the loud, shrill screech that came as it scraped along the ground rang in her ears. She saw Smoked Cheese - hurt, but still alive - being ushered into the cell and forced to the ground wordlessly. His eyes were downcast, his mouth set in a deep, tired frown.

"You look displeased," Burning Spice cooed. "I'm well aware of your high standards, greedy bird, but this nest will have to do for now."

She shot another glare at him. Stronger than the last. Had the sight of her friend invigorated her?

"Don't fret, though," he continued. The corners of his lips curled into a sultry, sinister smile. "It won't always be this way."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. What he said next nearly stopped her heart.

"When you recover," he whispered, "I'll bring you to my bed."

So hard and frantic was the roar of her pulse in her ears that she hardly even registered when Burning Spice commanded the soldiers to leave. They did so with a bow; and as they disappeared into the shadows, Burning Spice stepped into the cell and knelt down, holding Golden Cheese in his lap.

"Look at me. Hear my words."

Against her better judgment, she did just that.

"When I'm done with you," he said, "I will wipe everything you ever held dear off the face of the earth."

At this, she tensed up (how enticing to his senses it was, to feel her muscles clench in his grasp). She gave him the harshest look she could muster - and he let her do so, offering a look of smug endearment in return.

"You... will not crush MY treasures," she spat out.

He chuckled. "We'll see about that." Then he leaned down and crushed their lips together.

Burning Spice heard a sharp gasp off somewhere beside him; he looked up and saw Smoked Cheese watching them, his eyes wide and mouth agape. Frozen in place, powerless to save his beloved queen. With or without the chains binding him.

Good.

The corners of Burning Spice's mouth once again curled into a dark smile, and he stared right back at the hooded prisoner as he deepened his and Golden Cheese's kiss. The only resistance she offered came in the form of nails digging into his arm and a gasp as he lapped up the blood on her lips and forced his tongue past them, into her warm, sweet mouth. She tasted delicious. Just as he always knew she would.

When he eventually pulled back, a thin rope of bloody saliva still tethered his tongue to hers. How he hated seeing it break when he put enough distance between them... but it was alright. There will be more opportunities. They had so much lost time to make up for, after all.

"Consider that my payment for allowing this worm to live," he said to her, gesturing dismissively at Smoked Cheese. "And know that I will keep tally of every single day that he continues to do so, and celebrate when he no longer does."

At last, he laid her onto the ground. Slowly. Gently. His final act of mercy on her. On his beaten, broken, beloved Soul Jam thief.

"Sleep well, birdie," he said as he rose to his feet. With a quick heel-turn, he was out of the cell and slamming the door shut. Back to the darkness he returned, out of sight of them both.

"Your Majesty!" Smoked Cheese called to her frantically, finally regaining some of his dignity and willpower and rushing towards her. He knelt down beside her, trembling hands hovering just above her shoulders. "Your Majesty, speak to me!"

She did not. She was beginning to struggle to even parse his words. Exhaustion was taking hold of her at long last.

"What was that?! Why- why did he do that to you?! What nonsense is all of this?!"

She used the last of her strength to grasp at her headdress - at her Soul Jam. Gone. The headdress felt dull and cold. The socket was long empty. When had Burning Spice taken it? How could she have not noticed?

"Your Majesty, you must stay awake. We need to plan our escape. The Beast has gotten hold of the Soul Jam, we must take it back immediately!"

The room looked foggy. Smoked Cheese's features blurred. The light shining down on them began to dim.

"Your Majesty? Your Majesty! Golden Cheese!"

The pain and exhaustion became too much, and Golden Cheese's eyes closed, her mind giving way to dizzying blackness.

--------------------

Burning Spice threatened to kill Golden Cheese in front of him if Smoked Cheese made the slightest noise while they journeyed to the prison cell. He was bluffing, of course; he'd never allow his precious golden thief to die. But Smoked Cheese didn't know that. Nor did he need to.

[lilac-5ky]

always darkest before the dawn (Satoru x Fem!Reader)

plot: your boyfriend finds you waiting on his porch after a mission you warned him against going.

tags: hurt/comfort with a silly ending cause I'm silly for this man.

wc: 2.4k

“Baby? What are you still doing up?”

The sound of his voice gets amplified with every step he takes toward the dim-lit engawa, a pleasant break from the incessant chirping of the cicadas slowly being traded for that of the first morning sparrows—midnight sky melting into the lightest shades of blue. Stars are sprinkled over the velvet canopy like powder sugar, a subtle bronze haze dividing the horizon from the heavens above, and you almost thank them for sending their most exalted angel your way.

He comes alive again—wings heavy from the blood that soaks them, its source hardly human.

The knitted blanket slides off your shoulders as you turn around to face Satoru, his otherwise sublime features wearier and more haggard than you remember seeing them this morning by your pillow. He carries a bag in each hand, his apology wrapped in layers upon layers of aluminum foil. You wonder what it tastes like. Last time was gyoza, and the time before that drunken noodles—always accompanied by some sort of dessert from some faraway corner of the map, which he (typically) promises to revisit with you.

“Welcome home.” You sigh, mustering a smile to distract him from the dried-up tears that stain the apples of your cheeks.

It was a long night, and his absence stretched it to eternity. You realized after he left for his mission that forever is a long time to be spent alone, especially when the last words you said to him echo harder than the cumbersome footsteps of his departure, scaring you into thinking that was the last you heard of each other.

No one ever told you that being with the strongest meant becoming stronger yourself.

It’s not fair.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to call you weak, making a habit of teasing you when your puny arms fail to carry his excessive haul of grocery bags or when you can’t open a mere jar of jam without him loosening the cap beforehand. He doesn’t admit you are stronger than him, despite you being the one to carry his burden and your worries, the two brewing into a sickly cocktail of premonition you can barely stomach—one that initiated today’s fallout.

You feel wronged. Your roles were reversed against your will; the comfort of being the weak one viciously yanked from your grasp, feet forcefully put into a pair of shoes you were never meant to wear. You should be weak. He should be strong. You should be crying, and he should be comforting. You should be able to tell him, don’t go, and he should be able to stay.

But you didn’t. And he did not.

Unaffected by the war of contradictory motions in your head, Satoru plops down beside you, large palms emptying of the cheap plastic handles to fill up with you. The thrill of the fight still hasn’t worn out, muscles taut from the action, and eyes bright under their concealment. He feels warm, warmer than the blanket that’s now receded to your thighs, though not warm enough to appease the cold in your heart, goosebumps prickling your skin from the inside out like your body is trying to escape itself.

A lump forms in your throat from where his lips touch your neck, briefly and fleetingly, before they are replaced with the familiar fluff of hair. It’s ironic how he tries to fit in you. There isn’t a part of you that hasn’t been touched by him in one way or another, and if you could pull out your own guts to make more space for him, then you would. You’d let him consume you whole if that meant never spending a second without him.

You wonder if that’s how love is supposed to be. You aren’t sure. You don’t know if you’re just another person who foolishly let themselves worship Gojo Satoru—if, in your effort to get to know the real him, you became his biggest fan.

“You are abnormally quiet.” You point out, instantly hating how ragged your voice sounds. The only dissonance in the picturesque garden of his estate.

Satoru shifts in his position, heavy jaw rubbing sweetly against your bare shoulder, hot breath fanning your neck. “I’m just mimicking you.”

“Mimicking me?” A bit better this time.

“Mhm.”

You glance at him, following the curve of his nose down to the dip of his cupid’s bow, both highlighted under the waning moonlight. Even when the stars are slowly drained and those flattering shadows dispelled, his beauty remains a certain constant. He is so beautiful that your heart aches, a longing sigh caught at the far back of your palate, his soft smile begging for its release.

He won’t hear you say it. Not tonight.

You test out the waters with a teasing poke of your tongue. He does the same, mouths almost touching with how closely he leans forward. Then a pout. A scrunch of the nose. An unserious wiggle of his eyebrows that mirrors your own—an image far more perfect than the one you’re used to seeing in the mirror.

“Would you jump down a cliff if I did?” You taunt.

“Absolutely!” He breaks the loop, answering in less than a heartbeat. “You know I would. The world would be a horrible place without my sugarplum.”

“You know, you could save us both if you wanted.” You say with a level voice.

“The greatest love stories are sealed by tragedy.” Satoru argues back. “Romeo and Juliette. Jack and Rose. Orihime and Hikoboshi. Takeru and Hikari.”

You are quick to spot the odd one out. “First of all, stop sneaking in Digimon references thinking I won’t notice, and second of all, Takeru and Hikari didn’t die.”

“No, but they never got together.” He frowns.

You roll your eyes. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re soooo pretty. Did you do something to your face? Your dark circles look extra dark tonight.” Satoru tries to catch your cheek in his palm, fine sand slipping through his fingers as you pull away.

“Shut up!” Your mixed chuckles course through your body, reigning over the tremors that previously had you shriveling into a ball of tightly packed limps. Staying mad at him is impossible when he’s actually there; all mood for poignancy gone in an instant.

“You never answered my question.” A featherlight hum brushes against the shell of your ear, the pout easy on his tone. “What are you still doing up?”

With a knowing smile, you peer at the sky, feeling the press of his cheek on yours as he follows the movement of your eyes. “Whenever I miss you, the only thing that calms me is looking at the sky.”

“You know I’m not dead, right?”

“Say one more stupid thing, and that will change!” You warn with your pointer up. He kisses it. God.

You tap your finger against his forehead, urging some distance be put between the two of you. “Whenever I look at the sky,” you start again, “I see you.”

Breaking from his embrace, you shape two circles with your thumbs and forefingers, narrowing their size until they turn into a pair of minuscule goggles you lower over to where his eyes supposedly lie behind the blindfold. “See? Just like your eyes.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” Satoru gazes at the sky through your fingers, eventually tipping in your direction. He smirks, “I mean, the eyes of the Gojo Satoru are kinda hard to beat. See?”

Peeling the blindfold off, he lets your palms spread over his cheeks, azure eyes losing their vibrancy as your dainty fingers frame them better than any pair of sunglasses in his collection. He’s right. The original cannot compare. It’s not Satoru’s eyes that resemble the sky. It’s the sky that resembles his eyes, for in his 28 years, he’s managed to make something as ancient as time itself seem like a cheap rip-off.

“But I am flattered.” Warm palms cushion yours as he brings them to his mouth. You don’t realize how frigid they are until he starts blowing the cold away, smiling against them. “Means I’m always on your mind with how often your head’s in the clouds.”

“Can’t go one minute without bringing me down, huh?” Your voice frail once more.

“I can. But where’s the fun in that?”

You pull each other into a gentle kiss, Satoru’s arms snaking around your waist while your fingers cup his cheeks with urgency, fearing that by the time your eyes blink open, he’ll already have faded into stardust. He doesn’t share your concern, soft pecks interrupted by muffled chuckles, the taste on his lips giving you an idea of what he brought home with him.

“Pancakes?” Your tongue drags against his bottom lip. Foreheads pressed against one another.

“Mhm. Figured you’d be hungry for breakfast at this ungodly hour.” Satoru pecks your lips again and again, making it impossible to think straight, let alone answer, given how often your mouths are smashed together.

“How did you know I’d be up?” You breathe out.

“Hmm, a premonition?” He grins, playing with fire with how he mocks your previous words of concern. “My six eyes—”

“Do your six eyes tell you that you’ll be smacked in three, two, one!”

Limitless activates before your forehead can ram into his skull, the number of times you bob your head futile.

“One of these days, my anger will outdo your technique.” You promise.

“Can’t wait for that!” Satoru beams earnestly. ���Maybe then I can teach you about domains too. Make my baby into the best—well, second-best sorcerer.”

Truly impossible.

The world quiets down as the final veil of the night is lifted from the sky and dawn begins its dance, everything it touches slowly coming into life. Light seeps between the yellowing grass blades, illuminating the morning dew that rests upon them. Water sparkles as it pours from the bamboo fountain, the constant thump setting the tempo for the birds’ song. Fragrance is drawn out of the towering pine trees, grounding the elegance of the showy blue hydrangeas. No room for despair in this imagery of hope, complete with Satoru’s presence, white lashes fluttering shut as he stretches like a cat in the sun.

You love him.

You know you do. You mean it every morning and every night when he makes you say it in between chuckles, slender fingers tickling the admission out of your ribs. You mean it when he moves heaven and earth to fulfill a stupid promise you made at 4 AM when you were drunk out of your mind and he tucked you into the comfort of your shared bed—somehow less sober without a drop of alcohol in his system.

You mean it when there’s sand in his eyes, when his breath doesn’t smell as peachy as one would expect of someone as ridiculously perfect as him, when his voice cracks during a sing-along. You mean it when his tongue licks the luscious coffee cream from your lips and when it greedily laps between the puffy lips down under.

There is so much you love about him that you’d run out of synonyms for words before you could jot them all down in a way that’s not dull to read, and still, you’d lose out on describing how exactly he makes you feel.

Because Satoru isn’t a person, so much as he is art. Sometimes he is just splash of colors across a canvas without the masterful strokes needed to hone him into a finished product. Other times, he is just the notes composing the wonderful lilt of his voice, too audacious to be deemed a symphony. He can be poetry too, spilling out of the ordinary 17-syllable arrangement of a haiku. But most of all, he is raw energy, an untamed torrent ripping through mountains and a whirlwind sweeping everything in its path.

It’s hard not to romanticize him in moments like this. They don’t come too often.

“You know, you don’t need tragedy to write a good love story.” Your tendency to break the silence festers into a bad habit. “We might be doomed by the narrative, but we are here to live. I’d rather live with you than die with you, or live a life without you.” You whisper, voice getting caught in your throat.

Sincerity always scared you, but if there’s one thing more regrettable than words you’ve said, then that’d be words that were never told.

Your focus shifts to your dangling feet, grass grazing your toes at the completion of each nervous sway. You are no longer touching. Not purposely at least, contact reduced to the slight nudge of your shoulders as Satoru leans against his to smile.

“Gotcha.” He says, not quite pressuring you to face him just yet. “It was easy-peasy, by the way. Yuji and Nobara did most of the work, while Megumi—he fell inside a curse’s stomach. It was hilarious! You should visit them soon; see how my kids have grown.”

Your lips pucker their way around your mouth, tongue poking at your cheek from the inside—prelude to a slow nod. Too uncertain to be directed at him. You regret bringing this up. You should’ve let yourself bask in his affections when they didn’t require a verbal answer.

“You worry too much.” Your uneasiness prompts Satoru to crane his neck and lay a tender kiss on the crown of your head. His voice serious when he says, “I won’t die.”

“That’s what everyone says right before they die.”

“But I’m not everyone. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I won’t die.”

You gulp, then huff a forced chuckle. “H-hey, that’s a pretty good catchphrase. You should use it in your fights when you’re about to deal the killing blow.”

“I have a better one. I’m Gojo Satoru, and I love youuuu~” He sings, seconds before his lips attack your neck, deft fingers mercilessly tickling your sides against the hard wood.

“God! You are so corny!” You blurt in between giggles.

“You love it!” He protests, a wild glint to his eyes. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Say it.”

“N-no way!”

“No?” The sadist stops his torture, finding new ways to torment you as he slyly moves toward the forgotten takeout. “Guess I’ll be enjoying these myself then. Thank me for the food!”

“Hey, Satoru! Wait!” You concede.

Maybe it’s fine to let him stand on the podium alone this once.

a/n: my mood is all over the place nowadays, suffering writer's block, wrote this as a self-indulgent 5 AM craze, help satoru brainrot too strong

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

Cookiekind, in general, seems to hold the strange belief that Shadow Milk Cookie, as the Beast of Deceit, does not understand truth. This is because they have burnt ash for brains, and cannot comprehend that a change in superficial title does not mean that Shadow Milk Cookie is no longer the Master of Knowledge. Even if it did, a deciever can only be effective by understanding the nuance of truth, for the greatest lies are created through its flexibility.

So despite popular opinion, Shadow Milk does recognise, understand and know truth. Well, he knows everything, but especially something as fundamental as that.

Look, here's a truth, right now; Shadow Milk Cookie quite likes Pure Vanilla Cookie, in spite of everything.

Not in the soft, fluffy cotton candy way, of course. Shadow Milk likes Pure Vanilla in the same way a cat likes a mouse, or a researcher likes a test subject, or a puppeteer has a favourite puppet. He likes him because he is a source of entertainment – having such a soft, simple heart makes him fun to watch struggle with silly emotions, and easy to taunt and frazzle. That's all, really. Shadow Milk can't even say he likes him to the point of wanting to crack him open and see what makes him tick, because he doesn't need to. He already knows everything about Pure Vanilla, right down to the composition of the yeast in his body, because he has constantly kept his eyes on him since the start.

It must be said though, if we are to talk in truths, that Shadow Milk may have some biases that make him more invested in Pure Vanilla's continued existence. Namely, the fact that he holds his Soul Jam.

Now, obviously he doesn't like that this little half-cookie, this unworthy, flimsy vessel, holds half his power. On the contrary, it is nothing but an insult to watch him clumsily flaunt it around while Shadow Milk stays unjustly shackled. It is the only transgression Pure Vanilla has ever committed against him, but it is a blasphemous one.

And yet, even with his bubbling rage at the disrespectful theft of his rightful power, Shadow Milk sometimes likes to toy with the idea that he is a gift, a plea for forgiveness from the Witches that he can righteously ignore. After all, Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam – his, not theirs – and does that not make Pure Vanilla his too?

Naturally, Shadow Milk knows that the Witches are horrible, selfish old tyrants and would not grant him that grace, but that does not change the fact that Pure Vanilla is, for all intents and purposes, his other half. There is something powerful in that knowledge, especially since he knows it would tear Pure Vanilla apart.

So Shadow Milk does like Pure Vanilla quite a lot, even with the full knowledge that he's a dirty little thief, because he is entertaining and, most importantly, he is his.

Now, here is another truth, since we're already on a roll; Shadow Milk Cookie will escape the Seal and get his Soul Jam back.

It's an inevitability, really. Even if Shadow Milk feels like he is absolutely crumbling of boredom stuck in this stupid tree, especially since the rest of the Beasts have one by one drifted into a bitterly restless slumber, they are all far too strong to be contained by a single measly seal forever. The day will come when it gives way beneath the probing of his hands, and with the cracks in the tree nearly large enough for him to stick his fingers through, he knows that day will come much, much sooner than later.

As for what comes after he escapes? Well, Shadow Milk has no concerns there.

The Faerie Cookies may have longer lifespans than average, but sadly that doesn't make them any smarter. It'll be a piece of cake to knead their doughy brains into doing what he wants them to, even with half his power missing. The Guardian is the only one who poses any real threat, and even that has a laughably easy solution, because he certainly isn't immune to crumbling.

Shadow Milk picks at the slim seam of the cracks with hands that are not his own, encouraging them to grow as he takes a moment to fantasise standing over the Guardian's pathetic crumbs.

Speaking of laughably easy solutions, Pure Vanilla is awfully kind to come to Beast-Yeast, right on the cusp of Shadow Milk's escape! Really, Shadow Milk was estatic when he overheard him discussing those travel plans. It saves him the trouble of having to track him down once he's finished freeing his friends and razing the Faeriewoods to the ground.

Even better, having Pure Vanilla around to welcome him back to the free air could prove to be useful. It would be so deliciously poetic, for Pure Vanilla to cut down the tree with his stolen power and set Shadow Milk free with his own hands, offering himself up in a syrupy spotlight to reunite the two lost halves of Knowledge to its true owner.

Shadow Milk could push him into it, he thinks confidently as he twists his claws into the fracture, grappling at the edges to force them wider. He knows Pure Vanilla better than Pure Vanilla knows himself, he is sure. It wouldn't even be hard.

Now, let's review! Shadow Milk Cookie quite likes Pure Vanilla Cookie, that is the first truth. And he will escape the Seal and get his Soul Jam back, that is the second.

These truths coexist, and because they do, Shadow Milk has long decided he won't immediately crumble Pure Vanilla into fine dust when he takes his Soul Jam back.

Oh, he could, and so easily too. Shadow Milk has held Pure Vanilla's hunched form in his palms dozens of times, in the pit of the abyss, has felt how fragile and weak it is – not that Pure Vanilla ever notices, the silly, blind thing. He has curled his claws around his silhouette like a cage countless times, and entertained and irritated himself with how easy it would be to crush him in one fell swoop.

Yes, he could crumble him without a second thought, but that wouldn't be much fun, would it? It's not like he needs to destroy him to be able to retrieve his Soul Jam, and really, it would be a bit of a waste. He's been waiting to meet him – really, truly meet him – for oh so long, to get rid of him immediately would just be anticlimatic. Nobody likes a boring ending, least of all Shadow Milk.

There is a sudden, audible crack, and Shadow Milk's hands finally breach the containment of the bark, fingers quickly scrambling to anchor themselves on the edges of the open wound. An uncontrollable, wild grin splits across Shadow Milk's face, or whatever is currently left of it, wide and eager.

He lurches forward, all of his eyes narrowing in on the wispy traces of light outside, with the exception of the one that always follows Pure Vanilla like a curse, currently watching him settle into an airship with some teeny, insignificant Cookies. Anticipation begins to simmer the endless darkness around him, finally, finally, finally making him feel alive for the first time in far too long.

Somewhere nearby, Silent Salt is slowly beginning to rouse, and Shadow Milk's grin stretches even wider. They don't make a sound and hardly move, but Shadow Milk knew they would be the first to wake. They always are.

Finally, a third truth, to neatly complete the rule of threes; Shadow Milk Cookie is looking forward to properly introducing himself and the other Beasts to Pure Vanilla Cookie.

This one doesn't need any further explanation. After all, there is nothing more thrilling than a good reveal.

The wood groans pitifully beneath his harsh grip, the noise mingling with the distant thrum of an airship in motion, and Shadow Milk's quiet but sharp giggling.

Ah, he can't wait to see Pure Vanilla's face when he realises the true identity of his precious Light of Truth.

[brittle-doughie]

I got an idea based on this song's chorus https://youtu.be/MdAzl3sOwmY?si=TG7ryhu2zrYay8e0 (song's called labyrinth incase the link doesn't work)

Longan dragon cookie's currently in the library of the longan palace and they find a book about a particular being.

The book entails a malevolent being who's simply called "Y/n". This being can only be seen by its chosen victim, how it looks depends on said victim, if the victim's a cookie they'll pose as a cookie, if the victim's a witch they'll pose as a witch. How they pick their victims is still unknown.

When first appearing, any nearby light source flickers and continues to do so until Y/n is in line of sight. If Y/n is seen, then your fate is sealed; closing your eyes will only delay the inevitable, you can't keep them closed forever for an unknown external force, presumably from Y/n, will forcefully open your eyes. when seen by the victim they are at a somewhat far distance from them. The closer to death the victim is, the closer Y/n is. During this game of waiting Y/n does not do anything other than stand and stare at the victim, looking at them wherever they go; they do not move from their spot when seen, only moving when death is nearing closer at a certain extent. They are never seen moving, the only sign that they moved is if the victim looks away, lights are out, or if the victim blinks; Y/n's approach is very slow.

If Y/n gets to a certain distance closer to the victim, they'll appear more terrifying, gorey, and will appear taller; these details are amplified even more when they are closer. Nearby cookies will only see a slowly forming fog that follows the victim and becomes more thicker if Y/n is closer to their said victim. If Y/n reaches the victim the fog becomes so thick that no one can see through it, the fog even covers a large area when present. Once Y/n has their victim in their grasp, the victim is no longer presumed alive due to a massive puddle of either blood or jam of the victim being the only thing that's left of them; what truly happens to the victims is that Y/n will-

Longan had reached the end and had finished reading the book, unamused at the cut off end of the page. They were going to closed the book until it started writing itself with what is presumably jam.

" Did you truly think that I would tell you how I kill them dragon?"

It was then that the ivory dragon actually questions on how the writer knew how the being acts, what they do, and how the encounter looks like. They quickly closed the book and read the name of the writer, it was the one and only Y/n. The book forcefully opens itself up to continue conversing with the dragon.

"You don't even need to read this book to be chosen. Becoming a victim of mine is inevitable dragon."

The lights of the library start to violently flicker; Longan dragon cookie quickly closes the book and leaves the room with haste. The hallway lights are still flickering. They look to their left, but no one's there. They look to the right and the lights stop flickering; Y/n is there. They have wings and a tail, they're posing as a dragon that's currently stuck in their cookie form. The unwavering stare of the being's never blinking eyes piercing into the ivory dragon's soul.

Back in the library the book Longan had dropped slowly opens itself up to write one more time.

"You are not immune. You are not invincible. You are not immortal. You will die to my hands just like my other victims did. Your life will become nothing but a labyrinth made up of your own fear and anxiety, waiting for the end with the feeling of uneasiness. You are mortal just like the others. Your death is inevitable."

I apologize for how lengthy this ask is brittle, shortening big ideas like this is impossible for me.

These are pretty morbid ideas you’re coming up with, anon

[druidwolf21]

Can't beat em? Join em!

Leman finds himself completely out of his depth when babysitting

Featuring @jaghatai-khock adorable OC!!!

"Skíthof"

Leman cursed to himself as he prowled through the great hall, cold blue eyes surveying the room as he searched. He trailed his gaze over the mass of baselines before him, scowling at anyone attempting to catch his eye. He inhaled deeply, sniffing at the air and snorting as all he received was the acidic tang of wine and the spices of hot meals.

He continued muttering to himself and he stalked through the crowd, keeping his head low. A beast on the hunt.

"you can't hide forever little Jova" he growled, dropping his voice to reverberate through the gathering, low enough that human ears lost it in the laughter and chat of the party. He scented the air again, eyes narrowing as he finally picked up a scent. He ran the scent through his olfactory gland, teasing out all the information he could manage.

Warm keratin

Saliva

Sugar

He grinned, fangs beared. Oh yes, that was definitely him.

Baselines scurried away from his hulking mass as he patrolled, finally coming to a stop at a small rounded table in a corner. Gingerly lifting the cloth, he found the source of the scent. A crushed pile of icing and syrup spread across the crushed velvet rug and a single white feather dancing along the floor. Russ picked it up between calloused fingers and brought it to his nose, inhaling as he peered around. His eyes landed on a small smeared trail of white frosting and jam.

"gotcha"

He rose to his feet and followed the trail, each massive step leading him towards a small side door. Serfs hurried in and out, arms laden with steaming dishes and crystalline pitchers of swirling wine.

"move thrall" he sniped, shouldering through the wooden door, sending servants scattering around him. He grabbed a passing girl by her and pulled her to him, lifting her off her feet.

"you, listen, I want this door kept closed, understand?"

The girl stared up at him, eyes wide and moist as she faced the titan before her.

Leman rolled his eyes and snarled " Hálfvit answer, do you understand" shaking her slightly. She squeaked and nodded, sniffling as the hand that gripped her collar finally dropped her. Satisfied, the wild skulked through the door clicked it shut.

Finding himself in the serf kitchen, he quickly set about throwing servants and maids out, sealing each entrance shut behind them. The scent was stronger in here, his prize was finally in sight. He dropped to his haunches, scouring the room with predatory eyes, flicking back and forth into each dark corner. The room was dimly lit by the dying embers of the large cooking fire in the hearth, a large oak counter filled the center of the room and various cupboards and shelves lined the walls.

Finally he heard a gentle clang and zeroed in a small cupboard set back from the fireplace. Smirking, he rose back into the balls of his thick booted feet and stepped over, reaching through the open hatch, he fumbled around before clutching his prize and pulling it out into the flickering light.

"Hjolda, little lordling" he laughed, bringing his catch up to his face.

The toddler giggled and squirmed in his grasp, fat hands coated in mess reaching for his uncle's face as he laughed. His wine red eyes scrunched in joy as he hung from the wolf's might grip, spinning slightly.

"I took my eye off you for 5 minutes, how are you this filthy child?"

He spun the child, getting a good look at the mess he had somehow managed to engulf himself in. Cake and pastry matted into his silky gold curls and icing or rainbow colours was encrusted in the down of his small cherub wings. His mouth and rosey cheeks were buried under lumps of chocolate and fruit peelings.

"your father's going to kill me" leman thought, remember the lecture sanguinius had given him not an hour before about keeping an eye on him. Running a free hand through his burnished hair, he considered his options.

He set the babe in the tabletop and sucked at his fangs as he thought. "I suppose I could dunk you in a mop bucket" he mused out loud, turning on the spot as he searched the room. "But I don't think the angel will be keen on that either" he turned back and shrugged. "So Zadkiel, what do you think?"

"CAKE"

"I am absolutely not giving you more"

"CAKE"

"no"

"CAKECAKECAKECAKECAKE"

the boy continued to babble, clapping happily as he changed, swaying and flaring his feathery nubs as he did so.

Leam gripped the edge of the counter and lent down, eye level with his nephew. "No, nothing else until we've scrubbed this mulch from you."

"unkl ruff"

Lemans eyebrows shot up in surprise as small fingers gripped his face. "What?"

Vermillion eyes stared back from under long blonde lashes as Zadkiel squeezed Leman's face. Frowning in concentration before a wide dirty grin dimpled his round face.

"ruff ruff ruff cakecakecakecakecake"

The primark stared back for a moment before a toothy smile of his own cracked his visage.

"very well, little lord, who am I to argue when you speak so eloquently"

The primark of the space wolves, lord of fenris, the emperors execution.

Brought to heel by a small boy saying his name for the first time.

[writer-by-the-sea]

If I had to pick a fic (hey that rhymed) for you to narrate, this one has always been a personal favourite

https://www.tumblr.com/writer-by-the-sea/712703712345391104/can-you-do-one-where-elliott-realizes-that-hes?source=share

There's something about Elliott and breakfast in bed that just does it for me.

- sleepless anon

The original drabble is pasted below NOTE - this is semi NSFT, slightly suggestive

The eggs popped in the pan, their yolk already broken and spilled about. My wooden spoon joins in, twirling with the eggs and gently pushing them around the pan as they cook and become a scrambled mess. Next I add the chopped spring onion, something I’d never even considered before – but the end result is delicious. 

Ever since that night… That wonderful night. I add the spring onions to my eggs. I’d never really thought about it until this very moment, how one night together changed the way that I prepare my eggs forever…

‘Then you add the cheese, just like this.’ The farmer swayed their hips back and forth, wearing only my shirt as they threw breakfast together for us. I sat at their kitchen table, hardly paying attention to their words as their bottom peeked out from beneath my shirt. The skin blossomed from my bites… between their thighs, across their neck, and down their chest.. My eyes watched them as they floated around the kitchen. A pint of salt, a twist of pepper, and a grating of cheese as a final touch. 

They carried the plate over to me, a fresh slice of buttered toast and jam resting beside the perfectly scrambled eggs. While it looked delicious, admittedly I was… quite ravenous for something else. 

The farmer nudged me, noticing how my eyes were focused on my shirt that they wore, no doubt reading my mind and how I wish I had the ability to undo the buttons with a snap of my fingers. ‘Try it,’ they giggled and took a bite from their own plate. They let out a soft noise of happiness, it was similar to their moans just a few hours ago as I buried my head between their legs. 

‘Elliott,’ they scolded me with a laugh, and went so far as to button up my shirt even further. ‘Breakfast first, then we can go back to the bedroom.’ 

With the promise of more, I chuckled and finally ripped my gaze away from them and back to the plate in front of me. One bite later, and I was humming alongside the farmer. 

And now, I stand in my cabin with a plate full of eggs. Not nearly as well prepared as the farmer would make; but I suppose it was good enough. I carried the plate to my bed, crawling into the covers and carefully pulling them back, revealing my groaning farmer trying to block out the light. 

“Good morning, my love,” I sang and waved the plate beneath their nose. “I’ve made you breakfast.” 

The farmer blinked their eyes open before smiling up at me. “With the spring onion?” They asked. 

“Always.” 

They ate slowly, savoring each bite and humming as they swallowed. 

Adorable as ever. 

[catboy-official]

It is imperative that every single indie developer move towards owning as much of what they make as possible and as quickly as possible.

If you draw for a living and use something like Photoshop, if Adobe decides to completely upend it's business model tomorrow, you can always just import your work into another program. Learning a new workflow always kinda sucks but the only real hurdle is that learning curve.

If you make a game in Unity or Unreal however, your art is now inexorably linked to a company whose main goal will always and forever be maximization of stock holder returns.

No matter how much work you put into it, they will forever own a portion of what you make and will make decisions you disagree with using that ownership. That is a certainty precisely because they definitionally are not loyal to the people who use their products.

Unity may or may not reverse it's decision to shoot itself in the foot, but even if it does that's besides the point. This decision didn't just come from no where and happen for no reason, something like this always was and always will be an inevitability.

"Switching engines is extremely difficult though, especially mid development"

It is, yes. Most of the time I would say it isn't even possible when taking things like cost of rewriting most if not all the games code, the technological differences between engines and familiarity with current tools into account.

BUT that's the point. The difficulty of switching engines means you inevitably get stuck in the technology you've used the most, this perpetuates the cycle where every indie dev uses Unity because every indie dev uses Unity. And because everyone just uses Unity, other engines struggle to break through and become widely adopted. Which is what leads to entire sections of the industry to become beholden to a single mismanaged corporation.

There isn't going to be a single answer of what to switch to that every single person can take, it will be different for every case. That decision might end up being to stay with Unity because you really have no choice, but even if it is you HAVE to at least ask yourself the question of whether or not using a new engine is a possibility.

The big open source one everyone just kinda defaults to recommending is Godot these days. I've personally done a few game jams with it and it's pretty good for that, I don't really know how good it handles larger projects but there are also other options out there if you dig just a little bit.

[candybowbeansies]

Rule the World

warnings/notes: reader is preggers, Angst to Fluff, ofc ya'll are married but due to who he is ya'll never had a ceremony but still filled the papers in, reader has a panic attack then a mental meltdown, and this starts around the raid, so spoilers ahoy! After much debate, I decided to go w Armless!Overhaul BECAUSE HE NEEDS COMFORT FROM LOSING HIS ARMS LIKE THAT DAMNIT 😭 Kai is a prison inmate, reader has to jump through hoops to gain approval for a conjugal visit in Tartarus(it's freaking Tartarus so I'm taking creative liberty, there's nothing realistic about the process in here you've been warned), but ya'll are stubborn so you keep at it until ya'll finally do 🥺 its ftb like the other fics, and conjugal doesn't necessarily mean purely sexual! let ya'll's imagination go wild 🥺👉👈

~Masterlist~

be his~ be his~

Snacks plated and radio jamming softly in the background, you pad over to your living room, talking to your friend over the phone. “Oooh, boy, are you seeing the news? There’s a story about some big raid on a villain's compound coming on.” they ask as you plop down on your couch, snacks set on the coffee table before you. “Really, now?” you hum taking the remote to turn on the tv, pushing in numbers for the news channel. “Let’s see what’s going on, then.” you speak to your friend. When you look back to the screen after settling in, you see a very familiar place in an aerial view.

‘We're here live at Hassaikai Compound, in the aftermath of a Police raid, search, and rescue. The Police had cooperated with the Hero Sir Nighteye's agency and other heroes brought into the job through the Hero Commission.’ 

There was a massive hole out front. Your hold on the phone grows lax, you’re heart dropping to your stomach. You knew he had his secrets, that was expected of a yakuza. Even so, you loved him. A year ago, you and him agreed that you were both too busy to have a ceremony, but still filled in to become officially married.

‘The villain Chisaki, Kai, known as Overhaul, and his dangerous goons have been subdued successfully, but at what price?’

You stare on in disbelief, on the edge of your seat.

‘Sir Nighteye has been gravely injured--impaled, I'm hearing by sources-and some students from the infamous 1-A have sustained injuries as well! They've packed these villains up and sent them off for protocol. Hopefully the likes of them end up in Tartarus! We'll be right back after--what?! I'm hearing the security escort on XX Ramp were attacked! We'll have helicopters on scene after the break!’

'I was wondering have you ever been, have you ever been anything other than, other than true, have you? Never been good but I've never been better'

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes as his and your song begins to play. You were looking forward to telling him the news the next time you would meet with him.

They fall when you see the attack happen on the vehicle he was put in from the news helicopter's view, high above.

You see the fire, you see the threatening figures looming over him.

'I was wondering have you ever been anything anything other than you, is that true? We're not gonna be here forever'

A pitiful sound escapes the back of your throat as you lift your hands, digging your fingers into your scalp, as your whole world comes all but crashing down. You open your mouth, a silent wail escaping you.

You were pregnant.

'I don't want to stay here on my own I don't want to let that body go'

Your sobs fill the room as you curl up against the couch, effectively muting the radio playing the other room. The phone and the person on the other side of the line are completely forgotten, the tv droning on and on as you break down.

The following months, you found yourself fighting for your visitation rights.

Even Tartarus allowed visitations, but there was a host of meticulous procedures that had to be done. Things had to be signed, imaging had to be done.

During your stay in the provided accommodation, you'd be treated like an inmate. Everything that happened in Tartarus, stays in Tartarus.

If that's what had to be done to see the man you loved, you were more than willing.

When the suits approved you for a conjugal visit, you were somewhere along in your second trimester. You were elated at the news.

So happy, that the majority of your processing went by in a blur. You were escorted by armed officers, shackles around your wrists and ankles, wearing a special pair of goggles that blocked out your vision.

Your toes curled as you're wheeled through what you assumed were checkpoints; loudspeakers beeping and heavy metallic doors clattering open, one after the other, until you feel a stop.

You knew better than to say anything, impatiently counting down the seconds until you could finally be with him.

Him; your hubby.

Once more, you hear metal clatter off to your side instead of in front of you.

Your man. Just a little bit longer...

You feel yourself being swiveled to the side, as they wheel you inside and stop. They prattle off about everything you already know, and you nod along.

The father of the life inside you. How would he react?

Your heart thuds against your ribcage anxiously as your shackles and goggles are removed and they exit the room. You stare at the armored door in front of you as you hear the one behind you close.

After a few moments, you hear the whirring, which prompts you to stand up and pad as close to the door as you dared. Slowly, it creaked open-and the figure beyond the threshold washes away the last of your patience. "Kai!" you gasp as you run straight towards him, inadvertently plowing into him, overwhelmed by the reunion to tears. He grunts at the contact, giving a soft huff as you keep calling his name, clinging to him.

His name; you'd call out to him, until your last breath.

His armless embrace is awkward at best, yet it does wonders to soothe you. "Kai." you call out once more, soaking up his warmth like a sponge as he deeply inhales your familiar scent.

"Angel." you hear his wavering voice and you look up to him, his sharp amber eyes wet, a small smile playing his lips. You caress his cheeks, thumbing away the tears on his lashes as they flutter closed.

"How's baby, my love?" he asks, and you giggle. Nothing gets past him, you swore. You feel them shift inside you, a soft gasp escaping you. But you can't help but smile wider. "Happy to finally hear Daddy." you say, relishing in his chuckle. You kiss his unkempt stubble, and he places a kiss on your temple.

'I love you's are gently exchanged, along with soft words that bring pleasantly fuzzy warmth and content; this was just the beginning.

You had every intention of enjoying every moment you could with him.

[vanillahub]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

respond to the prompts out of character!

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? Obviously, I'm heavily influenced by a set list of characters I personally love, which means I come up with a take/portrayal as I delve deeper into the lore. I tend to have a preference for side characters, rather than protags or lore heavy ones, bc of the freedom I get... BUT at the same time I've had numerous muses that carry a lot of weight in their respective franchises (see: Seto Kaiba, Captain Rex, rival Barry, Richter Belmont and Sea Dragon Kanon just to name a few).

I mainly write as canon characters, I genuinely have little to no interest in making or RPing as an OC. At most, I have 1 OC in two out of the RPCs I'm currently part of. Which explains this huge disparity.

is there anything you don’t like to write? My hard nos are Incest, Adult/minor types of relationships. Bodily fluids/toilet stuff and fetish focused RPs. One-liners and really short replies aren't fun for me, sure, they can be fun for crack/joke interactions. But they won't last long. I really love working and expanding on the source material, so RPs for me really need to have that good plotting to back it up. While I'm totally open for exploring darker/taboo subjects (e.g.: adultery, toxic relationships, etc.), they MUST carry weight on the characters and be handled accordingly.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? GIMME ALL THE WEIRD COMBOS TO INTERACT WITH!!! Characters that never met or barely interacted with one another in canon but, they can interact in our RPs!!! My jam is doing worldbuilding and expanding on the source material!!! I also enjoy writing comedy, fluff, romance, slice-of-life, over-arching stories that connect/get refferenced in other threads.

how do you come up with headcanons? I look for plotholes or anything that was barely touched upon, in the source material, and I go off from it. I try establishing connections or make them clearer, to serve as future reference for me and my RP partners. I also love taking influence from other medias I'm into.

do you write in silence or do you play music? I used to be able to multitask a lot easier in the past. Now, I mainly prefer writing in silence. Only in very rare cases, I may play some kind of lo-fi beat or lounge music.

do you plan your replies or wing them? It depends on the thread in specific! Most of them have been plotted out, so I go off what we have laid out. Only in a few cases I try to wing it.

do you enjoy shipping? YES YES. GIMME. However, due to some bad experiences in the past, I'm really picky with platonic and familial stuff (popular fanons my beloathed).

what’s your alias/name? Vani

age?  27

birthday? 19th of July

favorite color?  Purple, blue, white, red-

favorite song?  Tô de pé - Maneva

last movie you watched?  I genuinely can't remember it LOL. It must have been Saint Seiya: Legend of Sanctuary.

last show you watched?  Saint Seiya Omega

last song you listened to? Discoholic - Disco Soul (Mr. Hoosteen's "Disco's Revenge

favorite food?  Pesto Pasta

favorite season?  Summer

do you have a tumblr best friend? Check these fellas out <3

These ppl know me for the longest time Gen ( @gems-of-lirema ), Simone (@unchcsen ) , Shiba ( @celestiialnotes ), Retto ( @245s ), Bobo ( @roleplayersoul ) and Smeargle ( @ofpokemon ) !! Really special mentions to @radi0activesmile, Val and @mxlik you guys will forever hold a v special place in my heart!!

Then I'm always chatting with Ama ( @gwiazdowe ), who genuinely is one of the best ppl I've met!! Honestly, I couldn't feel anymore happier to have met you! Can't forget urs truly Mica, who lives rent-free in my walls LOL. Lea ( @todefendlife ) and Mars own my house smfh.

And also special shout out to folks I've met more recently, but still deserve a place here: @shouxryuuxha / @wayfaringstrangxr / @eternalstarlights / @triko-the-fluffy-artist <3 Love u guys!

TAGGED BY: @mayxthexforce TYSM <3333

TAGGING: Anyone wanting to do this!! Just say I tagged you <3 !

[ratgrrrlgames]

Hierarchies of Circles

This is a collection of anarchist 12-word RPGs for the Anarchy in the Tabletop, 12-Word RPG, and Forever Open Source Jams.

don’t know anything about art or design and I only know a little bit about anarchism. I most closely align with anarchist communism, but as a queer chronically disabled and neurodivergent non binary trans womxn, I have a lot of frustration with ‘purist’, anti-voting, accelerationist bullshit that wants anarchism on a mountain of marginalised corpses.

We need to live to be able to fight

Love, support and solidarity

- RATGRRRL

I am Queer in every sense.

I don't make things for bigots.

Hierarchies of circles is released under a Creative Comrades License.

Artwork and assets are Attribution 4.0 International , Creative Comrades or public domain Licenses

I can't stop bigots using my fucking Queer shit, but they are absolutely not welcome to it and I will call them the fuck out.

Marginalized folx or anyone who can't afford to pay for whatever reason, please pick this up for free!

Thanks to 

Strega Wolf van den Berg (Inspiration and art)

Sergei Nechayev by Pavlov's House (Directly inspiring some of the games and being a perfect soundtrack for this)

Much That is Good and All That is Evil by Jeeyon Shim (Directly Inspiring one of the games)

[shuckinbeanz]

Rule the World

warnings/notes: reader is preggers, Angst to Fluff, ofc ya'll are married but due to who he is ya'll never had a ceremony but still filled the papers in, reader has a panic attack then a mental meltdown, and this starts around the raid, so spoilers ahoy! After much debate, I decided to go w Armless!Overhaul BECAUSE HE NEEDS COMFORT FROM LOSING HIS ARMS LIKE THAT DAMNIT 😭 Kai is a prison inmate, reader has to jump through hoops to gain approval for a conjugal visit in Tartarus(it's freaking Tartarus so I'm taking creative liberty, there's nothing realistic about the process in here you've been warned), but ya'll are stubborn so you keep at it until ya'll finally do 🥺 its ftb like the other fics, and conjugal doesn't necessarily mean purely sexual! let ya'll's imagination go wild 🥺👉👈

MINORS 👏 DNI! 👏 AGE 👏 IN 👏 BIO 👏 OR 👏 DNI! 👏 Head on over to @candybowbeansies please for my SFW pieces, or be blocked if you interact here! 😇

~Masterlist~

Tags: @dynamightsdaydream

be his~ be his~

Snacks plated and radio jamming softly in the background, you pad over to your living room, talking to your friend over the phone. “Oooh, boy, are you seeing the news? There’s a story about some big raid on a villain's compound coming on.” they ask as you plop down on your couch, snacks set on the coffee table before you. “Really, now?” you hum taking the remote to turn on the tv, pushing in numbers for the news channel. “Let’s see what’s going on, then.” you speak to your friend. When you look back to the screen after settling in, you see a very familiar place in an aerial view.

‘We're here live at Hassaikai Compound, in the aftermath of a Police raid, search, and rescue. The Police had cooperated with the Hero Sir Nighteye's agency and other heroes brought into the job through the Hero Commission.’ 

There was a massive hole out front. Your hold on the phone grows lax, you’re heart dropping to your stomach. You knew he had his secrets, that was expected of a yakuza. Even so, you loved him. A year ago, you and him agreed that you were both too busy to have a ceremony, but still filled in to become officially married.

‘The villain Chisaki, Kai, known as Overhaul, and his dangerous goons have been subdued successfully, but at what price?’

You stare on in disbelief, on the edge of your seat.

‘Sir Nighteye has been gravely injured--impaled, I'm hearing by sources-and some students from the infamous 1-A have sustained injuries as well! They've packed these villains up and sent them off for protocol. Hopefully the likes of them end up in Tartarus! We'll be right back after--what?! I'm hearing the security escort on XX Ramp were attacked! We'll have helicopters on scene after the break!’

'I was wondering have you ever been, have you ever been anything other than, other than true, have you? Never been good but I've never been better'

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes as his and your song begins to play. You were looking forward to telling him the news the next time you would meet with him.

They fall when you see the attack happen on the vehicle he was put in from the news helicopter's view, high above.

You see the fire, you see the threatening figures looming over him.

'I was wondering have you ever been anything anything other than you, is that true? We're not gonna be here forever'

A pitiful sound escapes the back of your throat as you lift your hands, digging your fingers into your scalp, as your whole world comes all but crashing down. You open your mouth, a silent wail escaping you.

You were pregnant.

'I don't want to stay here on my own I don't want to let that body go'

Your sobs fill the room as you curl up against the couch, effectively muting the radio playing the other room. The phone and the person on the other side of the line are completely forgotten, the tv droning on and on as you break down.

The following months, you found yourself fighting for your visitation rights.

Even Tartarus allowed visitations, but there was a host of meticulous procedures that had to be done. Things had to be signed, imaging had to be done.

During your stay in the provided accommodation, you'd be treated like an inmate. Everything that happened in Tartarus, stays in Tartarus.

If that's what had to be done to see the man you loved, you were more than willing.

When the suits approved you for a conjugal visit, you were somewhere along in your second trimester. You were elated at the news.

So happy, that the majority of your processing went by in a blur. You were escorted by armed officers, shackles around your wrists and ankles, wearing a special pair of goggles that blocked out your vision.

Your toes curled as you're wheeled through what you assumed were checkpoints; loudspeakers beeping and heavy metallic doors clattering open, one after the other, until you feel a stop.

You knew better than to say anything, impatiently counting down the seconds until you could finally be with him.

Him; your hubby.

Once more, you hear metal clatter off to your side instead of in front of you.

Your man. Just a little bit longer...

You feel yourself being swiveled to the side, as they wheel you inside and stop. They prattle off about everything you already know, and you nod along.

The father of the life inside you. How would he react?

Your heart thuds against your ribcage anxiously as your shackles and goggles are removed and they exit the room. You stare at the armored door in front of you as you hear the one behind you close.

After a few moments, you hear the whirring, which prompts you to stand up and pad as close to the door as you dared. Slowly, it creaked open-and the figure beyond the threshold washes away the last of your patience. "Kai!" you gasp as you run straight towards him, inadvertently plowing into him, overwhelmed by the reunion to tears. He grunts at the contact, giving a soft huff as you keep calling his name, clinging to him.

His name; you'd call out to him, until your last breath.

His armless embrace is awkward at best, yet it does wonders to soothe you. "Kai." you call out once more, soaking up his warmth like a sponge as he deeply inhales your familiar scent.

"Angel." you hear his wavering voice and you look up to him, his sharp amber eyes wet, a small smile playing his lips. You caress his cheeks, thumbing away the tears on his lashes as they flutter closed.

"How's baby, my love?" he asks, and you giggle. Nothing gets past him, you swore. You feel them shift inside you, a soft gasp escaping you. But you can't help but smile wider. "Happy to finally hear Daddy." you say, relishing in his chuckle. You kiss his unkempt stubble, and he places a kiss on your temple.

'I love you's are gently exchanged, along with soft words that bring pleasantly fuzzy warmth and content; this was just the beginning.

You had every intention of enjoying every moment you could with him.

[multifandoms27-blog]

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (not specified), drug use (not specified), mental breakdown

Summary: This is a vent of mine. Chris Redfield finds you high in the shower after not speaking to him for a couple days. He thought you were done with drugs, but discovers you got high because you were having trouble with your PTSD and abusive father. He then helps you feel better.

Viewer discrestion is advised. Take care of yourselves.

• ───────────────── •

Chris moved up to the door. You hadn't been answering his texts or calls for days. That never meant anything good. Fiddling with his key ring for the spare key you gave him for emergencies, he noted to take off the keys he didn't need anymore once he left your place.

Finally finding the right one, he jammed it in the lock and unceremoniously shoved his way into your apartment. The lights were off, but he could hear a shower going in your bathroom. He took a quick peek at your current living space. Things were everywhere, the sink was crowded with dirty dishes, he guessed it had been like this for a little bit.

"(Y/n)?" He called out. "Hey, it's Chris. You uh, you didn't answer any of my texts or calls and I was getting worried."

No response. The shower continued. Growing suspicious, he made his way to the shower. He knocked once, twice, thrice, and right when he was about to knock a fourth time, your raspy voice sounded quietly through the door.

"Come in."

He did, and saw your curtains open. You were fully clothed but drenched head to toe. You looked tired, your lips were chapped, and your skin was pale.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" He reached over and turned off the water.

"No, turn it back on...my fucking..." You trailed off.

"Come on, let's go." He bent over and slung one limp arm over his shoulders before hauling you up and out of the tub. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Bad trip...thought...cold shower would help." Your head slumped, and when Chris tried to stand you up, your face just smashed into his chest.

Chris sighed. "Lets get you dried off, yeah? What even prompted you to get high? I thought you quit that."

"I did...but my fucking...my fucking dad came by..."

Chris knew that was the culprit. Your abusive father. Nodding, he helped you into your room, picked some oversized clothing for you to throw on (that absolutely weren't his) before handing you a towel. Nothing needed to be said, Chris knew well enough by now.

After changing into dry clothing and drying yourself off the best you could with a towel and high off your ass, you tried to stumble into the living room. More lights were on and it was fucking with your vision. Chris was putting some of your dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

"Oh no, no, don't do that...I can..."

"It's fine, you go sit down." Chris turned and gave you a charming smile over his shoulder.

You hesitated. Chris clicked his tongue. "Want company?"

You hesitantly nodded, not entirely sure. If you started having flashbacks again, you didn't want to get violent with your only source of comfort. But, before you could finish your thought process, Chris had abandoned the sink and guided you to your couch.

"Cuddle or no?"

"..." It suddenly hurt to speak.

Chris waited patiently for you to speak, or give him a hand signal. When you tapped his shoulder, he nodded. You just wanted to sit shoulder to shoulder. Chris patiently waited for you to talk, or not. He would wait for you forever if that's what you needed. He'll sit here as you begin to breakdown and cry, all of your worries and PTSD-ridden thoughts come spilling out. Chris listens, and listens, and listens. He doesn't say a single word. He just slowly begins to envelope you in a hug, giving you plenty of time to back out if you wanted to.

When his arms finally cage you in, you feel your tears begin to stop. You aren't close to calming down, but it definitely feels better like this. When you're done, Chris gives you a moment to see if you have anything else to say. When you're silent, he only says a sentence.

"I'm here, I've got you."

And do you feel damn safe in those fucking arms.

[ellraiser]

2023 In Review

2023 is almost at an end, and it’s been a busy ol’ year looking back! Here’s a lil ellraiser/TNgineer wrapped...

Started the year off strong dropping a demo for Rift Breach, an experimental lil dungeon crawler that was fun to make, helped me get better at scoping small, and got my out of my usual pixel art comfort zone!

Then @FletchMakes hosted a 7 day game jam + I couldn’t resist making the "APICO but frogs" I’d always joked about.

Mudborne was born(e) + I was overwhelmed with how much people loved it. It also show me just how much I can get done with a super strict scope and detailed plan

APICO had it’s 1st birthday! From a silly concept made in HTML to now published on all platforms with over 50,000 beekeepers playing - truly never thought it would go anywhere

I’m forever grateful to everyone who’s played and shared this funky bee game

At this point trying to keep up with socials for 3 different games was getting far too much and I needed help - enter @mibyledraws who joined as the first official TNgineer!

Thank you for all your hard work, wonderful videos, and helping me keep on top of everything <3

I released the 2nd free content update for APICO, ‘What Lies Beeneath”, with all sorts of weird and wonderful ocean friends.

It’s been tough to keep working on this mess of a game, but it’s worth it to see how much people have been enjoying all the new content

Decided that I wanted to take the Mudborne concept into a full-game, and started planning out everything along with a new art style and vibe for it (there’s only so far a sprite-rip of APICO can go lmao)

It’s wild to see how far I’ve started to come from tiny rectangle trees!

Towards the end of the year I quit my freelance contract and went full-time gamedev officially, not quite by choice but it was something I wanted to do for a while

I’ll now be able to spend all my time working on the games, as well as all the other little concepts I’ve had bubbling away in the back of my mind...

I moved from GameMaker to LÖVE, built a small framework for future games like Snacktorio + Mudborne, and contributed to the engine itself

Was the first time actually helping making a substantial contribution to an open-source project and I learnt a lot!

After a couple years in and out of development and a last minute engine change to LÖVE, I finally finished and released the demo for Snacktorio.

We’ve had some amazing feedback and it’s been so gratifying to finally get it out and see people enjoy it and confirm it as a fun concept.

Looking ahead to 2024, it’ll be my first year as a full-time gamedev (as well as reaching lvl 30!)

I’m planning to release the final update for APICO, as well as releasing either Mudborne or Snacktorio - might even have to drop some new demos too, as a treat…

Thanks for everyone who has supported me and TNgineers throughout the year.

Whether that was playing the demos, buying the games, sharing your progress, joining the discord, posting wholesome reviews, sending me cute bee pics - I'm truly grateful to you all <3

[rotten-downer]

⚠️ TW: Child death, blood, emetophobia ⚠️

💊: This is the big bad thing that haunts Horus to this day. It's dark, please tread carefully.

Platform

The sound of the Constable's heels hitting the cobblestone of the train platform echoes through the empty station. Usually, the stations were bustling with people, but for the past week, the tracks had been cold and the platform empty, the only exception being the Bobbies occasionally patrolling the area for any children who slipped through the cracks.

Horus was exhausted, his head pounding from the tension. He hadn't slept well the past few nights; how could he after all the children were taken away? God, he could still hear the desperate cries of mothers, begging him to allow their children to stay. But he had to turn down every single one. It was a risk, and if he allowed one child to stay, the backlash of the people would be insane. And besides, if the Germans had found out, that wouldn't do well for anyone, now, would it?

He didn't see the point in continuously patrolling the area. If a child had somehow slipped through without being detected, surely they would have been found already? Horus believed this was a bit overkill, but just a few more days and he would be able to go back to his previous patrols, that's what they had told him.

Horus begins to whistle softly to fill the silence as he walks. The station was large, so the Bobbies had been spread out amongst the area, leaving Hunt alone with his thoughts and the quiet around him.

His body goes rigid as Horus hears a soft thud off to the side, his eyes instantly going to the source of the noise. It was probably just a rat….but he had to check.

Horus takes in a breath, then begins approaching the dark corner. There was a door, but it appeared to be jammed. There was also a small hole in the wall, but it looked as if something was recently wedged in it to plug it. Just check real fast, it's nothing, Horus assured himself.

His hand wraps around the old doorknob and he slowly twists it, but the door doesn't give. He shakes the handle a few times, but still with no success. Inhaling softly, he braces himself, then slams his shoulder against the door. It takes a few tries, but eventually, the door falls open and Horus stumbles into the small space.

He looks into the room, and his eyes meet large, fearful ones. His chest heaves under his uniform as he stares at the small figure, huddled up and clinging a stuffed animal to his chest. There were a few more scattered around on the floor, and a half eaten cake sitting beside him.

It was a child.

Horus and the child stare at each other in a moment of shocked silence that seems to stretch on forever, before the world shatters into movement.

The child tosses his toy to the side and sprints past Horus and out the door, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. Horus blinks his eyes in disbelief, snapping out of his shock as panic envelops him. He begins chasing after the child, calling out to him in a low, authoritative voice.

"STOP!"

The child doesn't stop, doesn't even look back. He runs with great speed, adrenaline and terror giving him a much needed boost.

He couldn't get away, Horus thought. If the Germans found out….

If they found out, it would be bad, wouldn't it?

Very, very bad….

Horus pulls his truncheon from his belt, raising it above his head.

"I SAID STOP!-"

In a quick moment, the child glances back with horror-filled eyes, and the weapon hits him in the head with a great amount of force, his skull cracking loudly from the blow.

A spray of blood hits Horus in the face as the child drops like a weight onto the ground, and the constable skids to a stop, his eyes wide as he stares down at the unmoving figure in front of him. His hands begin to tremble, and his wide brown eyes look at the bloodied bat in his hands before he quickly drops it as if it were on fire.

Horus takes a small, fearful step back, his eyes staring at the body as a small pool of blood begins to form under the tiny boy's head. When Horus realizes that the child isn't even breathing anymore, nausea fills him and he clasps a gloved hand over his mouth before throwing up off to the side. His body lurches as he retches, and he could barely hear the sounds of approaching footsteps over the rush of blood in his ears.

"Are you okay?.....It wasn't your fault...The Jerrys would have done it anyways…."

The words of the other constables attempting to reassure Horus were going in one ear and out the other. His eyes shift back to the dead boy, and he feels his shoulders shake as a soft, broken sob leaves his lips.

He couldn't believe what he had done...