#Knives and Ivory

[homestuck-music-tournament]

Knives and Ivory

Album: Midnight Crew: Drawing Dead Composer: Kevin Regamey Leitmotifs: None Characters: Midnight Crew, Spades Slick

[othertalearchive]

ANALYSIS:

| This is NOT meant to be read as strictly canon. It is analysis and personal interpretation based on what’s in the actual canon and based off my own perspectives—sometimes with add ons from others and headcanons as well. Feel free to disagree, agree, reinterpret, or question at will.||

This is a WIP.

OTHERTALE:

My Othertale Rewatch.

Part 1 and Part 2 of the [experiment] analysis.

Wingdings Translation for [experiment].

Caring short analysis.

Nicknames.

Why I think Othertale Asgore and Toriel should have stayed together.

Misc on MTT, Amber, Ivory, alphyne, etc.

Fan decided birthdays.

COLOR!SANS:

Color’s Name: 1 and 2.

Real Life Equivalents for Color’s psychical fragility.

His sass.

Color in the Sans Hazard comic.

Why does he keep living?

Wouldn’t he help Horror and Dust too?

Color’s boundaries and his violence.

Do I think Color struggles to adjust to change?

Color and joining the Star Sanses.

Color on the topic of Siblings.

Color Yap Sesh.

THE VOID/POST VOID:

The Effects of His Captivity.

Sensory deprivation, severe sensory sensitivity, and cleithropohobia.

Arm wound.

Resource hoarding and sleeping on the floor.

Potential unhealthy coping mechanisms post-Void. (cw: unsafe sex, trauma, dissociation.)

How the Void translates to a human/humanoid body. (Was inspired by the real life of case of Blanche Monnier.)

Do I think Color would S/H Post-Void?

Immediately post Void.

How long he might’ve been in the Void.

Color, Gaster, and storytelling. / Add on.

More Color & Gaster.

Possible supernatural or magical effects of the Void.

Color and AAC.

Technophobia.

COLOR SPECTRUM DUO:

How Color challenges Killer in a way most don’t have the opportunity or means to do so.

Color and on “fixing” Killer. And how his grief, trauma, and memories could’ve affected his relationships with different Killers.

Emptiness. / More on Color, Killer, Dream and Swap.

On Killer, Nightmare, and Color.

Color & Killer, Kin & Beats + codependency.

Why?

IVORY!UNDYNE:

Character + personality analysis.

Ivory could be an ISTJ.

Royal Guard training.

Color and Ivory bonding, and possibly unknowingly to Ivory, with the souls, too.

Ivory Fashion and Hair thoughts.

FISHBONES SIBLINGS:

Ivory and Sage’s childhood speculations.

Ivory and Color magical whump.

On Color.

Ivory and Sage in Underverse.

Fraternal Twins.

THE SOULS:

How the Souls could communicate with Color.

Is it canon Color can communicate with the souls?

Can Color and the souls be read as a system?

Integrity and Color’s autism.

Patience’s knives.

Color feeling like a vehicle for the souls.

How Color could be affected by Perseverance’s potential bad eyesight and dysgraphia. / Part 2.

Kindness & shielding + fire.

Souls Nicknames.

The Souls & their Influence.

EPIC SANSES/CHROMATIC CREW/ABYSS TEAM:

Delta & Color’s apartment. (+ refeeding syndrome.)

Who would meet Epic first? Would Color ever be jealous, upset, or paranoid?

How do I think Color would act when afraid of being alone, forgotten, or abandoned? (Early Post-Void Color.)

Does Color miss the Void?

Handwriting.

Where the Crew could live in Omega Timeline. (Outdated OT map). + Good old days at Grillby’s.

Jobs in the Omega Timeline.

[ofedzed128]

Hey guys! I have a question. Are people still making Epithet Erased OCs?

I dunno, but what I do know is that I have some that I wanna share. Whatever kind of collection of EE OCs that currently exist is one that I wanna add my OCs too.

This gal who thinks wearing a fabulous dress as casual clothing is a good idea (No hate, I love the look) goes by Beatrice Dorothy, she's a self-employed ivory key tickler who also plays the sax-a-boom but that's labelled under DPFW (Doesn't play for work).

Extra stuff includes...

Age: 19

Height: 5'10

Born: March 21st

VC: Marceline (Olivia Olson)

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Stamina: ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ★ ★

Proficiency: ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ★

Creativity: ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ★ ★

Music: ★MAX★

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Epithet: Specter

Animal: Bombay Cat

Fav Food: Ice Cream

Likes: Music, Dresses, Cards, Knives

More info on her can be found on this link which leads to her google doc.

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Alright, that concludes EE OC #1.

Now it's time to get to EE OC #2.

This girl with gray hair, who is not 40 years old unlike a certain wizard I know, is known as Cheryl Mellan which can also be spelled like Cherry Melon, she's an artist (Like most of my friends and acquaintances on here. Hi, how are you?) who only uses grayscale pencils to sketch things into her handy dandy sketchbook.

Extra stuff includes...

Age: 19

Height: 5'10

Born: October 22nd

VC: Raven (Tara Strong)

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Stamina: ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Proficiency: ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ★

Creativity: ⍟ ⍟ ⍟ ★ ★

Sketching: ★MAX★

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Epithet: Current

Animal: Greyhound Dog

Fav Food: Cooked Meat

Likes: Landscapes, Artwork, Museums, Pencils

Just like Beatrice, Cheryl also has a google doc. You'd be surprise to see how intertwined these two really are.

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That's all I wrote for the day, now it's time for the credits.

The art of Beatrice was forged by the geetziest of filies known as geetzyfily so all credit goes to them (for the art, not the character).

Cheryl, however, though there was a bit of color editing via ibispaintx involved, I used REDACTD'S ULTIMATE OC CREATOR picrew by re_dactd to make her so huge credit to them.

[killa-cookie]

IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU..

Espresso x Reader angst

“Hey, Espresso—!”

You giggled shyly, your voice light and teasing, as you leaned in slightly toward your friend. The quiet atmosphere of the library wrapped around you both like a warm embrace, the scent of parchment and ink filling the air.

“Yeah?”

Espresso looked up from his thick tome, his sharp eyes meeting yours with a mixture of curiosity and slight annoyance. His dedication to his studies was unwavering, yet he always acknowledged your presence.

“P-promiwse you’ll wait for me, kay?”

Your voice held a trembling eagerness, eyes wide with a silent plea. You weren’t sure if he understood what you truly meant—perhaps he was too absorbed in his books to see it. But to you, it was a vow, a tether between the two of you, fragile yet binding.

Espresso only sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s ‘promise,’ but okay… Whatever you say.”

A small, dismissive wave of his hand brushed aside your words, your hopes. He thought it was just another one of your childish whims. A fleeting, silly moment.

But one day—one day—you would capture his heart.

---

Years Later – The Confession

The memory clung to you like a ghost, whispering promises that never bore fruit.

Now, you stood outside a quaint café, hands trembling as you clutched a bouquet of freshly picked flowers behind your back. Nestled between your fingers was a delicate, heart-shaped box of espresso-flavored chocolates—his favorite. Today was the day.

Your heart pounded like a war drum, anticipation and dread clawing at your ribs. Would he say yes? Would he smile at you the way he did in your dreams?

And then—there he was.

He arrived with a grace so effortless it made your breath hitch. Dressed in pristine white, his usual dark attire replaced by something refined, almost regal. A soft cape billowed at his shoulders, the interior lined with ivory silk. A neat ponytail rested over one side, and atop his head sat the most charming little hat, making your heart flutter.

For a moment, you thought he had dressed up for you.

But then, you saw him.

Another figure walked beside him, tall and broad-shouldered, his golden locks glistening under the afternoon sun. Their hands—locked together.

The world around you seemed to blur, your breath caught between your lungs and your throat.

Espresso’s polite wave was an echo of past gestures, but it was the way he looked at his companion that shattered you completely.

Soft. Adoring. The look you had yearned for your entire life.

"Essie—who is... this...?"

Your voice was nothing more than a weak whisper, your fingers tightening around the bouquet.

Espresso smiled gently, unaware—so unaware—of the storm raging inside you.

“Oh, right! This is my boyfriend, Madeleine Cookie. And Madeleine, this is my comrade.”

Boyfriend.

The word sliced through you like a jagged blade, gutting you from the inside out.

Madeleine grinned, his voice obnoxiously cheerful, ringing with an almost mocking pride.

"Why, hello there, my kind gentleman!"

Your teeth clenched. You hated it. Hated him.

Espresso gazed up at the blonde knight, his expression tender, admiration painted in every stroke of his features. He had never looked at you like that.

Not once.

You… were too late.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as your throat constricted. The bouquet trembled in your grip, your carefully chosen chocolates suddenly meaningless.

A sharp, bitter click of your tongue.

The flowers slipped from your grasp. The chocolates tumbled to the ground, landing soundlessly at your feet.

And then—you ran.

Ran as fast as your legs could carry you, ran without looking back, ran until the air in your lungs felt like knives.

Espresso instinctively reached out, fingers curling toward the space you once stood. But before he could move, Madeleine’s gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“We should give him space, dear,” Madeleine murmured, his voice steady. “He’ll come back around soon. I know of it.”

Espresso hesitated. Then, nodding slowly, he lowered his arm.

Neither of them noticed the bouquet lying in the dirt, petals wilting under the weight of rejection.

---

Darkness Beckons

The forest swallowed you whole.

You stumbled through the undergrowth, breath ragged, the tremors in your hands no longer from nervous excitement but from pure, undiluted rage.

He was your only light.

The one constant in your life.

A world that had been nothing but cruel, nothing but suffering, had given you one thing—him.

And now, he was taken from you.

But it was a mistake, right? He didn’t really love Madeleine Cookie… right?

You stopped, panting, and wiped at your tear-streaked face. Then, slowly, your lips curled into a grin—twisted, deranged.

No. If you couldn't have him, no one could.

Adrenaline surged through your veins like liquid fire. Your fingers, once trembling with sorrow, now burned with purpose.

You hurried back to your old shack, the one hidden deep in the woods, where memories of childhood tinkering and forgotten dreams still lingered.

And there—you began.

The invention took shape under your hands, the glow of magical runes casting eerie shadows across the walls. Wires twisted, gears clicked into place, and power hummed beneath your fingertips.

A shapeshifting device.

Your heart pounded wildly as the final piece was set. You donned the disguise of a Faerie Knight, your form shifting and warping into something unrecognizable.

And then, you ventured into the depths of the enchanted forest, seeking the fabled Faerie Kingdom.

You walked for what felt like hours, until finally—a pathway revealed itself.

A breathtaking kingdom unfolded before you, its gates opening as if welcoming a lost soul home. And at the heart of it all—a grand, ancient tree.

You stepped closer, fingers tracing the rough bark.

Then, with the magical axe Espresso once gifted you—you began to chop.

A deep, forbidden rift cracked open before you, the very fabric of reality splitting apart.

From the abyss, a figure emerged.

A dark, twisted presence, a jester draped in shadows and deceit. His deep blue eyes glowed with mischief and menace.

You smirked, tilting your head.

“I have a favor to ask.”

The jester’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with intrigue.

"You freed us? Well... Have a go at it—!?

And soon… Espresso would be at peace, like the angel he is.

---

[vampirevatican]

judd's shirt, and how he smells...

he's gonna have a musk. like canon wise it'd be after sharpening his knives or like he's working out or something but he's got man musk

i like to think the birch household actually has good shampoo and skincare stuff, though i also am a firm believer that only elliot, leah and diane have an actual routine

judd? literally any soap, though nothing with a flowery scent?? like motherfucker smells like the woods. he's got an earthy smell to him. like i think he's the only one in the house that uses irish spring or like very plain ivory soap.

to the ppl that think he'd use a 13 in 1. i need you to stop. his hygiene routine is very simple but ima need some respect put on this man because how else is he gonna maintain that hairstyle? not to mention dude is definitely a go-getter.

anyway he just has... boy/man/male scent, ya know? like that common smell between all cologne and men's soap? yeah that.

so with that context... you've taken some of his shirts, for girlfriend reasons.

ya know like, when he's not around and you wanna pretend he's there. or you just don't feel good and wanna think about him comforting you... it's for emersion you swear!

----------------MDNI (nsfw below)-------------

yeah right you're getting off to that shit.

sure you could put it on a pillow and think about him being there

could cuddle with pillow judd or if you have a huge stuffed animal that works too

but ik why you clicked 'read more' and yeah i get it

jessie was onto something... and so was a manga i read...

just taking his shirt and keeping it for a bit? and you just take a big whiff... a deep sniff. oh yeah.

at some point his werid ass ziplocs his most sweaty shirts and keeps them just for you

doesn't point out why or explains, just points you to where he keeps them.

Looking in the drawer you find a couple of plain and graphic tees in rows. Lined up, side by side and in... ziploc bags? You look back at him and he looks at you, shirtless and dead lifting weights. "What." he sounds so nonchalant, neutral tone, same as always. "You're just gonna let me have them now?" He continues lifting and looking at a wall with a couple band posters on it. "Better than you being a klepto over my shit." He smirks slightly and looks back at you, "What? You don't want them, princess?" You squint, mainly at the pet name and was going to argue but just pouted and looked away grabbing the shirts and stuffing them into your overnight bag. "Yes." you mutter and he laughs.

[kiame-sama]

What do the Ursus Majors look like? Id like to do fanart of Mor’Du or is it a spoiler?

Not a spoiler at all, but we will see my drawing of Mor'du when he finally makes an appearance in the story. Do keep in mind, I intend to put the MC through a lot, and it is only close to two months that all of the first 39 chapters have taken place. There will be more.

But let's talk Undying Ursus Minors and The Undying Ursus Major.

Warnings: gorey descriptions, reader discretion is advised

The Undying Ursus Minors are the more common one and can be found anywhere the Ursus Major has roamed. They are offspring of the one and only Undying Ursus Major and a normal bear. Most Ursus Minors are indistinguishable from a regular bear at first, but when someone tries to kill one is when the true horror begins.

The easily identifiable Ursus Minor are those that are missing limbs, flesh, eyes, and have exposed bone covered in pustules. They are not lovely creatures. They cannot heal and they cannot die, they just travel in states of mindless agony as their bodies decay and deform, driven to seek out anything human shaped to end their suffering.

The Ursus Major- Mor'du- is a large bear that more than dwarfs a Polar bear in size, weight, and ferocity. The Ursus Major "heals" but leaves deep running and twisted scars like bramble that cover his entire body. Many spears, swords, knives, axes, arrows, bolts, and even some crude sharply shaped magestones are sticking out of his body, healed into his undying flesh. The right side of his head is caved and bone is exposed with deep lines of glowing mana within the ivory bone, showing a malformed bear skull with a Human skull fused into the eye, eternally frozen in a scream. His fur is dark and inky with overblot, covered in blot filled pustules that occasionally pop and ooze a mix of blot and rotten blood. His one remaining eye is sunken and appears blind at first glance with no eye-lid. It rolls back and weeps this curdled blood when he is "sleeping" and deep within nightmarish dreams. When he awakes, the eye rolls forward to stare, glowing when it sees anything vaguely Human shaped. His teeth have overgrown his mouth, some twisted and cracking, some sticking through his chops. His spine is elongated and kinked in many places where others tried to sever it. He is only half furred, as the rest is twisting scars that occasionally break open of he breathes too hard.

There is a beautifully crafted and ornate blade that is lodged in his ribs where his heart would be, Trein's original blade from when he faced Mor'du for the lives of his students.

He is a painful looking creature, pitiful in the fact that he longs for the release of death, yet can only be ended by a Human hand. His pain and craving for death has only made him violent, his mind long lost to turning Feral. All he knows is violence, and Sage island is typically evacuated whenever he wakes. Papa Hades has tried to trap Mor'du in Tartarus, but Mor'du slaughtered too many Shinigami to count. It is simply agreed by the many countries that wherever Mor'du slumbers- he is to be left alone. Sage island is the furthest from any large continent they could get him, so he is to be left undisturbed by others. Waking him can be considered a crime, but simply surviving the Ursus Major is punishment enough.

Trein is considered a hero for going toe to toe with Mor'du for as long as he did and only escaping with a permanently mangled leg. Clay respects Trein more than anyone else becuase of this.

[beansidhebumbling]

The Art of War

The study was empty when Eris entered it.

He was quite sure of it.

Or had been until he heard a startled gasp when he slammed his hand against his desk.

He turned suddenly, catching his emerald brocade waistcoat on the corner of the bureau. Yet another casualty of this disastrous ball if the ripping he heard was anything to go by. There the intruder sat, across the firelit room in his favourite armchair, a vision of stunned elegance in white muslin.

Under his burning gaze, emotions burst like fireworks across her sharp little face- nervousness, irritation, anger, hope -before disappearing beneath a veil of polite, practiced concern.

'My Lord, I apologise for the intrusion.'

She murmured, head tilted down, voice trembling just so. She was a poised model of simpering female softness, slippered feet peeping out beneath the hem of her ivory dress, gloved hands clinging to a book, probably poetry.

And yet.. she made no move to stand, no rush to leave what was no doubt a compromising situation for any young debutante. Indeed Eris had a suspicion that the violent bang of his arrival was of little surprise at all. Only fools believed women incapable of deception, when indeed in polite society their very existence depended on their mastery of it.

Unfortunately for this actress he had no intention of being trapped by yet another conniving mama and his extinguished patience was not present to temper his tongue.

'What a skilled artist you are, Miss. Your concern for me is as artificial as the rouge on your pretty lips, yet most convincing. A lesser man may have been fooled. May I suggest you leave here and find such a man before I lose what is left of my good will.'

He snarled, feeling his face redden with frustration as he spoke until his complexion surely matched his hair.

He expected a few tears or a dramatic exit once he spoke.

He'd inspired both before.

Instead the creature had leaned back in the chair and raised her face towards him, so he got to observe her thin eyebrows climb higher and higher in disbelief and her plump bottom lip thin in fury as he raved.

There followed a few moments of painful silence where the only sounds that could be heard were the distant ballroom music and his own heavy breathing.

Then she rose from her seat, her movements liquid and graceful, a dancer he guessed, the book still in hand. Advancing on him she began to speak, voice low and steady, her grey eyes like knives pointed at him,

'I am skilled artist, my Lord, though not as you insinuate. And it is a damning indictment on men that I believe I could find lesser than what exists before me.'

He winced at her condemnation, an expert with blades of all kinds clearly. His chest tightened strangely and his hand clutched at it but he received no mercy from the descending angel.

'I have heard many tales of you, Lord Vanserra, but none had quite readied me for that introduction.'

His heart was ready to burst from his chest. Maybe because it was wrapped, from her first word, in a bow of barbed wire, that glistened gold and extended across the rapidly disappearing space between himself and the vengeful beauty. The clarity of this realization was as striking as his regret at his own insult towards her.

She continued, blessed as he was with the sweet timbre of her voice, damned as he was with its contents,

'I entered your study for a chance to meet you, my charming soulmate. So as to allow the bond to click for you in private, so you would not have to suffer publicly, as I did.'

Gods damn him.

She was breathtaking clothed in rage. It may be the only solace he could take from her anger, as based on his actions she would feel little else for him henceforth.

She reached him, those dainty feet now so close to his fine leather boots, her perfume of orange and vanilla filling his nose. He was sure he appeared to be a madman, clenched over his desk in pain as his heart was reforged as hers. His pale hand reached for her but she artfully dodged him, skirts whirling as she dropped the book on his desk and leaned down so her lips were by his ear.

'My name is Nesta Archeron, my Lord. And I will go now and seek one of those lesser men that you speak of. Do come join me when you are less indisposed.'

Nesta, he tried the name out, finding it to be most delightful even as a searing jealousy at the thought of her with another man threatened to turn his stomach.

By the time he could choke out her name, she was by the door.

'Nesta. Please.'

Funny how words that came so easy to him mere minutes ago had vanished somewhere between his head and his heart.

'Nesta.'

She did not turn but he saw her posture tense slightly as she pulled open the door and disappeared back to the dance.

-

He was not sure how long it took him to recover. Only that when his vision finally cleared the moon was high in the sky and the crunching of carriages and laughter could be heard through the bay window.

Nesta.

She was his first thought, as she would be for the rest of his life.

How Lucien would laugh at him. Only Eris Vanserra could offend his mate so thoroughly before an introduction. When he tentatively probed at the bond, that gold ribbon he felt bound to his heart, it echoed into the darkness with no response.

She had shut him off.

No great surprise but disappointment bit at his gut like a viper.

Pressing his forehead against the cool mahogany he sighed in despair. He allowed himself a moment more to wallow in his own stupidity before standing and fixing his jacket, buttoning it so as to hide his torn waistcoat.

It would do no good to admit defeat at this early stage. Eris had been fighting for his place since the day he was born. If it were to be no different with his mate, he could rest assured that none were more practiced than he.

His eyes turned to the thin book she had left on the desk, the smell of oranges still clinging to it. He turned his first gift from her, for it was one in his mind at least, over to read the title.

The Art of War.

For the first time that night, a smile tugged at his mouth.

How apt.

And though sleep beckoned Eris relit the candles in the study for it was time to prepare for the fight of his life.

[cirrus-grey]

Within it I could spy an assortment of trinkets, ranging from battered knives and chipped porcelain to fine jewelry, small ivory figures and even a set of gambler’s dice.

"Luck assumes a myriad of forms," he proclaimed...

(From episode 4)

I thought those dice sounded familiar...

[brittle-doughie]

(Similar to the request from Anon, but Y/N Cookie, but they're litterally just Frisk Undertale.)

Determined!Y/N is EXTREMELY quiet most of the time. Not really talking, UNLESS the situation comes up. Usually giving away expressions or signs to express their thoughts.

Not much is known about their past, but one things people DO know is, that they're.. one of the kindest Cookies you could ever meet. Often caring about other people before themselves. Along with this, Cookies observe that when Y/N Cookie has a goal, they WILL achieve it.

Strangely enough, they also seem to have **really** good intuition, often not reacting or already knowing of events that happen later.

They're also.. weirdly invincible. Cookies often report seeing Y/N Cookie encountering huge opponents, only to destroy them seconds later, or receive an attack so devastating, yet barely any marks are left on Y/N Cookie, and even completely dodge all the attacks, as if they knew what was going to happen.. They seem to be also really good at handling knives.

(Now that we're done with the introductions.. here's a little scenario, which you can write on if you want! This is the actual **request** part lol sorry about the long block of text)

The Ivory Dragon pierces the land below with a powerful attack, strong enough to plunge the land into an unrecognizable broken pieces of baked goods.

Still, weirdly.. Behind all the smoke and debris, one Cookie is seen standing, with small cracks, but no noticeable damage in their dough.

Longan Dragon Cookie: How..?

Determined!Y/N Cookie: *Flirt.

The indomitable cookie spirit, that and a little mercy and flirting.

[eggcompany]

Jayce is a big Christmas boy. He loves putting up lights and decorating the tree and making gingerbread houses. He wears special sweaters and vests, he hums songs as he works. He’s got a candy cane in his mouth 24/7. He says he’s got holiday spirit from his father, but really it keeps him from spiraling down, keeps the panic attacks at bay and his mind from darker places. He stays up at night and stares at his Christmas tree, his fireplace, drinking a hot cup of instant cocoa. Safe and warm, with his friends and mother, plenty of food and company.

Viktor never did Christmas. They didn’t do Christmas. They did have a summer celebration, but it was mostly about having babies and lighting fireworks. When he started being friends with Jayce it was spring. So they were deeply involved when Christmas rolled around. Jayce’s mother dressed him in knitted scarves and sweaters, they gave him tumblers of cocoa to warm his hands, and most of all Jayce explained the gifts.

People give a gift to those who matter most to them. People they appreciate. Gift exchange.

Viktor panicked for weeks before the Christmas. He goes through stores and shops and craftsman looking for something for the three people he needs gifts for. He ends up with a new knife block of ivory handled knives for Jayce’s mother, a set of very nice pens and a few notebooks for Sky, and he was stuck on Jayce for too long. He had to keep thinking of something his partner would like.

He ended up getting Jayce something small. A simple pack of colored pencils and a sketchbook. For blueprints and his endless doodling.

Jayce cried, Sky smile and thanked him, and Ximena hugged him and said she loved it and that he’s a very good boy.

Viktor didn’t know what to say when gift after gift was handed to him, saying they were making up for lost time. Hoodies, sweatshirts, wool socks, mittens, hats, a blanket, books, new chalk, and a few little things. He didn’t know what to do. It was too much.

It was late when he cried and Jayce consoled him, hugging him whispering about all the traditions. Viktor didn’t even notice when they were suddenly standing in a doorway. Jayce looked up, pulling his gaze up to the plant hanging there. Viktor was confused until Jayce explained mistletoe. Share a kiss with whoever you get caught under the branch with.

Suddenly he very much liked Christmas.

[ceaseless-bitcher]

THE DICE IN EPISODE NINE WERE MENTIONED IN EPISODE FOUR.

“The stranger reached over and retrieved from behind the log on which he sat an unusually shaped sack. Within it, I could spy an assortment of trinkets, ranging from battered knives and chipped porcelain to fine jewelry, small ivory figures and even a set of gambler’s dice.”

DUDE.

Thank you to my dear friend who suggested we check!

[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 2 ~ LATE NIGHT TEARS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: excuse another set up chapter, shit will start going down very very soon

chapter warnings: mentions of death/death threats, sad vibes ngl

chapter word count: 2.6k

After Chan agrees, things progress surprisingly fast. Although he sends Chan a warning look, Minho doesn’t object, and Seungmin looks at you coolly, as if he hasn’t quite put his confidence in you but doesn’t object to sharing a space with you, either. Felix just looks happy. You get the sense that he trusts you just because you haven’t given him a reason otherwise.

If any of them take notice of your row of kitchen knives, they say nothing.

They decide among themselves who is going where. In the end, Felix and Seungmin stay back with you while Chan and Minho go to fetch the others. You talk a little with them, finding out that Felix owned a cafe and Seungmin was doing a masters in law. The blonde happily chatters with you, informing you further that Chan was a lifeguard and Minho a dance teacher and sometimes part of a troupe, as well the lives of the others, while Seungmin stares out the window as it begins to rain, occasionally chipping in.

It’s altogether far too easy to talk with Felix. There’s something about him that’s warm, something about the simple way he trusts you that makes him all the more trustworthy - he puts you at ease in an instant, his low voice comforting and familiar. The way he tells you about his friends makes you like them before you’ve even met them.

By the time they get back, it’s nightfall. They’re soaked, droplets of water sliding from their hair and onto the linoleum floor in tiny rivulets, starting in tributaries at the hems of their shirts and turning into not so small waterfalls - you notice they’re all shivering slightly, the tips of their noses and their cheeks flushed scarlet. Pulling off his mask, Chan runs his fingers through his hair and slicks it back, dropping a stuffed backpack on the floor beside him, careful to avoid the quickly growing lake around his feet.

There’s the four you haven’t met yet gathered in a small huddle behind him. The handsome, tall guy must be who Felix described as Hyunjin - the artist who models on the side. He shakes the rain off him, droplets flicking from the ends of his messily tied black hair onto the younger man beside him. To their left, a shorter man laden with muscle removes his mask, revealing a cheery smile that makes his evident strength a little less intimidating.

Your eyebrows raise as Minho slaps the butt of the last of the new arrivals. You stay quiet.

Felix and Seungmin go to greet the others, and you remain sitting where you are, giving them some privacy. They speak quietly, though occasionally a bright laugh rings out, and you’re struck by how familiar they are with each other - Felix told you that they were lucky they were all together when the first horseman came, but you find it hard to believe they wouldn’t have found each other one way or another if they hadn’t been.

You catch flashes of damp skin and ivory grins as they wring out their clothes. Curious glances get sent your way until Chan peels off and sits beside you; you’re positive that nothing could hide the affection in his smile as he looks over at them.

“It’s a lot when you first see all of us together, huh?” he says, his voice confiding and bemused.

“A little,” you confirm. “But it’s nice, really. It’s good to hear laughter.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I can’t count how many times they’ve saved me. They’re family.”

You’re startled by Chan’s easy confession, enough so that all you can do is stare at him in shock, surprised to find that he looks relaxed, his eyes far away and his hair sticking out at all angles from where he’s rubbed it dry. Your brain takes that particular moment to note that he’s got a soft, inviting mouth - it compliments the sharpness of his nose well. Unfortunately, neither of those things is something you could respond with.

When the muscular one approaches, the other three behind him, you’re still scrambling for a reply. Eventually, your mouth, which had been previously hanging open like a trapdoor in effort to make a sound in answer to Chan, snaps shut and you send them a pleasant smile as they assemble awkwardly in front of you. Over their shoulders you can see Minho attacking the bags they brought with them, unpacking them with organised ferocity.

“I’m Hyunjin,” the artist-model announces, as you predicted. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jisung,” the one whose butt Minho slapped says. You notice his hair is slightly shaggy, curling around his reddened ears and at the nape of his neck, and he regards you with a neutral expression, as if he hasn’t formed his opinion on you yet.

“I’m Jeongin,” the youngest adds, and unsurprisingly, you can see the suspicion thinly veiled in his eyes.

Your gaze slides to the last one to introduce himself, the muscular one. According to Felix, he must be Changbin, who was in the army. The moment your eyes lock on his, a distant memory surfaces of you and a boy in the school library, hiding from the stern librarian and trying to stay quiet despite his infectious laughter. You almost don’t recognise him - not just because he’s gotten rid of that ridiculous bowl cut he had when you were thirteen, but because his frame has filled out with muscle.

God, it suits him.

You search his face for a flicker of recognition, for anything, but you find nothing. Unexpected disappointment slices through you - he doesn’t know you, either because he’s forgotten you or because he doesn’t care. Either way, you guess it doesn’t really matter who you were friends with when you were kids. It still hurts, anyways.

“Nice to meet you all,” you say once Changbin has introduced himself, trying to keep your voice bright and your eyes off him.

Though the lab is your space, you feel like an intruder as they talk among themselves. Even Felix has forsaken you, moving across the room to prod at Changbin’s arms as he pesters him about something or other, twin smiles brightening their faces.

You feel lost. You can’t help but question Chan’s motives again - you don’t belong with these men, nor does your presence benefit them in any way, and yet they still smile, unflappable despite the distrust you see in some of their gazes. It’s clear to you that Chan himself doesn’t trust you fully, either, but he seems to like you well enough.

The same can’t be said for Minho, though. Jisung is talking to him but you can feel his gaze pinning you down, watching you in a way that makes you want to sink into the ground below your feet.

There’s a warning in the sharpness of his glare: you hurt them, you die.

The more time you spend with them, the more you realise how tightly knit they are. They work as a unit to distribute the food for dinner (you receive a can of beans, cold, of course, and a stale granola bar) and to count up and evaluate the supplies they have left, with your additions from the convenience store; they pair up to share blankets when they decide it’s time to sleep while you get one all to yourself; and now that they’re all quiet, you’re half certain they’re breathing in sync, too.

It’s not even weird. You can tell that this harmony is what has helped them survive for so long, not only physically, but mentally too. Together they are self-sustaining, confiding in each other, falling into their separate roles without having to be asked: you get the sense that even the sleeping arrangements are non verbally premeditated, down to the Hello Kitty blanket Changbin and Felix are sharing.

They fit together like puzzle pieces. You’re not sure if there’s space for you.

If that concerns him, Chan doesn’t let it show. He beckoned you over to sleep beside him, which unfortunately meant that you also ended up next to Minho. That in itself seems like a precaution. You have no doubt that he’d happily incapacitate you before you could even start thinking about doing any funny business, if you read the look he gave you as he shuffled a little closer to Jisung well enough.

Thankfully, Chan’s half pointed towards Jeongin, enough so that he doesn’t have to stare at you as he falls asleep. After a while of staring vacantly at the spot just over his shoulder, you realise how pleasant it is to lie on and under blankets after over a week of slouching on the hard floor; they’re soft, and the one beneath you is slightly warm from Minho, which would be disconcerting if it didn’t feel so fucking nice.

Despite the knowledge that you’re in a room with eight other steadily, defiantly beating hearts, that you’re not the only living person left in the whole world, you find that your eyelids won’t droop closed.

Sighing heavily, you roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. You’re reminded of the school trips you went on when you were younger, where you’d listen to everyone else’s breathing slow as they fell asleep, still up and wriggling about in your sleeping bag like a caterpillar ready to hatch.

At least back then, there wasn’t the looming possibility that you were the only person awake on the whole planet.

Careful not to hit either of the boys beside you, you squirm, shifting around in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. You’re just about to turn over again when you hear the blankets rustle, the sound of someone to your left getting to their feet and padding out of the lab interrupting the soft sound of the others’ breathing.

Instinctively, you shut your eyes, pretending to sleep. Your fingers tighten where they’re clenched in the blankets. You wait, counting fifty of Chan’s breaths before you get up and follow.

You’re entirely unsure of what you’ll find. You don’t bring a knife - you didn’t hear whoever left pause to take one, and if worst comes to worst, you have the taekwondo classes you took with Changbin, way back when.

Quietly, you ease open the door, stepping out into the corridor. You check the little kitchenette first, which is empty. Your boss’s office is the next closest, but you notice the communal room’s door is ajar, different from how you last left it - you’d been hoping closing it off would shut out the memories of the first horseman and his rictus grin.

Pushing it open, you realise with a jolt that whoever is within is crying: the only illumination within the small room is a splash of red tinted moonlight, but your eyes are adjusted enough that you can see the way he’s hunched over on the sofa, sniffling a little as sobs shake his shoulders. From the longish black hair, you’d guess it’s Hyunjin.

You know you should leave and give him privacy, but the night gives you bravery, as if the inability to see makes your lingering embarrassment exist a little less.

“Hey,” you say softly, coming round to sit beside him on the sofa.

Hyunjin tugs his sleeves over his hands so he can wipe his tears away. “Sorry, I must have woken you up.”

“Don’t worry, I was up already.”

You find that now you’ve bitten the bullet and decided to talk to him, no words reveal themselves to you. Telling him ‘it’s okay’ would be a blatant lie, and asking him if he’s alright would almost be worse; you can’t think of any better options, and frankly, you’ve always been a bit clumsy with your words.

Instead, you awkwardly hold your arms out. “Is it okay if I, uh - ”

Scrubbing at his eyes, he nods, his arms already wrapping tight around you before you can reach out for a cautious hug. Closing your eyes and resting your chin on his hair as he cries, you rub gentle circles on his back, holding him a little tighter when little sobs slip out from deep within his chest. You feel tears prick at your own eyes. There’s no guessing what aggrieves him, although with the current condition of the world he doesn’t really need any excuses for crying, but all the same, his vulnerability awes you.

A treacherous thought enters your mind: you could kill him now.

You could grab a knife, cut his throat, dump him somewhere outside the lab and claim he left and never returned. Logically, you could even take him as hostage and demand they hand over all their supplies and weapons, but you don’t. You can’t. In truth, you owe them.

Besides, you don’t want to stab Hyunjin, or strangle him or whatever violent thing a more pragmatic and heartless person would do - most likely, Minho would slaughter you if you did, anyway, and you wouldn’t blame him.

At least with these men, this little band of tight knit survivors, you won’t die alone.

In response to that realisation, you link your fingers with Hyunjin’s, smoothing a comforting thumb over his knuckles. A small smile raises the corners of your mouth as he sighs into your shoulder - albeit accompanied with a little sniffle - and you squeeze his hand tightly in a silent pledge: I’ll fight for this family as if it were my own, because I hope that one day it will be.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask abruptly, startled by the rude din of your own voice. “It’s okay if the answer’s no.”

“I… I think I do, if that’s okay,” Hyunjin replies, still with his face buried in your shoulder. “It’s nothing specific, really. I just miss the way things were, you know? And my family, and my dog, Kkami, and the dog before, Kkomi.” He shrugs. “Somehow I even miss just seeing people in the street. I wish I could go outside and get bumped this way and that by a crowd. I don’t even think I’d care if I got mugged or hit on. At least it’d be normal.”

You laugh but sober quickly. “I get that. Holy shit, I get that. Crazy how things changed so fast, huh?”

Hyunjin nods in agreement. “I can hardly remember the - ”

The door bursts open. Your heart lurches as you glimpse the lightning silver flash of a knife, and you jerk upwards on instinct, the coffee table toppling to the floor with a harsh clatter. It takes you half a moment to recognise the raging blur - his features are twisted with a savage, fearsome type of protective intent, his hair still mussed from sleeping.

Eyes blazing, Minho brandishes his knife as he zeroes in on Hyunjin. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to wake anyone.”

Minho’s eyes soften, even as he rolls them. “All that fuss for nothing.”

Jeongin appears in the doorway. “I told you they’d be fine,” he grumbles. “You’re paranoid.”

“You gave me the knife,” he huffs. “Don’t act like you weren’t even a little bit concerned.”

Wiping his face, Hyunjin gets up, and you follow him back to the lab. The guys all squint up at you, expressions varying from wide eyed to amused. Chan sighs when he sees everyone is unscathed, half in relief and half in exasperation before promptly ordering everyone back to bed.

This time, you have no problems falling asleep.

taglist: @estella-novella @0bticeo @lixies-favorite-cookie @smashleywow @realrintaro @extremechaoswarning @4l17h4 @hyunjinsjeans @insufferablyunbearable (let me know if you want to be added)

[autismprotocol]

Guys I made a discovery!! (Spoilers for EP 4 and EP 9 of Protocol)

I’ve been re-listening to all the current protocol episodes with my grandma over spring break (me and her have been listening to tma together for 2 years) and I think I noticed something that I haven’t seen anywhere else. In episode 4 when Augustus is reading the statement about the hunger violin, the statement mentions a few things the stranger has in is sack along with said violin

When I heard gamblers dice be read my jaw dropped to the floor!! there is no doubt this stranger was carrying around the dice from episode 9: Rolling with it. Because of this tie-in I think this strange trinket man will be a recurring avatar. My guess is he will take a similar rolls as Salesa, dealing in cursed artifacts that were gifted power by the entities.

Just in case it comes back here’s a list of all the stuff mentioned to be in the Trinket man’s sack

Battered knives

Chipped porcelain

Fine jewelry (this one is kind of vague tbh )

Ivory figures

I’m guessing because the dice are mentioned with extra emphasis, we won’t see anymore of the for mentioned items but you never know

I think we all need to be on the watch for The Trinket Man

[mostly-mundane-atla]

I hope it's okay to ask about non-atla things

I'm doing research for a story that's basically an alternate history where Antarctica is populated similarly to the northern circumpolar regions. I'm having a bit of trouble with some of the logistics though, and I'm hoping you might have insights or suggestions?

In an environment without wood, and from what I can see no flint, how would one start a fire? And what fuel might be used to sustain it? (I know there's coal an oil, but I can't find anything that specifies if Antarctica has flint)

What sort of foods have the best protein/energy content for this kind of lifestyle? (physical and harsh) Am I right in assuming that animal fat/blubber would be a good source of this?

How would they craft tools? Like, how are knives and such traditionally crafted from bones and how would stones be incorporated? Also, in an environment without wood, how would they get the first hunting weapons? Would it be realistic for them to use something like slings?

How is meat traditionally prepared? Like, the drying and freezing and such. I've been trying to find more information on this, but can't really find anything that covers food preparation methods specifically.

If there's anything else you think is important to share please do! I'm trying to make this feel as realistic as possible, and since the Arctic and Antarctic are similar in environment I'm hoping to gain some insight of the general environment and certain cultural factors that are tied to a harsh/difficult environment

I hope I worded this all well

Another wonderfully formatted ask!

1. An environment without trees and bushes is not an environment without driftwood, and driftwood can be made into a bow drill. The spark could be sustained on rendered animal fats.

2. Fats are a great way to maintain energy required to survive in such a harsh environment, as are eggs from birds and fish Skin can also provide vitamin c to make up for the lack of fruit. This is why maktak is such a valued food in the far north.

3. Knapping and grinding an edge on to stones can make blades for knives, spears, and similar tools that can carve into ivory, bone, antler, driftwood, and other materials Bow drills can drill holes to allow tying and joins. Cordage and rope can be made of sinews or grasses, though i believe sinew is the more durable of the two materials. Slings make sense and so do bolas and harpoons. Also, for more domestic tools, needles can be made wing bones and shovels are can be made of large animals' shoulderblades.

4. Meat can be cut into thin strips and then dried on a rack, kept frozen, fermented in a pouch underground, or boiled in a pot carved from wood or skin pouch by heating rocks and placing them in the water.

I hope this covered everything. If you have anymore questions, please feel free to ask!

[evolutionsvoid]

In a land of plentiful fluids, there is a great variety of life that thrive within them! Be it water, bile or blood, these fluid bodies are always a host to an incredible array of aquatic creatures!

1. Silt Snorter - A large bottom feeding fish with two mouths and iconic whiskers. They spend their lives down near the silt and muck, using their twin mouths to suck it up and filter food through their hairy gills. Their long whiskers help them keep their bearings when the silt is disturbed and the fluid is clouded. Growing to giant sizes, they are prized trophy fish, but not so great for eating. Their flesh is tainted by their mucky diet, but with the sheer quantity you can get from a single catch, no one wants to waste it, thus folk have developed recipes to help mask the flavor. Also a good source of sea snot.

2. Nailbiter - A keratin clad fish with a dexterous maw. They specialize in pulling prey from nooks and crevices, using their oral fingers to reach in and drag them out. With no actual biting or shearing teeth, they can only eat what can be swallowed whole. Their armored scales are tough but light, allowing them protection while not weighing them down. They are caught for their "fish fingers," a dish made from their oral digits. Legends like to say this fish came to be from a greedy fisherman who reached into the water for one too many fish and had the offending hand taken to replace what he stole.

3. Sperm Eel - An odd boneless fish known for its strange reproductive habits and milky nature. They live in riverside burrows, feeding on small invertebrates and floating bits. The species lives only long enough to reproduce once, as the viable adults congregate up river. When the time comes, these breeding fish straight up disintegrate into reproductive fluids, with the males becoming a cloud of sperm and the females a cloud of tiny eggs. Entire floats of white frothy egg masses form from this breeding session, creating thousands of larvae. This season can clog rivers with these rafts, but it is a bountiful moment for other species that come to feed. When it comes to fishing them, they must be caught and kept alive, as their bodies melt upon death. Though there is no meat to gain, they are used as a soup thickener and add a delightfully milky and salty flavor to a dish.

4. Syringefish - A parasitic fish of the rivers that targets larger piscines or wading beasts. Their single tooth is hollow and built for sucking Blood from prey. Typically look for sluggish fish to feed on, or disturbances from animals swimming. Will ram themselves into whatever flesh they can find and drink as much as they are able. Their stomachs can swell up to fit their meal, growing until they are practically sphere shaped. A pest to any who have to deal with them when wading through the river or trying to catch fish that don't have puncture wounds all over. At least good for a nice bloody snack for those who catch engorged ones.

5. Scabfish - Crimson in color and crusty in texture, they typically appear in bloody waters or in scarred regions. They rest upon the floor of the fluid body, waiting for prey to pass close for an ambush. Their rough scabby skin makes them unappealing to some predators, and make them quite abrasive to handle. Some seafolk may use their dried skin for sanding wood and ivory. Can also be used to make scab crackling.

6. Urolith Fish - A jagged fish that prefers to rest on the bottom rather than swim, using its wide fins to crawl in a way. Typically hides in tight spaces and uses ambush tactics to swallow prey. They are infamous for their spiny bodies. with nasty spikes that break off agonizing shards into those who touch them. Once inside the flesh, they are difficult to remove and are prone to breaking into smaller pieces. These fish serve as a reminder to watch your step when wading through the shallows. To be avoided and not eaten, as their meat reeks of urea. Some shady folk have found their spines good as debilitating knives, stabbed into victims to paralyze them with pain.

7. Mantinia - A colorful creature of chitin that slices through the water with its razor body. Its frontal appendage is designed for lashing out with blinding speed and snaring slippery prey in its barbed grasp. It lacks a true mouth, and instead uses its hollow spines on this "arm" to suck fluids from its prey. Its vivid coloration is believed to be used to win over mates. Despised by fisherman for stealing catches, cutting lines and shredding nets. Legends say that this fish came to life when a warrior surrendered his colorful chitin blade and gave it to the water.

8. Skullcracker - A powerful bulky fish known for its bony forehead and cracking teeth. They feed primarily on ivory corals and other hard-bodied prey, using a mouthful of broad teeth to shatter shells and armor. Their bulging forehead is solid and makes for a good weapon against predators and rivals. They make for dangerous catches, as they may ram the boat with their head or jump from the waters at inopportune times to concuss the unwary fisherman. They have gained this name for a reason.

9. Snot Shroud - A tiny fish that is capable of producing an incredible amount of Phlegm, they use it to surround their body in a false mass. This mucus sheath acts as a fake body and shield, allowing them to ward away parasites and survive predation. This sticky mass also collects food particles and tiny prey for the fish to feed upon. A potent producer of sea snot, and typically kept alive by seafolk on ships to churn out this marine Phlegm for medical purposes.

10. Searfish - A parasitic fish that possesses Yellow Bile and a nasty suction cup on its head. This structure is made to latch onto the sides of larger fish, where it then pumps the burning humor to melt through scale and flesh. The porous surface of this sucker allows it to absorb nutrients from its host, feeding on fluids and digested flesh. Typically target leviathans as their vast size allows them to shrug off these wounds. Circular scorch marks are the scars they leave behind, and some fisherman have found them on the bottom of their boats. If not deterred, they can scorch straight through the floor of a small canoe or boat, thus fisherman take steps to keep the burning buggers away.

11. False Floater - A seemingly rotting fish that plays a deceptive game. Their belly-up posture and patchy skin makes them look quite dead, but this fish is alive and well. A gas filled bladder suspends them in the water, while perfect stillness lures in scavengers. A multi-part jaw filled with needle teeth snares prey that comes to feed on this supposed corpse. Though they are not actually rotting, their meat is very pungent and slimy, thus is avoided when it comes to eating. Their dead appearance does lead to them being associated with the Mother of Snow.

12. Spiretail - A creature instantly recognizable due to their preference of hanging vertically and upside down in the water. They often hover just above the bottom, feeding on the small bits and critters that pass by. Sharp shards of Black Bile jut from their bodies, warding off predators. Often hang out in groups, gaining more protection through numbers. A bane to swimmers who accidentally swim through these schools, as such encounters guarantee several lacerations.

13. Cysthorse - A diseased looking fish that is actually filled with a burning toxin. Attempts to eat or touch them will result in these noxious boils to rupture and seep out this vile poison. Flesh that comes in contact with this fluid often winds up looking like the fish's unsightly skin. Avoided when it comes to fishing as one snared in a net may ruin both the net and the catch with its boiling fluids. Plus, they are associated with sickness, thus their appearance is an omen for future afflictions upon the catcher.

14. Sawtooth - A vicious fish with a killer overbite, they use their protruding blade of teeth to wound and shred prey. Appear to be solitary and not fans of their own kind, judging from the scars their hide often bears. They are a prized catch of any fisherman, though bringing them in without losing the line or a limb is difficult. Their upper jaws are often saved as trophies and turned into tools or weapons.

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

Recently got and completed the fishing game Dredge and was inspired by it. So the obvious choice was to fill the fluid bodies of FOI with some fishies!

[sararaasch]

He’s in a corded ivory wool sweater, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and I know its intent is to represent his home, but all I can think is that he’s trying to look like a ginger Chris Evans from Knives Out. He does look like a ginger Chris Evans from Knives Out. Motherfucker.

-Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasch