#caedis speaks

[papaver-decervicatus]

A comedy in two parts

It continues

[papaver-decervicatus]

Okay everyone! Here's a summoning circle, likes charge; reblogs cast! 🕯 🕯 🕯 🕯 Gary "Roach" 🕯 🕯 Sanderson 🕯 🕯 🕯 🕯 I think from the focus of a silent, masked protagonist along with the 141, it is possible he shows up (and I sure hope he does!) Also, I have seen a few people mentioning on twitter and on here that they're worried that since Soap is shown in a similar promotional style to Price that he may be the traitor. I am just going to throw my two cents in, I think that the team will likely do something similar to the original MW franchise where Soap becomes a Captain (especially with the inclusion of his original timeline scar) or replacement for an incapacitated Price (Possible death, or like in the original timeline, an unintentional desertion that leads to capture.) Personally, from the set up of Farah and Alex meeting with Graves at the end of the raid series of MWii, I believe it is likely one if not both of those two end up passing away. Another high likelihood is Price or Ghost (with the bullet hole motif, but I think it is more likely that some of his backstory will be teased or referenced as he has become an unofficial posterboy of the series at this point.) In the event of a 'good' death, as in a death we as the player will be satisfied by, and I think that it's likely to be Graves or Shepherd (it is too soon to kill Markarov in the narrative, I think.) I would not be surprised if we also get a tease for Yuri as a possible deuteragonist at some point during the game, possibly in Moscow running interference? I am equal parts terribly excited and entirely mortified of whats to come...

EDIT: removed the part about Gaz’s actor as that was apparently an impersonator :,( My predictions still stand, however.

Gameplay Reveal Trailer | Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III [×]

[daddycaedisva]

Will you do more playfellowxxx howdy piller audios??.

Oh absolutely~ Keep an eye out for them~ Check my NSFW Twitter for a request that has been made~

[bucca2]

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

[papaver-decervicatus]

I would love to participate! I need to become friends with more writers, I feel like I’m lowkey bad at reaching out first.

I'm about to hit a pretty big follower milestone, and have been trying to figure out a way to do something within the CoD community to celebrate. I'm curious to see what folks would think about a writing exchange, where you sign up and get randomly matched with another writer and give a short prompt to see what they come up with! I think it's a great way to meet new people and make friends.

Note: This writing exchange will not include darkfic, noncon/dubcon, abuse, or partner violence.

[garbagechocolate]

Hi, did you ever share what is "eye for an eye" au is about? saw your desing for a while now and I think its reeeaaally cool! the animatic is also really funny! so can we know more about it? :D

Yeah sure! Basically a long time ago there were many gods, and two of them (BM twins, Caedis and Morbus). Caedis was in charge of Peace and Morbus was in charge of Prosperity (and the opposite of)

One day they went rogue and the higher ups decided to strip them of their powers and lock them up. The two were sewn together, Morbus had his eyes blinded and Caedis and his mouth muted.

Fast forward a couple thousand years. A town has been built near the cave that imprisons them. The towns people spread rumors about the cave and speak about an ancient God and such but no one really believes it, they just think it's a silly story. M/C (Who I'll be referring to as Micah) lives in this town with their sibling, Remy.

Micah and Remy are getting targeted by neighbors for being from out of town, and Micah being. A little weird. Remy's bullied by proxy but they're grown adults! They can deal with it maturely!

Wrong! Micah goes into the cave for shiggles, finds out how to OPEN the cave, and approaches a stone pedestal with a handprint on it. They place their hand onto it and a needle stabs through their hand, and they watch the prison light up.

The walls are covered in engravings and chains and eerie lights illuminate a figure chained in front of Micah.

"Little mortal came to make a wish? Silly child. There's no use to pray. Even if we would grant it, our powers are locked away."

And Micah goes "Okay and"

They exchange talking back and forth until Micah goes "Okay just hmo"

And Bloodmoon's hears him out, expecting some wish to fix her town or whatever

Naur he wants a family dead

A family and their extended bloodline

So bloodmoon's obviously intrigued by this, and agrees to kill them for her if hhe'll return his powers to him

Bloodmoon tells them,

"If you free us and our powers, we'll answer your prayer. Go to each lock and temple, destroy each layer."

So yeah deal with the devil type thing. This is sealed and Bloodmoon IS freed from his shackles but new ones connect them to Micah, who's. Kind of going through smth rn.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Starting a silly little picrew/uquiz chain to banish the monday scarries

this picrew by nellseto is one of the most comprehensive I have seen! make yourself + do this heartbreaking uquiz and post a screen cap your results! + some act of love you've done today + tag some ppl

Look at me! I own this exact outfit!!! AND A MOUSE!!!! also, this description, oooohh, she hurts.

My Act(s) of Love

stayed extra long with the kitten this morning and told a freshmen how she likes to be picked up

refilled the coffee bar at work and ran errands

sent my own notes out to my whole class before the test

no pressure tags! @kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @wordstome @blut-s @writeforfandoms and anyone else who wants to join in! please do not feel shy in jumping in, this is how we make friends on this site after all <3

cura ut veleas ~ Caedis

[sadmages]

19 for salita and caedis 👀👀👀👉👈

19. Describe how they communicate  Okay so the two of them love talking and hearing themselves speak however at the start of their tentative partnership/not even really friendship yet, they refuse to listen to one another so they mostly communicate through arguing <3

The better they get to know each other though and the more they actually give a shit about each other, I think the more they start to communicate with gestures and touch!! Like Salita will offer Caedis the symbolism umbrella as a sorry instead of actually saying it out loud but Caedis will almost always get what he means

Also Caedis will weaponize his big eyes for evil

[papaver-decervicatus]

König Is absolutely terrified TM of having a child at first. He’s scared he would hurt them, scared he wouldn’t be a good father, scared that something terrible would happen to their mother during birth, scared he would pass some kind of irreversibly awful problem onto the child and it would be all his fault that they couldn’t lead a happy life just as his has been so awful and difficult. Really, as much as he wants to be a father, he doesn’t want to be the father of such a wonderful woman’s children. It would be such a waste, for it to be him…

Until the first one. The second he sees his child smile in their mother’s arms, all those fears dissipate. He can never imagine being as awful as his father, he cannot stomach the idea that such a perfect little creature get harmed in any way, he cannot think anything besides of how much he wants to protect that little bundle of joy that makes him and their mother so so so happy. He falls hard and fast in love, at the first smile, it’s all over. All that anxiety and trepidation completely evaporates.

Before he would say “I don’t know if I want children.”

Now? He wants as many as he and the mother can feasibly carry, physically and financially. The only time he wants to stop is when the doctors tell him to or his bank account simply won’t stretch far enough for him to feel like all of his kiddos are taken care of.

Side note: Colonels tend to make. A lot of money. And receive good benefits for themselves and their families. So like. Good luck to the wife, because it’s not going to be a financial barrier…

Wait... how much kids does Konig want?! 😧 "populate the earth".... like one or two is fine but four, five... SIX?!

How many kids does König want...? Um.

All of them?

[bottledpillz]

✨️The Devil District intros✨️

Caedis: she/they

body's age

host

Likes poetry, drawing and music, sharks, bats & more :)

Dislikes bugs, overwhelming situations, bright lights

Elias: he/him

19

Protector

Likes magic, mythology, minecraft

Dislikes flying things

Maxwell: he/they

20

Internal self help/caregiver

Likes music, ghosts, books, spiders, slam poetry

Dislikes thunder, rain, shopping, pain

Bunny: she/her

5½

Little

Likes Dogs, naps, cartoons, fruit, Soren

Dislikes scary things, loud noises, mirrors

Mute: it/its

Ageless

Non-human / emotional and trauma holder

Likes static, tvs, glitchy things, quiet rooms

Dislikes busy roads, cars, anything loud really, facial features

Alice: she/her

17

Emotional holder

Likes bookshops, podcasts, plants

Dislikes yelling, busy roads, drinks that are too hot to drink

Trout: he/him

24

Emotional holder / non-human

Likes rivers, garlic and butter shrimp, aquariums

Dislikes not being able to talk other than making 'fish noises'

Jazmine: she/her

22

Sexual Protector/protector

Likes y2k, 2000s core, hot pink, sanrio, shopping

Dislikes unsure

Odette: she/her

22

Emotional holder / trauma holder

Likes Rice, Jazmine, music, stickers, Asian culture, makeup & fashion

Dislikes Arguing, crowded places, cheese

Soren: he/they

Ageless

(Reformed Persecutor) Currently Bunny's Caregiver

Likes: messing with people, violence, weapons, Bunny (he has an incredibly soft spot for Bunny)

Dislikes: unsure

Anna: she/her

19

Memory holder (mainly speaks chinese/Japanese)

Likes: trees/forests, dogs, horses, books

Dislikes: tourist season, alcohol, crowded places, spicy food

Cobalt: he/him

27

Pain holder

Likes: gemstones, daydreaming, piercings and tattoos

Dislikes: the ocean, the dark, overwhelming pain

Amber: he/him

23

Cobalt’s caregiver

Likes: campfires, dying hair, sleeping

Dislikes: chores, lizards (specifically iguanas), whining brats & kids in general

[DNI] Gerald: he/him

34

Persecutor

[tautline-hitch]

trying to avoid swamping the tag this week but i've been thinking about:

sed illos / magna premit strages, peraguntque cadavera partem / caedis: viva graves elidunt corpora trunci (duff: "the survivors were weighed down by the heaps of corpses; for the dead took their share in dealing death, and the living were crushed by the weight of the slain.") oh, a theme?

something going on with the catalogue of rivers leaving italy -> pompeians fleeing caesar (around II.465). not sure how this fits with the wet caesar / dry pompey themes. loss of vitality maybe? domitius betrayed by a lack of water, idk. blooded/bloodless?

speaking of, iam tetigit sanguis pollutas Caesaris enses (II.536). caesar’s swords, like pompey’s youthful throat, defiled with blood….this isn't a particularly startling image but contextually i am examining it

again not super deep here but thinking about the end of pompey's speech as a reflection of his third triumph—the procession of enemies (Appian Mith. 17.116: "many nations were represented in the procession from Pontus, Armenia, Cappadocia, Cilicia, all the peoples of Syria, besides Albanians, Heniochi, Achæans, Scythians, and Eastern Iberians") (idk i get that this is Every triumph but i don't think that lessens my feelings on how the speech fits) ++ "the entire earth...is filled with my trophies" (Dio HR 37.20: "He celebrated the triumph in honour of all his wars at once, including in it many trophies...; and after them all came one huge one...bearing an inscription stating that it was a trophy of the inhabited world"). (recognizing that these are post-lucan sources and there's potentially influence, dont @ me) e: oh and Plutarch of course: "he seemed in a way to have included the whole world in his three triumphs."

after which nothing. i feel that dead silence is especially vicious if you think of it these speeches as essentially declamatory? well, vicious regardless, but. You Are Losing the Verbal Gladiatorial Combat Which Is The Reenactment Of The War You’re About to Fight. i thought the sententia was okay!!

pompey is a recalcitrant bull now. contextually this seems fine

immediately after this a kind of monstrous mixed metaphor: the land which is legs and tongues and horns. unsettling

the echo at 713 (blood from pompey's ships) from 219 (blood spilled in the Tiber by sulla). blue / red. but also the slight irony of um "here Nereus first reddened with the blood of civil war", well, on several technicalities, but. feels like a cycle to me!!

[papaver-decervicatus]

Absolutely is! And I’m still plugging away at my silly little keyboard to finish the thing. Might have inspired me to post a tiny bit more…

Jef Bourgeau

[daddycaedisva]

So question since your audios aren't on here anymore where are they?

Since tumblr isn't the best for promoting stuff anymore, I have made Twitter my main platform for my current and upcoming voice stuff.

DaddyCaedisVA is my SFW Twitter and DaddyDomCaedis is my NSFW Twitter. Anyone can follow my SFW one, but I will be checking bios of everyone who follows my NSFW Twitter. If there's no age in there, you WILL be blocked. I'm not taking any chances.

Thank you for supporting my work!

[unsettlingcreature]

For the ttrpg question thingy: perseus and 20, 22, 28, 49, 69

(there were a lot of questions and these were random except for 20......👀.....ans 69 cus its 69) >:3

long post beneath the cut because i love talking and thinking about perseus rook

20. what attracts them to someone—platonically and/or romantically, anything counts.

Platonically, Perseus is pushed towards most people. He typically wouldn't mistrust somebody immediately (besides a Caedis worshipper or something) and is happy to be friends or allies with anyone. However, he especially likes people he can play chess with and are willing to listen to what he has to say, even if it's dumb. It takes a little time for him to warm up and fully trust people but once he does, he is ride or die.

For romance, I didn't initially have a type in mind but it accidentally happened throughout the campaign. Therefore romantically, Perseus' type is chaotic, carefree and probably doomed for tragedy.

22. how would they decorate their living space, if they had a chance?

THIS is so interesting because, at the start of the campaign, Perseus' only home had been the one with his family. He wanted to earn money so they could live peacefully in a nice house without any obligations to the Templars for him or the Arcane University for his brother.

He'd probably start off by decorating things rather sparsely since at the beginning he'd probably go back to his mindset of "buy only what's necessary". However, once he got over that, he'd probably buy anything that made him happy or that he liked the look of. Very cluttered and probably plenty of warm and bright colours. Almost certainly he'd have a nice kitchen and in the back a shrine to Lumen.

28. do they collect anything?

Nope, mainly because while playing him he was firmly in the previously mentioned "buy only what's necessary". I feel maybe in the future, he'd like to collect weapons (mainly swords and firearms).

49. how often do they cut their hair, if at all?

Perseus is a sloppy lad. He used to only cut his hair if someone else tells him to do it or if it got too long. At the end of the campaign, he started to care more for his appearance but I feel like he'd keep it longer still. Before he would just lop chunks off with any blade he found around. He'd probably find visits to the barbershop either incredibly uncomfortable or very soothing.

69. what’s one secret they don’t want getting out?

That for a moment when he found out that Pyker killed his father (while mind-controlled), he genuinely considered killing him in return. Instead, he shut that urge down and instead chose to forgive him on the spot, knowing that the bard already felt like he'd fucked up enough.

There's also the poorly-hidden feelings he had for Pyker (and the confusion around Zeitgeist after their threesome). He doesn't want anyone to know but he knows that actions speak louder than words especially when you sell your soul for the guy.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Thank you for the tag @kneelingshadowsalome! I am going to do a fun little tag thing because the next chapter of CMD is not to my satisfaction (I refuse to post something that is not complete) so it will not get posted tonight. Sorry! Anyway, Most Recent song: Hypoxia by Flipturn Fav color: Warm toned pink grey, like this!

Currently Watching: Suspiria's Hidden Story of Toxic Parenting by Flaw Peacock on Youtube. His shit is soooo good, please check him out! Last movie: Bottoms Currently Reading: The Horror in the Museum (HP Lovecraft Anthology), Disionario di Abbreviature Latine ed Itiaine by Cappelli, and The Future of the Past by Mark Stille Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Preferably, all at one like in pho or franks redhot breaded chicken + honey sauce Relationship: none :,) (recently dumped) Current Obsession: My beautiful problem children, obsolescing media (particularly cassette tape formats!) Last things I googled: etymology of ethics and Camus Myth of Sisyphus Currently working on: The courage to fold my laundry, a big presentation for my Anthropology class, and a proposal for a senior project and making a whole new major for gradschool applications. God. I am so scared (please let me go to manchester for archiving, I won't eat the manuscripts I promise! I don't.) no pressure tags! @bucca2 @sprout-fics @blut-s and anyone else :)

9 people you'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @steven-grants-world <3

Last song: Fascination / 101 String Orchestra (bc of @runa-falls and her lovely drabble)

Favorite Color: green (especially sage/forest)

Currently Watching: Moon Knight, The Mandalorian, Ugly Betty, Daredevil

Last Movie: oh golly I think it was In Secret (2013), I'm still blushing

Currently Reading: Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: savory, I love a good soup 👌

Relationship Status: singling and terrified of mingling (the men on my phone can't hurt me if this is the only app I use)

Current Obsession(s): Oscar Isaac, Pedro Pascal, Across the Spiderverse, MOON KNIGHT

Last Thing I Googled: Dead Again (1991)

Currently Working On: a paint-by-number, chapter 3 of Last Night (my jake lockley/reader fic) finally unpacking from moving in July 💀

No pressure tags: @virtie333, @dowbastan @awakeandlonely, @howellatme, @suddenlysteven, @arrozyfrijoles23, @readerthatreadsss, @ssp3ctor, @crescentbelle

[papaver-decervicatus]

I LOVE MY FRIENDS!!!!!